Chapter Five

When Mycroft's eyes fluttered open, he found himself in an isolated hospital ward. He blinked, then dared a peek under his bedsheets. He whipped them back over himself with a groan. Good God, what happened to his clothes? And, what was it he was wearing!

His panicked thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and Sherlock poked his curly dark head inside. He took one glance at Mycroft, smirked at his apparel, and disappeared again. "God help us, Satan's awake!" Sherlock announced in mock-horror and a few seconds later, a bland-looking doctor walked in, followed by a grumpy nurse.

"If you even begin to entertain thoughts of subjecting me to a medical examination, I will make your lives a living Hell." was Mycroft's greeting words. He smiled kindly at them. "Now, pleasentries aside, where are my clothes?"

To his great annoyance, Mycroft was still bedridden in hospital gowns by the time Lestrade dropped by to visit. Mycroft hadn't expected him to at all, but, he had to admit, it was a pleasant surprise. "How're you doing?" Lestrade asked when he poked his head through the door.

"Truth be told, I think the world would be a safer place, devoid of one, John H. Watson." Mycroft grumbled.

Lestrade just smiled in amusement. "Can't exactly threaten him when he's the friend of Sherlock, can you?"

"Pity, I had the rest of the hospital under my control." Mycroft snapped his fingers in mock frustration. Lestrade chuckled a little, still standing in the doorway, Mycroft couldn't tell whether he wanted to get out, or in. "Might I ask, what you are doing here? Is it a case?" Mycroft inquired politely.

Lestrade shook his head. "Dr. Watson said it was obligatory..." Mycroft blinked, nonplussed. "...to stay and make sure the person I saved recovered well... or something like that."

Mycroft inclined his head. "You...?"

Lestrade nodded sheepishly, finally moving into the room fully, but still not nearing the bed. Mycroft noted that Lestrade was carrying his umbrella. "Yeah, I went to return this..." Lestrade waved the umbrella awkwardly. Mycroft was urged to wonder 'Now? Or... then?' As if hearing his thoughts, Lestrade cleared his throat. "Um, actually, I went by your house to drop it off..." Mycroft wondered, briefly, how Lestrade had managed to obtain his address in the first place. Lestrade trailed off a little before getting back on track. "...And then I heard a noise inside. It sounded like someone was drowning a cat, or something..." Lestrade's eyes widened and he looked apologetic. "I mean... "

Mycroft waved magnanimously. "I know the expression, Inspector Lestrade." Lestrade's shoulders sagged in relief.

"And so I got inside and found you on the bathroom floor." He finished his story there abruptly.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I was... alone? No assailant?"

Lestrade shook his head with an innocent expression. "Nope."

"And, I suppose, you got that clip on your left brow and the bruise on your right elbow from... getting me off the floor?" Mycroft sent him a look that clearly meant 'do I look like a fool to you?'

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "You were almost drowned in your own home, you're in a hospital gown, being coddled by nurses, and Sherlock won't stop laughing at the whole situation. I thought I might try and spare what was left of your dignity."

"And, for that, I am most grateful." Mycroft huffed. "Just don't try to convince me with such blatant lies."

"I'll keep that in mind." Lestrade smiled, "And, sorry, but your assailant got away." He finally inched nearer to the bed and handed Mycroft his umbrella back. And with that, excused himself.

John and Sherlock chased each other in the very moment the DI's footsteps disappeared. "You met him a few days ago, and since then, you've had tea with him, given him your umbrella, and he's saved you from the clutches of death!" Sherlock smirked evily. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" John snickered, but quickly covered it with a cough. Sherlock, however, laughed loud and unabashedly.

"Yes, we might." Mycroft quipped. "It will be of your funeral."

Sherlock pressed a hand to his chest. "Brother, dearest! You wouldn't!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Mycroft smiled mildly.

"Children..." John shook his head with a sigh.

"So." Sherlock peered over Lestrade's shoulder with a strange smile.

"So...?" Lestrade repeated inquisitively, rearranging the information in his dossier.

"About Mycroft." Sherlock goaded eagerly.

"Oh, yes, Mycroft." Lestrade finally looked up from his desk. "How is he doing?"

Sherlock frowned. "He's being a bloody nuisance!"

Lestrade snorted. "Right, undoubtedly." Anything Mycroft did would be seen as a nuisance to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked around the office. "Something's missing..."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Don't even pretend that you think there's something missing, but can't place what's gone. It doesn't suit you."

Sherlock scowled. "Alright! Alright! Where's the umbrella?" he caved.

Lestrade looked up at him amusedly. "Where it belongs, with its owner." He put his pen down. "What is the significance behind that umbrella, anyway?" he asked curiously.

"Safety and security, I suppose... and the occasional use for... layingclaim." Sherlock coughed awkwardly. Lestrade blinked that the consulting detective in such bewilderment that Sherlock guessed he didn't quite hear him. All the better for it too, he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It was a memento of our father, Mycroft completely idolized him."

"Shouldn't have given it to me, when he was in the most danger, huh?" Lestrade mused. "Quite thoughtful of him, though." Then he chuckled to himself a little. "Safety and security... that's what I have a gun for."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "I concur."

Lestrade sent him a reprimanding look. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Sherlock shrugged innocently. "Didn't hear what?"

"I heard your assailant was some... disgruntled goverment spy, or something? Sherlock wouldn't tell me much." John said to Mycroft just as Sherlock entered the room dragging Lestrade in behind him.

"And he would do well to keep it that way." Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "As I have recently learned, alot of that information we have is dangerous."

"You're not so intimidating when you're dressed in baby-blue hospital pajamas." Sherlock smirked condescendingly. "So don't even try."

Mycroft's responding look was positively beastly, then he collected himself. "When dressed in abhorring 'hospital pajamas' I am at my most dangerous." he warned sweetly.

"Ooh, all talk, but can't perform." Sherlock snarked back.

"Erm, Sherlock?" John grimaced. "He's being legally discharged from the hospital today."

Sherlock's features paled. "Oh, goodie." he muttered.

"'Oh, goodie' indeed." Mycroft huffed just as Anthea walked in with a freshly starched suit and just was quickly walked back out.

"Yeah... we should leave now." John was quick to drag Sherlock out of the room before Mycroft could recover to his fullest level of intimidation.

That left Lestrade and Mycroft again. "Well," Lestrade scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "here we are... yet again." Mycroft snorted. "I heard they caught the guy who did... this, to you."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it seems they did."

"Homeland security." Lestrade grunted. "Handed the case over to MI5."

"Undoubtedly." was Mycroft's response.

"You don't seem very surprised." Lestrade pointed out.

"And neither do you, concerning the fact that I already know all this." Mycroft quipped.

"Well, I'm not actually supposed to know 'all this', per se."

"Again, I am struck by the thought that you know more than you let on."

Lestrade smiled slowly. "And again, it's a bit hard to know less, isn't it?" Then, "I might seem rude, but, ...why? If you don't mind me asking. If it's such a dangerous job, why do you do it?"

Mycroft thought on that question for a moment. "Probably, the same reason you do your own danger-rife, job." he smiled at Lestrade.

"For Queen and Country."

Lestrade had nothing further to say.

The End.