AN: This idea just wouldn't leave me alone, so I figured I would try and fill. :/ Hopefully it's alright.
Gregory Lestrade was used to death threats, the begging of grieving families, and the general political bollocks one cannot escape when having a job in the public service. However, he was not used to a simple black car pulling up beside him with a pretty young woman in the back telling him to get in.
“What?” He questioned.
“I’ve been asked to collect you, Detective Inspector. Official business,” the woman said looking at him carefully.
“What official business?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir,” she said quietly. “Please, sir.” She gestured with a hand.
Greg rolled his eyes and huffed but slid into the car. Fucking politics. Can’t just tell me what it’s about. Have to be all mysterious about it.
Greg watched the streets of London pass by his window and didn’t try to engage the woman in conversation. It was clear that she was preoccupied with something and he didn’t want to interrupt her.
After ten minutes, but what felt like an hour in the awkward silence, they arrived outside the Diogenes Club. It was a very posh looking building filled with very posh people. Many people working with or in the government knew about it, as well as a few of the famous and wealthy. It was an extremely private club that was almost taboo—it was never talked about in the open.
All Greg knew about it was that it was private and quiet—he never really understood the reason for the club. It was just a place where men could congregate together. Why didn’t they just use a regular club? He stood outside the door, awkwardly looking around trying to keep his eyes from remaining on the door or the sign for too long. He didn’t want to look like a hopeful entrant. Although, he doubted anyone would mistake him for a member in his worn trousers and shabby overcoat.
“Am I supposed to go in?” He asked the woman who was leaning against the black car.
“No. He’ll be out in a moment,” she responded as she composed a message on her phone.
“Right,” he said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He rocked onto his heels as he waited for the man he was apparently supposed to meet. He knew, as an officer of the law, he should have taken more precautions about meeting some unknown person, but he hadn’t thought of it as a threat. He honestly hadn’t felt anything remotely similar to animosity or vengeful from the woman.
He was, however, starting to get annoyed. Did they really expect him to wait? He knew Catherine was expecting him home soon and he had no idea how long this would take. He checked his watch, noting that he had been waiting almost fifteen minutes.
Finally a man exited the club with an air of superiority. He used his plain, black umbrella as a cane, but he didn’t limp. He was wearing a black, pin-striped suit, complete with a waistcoat, gold pocket-watch chain, and burgundy coloured tie. He smiled at the woman and nodded to her as she went back into the waiting car before driving off.
The man turned to Greg and smiled again. “Ah, Detective Inspector. Thank you for waiting.” He gestured toward to the right. “Shall we?”
“What do you want?” Greg asked, bracing his feet and looking the man dead on.
The man smiled pleasantly. “I assumed we would go for a walk during out chat,” he said in his soft voice. “If that’s not agreeable, I can call and have us taken to any place you desire.”
Greg cocked his head but didn’t say anything. He was going to make this man explain himself before he went anywhere with him. He wasn’t going to ask for his name because he shouldn’t have to. This man practically kidnapped him.
The man sighed and shifted his umbrella to his left hand. “My name is Mycroft Holmes. I believe you are acquainted with my brother. Now, would you care to walk?”
Greg nodded and fell into step with Mycroft Holmes. “So this is about Sherlock?”
“In a way.”
“Jesus. You Holmes boys love your theatrics,” Greg said with a chuckle.
“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft asked. His mouth twitched.
Criminal Conversation 1a/?
Gregory Lestrade was used to death threats, the begging of grieving families, and the general political bollocks one cannot escape when having a job in the public service. However, he was not used to a simple black car pulling up beside him with a pretty young woman in the back telling him to get in.
“What?” He questioned.
“I’ve been asked to collect you, Detective Inspector. Official business,” the woman said looking at him carefully.
“What official business?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir,” she said quietly. “Please, sir.” She gestured with a hand.
Greg rolled his eyes and huffed but slid into the car. Fucking politics. Can’t just tell me what it’s about. Have to be all mysterious about it.
Greg watched the streets of London pass by his window and didn’t try to engage the woman in conversation. It was clear that she was preoccupied with something and he didn’t want to interrupt her.
After ten minutes, but what felt like an hour in the awkward silence, they arrived outside the Diogenes Club. It was a very posh looking building filled with very posh people. Many people working with or in the government knew about it, as well as a few of the famous and wealthy. It was an extremely private club that was almost taboo—it was never talked about in the open.
All Greg knew about it was that it was private and quiet—he never really understood the reason for the club. It was just a place where men could congregate together. Why didn’t they just use a regular club? He stood outside the door, awkwardly looking around trying to keep his eyes from remaining on the door or the sign for too long. He didn’t want to look like a hopeful entrant.
Although, he doubted anyone would mistake him for a member in his worn trousers and shabby overcoat.
“Am I supposed to go in?” He asked the woman who was leaning against the black car.
“No. He’ll be out in a moment,” she responded as she composed a message on her phone.
“Right,” he said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He rocked onto his heels as he waited for the man he was apparently supposed to meet. He knew, as an officer of the law, he should have taken more precautions about meeting some unknown person, but he hadn’t thought of it as a threat. He honestly hadn’t felt anything remotely similar to animosity or vengeful from the woman.
He was, however, starting to get annoyed. Did they really expect him to wait? He knew Catherine was expecting him home soon and he had no idea how long this would take. He checked his watch, noting that he had been waiting almost fifteen minutes.
Finally a man exited the club with an air of superiority. He used his plain, black umbrella as a cane, but he didn’t limp. He was wearing a black, pin-striped suit, complete with a waistcoat, gold pocket-watch chain, and burgundy coloured tie. He smiled at the woman and nodded to her as she went back into the waiting car before driving off.
The man turned to Greg and smiled again. “Ah, Detective Inspector. Thank you for waiting.” He gestured toward to the right. “Shall we?”
“What do you want?” Greg asked, bracing his feet and looking the man dead on.
The man smiled pleasantly. “I assumed we would go for a walk during out chat,” he said in his soft voice. “If that’s not agreeable, I can call and have us taken to any place you desire.”
Greg cocked his head but didn’t say anything. He was going to make this man explain himself before he went anywhere with him. He wasn’t going to ask for his name because he shouldn’t have to. This man practically kidnapped him.
The man sighed and shifted his umbrella to his left hand. “My name is Mycroft Holmes. I believe you are acquainted with my brother. Now, would you care to walk?”
Greg nodded and fell into step with Mycroft Holmes. “So this is about Sherlock?”
“In a way.”
“Jesus. You Holmes boys love your theatrics,” Greg said with a chuckle.
“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft asked. His mouth twitched.