At the Beginning With You (1/3?)
At the Beginning with You
By alistair_wolfe
Rating : R for references
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.
Warning: Brief mention of suicidal thoughts, dub-con
Summary: Their meetings, the progress in their so called arrangement and the beginning after the end.
Lestrade's Story
The first time Lestrade met Mycroft Holmes, it was raining. He just had one of the worst days in his life and, now, drenched with his bag in his hand, he was standing near the Thames, briefly thinking of what his life had become. He was not even 20 and he was already getting tired of everything.
"You are not thinking to jump."
It was a statement, not a question, and delivered in a drawl. Lestrade was surprised to see a redheaded teen, close to his age, holding an umbrella at him. "You look like a drenched rat."
Lestrade felt anger rising, but before he could tell the boy to mind his own business, the umbrella was thrusted into his hand and the boy ran to the waiting black car. Lestrade stared at the umbrella. His day only got better from there.
LLLLL
The first time Lestrade met Sherlock Holmes, it was raining. He sat in the hospital waiting room for the doctor to tell him the condition of the young man he found, high on cocaine, collapsed from hunger (later he found, not entirely true when it came to Sherlock) and cold, near his crime scene. He should not even be there, he had a murderer to catch, but his DI had ordered him to take the man to the hospital and Lestrade did not have the heart to leave him. Not to mention, his DI seemed to think that he was a suspect. Lestrade had to admit, he was very suspicious.
When the doctor had told him that the man (Sherlock, his name was Sherlock) was fine, he spared several minutes to warn him not to take cocaine again. However, before he had the chance to open his mouth, Sherlock said, "It's the butler."
"Pardon?"
"The murderer is the butler."
Of all the clichéd things ... "It's the butler in the dining room with a pipe." he muttered under his breath. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything.
And that was that. Or so he thought.
LLLLL
The second time Lestrade met Mycroft Holmes, it was the day after he made the agreement with Sherlock to stay clean. Sherlock had fought tooth and nail, sneered at him, and insulted him, but Lestrade had put his foot down and would not let Sherlock anywhere near his crime scene if he could not prove to him that he had got clean. Sherlock checked into rehab that day. Lestrade developed an apprehension over shady black car on the same day.
The light in the warehouse was dim. He could not stop thinking how it was a situation he never imagined he would be in. Especially when he took in the man in front of him, immaculately dressed, tone condescending, hand holding an umbrella, and handed him backhanded compliments and, on top of everything, a bribe. If he had not been so angry, he would have laughed at the man's face. That was the day he knew Mycroft's name; that was also the day he found out how powerful Mycroft Holmes could be.
LLLLL
Lestrade looked up from his position on the floor. Mycroft had got dressed and walked out of the door without looking back, without acknowledging him. Lestrade could not remember how he got into there. He remembered fear, fear that he still felt when he walked home at night, not knowing who was lurking in the shadows. No, he knew perfectly well who and that was what he feared more than the unknown. Fear for his team, his career, his friends ... not that he had many of them, and fear for the loss of tentative trust that he knew Sherlock placed on him. And in order to keep everything, he had served himself on a silver platter to Mycroft Holmes.
He wondered if biting his tongue would actually kill him. With his luck, it probably wouldn't.
LLLLL
Diogenes was Mycroft's club. Sherlock had said that. A place where people can do whatever they pleased and as long as they kept quiet, no one would bat an eye. Lestrade felt cold, nails digging into Mycroft's back as he slid further across the desk. Mycroft's hold on his hips was close to bruising. He knew it was not going to be long now and he was right as he felt Mycroft sank his teeth into Lestrade's shoulder. He also knew that it was only a matter of time before the older Holmes would dress himself up and walk out, leaving Lestrade alone in his private room. It was a familiar dance. He let out a bitter laugh. He should stop fooling himself that things would change. Though he would appreciate it if he could be left on a bed for once. Not even that comfort was provided for him.
LLLLL
Lestrade never knew who gave him that umbrella. He still kept that in his closet, never used it. He had other umbrellas. That one was more of a ... comfort for him. That there was someone who had shown him kindness, however cold it might have bee. He remembered coming back over and over to stand on that spot, holding an umbrella in the hope that he would meet that boy again. He never did. Eventually, he gave up. He moved on with his life. But sometimes, when the cases were hard, difficult to comprehend the degree of violence someone could do to someone else, he would open his closet and stared at the umbrella, remembering one point in his life where he knew that an act of kindness still existed in the world, and felt a bit better. How ironic it was that the one thing that gave him comfort was the memory of the man who in the past years seemed to be the cause of his hurt. But then, at the time, he did not know.
LLLLL
Lestrade never questioned how Mycroft and Sherlock's relationship work. More than once he walked into the cold war of the Holmes brother, and in more than one occasion had to act as their messenger. Everything was as later Mycroft would say to John, a childish feud. It would have been amusing to Lestrade had Mycroft not decided to pay a visit to Sherlock when he was in a case with Lestrade or in the process of getting into one. Nevertheless, here he was, with a sulking detective in his office who managed to piss just about everyone in his team. He was tired of playing mediator to the Holmes brothers. Sherlock just eyed him, chin raised high as if to dare him to say anything. Lestrade ran a hand down his face. Mycroft always told Sherlock that he was annoyed having to get his brother out of the mess of his own making. Lestrade could have said the same to the older Holmes brother with the same amount of exasperation. He was the one who had to deal with the aftermath, and somewhere there was a murderer who was still on the loose because of the so called childish feud. So Lestrade told Sherlock in the most authoritative voice he could manage to get a hold of himself and to finish the case.
Sherlock did not talk to him out of spite for days after that, though he still texted him his solution to the case. Mycroft made sure to come and gloat at Sherlock.
If Mycroft could ever have it in his mind to respect Lestrade, this would be one of the reasons.
LLLLL
He had thought when he first entered the arrangement with Mycroft, he could match him with his own emotional detachment. He had learned not to get emotionally involved with people he met, or the cases he was assigned to. Nonetheless, he found himself so touch-starved and lonely, he would take almost anything Mycroft threw at him. Almost. If he had found money on the dresser or nightstand after Mycroft left, he would have thrown them at his face. Sometimes, he thought that was the only reason Mycroft did not do that.
They rarely talk about themselves. Mycroft never did and Lestrade knew Mycroft had all his files by the time of their first (second, really) meeting. Their talk, if they ever, was always about Sherlock and the cases he was involved in. It was sad in Lestrade's opinion that Sherlock seemed to be the only one that could make him believe that Mycroft had a heart. Occasionally, with no warning whatsoever, Mycroft would give him things. Ties, shirts, suits, watches. Lestrade never wore them, except for the watch. And the only reason for that was because he ruined his watch jumping after Sherlock into a river. He felt he could accept that as compensation. He wore them when he came to Mycroft's office that night. He remembered the glint in Mycroft's eyes that he could not recognise, the vigorous pounding that left him squirming in his seat at the meeting the next day, and the feeling of lips pressed against his wrist, just below the band of his watch.
LLLLL
The moment Lestrade realised he was falling for Mycroft was the moment he decided it had to end. Sleeping with him (no, they had never slept together, Mycroft would never allowed that) after that realisation pained him more than he thought it would. So one day, four years after it started, he told Mycroft he was ending it. Mycroft looked at him as if he was throwing a tantrum in the middle of the street. He asked him slowly what he wanted. Lestrade could answer it in one word, everything, but he knew it was not true. He took pride in his honesty and Mycroft would get that from him, even if he didn't deserve it.
"Everything you will never give."
LLLLL
His life went on without a sign or a glimpse of Mycroft. If Sherlock knew, for once he didn't say anything. And if he felt like he was being watched constantly, more than before, then it was only him being paranoid.
LLLLL
The first time Lestrade met John Watson, it was five years after he met Sherlock. It was also six months since he last saw Mycroft. He was surprised to see the doctor at the crime scene, even more surprised when he found out that not only Sherlock brought him there, he was also his flatmate, or going to be. And when that night he found Sherlock and a dead serial killing cabbie, he had a suspicion on whom the shooter was. Add Sherlock's sudden stop in his deduction and the doctor's obvious way in avoiding his eyes to the whole situation, and he came up with an answer that he knew would not take a genius to figure out. Frankly, he was glad that someone (other than him and Mycroft) had enough ... loyalty(?) ... to Sherlock to kill for him.
And when his heart skipped a beat as he saw Mycroft talking with Sherlock and Dr Watson, he forced himself to calm down. He gave orders to his team to wrap everything up and walked tiredly to his car.
"You look awful."
Lestrade was startled at the voice, another place another time, different context yet something rang familiar to him. The umbrella in his hand ... He looked up at Mycroft who he realised was gripping the handle of his umbrella tightly.
"It seems that we never had a proper introduction, Detective Inspector."
It seemed strange that after everything between them, this small interaction would be the one time he saw Mycroft uncomfortable, judging by the tightening of his hold on his umbrella.
"I intend to rectify that."
He held his hand out. Lestrade looked at the offered hand. What would it mean if he took it? Was it going to be the same? Then slowly, he took the hand in a handshake. Mycroft's eyes widened. Lestrade gave him a smile, a tired but for once a genuine smile. Maybe it was not ideal. Maybe he was a fool to start this all over again. But the initial value had changed, and for that, even Sherlock could not say that he was an idiot for expecting a different result.
Continued to Mycroft's Story