Chapter Five-
Why had he given Mycroft his cell number? The thought pounded through Greg's brain all day.
There were a thousand things to do at work that afternoon, but Greg didn't get a single one of them done. If someone walked passed his office to drop off a tip for the latest case, he'd nod and give some automatic reply like, "Alright, thank you," or "Good morning" or "you too" or "don't forget the cake".
Everyone knew that something was terribly wrong. No one had ever seen such a hardworking man like Lestrade ever behave like this. He was shut up in his office all day, staring blankly at a computer screen everyone knew hadn't even been turned on.
The worker in the office next to Greg's said that the man hadn't even blinked the entire time he'd been there.
Greg left at exactly five o'clock, something the detective inspector never did. Everyone knew that Lestrade was the kind of man that was usually up all night in his office, sometimes even taking small naps throughout the day so that he didn't even have to go home to sleep at night.
What on earth could have possibly happened to unnerve such a strong man?
Lestrade walked down the street slowly. He would have ordinarily called a cab, but he knew the crisp air would do him well. He sucked it into his lungs, savoring the way the cold air burned his nostrils. The pain gave him something to focus on, something to think about other than the fact he'd just given his cell number to Mycroft Holmes.
Why had he done it? He knew that all it would cause was more pain. This man had abandoned him after all. And now he'd decided to let him back into his life, a decision he knew could only cause him more pain.
What a bloody idiot he truly was.
Lestrade sighed heavily. He knew why he'd given Mycroft his cell number. It was the same reason his heart ached every time his phone buzzed and turned out to be a text from work and not what he was hoping for. He'd given Mycroft his number for that exact reason—hope. Even after five years, five whole years, Lestrade still hoped. He still hoped that he could get his best friend back.
Mycroft hadn't been able to do anything that day. He didn't have to go back to work yet, in fact they'd been able to give him an entire week off so that he could unpack and settle down. He'd sold his mansion before he'd left for India, a decision he regretted immensely as he walked over the creaking, rotting floorboards of his small apartment.
He should have started unpacking. He should have took a nap to recover from the long flight. He should have ate something. But Mycroft was unable to do anything at all.
He never thought he'd see Lestrade again. When he had envisioned it in his mind, it all played out smoothly. They'd hugged, reunited, and things had went back to just the way they had been before.
But today made Mycroft realize that things could never be the same.
He could see the pain in Greg's eyes. Pain he himself had inflicted. Pain that was not so easily remedied.
The reasons he had given for going to India had been silly excuses, of course they had. Of course there weren't better opportunities in India. There was only one true reason Mycroft had left so unexpectedly, and that was a reason he would take with him to the grave. He had sworn to himself that Lestrade would never find out the true reason he'd left.
He paced back and forth in his apartment, thinking….. The small piece of paper stuffed in his back pocket was burning a hole in his mind. He should just throw it away. Why had he gotten Lestrade's number in the first place? It's not like he was ever going to call him. That would be too selfish, he'd seen the way he'd hurt Lestrade.
He reached into his pocket, about to throw the number away when there was a knock on the door.
Mycroft jumped. It was almost ten pm, who would be knocking at this hour?!
Apprehensively, he crept towards the door. Another pounding knock. It sounded like they were trying to break the poor door down!
Mycroft looked out the peephole to see a short, round man standing on the other side. He wore striped pajama bottoms and a white tshirt covered in various stains. Mycroft thought that he could probably deduce the man's entire diet purely based on the numerous stains.
Mycroft opened the door.
The short man took his cigar out of his mouth, ashes spraying everywhere.
"Get out," said the landlord.
"What?"
"I said, get out."
"I heard you very clearly," said Mycroft calmly, "but what on earth do you mean? I just got here!"
"Well you can't stay!" Mycroft studied the man, trying to deduce him. He looked like a very shady character, and he could tell from just looking at the run-down complex that there were probably several illegal methods being used to keep the place running.
"Excuse me, but I've just paid this month's rent I don't—"
"Well you can have it back!" The landlord burst through the door, entering the apartment and grabbing Mycroft's bags. He came bustling back out, slamming the door behind them, and locking Mycroft out.
"Listen mister," said the man, shoving a pudgy finger in front of Mycroft's long nose. "I've just figer'd out who y'are, and I can't have any of 'em government types around here. Take yer rent," he pulled out Mycroft's freshly printed check out of his pocket "and find another place to sleep tonight.
Shoving the check into Mycroft's hands, the landlord bustled down the stairs, disappearing from sight.
Of all the rude things a person could do!
Mycroft took a huge gulp of air, fantasizing about all of the things he could have his goons do to this man….. that is, if he hadn't fired all of his goons five years ago.
Taking his bags down the stairs onto the lonely London street, Mycroft wondered where on earth he could stay. Mother lived way out in the countryside, too long of a drive to ever make it for the night, and Sherlock was on honeymoon with John in Egypt.
That left only one option.
He pulled the number out of his back pocket, dialing it with slightly shaking fingers.
It rang three times before an answer.
"Hello?"
"Gregory. It's uhm, it's me. I was wondering if uhm… well, if it would be possible to uhm…. Erm, can I stay the night?"