Nothing Breaks Even
Show: Sherlock (BBC)Pairing: Mystrade (Mycroft/Lestrade)
Rating: T
Summary: For the sherlockbbc_fic kink meme. Prompt was: "I told him I loved him, and he said, Some things are more important." Mycroft/Lestrade.
Their courtship had been odd, their first meeting even weirder.
It had taken months before Lestrade even realized they were dating. Almost a year before he realized he might actually like Mycroft, and it wasn't just a thing of convenience anymore. Somehow he had grown to look forward to the days where a black car would pull up next to him on the street, he became addicted to Mycroft.
The coy smiles.
They had both been there during Sherlock's detoxing, had both dropped everything and ran to the hospital at the new of Sherlock's accident, had both investigated this John fellow, they had done so much together.
"Are you okay?" John's voice was soft and careful, and was so grounding that Lestrade was forced to realize where he was.
Sitting in an alley, near baker street if John was able to find him. He here was sitting in the rain, in someone's trash and all he could think of what he must look like. His hands in his hair.
"Lestrade, need me to call someone?" John was kneeling next to the DI now and Lestrade took a deep breath. He let his head fall back so that he could look at the doctor. "You look like shit, mate."
"I-" Lestrade blinked away the five years of his life he had been reviewing, wondering where he had gotten it so wrong. "I-I told him."
John paused before he continued pulling Lestrade off the ground. The DI leaning on the doctor as he was finally standing, realizing how long he had been out there but how soaked his clothes were. John didn't say anything, John the fucking tiny saint, was waiting for Lestrade to continue.
Lestrade took another breath. "I told him I loved him, and he said," Lestrade couldn't stop the hysterical sound his voice was making. "Some things are more important."
They both stood in the alley, John's brow scrunching as he tried to figure out what Lestrade was talking about and the DI wondered if this is what it was like for Sherlock. To have all the information but not wanting to give the details, he would rather wait for John to catch up on his own.
Damn Sherlock.
"I have some curry, and a good cup of tea waiting for you at the flat if you want to get out of the rain." John lifted his plastic bag that he was holding, Lestrade realized John must have gone to the indian food place a block over, explains the short cut in the alley.
"I'd much rather have a proper drink." Lestrade wiped his face before he let John push him out of the alley and towards 221B.
"I'll see what I can do." Was all John said as they made their way to John's flat.
It was still pouring when they made it inside, and if possible was raining even louder by the time Lestrade managed a shower and changed into John's cloths, choosing not to comment on the length of the pant legs. Bruce Willis as John McClane was on the tv by the time Lestrade made it to the living room.
Sherlock no where to be seen.
The consulting detective probably off trying to solve some murder Lestrade wouldn't even know about until tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
It was funny to think that the earth still moved, days still changed, and his life would go on without Mycroft.
Without Mycroft.
"It'll be okay." John said with a sad smile as he handed Lestrade a plate. The DI took it without argument even though he highly doubted it would be okay.
How could it be?
But the earth would still move, the days would still change and while Lestrade knew it was going to hurt, he would keep working. He would find a new flat tomorrow, learn a different way to work, ignore the CCTV cameras unless he needed them for a case, and he would try his best not to notice every black goverment plated car that passed him on the streets.
He wondered how long it would be before he could look at Sherlock without thinking of his brother.
But he would have to.
And eventually, he would get there.
Where ever there was.
XXX
Mycroft remembered the first time he met DI Lestrade, though at that time he had just been a Sergeant. Mycroft could almost recall the memory so vividly that his jaw still ached. It hadn't been the first time Mycroft Holmes had ever been punched, but it certainly had been the first time since primary school, and even then it had been because he was above the other children.
Mycroft was always above.
Sherlock, it's always Sherlock isn't it? Sherlock had been arrested in a drug bust, had fought off the constables and ended up in the hospital under watch because of the cocktail of drugs he had in his system.
Mycroft had only come to claim him.
Better it be him than Mummy, and then this bobby, this man who obviously had just moved to London, who was currently having marital issues, had the audacity to give Mycroft a once over before punching him to the ground. This was before Anthea, and the other security measures Mycroft would eventual pick up.
"You're his older brother!" Lestrade, his peppered hair making him look older, the of the job evident on his shoulders, had yelled at Mycroft. "He's your responsibility!"
Sergeant Lestrade had been put on probation for only two weeks for that incident. Punching a government officer was always frowned upon, no matter how minor the position the officer held, or how not so minor. Only two weeks because while Mycroft did not appreciate the physical reaction to learning Mycroft's relationship to the drug abuser in the next room, Mycroft felt that Lestrade had had a rather valid point.
Sherlock was his responsibility.
And then Sherlock had been arrested again.
Not for drugs even though he was higher than a kite, but for breaking into a crime scene. Lestrade took responsibility before Mycroft had even made it to the scene, and had somehow used what little powers he had to get Sherlock out of trouble.
Mycroft tried to watch over Sherlock a little harder this time despite Sherlock's irritation and avid protests.
Watching over Lestrade just happened to end up being part of the deal.
Sergeant Lestrade was promoted to Detective Inspector within a year at Scotland Yard and was divorced the following week. Mycroft was never one to judge the foolishness of the common people but he honestly thought Lestrade should have known better that to get involved with someone from work.
Sergeant Gregson transferred to another precinct before Lestrade could do something foolish like try to save their marraige.
She was a beautiful woman, and was very career driven. She probably didn't like the fact that her husband had been promoted before her despite her being at Scotland Yard longer. Probably didn't like the fact that the whole reason Lestrade had moved to Scotland Yard was because it was her suggestion.
Women were really such fickle creatures.
DI Lestrade now kept a constant watch on Sherlock, his marraige over and no apparent family to divide attention on, it seemed the DI Lestrade had decided to look over the poor neglected drug addict that was too smart for his own good. Mycroft frowned at the attention the older man was giving his little brother and decided to investigate further on the man.
Parents died when he was 18, he was the oldest of three brothers, and the only member of his family that was still alive.
It seemed the DI suffered from hydrophobia after the fatal boat crash that killed his two brothers.
Mycroft arranged for them to have have tea.
Whether ir was by kidnapping or a consensual meeting was purely up to the DI's mind.
It was an unusual courtship.
Mycroft didn't see the meetings growing to anything more than idle threats and useless gossip, but it was nice to have tea without the worry of starting a war. Lestrade was surprisingly refreshing company, he didn't feel threatened by Mycroft, even if he didn't truly understand the power the older Holmes held, but Mycroft did find his attitude interesting, a bit vulgar and unrefined but Mycroft was willing to look past it.
Mycroft never asked about Sherlock, never had to because usually the first thing out of Lestrade's mouth was about what a pain his brother was.
Lestrade put too much of himself into his job.
Put too much of himself into Sherlock's well being.
Mycroft could see the toll it was having on the DI by how hunched his shoulders were on certain meetings. Sometimes Lestrade would just sit in the car, not bother getting out and just sit there and stare out the window even though the warehouse wasn't suddenly going to change into interesting scenery. On those days, Mycroft would just move inside the car and sit opposite of the DI, study him, and think about why Sherlock seemed to have warmed up to this ordinary person.
Lestrade got knifed two weeks later because Sherlock was too high to notice the obvious attacker approaching them.
Two hours later Sherlock was in rehab.
The meetings between DI Lestrade and Mycroft became weekly.
This time they would be at restaurants, theaters, coffee houses, a pub once before Mycroft had to draw a line about how low he was willing to travel to spend time with the DI. Pub was the line. Lestrade thought it was amusing but agreed to Mycroft's terms as long as the other man agreed to go less posh joints where Lestrade was always under dressed.
Sherlock broke out of rehab and helped Lestrade solve a case about a strangle without the influence of any drugs. Sherlock bummed a cigarette off of Lestrade and while the DI should have been worried about another addiction he was so in awe of Sherlock's ability in its purest form, not diluted by narcotics that the DI did not care.
Mycroft barely made it out of the car before he was pulled into a kiss.
It was fast, it was passionate, and it was nothing Mycroft could ever recall but when they part the DI just smiled up at him.
The meetings became dates.
Lestrade tried to show Mycroft the joys of football and rugby.
Mycroft showed Lestrade his gentlemen's club.
Lestrade was able to enjoy French opera and gallery openings when drinks were served.
Lestrade was also banned from the gentleman's club after his second meeting.
Sherlock disappeared for a week.
No sign of him on the CCTV, his bodyguards at a complete loss and now jobless, and Mycroft couldn't help but think something bad might have happened, or worse, his brother had gotten back into drugs.
Lestrade spent the night.
Two months later Lestrade would leave his tooth brush behind.
Lestrade laughed at Mycroft.
Lestrade laughed at Mycroft's jokes, even when they weren't funny. He would laugh when Mycroft was overly serious for a minor situation, he would laugh at the site of Mycroft's apron, laugh when Mycroft made a fuss over the muddy footprints left behind after a terrible chase with Sherlock outside the docks.
Mycroft found he didn't mind.
Lestrade would attempt to dress up on dinner dates, he tried to be subtle about it, an occasional vest here, a proper tie there. Mycroft made no mention of it but he did reward Lestrade by showing him several improper uses for said ties after dinner.
Lestrade spoke proper french.
It was hard not to react to him when he speaking such a beautiful language. Mycroft found himself becoming more obliging when Lestrade requested something in french. Thank goodness the DI never seemed to notice.
Mycroft found himself planning world events around Lestrade's life.
Josephine, or Anthea, or Sam, whatever she wanted to call herself found it amusing.
Then came John Watson, the answer to Mycroft's unspoken prayers or another thorn in his side, still yet to be determined but suddenly Sherlock had someone else.
Sherlock had someone else.
Lestrade stopped paying the rent on his flat. Mycroft bet that if he really looked he would see that Lestrade hadn't renewed his lease a while ago and had stopped paying for a while now but Mycroft promised that he would ask Lestrade if he wanted to know something instead using his usual means.
This was decided after a surprise party incident that never happened.
Lestrade promised to be honest. Not that he ever wasn't, in fact Lestrade was one of the most annoyingly honest people Mycroft had come to know, but it was nice to have a verbal contract.
When the bullet whizzed by Mycroft's ear, he could feel it's momentum, knew how close he had been and as he was pulled to the ground, Anthea's (Jennifer, Martha, Eleanor) gun at the ready, his only thought was about how close to the end he had been. How close he was to just being another picture in the paper.
How close the bullet had been, only to miss?
The assassin had missed on purpose.
And then the James bloody Moriarty business.
Mycroft didn't leave his office for three days, didn't answer his phone, and secluded himself so that he could do what he was good at.
Intelligence.
Lestrade threw a book at him and then kissed Mycroft when the older man returned to their home. It ended in their first argument, and then Mycroft's first experience with make-up sex.
Three months later Sherlock and John Watson end up in the hospital because of an explosion that Lestrade somehow blames himself for despite the fact that the fault remained with Mycroft alone.
The arguing happens more.
The make-up sex doesn't.
John is still in rehab for an actual leg injury, Sherlock goes missing somewhere along the chase and a few weeks later Moriarty's body was found at the bottom of some river in a country Mycroft suddenly has a fondness for.
Moriarty was dead.
Sherlock was alive.
Lestrade was busy, contantly being yelled at by his superiors, had almost been knifed twice in the past week, and was now being threatened with a promotion that would take him off the streets and put behind a desk before he was eventually forced to retire.
Mycroft wanted him to take it.
Lestrade turned it down.
Lestrade wasn't going to let Sherlock down by getting promoted. Wasn't going to force Sherlock to have to work around a totally new DI. Wasn't going to lose the opportunity to watch Sherlock grow into that good man he had convinced himself the consulting detective would eventually become.
It really was always Sherlock between them.
Figuratively speaking of course.
Sherlock was thrown into more cases than one man could possibly solve on his own, John quit his meager job and started talking about a private practice where he could control the hours.
Sherlock had never been happier.
Three cases deep, Lestrade meets up with Sherlock just after grabbing a pint with John, a normal casual, almost friendly passing which ends with Lestrade getting shot, taking a bullet for Sherlock.
Mycroft wished Sherlock would face the consequences of his own actions for once instead of nearly killing all those around him. Mycroft blinked as the CCTV kept playing past the part where Lestrade had jumped in front of his little brother.
Had he really just wished that Sherlock had been the one shot?
Mycroft shut off the tv and sat back in his chair.
That was not good, not good at all.
Sherlock was his brother, his only brother.
Lestrade was his...
Lestrade wasn't his family.
Lestrade wasn't Sherlock.
Lestrade wasn't the person Mycroft was supposed to be looking out for. Was not Mycroft's only family since mummy passed last year.
Lestrade was..
Mycroft disappeared for a month, a complete blackout.
He only contacted Sherlock twice.
He was dealing with civil war, it was rather important that a few men did not die, and it was only convenient that he could use this time to think.
To realize how much he must have changed.
He wasn't supposed to change.
Lestrade wasn't supposed to change him.
Why hadn't Mycroft realized until now?
Anthea offered no words on the subject when he asked, just gave him a look to let him know she disapproved of what he was thinking but Mycroft paid her no attention.
He had already made up his mind.
Sherlock was the most important person in his life.
When he returned home he found the DI stretched out on their couch with one of Mycroft's jackets on him. The older Holmes set down his umbrella and made his way over to the sleeping DI, taking a seat on the chair beside the couch so that he could just enjoy the man for a few minutes.
He was never going to see the other man again after this.
That might be an exaggeration since he knew very well he would see the man again, he just wouldn't see him like this. No more private moments.
Mycroft felt a sudden reluctance, before he pushed his course of action forward. He had anticipated it would be harder with the man actually there and just in his head but he had to do this.
Lestrade stirred before Mycroft had a chance to say his name. The older man scrunching his eyes in irritation, probably from how uncomfortable the couch was before he opened his eyes and saw the older Holmes brother. Lestrade just tooke a tired breath before he forced himself to sit up. He stared at the ground for a few moments, Mycroft waiting patiently for another fight to happen.
At the very least, for Lestrade to throw a pillow at him.
Yelling made it easier, at least that is what he had observed.
"Is this how it's going to be?" Lestrade's words were careful, he was deliberately not looking at Mycroft and instead messed with the sleeve of Mycroft's jacket he had been using for a blanket. "You just leave, no word, for god knows how long next time and I am just supposed to wait?"
Mycroft realized how easy it would be to say 'yes', to get Lestrade into an agrument and force the man into an emotion response that would probably have Lestrade being the one that ended this doomed thing, whatever it was.
Mycroft wondered what word he could use to describe what they had, he knew about the emotional terms humans tended to use when they were in similar situations but Mycroft felt that they didn't quite fit the norm.
"I am ending this relationship." Mycroft sighed at the word but used the sigh to flatten his voice making him sound bored, it also prevented him from hesitating.
Because now Lestrade was looking at him.
Mycroft stared back, suddenly not able to turn away.
He had missed Lestrade.
Had missed him terribly.
And that sudden rush of emotion terrified Mycroft because he really wanted to just ignore what he had just said and pull the other man too him.
But that emotion, that was just another reason about why he had to do this.
He couldn't trust himself, he was distracted by this man.
"I'm sorry, Myc, what?" Lestrade had dropped the jacket and was staring at Mycroft as if he had honestly not just heard him.
"I believe it had carried on for long enough and between work and Sherlock I am not finding it possible to continue any longer. It would be prudent to end it and not waste any more of our time." Mycroft continued. Lestrade was still staring at him like he was speaking another language.
"You can't be serious."
"But I am and now I must return to work."
Mycroft stood.
Lestrade followed his action, the older man grabbing Mycroft by the sleeve lightly as if he was still trying to convince himself this wasn't real.
"You are breaking up with me after you just returned from god knows where, I haven't seen you in a bloody month Mycroft, and you are breaking up with me?" Lestrade's voice grew louder towards the end and Mycroft took a breath to prepare himself.
"I am."
"But-" Lestrade looked honestly lost and Mycroft had to fight back the urge to touch the other man back. Lestrade's grip tightened on his sleeve as the older man finally looked Mycroft back in the eye. "But I love you."
They had never used that word.
Mycroft didn't want to think about if that is what their relationship had been, the word he had refused to use because if didn't matter.
"Some things..." He spoke carefully as he finally touched Lestrade's hand and pulled the other man's grip off his jacket. "..are more important."
Mycroft turned, half expecting for his priceless Chinese vase to come in contact with the back of his skull but he somehow made it to his office safely.
He did not turn back.
He couldn't.
He closed his eyes as he heard the front door open and then slam shut.
Some things were really more important.
Sherlock for one.
XXX
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XXX
The End.