Interlude
Summary: Lestrade drops Mycroft off at home after the events of The Final Problem.
Notes: So this is the first fic I post on DW. Exciting! It's the second part of a series I just named Aftershock. The first part can be found here.
-x-
It was almost noon when DI Lestrade - “I’m telling you, call me Greg.” - pulled up in front of Mycroft’s home. Mycroft had been surprised, at first, when he’d realised where they were going and for a moment he had thought about protesting - he had asked to be dropped off at his office, after all - but somehow he knew the Detective Inspector was operating under Sherlock’s orders and that he was outranked by his brother in this instance.
“So,” said Lestrade, drumming with his fingers against the steering wheel, “will you be all right? Or is there someone I should call?”
Mycroft gave him a blank stare, too tired to put on anything else. “Thank you for the ride, Detective Inspector, and for your other services tonight.”
He opened the door, but Lestrade put his hand on his arm to stop him. “I know we don’t know each other that well, and I don’t know exactly what’s happened tonight, but are you sure you should be alone? If there’s no one to call, I can stay.”
Mycroft removed Lestrade’s hand with his own. “When you report back to my brother, tell him to call me first thing tomorrow.”
“Heh, sure.” Lestrade smiled a half smile.
“Again, thank you for your services,” said Mycroft, and got out of the car before Lestrade had the time to reply. He rolled his shoulder back and straightened up. Lestrade didn’t start the car until Mycroft had (rather demonstratively) opened the front door. Mycroft wondered what exactly Sherlock had told the Detective Inspector for him to be this attentive.
It took Mycroft two tries to turn off the alarm inside. The first time his finger slipped and he pressed a 2 instead of a 5. When the beeping stopped he sighed and stared at the screen of the alarm which said Welcome Home! for a good 20 seconds before it disappeared. He wondered if Sherlock, who had managed to surpass his surveillance system just days earlier, had realised yet that his alarm code was Eurus’ birthday.
Either way, he should probably change the code.
Not tonight, though. Or rather, not today. No, he should call his office and let them know what had happened. Probably put things in motion to contain yesterday’s events as well. It wouldn’t do if any of this came out to the public. Not that it would, but still. When it came to Sherrinford - when it came to Eurus - all precautions should be taken, always. Those things could not wait until tomorrow, even if he recognised that Sherlock had probably done the right thing to instruct Lestrade to drop him off here and not at the office, because he felt dreadfully tired.
He walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He tried to not pay attention to the pain in his right knee. Apparently he had fallen on it when Eurus had sedated them, or perhaps it was age. Maybe both.
Legwork… how he despised it.
When he reached the bedroom, the first thing he did was to turn on the music player on the nightstand. The room immediately filled with the sound of rain in a forest. He took a deep breath; after the silent and awkward ride back to London it was a blessing to have the sound of rain block out the ringing in his ears. The ringing had been there for years - souvenirs from other times he had been forced out in the field - but after the explosion at Baker Street some days prior it had become much worse and the governor’s suicide really hadn’t helped. Hopefully, part of it would quiet down.
Mycroft closed his eyes, and sighed in relief. This, the artificial rain, was soothing in so many ways.
After almost a minute, he opened his eyes again. From the drawer in the bedside table he took out a mobile charger and plugged in his phone. He waited for it to show that it was charging before trying to turn it on. He half-expected the phone not to work anymore, but it turned on just fine and the moment it connected the notifications started to come in.
Six missed calls from his assistant.
Two from Lady Smallwood.
One from the Prime Minister.
Four from Sir Edwin.
One from Mrs Hudson.
The list went on. Twenty-seven missed calls. Seventy-one emails.
Mycroft sank down on the bed, staring at the screen. There was a call from his father.
Mycroft put away the phone and walked into the ensuite. The light felt intrusive. Not to mention how terrible he himself looked in the bathroom mirror - no wonder the Detective Inspector had seemed so concerned. He turned on the tap, splashing his face with cold water. He leaned over the sink, letting the water drop from his face.
Since he had learned that Sherlock had found out about Eurus he had tried to make a decision about their parents. Convincing Sherlock to keep lying wouldn’t have been a problem. He hadn’t broached subject with his brother, but he was sure of it. Transparency had never been one of Sherlock’s stronger sides, and they already shared enough secrets they had vowed never to tell their parents. Now, however, after how it had all unfolded, he wasn’t sure keeping Eurus’ existence from them was the best anymore. Mycroft met his own eyes in the mirror. This wasn’t a decision to make now. Quite possibly, it wasn’t a decision to make without Sherlock.
He opened the bathroom cabinet and took out his Zimovane. It was years since he had managed to go to sleep without chemical aids. “Not for prolonged, everyday use”, it said, somewhere. Addiction - it ran in the family. Sometimes he wondered what Sherlock would say about the hypocrisy.
Tonight he just swallowed the pill down with a glass of water before going back to the bedroom. He undressed, not bothering to hang or fold his suit and just put it on a chair. It was probably ruined anyway, and if it wasn’t… well, he had a feeling he wouldn’t bear to wear it ever again. He had other suits. A thought about burning it popped into his head, it was a pleasant one. He wouldn’t, of course, but it was a nice thought.
He sat back down on the bed. He picked up his mobile again, because he really needed to contact his office, and sent a short text to his assistant. (Back in London. Will be in tomorrow. Contain anything about Sherrinford until then.) He also typed up a message to Sherlock (Back in London. Call me.) but realised that he had sent almost the same message with DI Lestrade, and deleted it.
Mycroft set the alarm to 05:00 tomorrow morning. He didn’t expect to sleep that long, but just to be on the safe side. He got down under the covers, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to focus on the sound of the rain, the tiredness in his body, the chemicals making the wheels in his head spin slower and slower, but Eurus came back to him over and over.
Eurus yesterday. Eurus when she had figured out Uncle Rudy had told their parents she was dead. Eurus after Jim Moriarty had left. Eurus the day she was taken away. Eurus the day she was born…
Soon, however, his mind lost and he was blissfully asleep.
Notes: So this is the first fic I post on DW. Exciting! It's the second part of a series I just named Aftershock. The first part can be found here.
-x-
It was almost noon when DI Lestrade - “I’m telling you, call me Greg.” - pulled up in front of Mycroft’s home. Mycroft had been surprised, at first, when he’d realised where they were going and for a moment he had thought about protesting - he had asked to be dropped off at his office, after all - but somehow he knew the Detective Inspector was operating under Sherlock’s orders and that he was outranked by his brother in this instance.
“So,” said Lestrade, drumming with his fingers against the steering wheel, “will you be all right? Or is there someone I should call?”
Mycroft gave him a blank stare, too tired to put on anything else. “Thank you for the ride, Detective Inspector, and for your other services tonight.”
He opened the door, but Lestrade put his hand on his arm to stop him. “I know we don’t know each other that well, and I don’t know exactly what’s happened tonight, but are you sure you should be alone? If there’s no one to call, I can stay.”
Mycroft removed Lestrade’s hand with his own. “When you report back to my brother, tell him to call me first thing tomorrow.”
“Heh, sure.” Lestrade smiled a half smile.
“Again, thank you for your services,” said Mycroft, and got out of the car before Lestrade had the time to reply. He rolled his shoulder back and straightened up. Lestrade didn’t start the car until Mycroft had (rather demonstratively) opened the front door. Mycroft wondered what exactly Sherlock had told the Detective Inspector for him to be this attentive.
It took Mycroft two tries to turn off the alarm inside. The first time his finger slipped and he pressed a 2 instead of a 5. When the beeping stopped he sighed and stared at the screen of the alarm which said Welcome Home! for a good 20 seconds before it disappeared. He wondered if Sherlock, who had managed to surpass his surveillance system just days earlier, had realised yet that his alarm code was Eurus’ birthday.
Either way, he should probably change the code.
Not tonight, though. Or rather, not today. No, he should call his office and let them know what had happened. Probably put things in motion to contain yesterday’s events as well. It wouldn’t do if any of this came out to the public. Not that it would, but still. When it came to Sherrinford - when it came to Eurus - all precautions should be taken, always. Those things could not wait until tomorrow, even if he recognised that Sherlock had probably done the right thing to instruct Lestrade to drop him off here and not at the office, because he felt dreadfully tired.
He walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He tried to not pay attention to the pain in his right knee. Apparently he had fallen on it when Eurus had sedated them, or perhaps it was age. Maybe both.
Legwork… how he despised it.
When he reached the bedroom, the first thing he did was to turn on the music player on the nightstand. The room immediately filled with the sound of rain in a forest. He took a deep breath; after the silent and awkward ride back to London it was a blessing to have the sound of rain block out the ringing in his ears. The ringing had been there for years - souvenirs from other times he had been forced out in the field - but after the explosion at Baker Street some days prior it had become much worse and the governor’s suicide really hadn’t helped. Hopefully, part of it would quiet down.
Mycroft closed his eyes, and sighed in relief. This, the artificial rain, was soothing in so many ways.
After almost a minute, he opened his eyes again. From the drawer in the bedside table he took out a mobile charger and plugged in his phone. He waited for it to show that it was charging before trying to turn it on. He half-expected the phone not to work anymore, but it turned on just fine and the moment it connected the notifications started to come in.
Six missed calls from his assistant.
Two from Lady Smallwood.
One from the Prime Minister.
Four from Sir Edwin.
One from Mrs Hudson.
The list went on. Twenty-seven missed calls. Seventy-one emails.
Mycroft sank down on the bed, staring at the screen. There was a call from his father.
Mycroft put away the phone and walked into the ensuite. The light felt intrusive. Not to mention how terrible he himself looked in the bathroom mirror - no wonder the Detective Inspector had seemed so concerned. He turned on the tap, splashing his face with cold water. He leaned over the sink, letting the water drop from his face.
Since he had learned that Sherlock had found out about Eurus he had tried to make a decision about their parents. Convincing Sherlock to keep lying wouldn’t have been a problem. He hadn’t broached subject with his brother, but he was sure of it. Transparency had never been one of Sherlock’s stronger sides, and they already shared enough secrets they had vowed never to tell their parents. Now, however, after how it had all unfolded, he wasn’t sure keeping Eurus’ existence from them was the best anymore. Mycroft met his own eyes in the mirror. This wasn’t a decision to make now. Quite possibly, it wasn’t a decision to make without Sherlock.
He opened the bathroom cabinet and took out his Zimovane. It was years since he had managed to go to sleep without chemical aids. “Not for prolonged, everyday use”, it said, somewhere. Addiction - it ran in the family. Sometimes he wondered what Sherlock would say about the hypocrisy.
Tonight he just swallowed the pill down with a glass of water before going back to the bedroom. He undressed, not bothering to hang or fold his suit and just put it on a chair. It was probably ruined anyway, and if it wasn’t… well, he had a feeling he wouldn’t bear to wear it ever again. He had other suits. A thought about burning it popped into his head, it was a pleasant one. He wouldn’t, of course, but it was a nice thought.
He sat back down on the bed. He picked up his mobile again, because he really needed to contact his office, and sent a short text to his assistant. (Back in London. Will be in tomorrow. Contain anything about Sherrinford until then.) He also typed up a message to Sherlock (Back in London. Call me.) but realised that he had sent almost the same message with DI Lestrade, and deleted it.
Mycroft set the alarm to 05:00 tomorrow morning. He didn’t expect to sleep that long, but just to be on the safe side. He got down under the covers, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to focus on the sound of the rain, the tiredness in his body, the chemicals making the wheels in his head spin slower and slower, but Eurus came back to him over and over.
Eurus yesterday. Eurus when she had figured out Uncle Rudy had told their parents she was dead. Eurus after Jim Moriarty had left. Eurus the day she was taken away. Eurus the day she was born…
Soon, however, his mind lost and he was blissfully asleep.