Chapter Text
Lestrade groaned as the file was tossed onto his desk with a thud. He looked up at his superior with a look of resignation. “Don’t tell me this is the case out of Midsomer?” he asked.
The man nodded, giving Lestrade a commiserating glance. “’Fraid so, Gregory. You got the short end of the stick.”
“Bugger,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. Well, there went his plans for the bank holiday. His wife was going to go off with...well, whoever her newest bloke was, and he’d had plans to enjoy the solitude of the house by himself. It was better than listening to her harp at him for the long hours he put in. He picked up the file and started flipping through it. “Donovan!” he called out
The fresh-faced Detective Sergeant popped her head into his office as his commanding officer slipped out around her. “Yes, Inspector Lestrade?”
He grimaced slightly at that. Both of them had gotten hit in the newest round of promotions and he was still a bit uncomfortable with the new title. He knew part of the reason he’d gotten it was the help from Sherlock Holmes. He was only doing it as a favour for his brother. Mycroft had asked, and as they shared a history, he was willing to take on the task of helping keep his fresh out of rehab brother to the task of staying sober. The younger Holmes was a right handful, though. He was brilliant but he was a prickly arse. Sometimes Lestrade wondered if he was worth it. “You can call me Greg,” he said.
“Sorry,” Donovan said sheepishly. She stepped into the office. “What do you need?”
“We have a case that calls for us to go to Midsomer County,” he said. He looked at the crestfallen look that crossed her face briefly. “Yeah, I know. We’re the newbies, we get the shite assignments. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s just...I had plans. Of a romantic nature,” she said with a sigh. “Romantic weekend away in Devon and all that.”
Lestrade picked up a pen and absently chewed the end of it. “The bloke work here at the Yard?”
She shook her head, scoffing. “It’s hard enough for me to be taken seriously without dipping my feet in the company pool, so to speak.”
“Touché,” he replied. “When were you going to go?”
“This afternoon to Sunday,” she replied.
“Could you meet me in Midsomer on Saturday evening?” he asked. “You can come late, I suppose. I’ll see if I can make use of...” He trailed off as he flipped through the file. “DCI Barnaby’s staff.”
Donovan gave him a grateful look. “See, what everyone said about you is true. You truly are more decent than most of the other DIs around here,” she said.
“Don’t spread it around too much,” Lestrade said with a grin. “I don’t want that type of reputation to spread. I may have too many people trying to fight you for your job. I want you to stick around for as long as you can.”
“You’ll have me until I become a DI in my own right, I wager,” she said with a nod. “Let me know where to meet you and I’ll try and be in whatever village you need me to be in by eight at the latest.” She paused. “Which village are we headed to, anyway?”
Lestrade looked through the file more. “Elverton-cum-Latterley,” he said.
“Never heard of it,” Donovan remarked.
“Neither have I,” he said, closing the file. “I suppose we’ll hear all about it this weekend, though.” He nodded towards the door. “Go off and spend some time with your sweetheart. I’ll see you Saturday.” Donovan gave him one last smile and headed out of his office, and Lestrade leaned back in his seat. He was vaguely familiar with the basics of the case: a well-respected London businessman had been discovered strangled in an inn in the village, and his family was insisting that New Scotland Yard be a part of the investigation because they didn’t trust the “local plods,” he seemed to recall DCI Barnaby and his ilk being called, to handle it well enough. And it appeared the case was being tossed down to him, spoiling his temporary respite.
Wonderful.
He gathered up his things and began to make his way to the car park to get to his car and drive home. He was rather surprised to find someone waiting by his car, leaning on the handle of an umbrella. He slowed as he approached Mycroft Holmes, shifting his hold on his briefcase. “Mycroft,” he said.
“Gregory,” Mycroft said with a nod. “Word has reached me that you were assigned to be the liaison on the Islington case.”
Lestrade’s eyes widened slightly. He’d just gotten word himself...what, a half hour ago? How in the bloody hell did Mycroft know? And then he shook his head slightly. Minor position in the government. Yeah, it was that position and the secrets and all of that that had...not important. Lestrade simply nodded after a moment. “Yeah,” he said.
“Well, it so happens that that I have lodgings that I use from time to time on the outskirts of Elverton-cum-Latterley that are an upgrade from the local inn there, which I believe part of which is being roped off as a crime scene,” Mycroft said.
“I was just planning on staying in Causton,” Lestrade said. “But...I suppose I could stay at your lodgings.”
“I do hope you don’t mind company, though. I’ve managed to clear my schedule so I had thought of taking advantage of the time to spend there. That won’t be a problem, will it?” he asked, a small amount of hesitancy in his voice.
Lestrade shook his head. “I’ll probably be too busy working,” Lestrade said.
Mycroft nodded. “Very well. “I’ll make sure you have adequate directions on how to get there, and it will be ready for your arrival.” He tilted his head towards him. “Good evening, Gregory.”
“Good evening, Mycroft,” Lestrade said as Mycroft moved away from his car. Lestrade watched him walk away, then got in and sat behind the wheel, not starting the car. His relationship with Mycroft Holmes was interesting. They were a...something, he supposed. It was more than a dalliance but less than an actual relationship, something that had happened in their pre-university days, the last year they’d been roommates at a boarding school in Kent. It had gone on a bit after as they attended different universities, and while it had been a good thing it had been hard, and it had ended before he’d gone into the police force and met his wife. But it hadn’t had a bitter ending, more like...bittersweet. He’d always wondered what could have happened, though, if laws were different, if the world was more welcoming. Because to be honest a part of him had loved Mycroft. A part of him still did, if he wanted to be brutally honest.
And he wondered if Mycroft felt the same.
He doubted he would ever ask, though. There were just some questions he was better off not knowing the answer to. With that melancholy thought in his head, he put the car into drive and then backed out of his spot and began the drive home. He had to pack and get ready for a drive to Midsomer County in the morning.