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Greg just stared for a moment. “So you’re telling me that your brother, who is some kind of government secret agent, is going to kidnap me to protect and take care of you?”
Sherlock nodded and grinned, a chuckle escaping his lips. “As I said, he’s much worse than I.”
No one, ever, was allowed to kidnap Greg. He was a Detective Inspector and he controlled his own life. Greg had texted Sherlock for information until the young genius had stopped responding in annoyance. All Greg knew was that Sherlock’s older brother, Mycroft, would kidnap him within the next few weeks to a month and that he favored abandoned buildings. Greg sat down with a city map and circled the Diogenes Club, where Sherlock said Mycroft worked. He was trying to think about this like it was a crime, trying to narrow down the possible locations to which he might be taken. He knew from Sherlock that Mycroft despised legwork, so he wouldn’t be in the car that picked up Greg, and people always tended to choose convenient locations. So the location would then be convenient from where Mycroft would be, which would be his work. Greg mapped out a ten mile radius from around the Diogenes Club and drew another circle.
Greg sighed and examined the map. He had already marked any and all abandoned or under construction buildings and the small purple tacks within the circle were too many. He thought about the texts with Sherlock. “Prissy” had been the word Sherlock had used to describe Mycroft. No man who could be called prissy would willingly go into a filthy building. Greg started to remove the tacks from any buildings that were long abandoned or were poorly funded construction operations. After he finished that, a wide smile spread across his face. Just five tacks remained. Five possible locations. He could work with that.
The next morning he called his team in for a meeting. His head of forensics, Anderson, and his Sergeant, Sally, were going to be in charge of the most likely locations by Greg’s estimation. Everyone else had a random location they were assigned to. When he got picked up he had a text saved in his phone that, when sent, alerted them all to his being kidnapped. Then they were to each go to their assigned location. Whoever arrived and found Mycroft’s men was to alert the others so they could converge. They would calmly and casually retake control of the outside and as much of the inside of the building as possible. No shots were to be fired. It was just for show, really. Greg hated loosing control and he hated it more when it was taken from him by a person. If Mycroft Holmes was going to kidnap him, then he was going to hijack the kidnapping. At the end of the meeting he was left sitting in his office, grinning and actually looking forward to the day a government issued black car pulled up next to him and he was coerced into it.
Greg ended up waiting longer that he’d wanted to. A full two weeks later, as he left the Yard to pick up lunch, a black car pulled up next to him and slowed down. He pulled out his phone and calmly sent off the text before acting as though he noticed the car for the first time. The window rolled down as it drove next to him and the face of a dark eyed and strangely exotic looking young woman filled the opening.
“Detective Inspector Lestrade?” Her tone was kind, but such that it was obvious she wasn’t actually asking a question. Greg attempted to look surprised but feared his amusement was evident as he bent over to look fully into the window of the car.
“Yeah. DI Greg Lestrade. Who’s asking?”
She grinned at him. “That, I cannot say. But I can suggest you get in the car so you may ask any questions you have directly.”
“And what if I refuse?” Greg couldn’t help but wonder how Mycroft allegedly coerced people into cars. He noticed the woman was looking past him and he turned to look as well. Five tall and hulking men in suits who seemingly appeared from the surrounding crowds were casually walking closer. He nodded slowly. “Ah. I see. Then I suppose I’ll not refuse.”
She scooted to the other side of the car as Greg opened the door and got in. It was a very nice car, spacious, clean, the pinnacle of expensive taste and luxury. She was quite the attractive woman and Greg couldn’t help but notice. Then again, he’d been noticing any and every attractive person of any gender or walk of life that had passed him by since he was a teenager. If he was ten years younger or she was ten years older he’d have chatted her up. As it was, he looked away politely and asked, “So you know my name, may I ask yours?”
She glanced up from the Blackberry she’d been glued to and seemed a little shocked at his question. With only a slight pause she smiled and replied. “Anthea. My name’s Anthea.”
Greg heard the pause and chuckled, turning to look out the window. “That’s not actually your name. But it’s a pretty one. You chose well.”
The rest of the drive went in silence. The windows weren’t just tinted, they were darkened so Greg could only barely make out the city landscape on the other side. Nothing had changed, though. His phone had vibrated a few minutes ago. Wherever they were heading, one of his team was already there. It wasn’t until they arrived and the driver hustled to open the door for Greg that he suddenly had to fight down a smile. It was Sally’s location. Anyone else on his team would have stuck strictly to the plan. However, after knowing Sally from around the Yard for almost five years, Greg knew she’d have fun with it. Also, using what seemed to be the most likely building choice meant that this Mycroft man was clever but arrogant. He didn’t think anyone else would be clever enough that he’d need to be wily with his location choices. Digging a fingernail into his hand to keep his face passive, Greg followed Anthea into the abandoned power plant.
As he walked into the main room filled with tall men in black suits Greg had to smile; his plan had worked perfectly. Mycroft’s men were currently unaware of Sally’s presence. She’d successfully arrived before them and, judging by the timing of her text which he received on the ride over, the rest of his team would be arriving shortly. He was grinning like an idiot when a tall, dark-haired man in a charcoal grey suit casually strolled into the room, swinging a black umbrella. As he drew closer, Greg saw he had the same eyes as Sherlock. Probably the same hair too, but his was short and controlled with product instead of allowed to curl freely like Sherlock’s. He had the same body type as Sherlock as well. The broad shoulders and narrow waist were accented by the fitted suit and waistcoat he wore, the light blue tie that accompanied it seemed to make his eyes shine. One again Greg couldn’t help but notice that, like Sherlock, he was rather attractive. Not conventionally, but something about him was alluring.
As he walked up to Greg, he adopted a controlled frown. “Hello, Detective Inspector, I’m Mycroft Holmes.” He held out a thin hand.
Greg Shook it and noted the only callous he had was from holding a pen. “I know who you are.”
“I surmised as much from your grin. I assume my brother warned you?”
“He did. But that’s not why I’m smiling, Mr. Holmes.”
An expression of affected surprise slid into his face. “Oh? Then what, might I ask, had you grinning with such cheek as I entered?”
Greg laughed and crossed his arms, one hand rubbing across his mouth as he grinned bigger. “That is, as they say, for me to know and you to find out.”
A look of genuine annoyance flashed across Mycroft’s face before he schooled it back to its usual passive state. “Very well. If you’ll join me, I’ve laid the table for tea.”
Greg followed him out of the room and down a narrow hall. “And by ‘I’ you of course mean ‘my staff,’ right?”
A smile tugged the corner of his mouth up a hair’s breadth, “That is an accurate deduction.”
As they stepped into a smaller office that had been filled with chairs and a small tea table, Mycroft stopped abruptly and looked properly shocked for a good thirty seconds before calming his expression once more. Sally was sitting at the table holding a cup of tea and sipping it daintily. She had obviously found the third chair elsewhere as it didn’t match the antique table and chairs arranged with a small tea service. When Mycroft spoke he stammered and sputtered a little.
“W-what… what is the meaning of this?!” he demanded fiercely.
Greg laughed and nodded to Sally, “Sergeant Donovan. Tea any good?”
She raised her cup and nodded, “Quite good, sir.”
Greg decided to have mercy on Mycroft who was struggling to retain some air of his seemingly normal icy coolness. The poor man was red-faced and opened his mouth once before clamping it shut and composing himself, his anger slight but evident. Greg let out another low chuckle before taking a seat at the table and motioning for Mycroft to do the same. “Forgive me, Mr. Holmes. I don’t take kindly to being kidnapped, so when your brother warned me of your habits when making new acquaintances, I planned ahead.”
Mycroft coolly took his seat and folded his ands neatly in his lap before looking down his gently hooked nose at Greg archly. “I do not…kidnap.”
“Yes, you do. What else do you call threatening someone into an unmarked car and taking them to a remote location?” He poured a cup of tea for Mycroft, taking over the hosting duties along with the power of the situation.
“I call it a necessity of my position.” Mycroft added milk and sugar to his tea without ever breaking steady eye-contact. It wasn’t a threatening stare, but a steadfast one. Greg may have hijacked the situation, but he still stood his ground.
“Yes, well, necessity or not, it was all worth it to see a man unused to surprises genuinely surprised.” Greg smiled and took Sally’s teacup, waving her out of the room.
Mycroft glanced down and smiled a little into his tea as he sipped it. “Yes. Well, if you are quite done with your games, might we attend to business?” the stare and passive mask had returned.
“Shoot.”
“I have recently become aware of your continuing presence in my brother’s life.”
“Recently? I mean it’s not been long, but after having him in my home for over two weeks it hardly feels recent.”
“An apropos statement; I must thank you for that. You succeeded where I and countless others have failed where my brother’s substance abuse is concerned.”
It was Greg’s turn to look down. He blushed a little under the praise of the stoic man who so obviously rarely gave any. “I just gave him a constant supply of puzzles. One addiction for another.”
“Yes, but this one won’t kill him.”
When Greg looked up again he saw the genuine concern of an older brother in Mycroft’s eyes. Greg nodded, sipping Sally’s tea. “Fair point.”
“So now, as his older brother, I desire to make your acquaintance.”
Greg raised his eyebrows. “And…”
Mycroft huffed a little. “And ask you two things. First I must ask you to tell me how he is doing. Sherlock refuses to speak to me cordially due to a past event in our lives, so I must turn to others in his life to assuage my concern. Of course, if you would like, I can provide monetary compensation for your time and information—”
Greg cut him off by raising his hand. “I’ll not be a paid spy.” He noted the genuine concern in Mycroft’s eyes and sighed, scrubbing his own hand across his eyes and trying to will himself out of the moral grey zone in which he suddenly found himself. “But…I’ll tell an older brother about his younger brother. As a friend. Not an informant.”
Mycroft seemed to consider Greg’s words for a moment before nodding. “I consider those to be acceptable terms.”
“And the second thing?”
Mycroft looked to his hands that were suddenly nervous and fidgeted with his cufflinks. “Take care of him.”
Greg didn’t even pause before he responded, “Always.”
Mycroft looked up and a genuine smile tugged just slightly at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you. For most of our lives I’ve cared for him and kept him safe; however, he won’t allow me to do so now and it leaves me feeling entirely helpless.”
“Mr. Holmes, I promise you I will take care of Sherlock as though he were my own family.”
Mycroft gave a curt nod and stood. “Then that concludes our business, I believe.”
Greg stood as well and started following him back to the main room. “So anytime you want to talk about Sherlock are you just gonna pick me up off the street in a creepy black car?”
Mycroft frowned a little. “Hmm…I suppose wouldn’t be efficient. How about a regular monthly meeting? And the cars are not creepy, they are tastefully intimidating.”
“Yes they are creepy, but a monthly meeting sounds swell. How about after work on the first Monday of each month at the coffee shop just across from the Yard?”
Mycroft’s mouth thinned. He was obviously used to being the one who called the shots. Still, he accepted. “Very well. Until then, Detective Inspector Lestrade.”
“Until then Mr. Holmes.” Greg started to walk off and the members of his team who were in the main room followed him.
“Oh, and Detective Inspector?”
Greg turned back, “Yeah?”
Mycroft smiled fully, but not entirely genuinely, “The next time we meet I think the show of an armed guard will be unnecessary. On both our parts.”
Greg grinned wryly and nodded, “Couldn’t agree more.”
Greg and his team retreated back to the Yard and at the end of day all went out for a round of drinks. He bought. It was a job well done and, moreover, a personal favor they’d all done for him.
When the first Monday of the following month rolled around, Greg made his way to the coffee shop after he finished work. There, at a table outside, looking entirely out of place, was Mycroft Holmes. They had a short and cordial meeting where they discussed the cases Sherlock had been helping on and his general well being. There was nothing special or noteworthy about the first seventeen meetings they had. However, at the 18th meeting, something went wrong.