Work Text:
Mycroft sits at a small table outside a cafe somewhere in London. It doesn’t really matter where.
The further the better, he thinks bitterly. Its a quaint little place near the Thames where Mycroft sits, contemplating the water, his tea, and really nothing at all. The steady murmur of customers and dishes serve to keep him meditating, far from the world he had run from. Occupying “a minor position in the British government” has always been something that he could handle but being responsible for Sherlock Holmes was another matter altogether.
He sat there, fuming at his little brother when the chair in front of him scraped against the floor.
“Tell me what happened.” Mycroft exhaled every breath from his lungs, hoping to expel his anger with it.
“Sherlock.”
“Of course it was. Want me to lock him up overnight? I’m sure I can come up with something.” Lestrade asks, deadpan. Mycroft chuckles, feeling the anger finally dissipate.
“That would be most helpful.” He smiles, looking out to the river, mulling things over in his mind. “Gregory.” He says softly.
“Mycroft.”
“Thank you...for meeting me here.” He extends a hand across the table.
“Anytime. Everytime.” Lestrade’s hand reaches across to intertwine their fingers.
Even to a stranger, the kiss is remarkable. It’s a thank you, a promise, and a beginning.