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He waited quietly, leaning ominously against his black umbrella with his legs crossed at the ankle. He didn’t have to wait long, as a sleek black car drove into the abandoned warehouse. He graced a thin smile across his face. His guest had arrived.
The back door was opened and his guest was out from the car; a man with salt and pepper hair, black overcoat and a grim expression set on his face. Slowly, wearily, his guest started to close the distance between them, trying to be discreet as he scanned the area, searching for exits probably, before stopping a few pace away from him. He crossed his arms and looked at Mycroft expectantly, his stand defiant.
They stood like that for a while, each assessing the other as much as he can, and each willing for the other to make a move. Mycroft had read his file of course, right after he came in contact with his little brother. He could recite the man’s history at the back of his palm. He probably would if this man proved to be difficult, just to show that he could.
“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” the words came out smoothly from his tongue, and the man in front of him stood a little straighter, all signs of tiredness gave way to alertness, surely filling his body with adrenalin. Good, Mycroft mused. It would certainly not do if the man wasn’t paying attention, after all the hard work Mycroft had put in for this moment.
He had invited his guest after his shift at the Yard ended. In truth, his shift ended hours ago, and still the Detective Inspector stayed behind, catching up on paperwork. Hard worker. There was a slight chance that the man might not leave his office, but as Mycroft predicted, after a harrowing week at the office with the string of murders finally solved, with the help of his brother no less, the adrenalin soon gave way and only weariness was all that was left, the Detective Inspector would eventually go home. It was a perfect opportunity to set this meeting.
When the man didn’t respond, Mycroft restrained himself from sighing. Truly this man was tenacious. “It is to my understanding that you have consulted Sherlock Holmes in your recent cases, Inspector.” He watched as the man’s expression flitted across his face one after another. Such and expressive face, he thought idly while reciting the script he had prepared for the meeting in his mind to occupy the time.
The Detective Inspector settled into a guarded expression, bracing what was coming for him. It was a given that anything related to his dear brother was never good mostly. He himself was the often receiver of bad news caused by Sherlock. “I want you to continue using his assistance,” Mycroft continued, his eyes dropped to the dirt on the pointed end of his umbrella that only he could see before settling back to the man in front. “Of course, your cooperation will be rewarded,” he spoke in a tone that broke no argument, letting the threat –and there will be consequences if you don’t- hanging in the air unspoken.
“I don’t take bribe,” the Inspector said, eyes hard and jaws tight, his stand even wider, as if ready to counter attack. As if Mycroft would ever do something so tedious. He appreciated the man’s honestyand integrity, because it was rare within his circle, but there was no man that could never say no to him for too long, this man included.
Before Mycroft could say anything else, the man spoke again, “You’re Mycroft Holmes, aren’t you?” He tried to mask his surprise, because upon all the many direction this conversation could go, he didn’t expect for it to go this way. His minute expression must have shown, because now the man’s lips quirked into a smirk and his hands were in his pockets, his posture more relax and open though there was still wariness lingering around.
“Ah,” he said, once he finally found his voice. “Sherlock has told you about me.” Because, there was no way this man could have known who he was. It was the only possible solution. Consciously, he relaxed his post, showing the man he was only interested in Sherlock’s best interest, no matter how difficult the task was. Surely if he could see that, the man’s corporation was easy enough to obtain.
There was a sound coming from the older man, sounding like a poorly covered chuckle through exhalation of air. “You know,” he said, biting his bottom lip (Mycroft was adamant that his eyes didn’t follow the movement) “You could have ask me nicely about it over coffee, instead of this Bond villain stuff.” His hand gestured to the surrounding, his face amused. “Though it’s to my understanding that’s your thing.”
“Nonsense, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft replied suavely, his tone deliberately light. “I’m hardly a villain. Just a government official I assure you.”
“A government official that kidnaps a DI on his way home?” his tone was amused, though there were traces of annoyance across his face. “Sounds like a villain to me,” he continued, moving his shoulder in a relevance of a shrug, “or a super-secret government facility.”
“You’ve watched too much telly, Inspector,” Mycroft chided mildly, keeping his tone light. It would not do to aggravate the man further. He had come to ask for his help after all. “I occupy a minor position in the British Government, nothing more.”
The man snorted. “That’s not what Sherlock told me though. He said you are the British Government, and the most dangerous man I’ll ever meet,” he said nonchalantly, his eyes meeting Mycroft steadily. “He also said you’re his arch enemy.”
Mycroft let out a chuckle, surprising himself a little at that. “My brother does tend to exaggerate things,” he found himself replying, placing a small private smile on his lips.
“He does love his theatrics,” the man joined, shuffling his feet with a smile on his face. The man hadn’t known his brother long. It was exactly six days, 3 hours, and 47 minutes since Sherlock first stumbled onto a crime scene led by the Detective Inspector, high strung on drugs and spouting facts and nonsense alternatively. Mycroft had thought that the Detective Inspector would simply ignore his brother, just like everyone else. He never thought the man would listen, let alone gave his brother a chance to follow up with the case.
“He’s a genius, your brother,” the Inspector’s gravelly voice called Mycroft out from his short musing. “A colossal twat of a genius, but a genius nonetheless.”
“So you will let him continue assisting you?” They were back at the heart of their conversation. This meeting was about his brother after all.
The man sighed, as if it could lift a burden from his shoulder. Suddenly, he looked greyer and older than before, weariness marred his face and posture. “You know he’s using, right? What am I saying, of course you knew. You probably have read my file before meeting me,” another chuckle came from the man, though this time a bit strain. When there was no answer from the elder Holmes, he continued. “He has such a potential to be a great man, and he let it all go to waste. And for what? Because he’s bored out of his mind. All that talent down to the drain because the man was bored.”
The man shook his head, Mycroft watched silently as the man tried to regain his composure. He never knew how deeply the Inspector had cared for his brother. But then again, sentiment was never his forte. He can arrange his features to show the appropriate emotion in order to persuade other party, but emotion itself baffled him.
“Let him assist you, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft spoke, his voice persuading. “My brother’s mind is like a double-edged sword, it will turn against itself if it doesn’t have enough stimulation.”
“And you think the helping me solve the cases will help him achieve that?” The man asked sceptically, his eyes narrowing.
“Most probably. Sherlock seems determine to prove his deducing skills, and you’re the only one at the Yard patient enough to listen to him without punching him first.” The man chuckled, and Mycroft felt pleased with himself to be able to do so. “All I ask to for you to give him a chance, Inspector.”
The man seemed to be contemplating with the idea in his head, and Mycroft waited patiently. It wouldn’t do to rush the man. Besides, the idea had been stuck in the Inspector’s head for quite some time, and Mycroft was sure he would let Sherlock help even without his intervention. This setting was merely putting things in motion a little faster than expected. Mycroft was nothing but efficient.
“Alright,” The man had come to the same decision as Mycroft. “I’ll give him a chance. But the drugs has to go. That’s my condition. If he ends up showing up at the crime high as a kite like last time, the deal’s off,” The man spoke with such resolution that Mycroft regarded him with respect.
Mycroft tilted his head, acknowledging the man’s condition. “That is all I could ask for, Detective Inspector.” The man was kind, too kind for his own good, and Mycroft hoped that Sherlock would not waste such an opportunity that would come knocking on his door this time. “Thank you for your corporation, Inspector. My assistant will drive you home.”
As if on cue, his PA let herself out from the black car, her fingers deftly tapping on her Blackberry. He retreated to the shadows of the building, his own car was ready to take him home.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Mycroft heard the man shouted, prompting him to stop and turn back to the man, who was smiling cheekily. “I would prefer we talk over coffee, or lunch, whichever fits your schedule and mine.”
“What makes you think we’ll meet again?” Mycroft asked, amused and slightly confused. Usually people associating with Sherlock tend to avoid meeting him the second time, let alone repeatedly.
The man pursed his lips, before tugging it to a smirk. “Call it an instinct.” With that, he pulled out his hand from his pocket and saluted Mycroft playfully, then turned on his heels and walked towards the awaiting car, cheeky smile still plastered on his lips.
Mycroft let out a chuckle, shaking his head minutely and walked back to his car with a light bounce on his feet.