fic for monkiainen: The Bonds of Government Work (2/4)

[holmesticemods]

2.

Two murders, one suicide, one staged suicide, and a robbery later, Greg still hadn’t heard from or seen Sherlock Holmes again.

The cases he’d caught had taken priority, of course. But Greg found himself watching out for Sherlock at crime scenes. And he also caught himself trying to imitate Sherlock’s method of thinking and looking at things whenever he was stuck or lost for the next step in the process. Most times it didn’t work. But sometimes, even when police work was involved, the more unconventional methods worked better.

But Sherlock never turned up anywhere. Not at the Yard, not at crime scenes, not even at Greg’s flat. There was no sign of him anywhere. Or the mysterious My Greg had last seen with him. It was as if Sherlock had disappeared back into the shadows he’d come from; and just like that everything had reverted back to normality.

If he didn’t have physical evidence from his mobile and crime scenes notes, Greg would wonder if he’d even imagined Sherlock. There had been a long run of sleepless nights and caffeinated beverages consumed around that time.

He’d just wrapped another case that had gone from bad to worse to frying pan to fire awful. Greg was almost certain he’d set a new Yard record for coffee consumption and lack of sleep. So, he could probably be forgiven for not noticing the mysterious black car with tinted windows sitting at the curb in front of the Yard. And for not thinking that it could be for him when he did notice but then dismissed it.

Greg turned towards the nearest major intersection and began walking slowly, using the constant and mindless motion to clear from his mind everything he’d experienced and went through over the drawn out time of the case.

He didn’t walk around London often, there was a reason he used and drove his own police-sanctioned vehicle. The street Greg was walking along was typically a busy main thoroughfare, but at this time of day cars sped past next to him only every so often.

Then the black car with tinted windows started driving slowly down the street keeping pace with him in the same direction, and Greg started worrying a little.

He sped up his pace until he was speed walking along the pavement. There weren’t many other pedestrians, but Greg did draw some odd looks from the few there were. And still the black car continued following him and even sped up to keep pace with him.

This went on for another block and a half from the Yard as Greg continued speed walking, his jaw set as he determinedly didn’t look at the car. The car still stayed beside him the entire time.

At this point Greg began scanning the street ahead of him and any nearby alleys for places he could duck into to get away from the car and whoever was inside.

He heard the quiet whir of a car door window and a woman’s voice spoke from inside the car. It was soft, but also threatening. “Join us in the car, DI. There’s no need for this.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather not,” Greg answered as calmly as he could, still walking and not turning his head to look at the car.

The traffic light ahead at the next intersection turned green so Greg started walking even faster, hoping to make it across before it turned again.

But the car sped up as well, moving faster again to stay next to him. After a few more steps the woman spoke again. “Detective Inspector, please stop walking and get inside the car. There isn’t anything that will make me go away. You may as well come now.”

Greg finally glanced over to the car, but not through the window at the woman. Only a few yards ahead of him the light started flashing and counting down. He was running out of time.

“Since you knew where to find me, and you’ve called me by my title, you’re aware I’m a police officer,” Greg said to the car conversationally in one of his best official police voices. “So you might want to reconsider threatening me.”

The woman laughed quietly, and instead of being unsettling it was actually comforting a little. “I’m not threatening you, officer. I only want you to join us in the car.”

He was nearly to the intersection when the light turned yellow, and finally red. So he’d lost his chance to catch the car at the light without getting stuck himself. Next to him the car quickly drew to a halt as the light turned, coming to a sudden stop.

The traffic light in the other direction turned green now, and the one car that had been sitting waiting for the light sped through the intersection and down the street.

Greg glanced at the car following him and at the light, which was still green. He weighed his options then decided barely a moment later that anything was worth getting away from the car. Judging by the timing of the light he still had enough time to make it across.

He took a step out into the street and into the crosswalk, walking faster than he typically did to put distance between him and the car and to make the light. Greg was a few steps off the curb, ignoring everything else, when the car he was trying to avoid suddenly jerked forward into the crosswalk exactly where he was walking.

The grate and front of the car hit his legs and right by his knees, knocking him over. Not into the street, which would probably have hurt less, but over the hood of the car. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a battle with the front part of a car, so Greg knew to brace himself for impact and to push himself through rolling over the hood.

When he did fall onto the hard, unforgiving ground of the street, he was luckily able to put his hands out to somewhat protect himself. But his entire body still felt like one large bruise. He knew he’d feel it all over later, especially in his knees and arms. Greg was not as young as he used to be to be able to take impact like this.

There were ringing noises in his ears, or maybe he had become temporarily deaf. Above him beyond the grate of the car Greg saw the drivers side door open and a young, beautiful woman in a well-fitting dress step out. Her mouth was moving, but Greg still couldn’t hear so he could only guess she was talking to someone. In the meantime Greg’s eyes fell below the car door to discover she was wearing high heels. Which probably hadn’t helped in driving the car.

On the other side of the car the back door opened and someone else stepped out. Greg hadn’t even realized there was another person in the car; and here he was still lying on the ground, which was completely undignified for an experienced Detective Inspector with the Yard.

Greg struggled upright into a mostly sitting position, ignoring the insistent aching in all of his joints and the coldness of the ground seeping into his clothes. His hearing had started to come back just in time to hear shoes walking towards him on the street.

Greg looked up in that direction, grateful for the dim light of the evening sky, to see a strangely familiar man standing by the front wheel of the car. Greg couldn’t place him exactly; he saw a lot of people in his line of work. But Greg knew he knew him.

So Greg quickly scrambled to his feet, ignoring the aches and pains. He turned to face the man, a little wary. “Hello,” Greg greeted. He glanced to the other side of the car at the woman, but she seemed transfixed by something on her mobile.

“Hello Detective Inspector.” The man greeted as he pushed the door closed after him. Greg blinked at the three-piece suit this revealed, and was surprised again when the man started walking towards him. “Are you alright? I’m afraid my assistant misunderstood my urgency to get your attention.” He looked over at the young woman to treat her to a deep frown. “It was not my intention to injure you.”

Between the young woman’s well-fitting dress and the man’s three-piece-suit, Greg felt just a little self-conscious in his typical office outfit of trousers and a suit jacket that he’d been wearing for the last few days. He’d changed his shirt more recently, but they were all horribly wrinkled to start with and his altercation with the car had just made it worse. At this point it was all probably a lost cause.

Greg still attempted to brush dirt and gravel off his jacket and trousers. “What exactly was your intention then? Something less harmful than running me over with your car I hope?”

The man visibly winced at the suggestion and stopped near the headlight a foot or so away from Greg. “Of course, Detective Inspector,” he said, sounding irritated by the idea. “I only wish to talk with you.”

“Oh.” Greg said quietly. Now the man was closer to him, enough for Greg to get a good look at him, and his hearing had fixed itself so he could hear the man’s voice clearly, it took only a few seconds for the recognition to finally kick in.

“You’re My!” Greg blinked, surprised that the man had so suddenly reappeared, and that he had decided to try and run Greg over. He was better dressed this time and the dimming light didn’t help Greg’s eyesight, but Greg wouldn’t soon forget that voice and profile.

“You were at Sherlock’s that night.” Greg narrowed his eyes as he took a step closer and added, “And you were supposed to keep me updated about Sherlock. How is he?”

The other man cleared his throat and looked away from Greg. “Mycroft, please Detective Inspector. I happen to despise that nickname.”

By the driver's door the young woman made an odd noise, but when Greg looked at her expression was perfectly blank.

“Sorry, Mycroft,” Greg corrected, having felt the same way when people insisted calling him ‘Gregory.’ Then he wondered just what kind of name ‘Mycroft’ was and what kind of people would name their child that.

“I would feel more comfortable if we spoke in the car,” Mycroft requested, gesturing at the car behind them. “After you, Detective Inspector.”

Greg eyed the vehicle warily, but decided that Mycroft wasn’t really a threat. And even though his… assistant… driver… had nearly run him over, she probably wasn’t one either. “All right,” he agreed and walked around the car to the back side door. Politely Mycroft stepped out of his way and then actually opened the door for him, something Greg had only experienced one other time.

It felt ridiculous not opening his own door and riding in the backseat of a car like this. But Greg slid onto the seat then moved over to give Mycroft room to sit.

In the front of the car the driver's door opened and the young woman appeared to fold herself into the driver's seat. She still had her mobile in her hand, and even as she closed the door and started the engine, she didn’t let go of it.

Mycroft joined Greg in the back seat, settling at the very opposite side of it. As far away from Greg as possible he noticed. The door was pulled closed, and Mycroft raised his voice slightly to call to the front, “Time to leave, Anthea.”

“Anthea?” Greg repeated without meaning to say anything. Maybe being around Mycroft you just decided to change your name to a more pretentious one.

Mycroft treated him to a look that just consisted of a raised eyebrow. But he leaned forward slightly in his seat and turned to look directly at Greg. “If you would give Anthea your address, we can drive you home.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line. “It’s the least we-I- can do after nearly running you over.”

“You didn’t run me over, I’m fine. No harm done.” Greg reassured Mycroft, wanting to reach out a hand but didn’t. He glanced towards Anthea in the front seat and added, “But I don’t mind a free ride home. I won’t even press charges.”

Mycroft made a noise that Greg suspected might actually be a laugh. So Greg smiled at him carefully before moving to the edge of his seat and told Anthea his address.

In the rearview mirror Greg saw Anthea nod before the car began pulling out into traffic and driving down the street. For nearly a block he and Mycroft sat in silence together in the back seat staring determined forward.

Two traffic lights later Greg finally decided to break the silence. “So how is he, Sherlock, I mean.”

Mycroft made that same strange amused noise and slid a hand into his pocket. “He is in a much more improved condition than you saw him last. My contact in the facility has told me that while Sherlock is very unhappy and far from an ideal patient, Sherlock has successfully completed treatment. He has gone through the appropriate withdrawal.”

Greg tried very hard not to gape open mouthed at the other man; but he felt somewhat blindsided. “That’s where he’s been? Rehab? And you didn’t think to let me know?”

Mycroft frowned back at him looking a little bewildered. “I expected you to be happy, seeing as this is good news.”

“Yes, I am happy that Sherlock’s managed to complete his rehab treatment.” Greg quickly agreed since he didn’t want Mycroft to wrongly get the idea that he didn’t care about Sherlock. “The boy deserves better than that. He deserves a second, or third chance. Even I can tell he has a lot of potential.”

“Exactly, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft agreed looking appeased by Greg’s declaration. “Which I why I would like to-”

“But you should have told me where he was and how he was earlier than this. You said you would,” Greg quickly interrupted, his tone sharp with anger. “I’ve been worrying about that boy almost constantly. Hoping he wasn’t laying in a drain somewhere, or that something just as bad had happened to him. That kind of worrying tends to happen when I haven’t seen him since that night I found you with him barely conscious in his flat. He hasn’t even been at crime scenes or at the Yard, where he used to be a constant shadow. As far as I could tell he just disappeared.”

Mycroft pulled a mobile from his pocket and quickly unlocked it. “I appreciate your concern for Sherlock, Detective Inspector. I’m grateful someone like you cares about him. And I apologize that I didn’t contact you earlier.”

After taking a moment for Mycroft to continue, Greg ventured, “And you also apologize for following me from my work in a mysterious black car without telling me who you were?”

Mycroft looked like he didn’t know what to say, so he settled for focusing on what he was doing with his phone. “Er, yes. I suppose that wasn’t my best idea for contacting you.”

Greg laughed sharply. “No, it really wasn’t. Luckily for you I’m off-duty and not currently carrying.”

Mycroft continued focusing only on his phone, so Greg looked closer at him. Was he embarrassed? It hadn’t been the best plan, especially for following a police officer. Greg’s days weren’t usually so exciting.

So Greg offered, “You can just call me Lestrade. I’m off duty; and the title is hard to use in everyday conversation.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft told him, sounding confused by the offer but chose to accept it graciously anyways. He cleared his throat. “Sherlock is doing well. He’ll be released any day now.”

Mycroft raised his phone to turn the screen towards Greg. “Several days ago he was given back his mobile, and since then he’s entertained himself by sending me… colorful texts.”

“‘Colorful texts’?” Greg repeated, glancing down at the phone. He’d heard some of Sherlock’s more colorful insults at crime scenes, so he couldn’t imagine what would be called colorful texts.

“Yes.” Mycroft confirmed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already ostracized the entire staff at the facility. He needs someone to rant to.”

“And he picked you?” Greg asked, eyebrows continuing to jump upward as he read over the texts from Sherlock on the screen. In reality they were amazingly colorful. He wasn’t sure someone from Sherlock’s background should even know some of those phrases.

“He does blame me for putting him in the facility, and rightly so.” Mycroft took the mobile back from Greg and locked it before returning it to his pocket again. “However, I would also like to think that Sherlock has come to understand that I did it for his own good. He was unable to complete withdrawal successfully on his own, so obviously the facility was the last option.”

Greg could easily remember the night he’d rushed into Sherlock’s flat to find Mycroft comforting a barely conscious Sherlock. And the many times Sherlock had appeared at crime scenes obviously high but demanding to help and for Greg to listen. If Mycroft had felt anywhere near or even more helpless as Greg then he’d been right to put Sherlock in a facility that could help him.

“You did what you thought was right,” Greg said kindly, meeting the man’s gaze firmly. “And it sounds like it was best after all. For Sherlock.”

The hand resting on his left leg slowly tightened into a fist. After a long pause Mycroft said quietly, “I only hope it finally takes this time; and Sherlock manages to permanently stay clean. He cannot continue down this path.”

“He won’t, he’ll stay clean.” Greg agreed. He took a chance and rested his hand on the seat between them. “After all, now he has both of us to watch his back and look after him. There’s no reason for him to fail again.”

Mycroft glanced down at Greg’s hand, his expression oddly unreadable. “To that end, Detective Inspector,” he said, dragging his eyes back up to Greg’s face. “There is something I would to ask of you. A favor of sorts, to help ensure Sherlock’s well being. Seeing as you seem very invested on his behalf.”

The man was treading awfully close to spiraling into political double-talk, which always gave Greg a headache. So he decided to cut Mycroft off first. “What do you think I can offer you?” Greg asked confused and maybe a little surprised. Compared to Mycroft’s high government position he was just a lowly Detective Inspector, a cog in the wheel. But since this was Sherlock they were discussing…

“You are in a very unique position, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft told him with a faint twitch of his mouth. “One that could be of potentially infinite use to Sherlock. If the two of you choose to work together.”

“‘Work. Together.’” Greg repeated, a little lost. “How exactly would we be working together?”

“You’ve already encountered Sherlock several times at your crime scenes,” Mycroft stated matter of factly, as they were both were well aware of Sherlock’s tendency to pop up unannounced at Yard crime scenes. “My hope is to make Sherlock’s presence more permanent. As well as to expand his role solving the cases with which he’s involved.”

Greg blinked slowly; absently behind Mycroft through the window he noticed they were close to his flat now. “So, what? You want Sherlock to be actually involved with our cases?”

It wasn’t actually the most ridiculous idea he’d ever heard. Despite his protests. “I can ask tomorrow about the possibility of having him brought in on cases, but don’t get too excited. There isn’t really a precedent for it. And of course he’d have to, improve his social skills,” Greg lay out, trying to balance sugarcoating with plain speaking.

Mycroft didn’t look discouraged at all. Instead he looked more thoughtful, in almost the same way Sherlock did when he was silently judging. “In fact I was picturing his role more as a consultant. Sherlock may not have any background as a detective; but he does enjoy solving mysteries and, under normal circumstances, has quite the mind for it.”

He leaned back in his seat while still remaining properly upright. “I am well aware you are an excellent detective, Lestrade. Your closing rate is much higher than other Detective Inspector’s, and you are well-respected.” Mycroft told him, as if Greg needed ego-stroking in order to accept the offer.

“Which is why I would like you to be the Detective Inspector Sherlock consults with at the Yard. He already respects you and you have already admitted you care about him.” Mycroft said calmly, laying out the offer like it wasn’t entirely unexpected. “Therefore I can already tell such an arrangement would be beneficial for both sides and widely successful.”

“Sherlock, consulting on cases with me, at the Yard,” Greg repeated slowly, as his mind fought to understand and absorb each part of that sentence. It wasn’t completely impossible, and it might actually end up being as positive an experience as Mycroft was suggesting. And Sherlock was brilliant; he’d helped successfully solve many cases already. It was just the idea of Sherlock at the Yard.

“You, do not seem as open to this idea as I expected,” Mycroft observed, watching his face carefully. He didn’t sound exactly disappointed, but Mycroft also didn’t look quite as hopeful as a few moments ago.

“It’s not that I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Greg quickly reassured, raising his hand. “I think Sherlock would be very helpful on cases, especially the strange ones we get that need that outside perspective. I already know none of my team thinks like he does. But I’m not sure exactly what the people actually in charge would think about my bringing in an outside consultant.”

Mycroft’s stiff, distant posture relaxed slightly, and he looked almost relieved. “If that is all you are worried about, Lestrade, then I can easily take care of that for you. All you need to concern yourself with is the idea of working with Sherlock on a regular basis.”

Greg laughed weakly, rubbing his hands together. “Right, well I’m sure I can learn to work with him. Granted he learns to behave himself, or at least tries to.”

Mycroft tilted his head a little to one side. “I promise he will.”

“Well,” Greg said and took a deep breath. “I’m willing to give it a try. I’d like to give Sherlock a chance, he’s obviously brilliant and has the mind for detective work.”

“Excellent,” Mycroft pronounced, just as the car came to a slow step on one side of the street. “I will be in touch with you then; I promise. Sherlock will be released soon and I’ll have him come visit you as soon as he is… presentable.”

Greg wondered at that specific word choice, but nodded in agreement. “I’ll wait for you to call. And I look forward to seeing Sherlock better.”

The driver's door opened and Greg turned his head to see Anthea climbing out. He shifted a little to look out the window next to him and saw his building just outside. “You really did drive me home,” Greg commented looking back to Mycroft.

“I said I would,” Mycroft reminded him with a faint smile. “I hope you are feeling better. You should take care of yourself; make sure there is no permanent damage. And,” he added, casting a glance over Greg’s wrinkled clothes, “Perhaps try and sleep. And eat something that doesn’t simply involve a microwave and hot water.”

The car door behind Greg opened and suddenly he could hear all the noise the car interior had muffled. “Like I said, I’ve had worse. You don’t have to worry about me, but I do appreciate it,”

“Detective Inspector,” the young woman’s voice said quietly from behind him.

Greg shifted on the car seat and regretfully climbed out of the backseat to step up onto the pavement, Anthea moving out of his way. Greg noticed she had her mobile in her hand again.

As Greg stood on the pavement, Mycroft spoke again from inside the car. “Lestrade, I just want to thank you again for choosing to give Sherlock a chance. I also want to thank you on his behalf, since I’m sure he will not. Especially given you know very well what he is like.”

Greg leaned down a little to look inside the car. “This might be speaking too soon, but you don’t have to thank me. It will be work.”

“I appreciate that, Lestrade, I hope Sherlock doesn’t end up changing your mind,” Mycroft said knowingly. Then, before Greg could respond, Anthea closed the car door.

Greg was left standing on the pavement waving at the back of the car as it drove off away from him.

__

Almost a month later Greg was sitting behind his desk attempting to work on writing up the report for his latest case when the pointedly closed door to his office suddenly flew open.

He jerked upright in his chair, the cup of coffee he had at hand almost tipping over to flood his keyboard. Greg cursed and quickly grabbed at the cup, moving it away from his computer.

When he finally looked up at his door to tell off whoever had decided to just barge in, the words died in his throat. There was a man standing there poised in the doorway, and it was almost recognizably Sherlock.

Except he looked so much better, healthier. His skin was a normal color with a healthy tinge to his cheeks, the strange blue-green eyes were pale and sharp in their focus on Greg, and his hair was styled to an inch of its life.

But he was also wearing a long, black wool coat that Greg couldn’t even pay for with an entire year's salary. And, Sherlock was grinning.

“Well, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock pronounced grandly, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. “Shall we get started?”

Greg barely resisted the urge to bang his head against his desk. He was doomed.