Chapter Text
"Good evening, Detective. It appears that you have a Sherlock Holmes in your custody," Mycroft said, carefully keeping his tone flat and uninterested.
"Who is this?" Lestrade countered, stepping out of his office and into the dim hallway to answer his mobile.
"Someone concerned for Mr. Holmes' welfare."
"I don't have time for this. Are you his brother? He said you'd 'be in touch,' and wouldn't give me your bloody number," Lestrade answered, quickly approaching the end of his rope. He'd been awake for 23 hours, 22 of them spent working, only to have a strung-out junkie apprehend a killer and perform a citizen's arrest. He still wasn't sure if the kid had been correct with his slurred "deductions," or if he'd just been as lucky as he was high. He was trying to look through the file and evidence to check, but it was a little difficult to work with an addict vomiting into a bin in your office.
"Ah, yes. I'll be arriving to collect him momentarily."
"You can clean out the back of my car while you're at it."
"Leave it at the Yard tonight. I'll have it detailed and send a car for you. To express my gratitude for not arresting him. The paperwork is so tedious."
"You'll... you'll what? Who are you?"
"I'm Mycroft Holmes, Detective Inspector. I have resources. It's best you keep that in mind."
"You're not intimidating, you know."
"Good. Easily intimidated people never fare well with Sherlock," Mycroft said, before letting the line go dead.
Lestrade braved a glance through the window to his office, where Sherlock was curled up on the couch, pale and shivering, mumbling to himself. What in the world have I gotten myself into?