SHERLOCK

THE OTHER HOLMES

Author's Note:

Characters: DI Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sally Donovan, Anderson, and the Holmes and Lestrade families.

Rating: Rated M for sex later on and language. Also reference to drug use, cigarette smoking, alcohol, and some good 'ol man-on-man action.

About: So I've recently been reading some fan fiction about Mycroft and Lestrade and I have to say I've thoroughly enjoyed it. So this is my take on Lestrade meeting the older Holmes, and the two eventually falling for each other. No insult intended towards the fabulous Mark Gatiss and Rupert Graves... but I'm sorry, the two are handsome and my mind works in mysterious ways!

Ownership: Well of course I don't own it. Do you think I'd be writing fan fictions if I owned these fabulous characters? Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

P.S. If you're just looking for sex scenes, try chapter ten onwards. Because my two take a while before they finally hop in the sack.

I live to entertain.

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}

Chapter One: The Mystery Men

DI Gregory Lestrade had seen his fare share of horrors. Being a police officer brings you into contact with the seedy underbelly of society. But that didn't prepare him for the insane route his life was about to take.

It was no surprise to Lestrade that he didn't wince when he found the young man on the ground, curled in on himself.

Lestrade knew a junkie when he saw one and sighed. Why people had to go and throw their lives away was beyond him. But then again, he guessed that some people just needed to forget about the world. Wasn't that why Lestrade drank?

The DI steeled himself for a violent confrontation as he knelt down and nudged the sleeping figure.

'Come on, mate, get up.'

He received a grunt in reply.

'Oi, get up!' Lestrade said and pushed harder.

The man was suddenly sitting up-right and looking at Lestrade with clear eyes. He was a junkie, that much was clear from his thin frame, old clothes, and the track marks on his pale forearms. But the man wasn't high, at least not at the moment.

'You're wrong.'

'What?' Lestrade asked, surprised at the well articulated voice that was speaking to him. The owner was in his mid to late twenties, with a mop of curly dark brown hair and bright, icy blue eyes.

The man sniffed and repeated, 'You're wrong.'

'Wrong? About what?'

'The murder,' the man said.

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. 'Who said anything about a murder?'

'I heard you over there,' the man said, gesturing down the alley. Blue and red lights were flashing off the walls from the police cars parked beside the murder scene. Lestrade had been there three minutes before spotting the figure curled up in the alley.

'What do you know about it?' Lestrade asked.

'Tall man, at least three inches taller than me, with a slight limp in his left leg,' the man said. 'He strangled her from in front, meaning she knew him. I'd say boyfriend, because she's wearing men's cologne and a man's sweatshirt. He killed her for her birthday money... she has a rich family.'

Lestrade froze, leaning over the man. He'd summarised most of that himself; at least the strangled from in front part. The rest... well, how could this man have guessed any of that? Unless...

'Right, mate, I'm gonna have to take you in,' Lestrade said and stood.

'Oh, why?' the man groaned, sounding like a spoilt child.

'Why?' Lestrade said, incredulous. 'You know things about that crime that no innocent person should know. And you're just lying here, metres from the scene.'

'I passed out here after the crime,' the man said. 'I'm the one that called; I used her phone.'

'Get up,' Lestrade commanded and the man complied, though with a lot of groaning and swearing. Lestrade cuffed him and led him to one of the police cars.

'I didn't do it,' the man grunted.

'We'll see,' Lestrade said and pushed him into the car. 'Name?'

The man ignored him and Lestrade sighed.

'Give us your name, it'll make this easier.'

'Which is exactly why I'm not going to give you my name,' the man grunted.

Lestrade frowned and slammed the door shut.

-oOo-

Two hours later they were driving back to Scotland Yard when suddenly a sleek black car sped alongside them. It screeched to a halt before the police cruiser and Lestrade stopped with a squeal of the breaks.

'What the hell?' he grunted and pulled off his seatbelt.

In the back, the nameless junkie huffed and said, 'Of course he'd show up now.'

Sergeant Donovan told him to shut up as the driver exited the black car and came over to them.

'Step out of the car, please.'

'Hey, I'm a cop,' Lestrade said, verging on severely pissed off. 'Didn't you notice the car?'

The man didn't smile. 'Sir, please step out of the car.'

'Who the fu–'

'There's no need for cussing, Detective Inspector.' Everybody, except the driver, turned at the new voice. A man was standing by the driver now. He was in his late thirties, about six foot two, wearing an impeccable three-piece suit with a gold chain hanging from his vest. His dark brown hair was swept back and his blue eyes showed no emotion as he looked at them all.

He was handsome, Lestrade noted, in a classical kind of way. The expensive suits really looked good on him.

Lestrade bit the inside of his cheek. Straying off topic, Greg, he thought. These men were throwing him off balance.

'Mycroft, what are you doing?' the junkie in the back demanded.

The man, Mycroft, smiled and leaned on the black umbrella he was holding. 'Sherlock, I only come to protect you from yourself.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Just leave me alone.'

'If I did that you'd be spending the night in a holding cell,' Mycroft told him.

'Better than spending it talking to you!' Sherlock snapped.

'Shut up!' Lestrade shouted and all eyes turned to him. He stepped out of the police car, forcing the driver and the mysterious Mycroft back. 'Who the bloody hell are you?'

'Everyone is so intent on swearing these days,' Mycroft tutted. His eyes roamed over Lestrade. While the detective was tall, at five foot ten he was still shorter then Mycroft, Sherlock, and the driver. The detective was very handsome, Mycroft noted, even if he didn't realise it himself. 'Detective Inspector, I am here to ask that you let my little brother go,' Mycroft continued, realising he'd been staring. He added emphasis on the word little to annoy Sherlock.

Lestrade turned to look at the junkie, Sherlock. He could see the family resemblance; both were tall, thin, with sharp noses and a look that said they were smarter then everybody in the room and knew it.

'No way,' Lestrade said, turning back to look at Mycroft. 'Your brother was found at a crime scene, we're taking him in for questioning.'

'I assure you that for all my brother's faults, he is not a murderer,' Mycroft said.

'I'll murder you,' Sherlock muttered.

'I don't care what you think,' Lestrade said, ignoring what Sherlock had said. 'We're taking him in.'

Mycroft smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. Lestrade got the feeling that the man faked a lot of emotions... or at least he didn't let them show.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim mobile. He handed it to Lestrade and said, 'Call your boss, Detective Inspector. I'm sure he'd love to hear from you. Just mention my name.'

'And that would be?' Lestrade demanded.

He smiled. 'Mycroft Holmes.'

Lestrade did as he was asked, but only because he wanted this situation resolved. He was looking forward to making the junkie, whom he realised must be called Sherlock Holmes (bloody odd names), spend the night in a cell. Lestrade would make him confess, the case would be wrapped up, Mycroft Holmes would be told to piss off and Lestrade could drink himself into a stupor.

But it wasn't to be. Twenty seconds was all it took for Lestrade to be told that Mycroft Holmes was a very important man. There was no title, making Lestrade realise that Mycroft Holmes was more dangerous then he looked.

Lestrade handed back the mobile and Mycroft smiled, this time his eyes lighting up.

'Thank you, Detective Inspector,' he said. 'Now, my brother?'

Donovan was asking questions but Lestrade ignored her as he let Sherlock out of the car and un-cuffed him.

'Damn it, I can look after myself!' Sherlock snarled at his brother.

Mycroft sighed as he took in Sherlock's appearance; the dirty clothes, the thin frame, the sunken eyes... Lestrade saw real concern in the enigmatic man's eyes.

'Sherlock, please,' Mycroft said. 'Stop this.'

But Sherlock simply huffed and stormed away. He was a few metres away before he turned and shouted, 'The boyfriend, Detective Inspector! Remember what I said!'

Lestrade stared as the younger Holmes disappeared into the night. When he finally turned back around, Mycroft Holmes and his driver were walking away.

'That's it?' Lestrade demanded.

Mycroft nodded as his driver got into their car. 'Indeed it is. Thank you for your co-operation, Detective Inspector.'

'Not like I had a choice,' Lestrade grumbled.

Mycroft smiled and his eyes ran up and down Lestrade once more; taking in the silver hair, dark brown eyes, and well-toned, wide-shouldered physique. It stirred feelings in Mycroft's stomach that the government worker had thought were gone.

He pushed said feelings away and said, 'Try not to get too drunk after this, Lestrade, you know how it makes your girlfriend worry.'

Lestrade's mouth fell open as Mycroft Holmes climbed into his car and drove away.