The first proper conversation that Mycroft ever really had with Lestrade was outside Sherlock's hospital room. The only time the two had ever talked in the past was through phoned requests, that were more like orders and general inquires. These would not be about how Lestrade's day went , or if Mycroft knew a good bakery or two. Instead these would be about Sherlock. They had always been about him and they will always would be about Sherlock. Occasionally Lestrade would get phone calls from the British Government ordering him to do another drug bust in Baker Street when Sherlock had been alone in the flat for more than two days. And if it was not an order about a drugs bust, it would be constant questions about Sherlock. Lestrade never knew why Mycroft would ask him these questions, as John lived with Sherlock and not him, but according to John, Mycroft would ask him this question at least ten times a day and would expect a report about Sherlock's week every Sunday evening. After hearing that story, Lestrade considered himself lucky and was rather glad that he didn't live with Sherlock, mostly as he had better things to do that write an essay on Sherlock's behavior and other pointless information about him. Other than Sherlock, the two men had no business with another. They weren't friends and they were certainly never going to be friends. Maybe it was for the better, as Sherlock would have a tantrum over his work being mixed in with family.

Sherlock was the reason that they were even in the same place together. Sherlock had forced to the hospital after a rather unpleasant fall out of a window. Normally Sherlock was as graceful as a ballet dancer, and was normally rather aware of his surroundings. This time he wasn't, as he was insulting Anderson on being an idiot again he was walking backwards into a rather large open window. And there is not much of the story to be told after that, as it was rather obvious what happened as Sherlock was in hospital.

Lestrade was rather shocked about finding Mycroft at a hospital sitting on the floor outside Sherlock's hospital room. Mostly as Mycroft was sitting on the floor and he wasn't worried about getting his suit wrinkled. He didn't even think about Mycroft ever leaving his office. He thought that Mycroft was a robot and would work all through the night, or he just put himself into the cupboard in his office at the end of the day and he would come out in the morning to work again.

"Lestrade, your pacing is driving me up the wall." Mycroft scolded. "Stop it this instant or I will hire someone to murder you."

Lestrade stopped pacing after Mycroft scolded him as if he was his father. Instead of arguing with the British Government, Lestrade sat on the floor next to Mycroft, but was at a respectable distance away, as he was terrified that Mycroft would send him to a country with a death penalty if he wrinkled up his suit.

Mycroft sighed and took out his phone and started to text someone. Lestrade sat there and waited for someone to say something. After five minutes of painful silence and counting the holes in the ceiling -435. It was clear to Lestrade that Mycroft wasn't going to start a conversation.

"Horrible weather isn't it?" Lestrade asked in hopes of starting a conversation with the British Government.

Mycroft looked up from his phone. "I suppose it is." After that the conversation was over and Mycroft went back to his phone. Lestrade counted the amount of cases that he actually solved himself without Sherlock's help in the past five years – Less than twenty.

The shouts of Sherlock shouting and John yelling back equally loud was the only sounds that could be heard in the hospital.

"This is what happens when you don't pay attention and walk backwards."

"John, it is not my fault that Anderson is an idiot!"

"If you were going to fall out of the window, why couldn't it have been on the bags of rubbish instead of the ground. I'm surprised that you haven't broken your kneecap before, with all of the things that you have broken."

"I don't break things that often."

"Tibia and fibula. Clavicle. Mandible. Metacarpals. Radius. And several ribs and most of your toes. Do I need to go on?" John asked, Lestrade also mentally added the amount of concussions and broken toes that Sherlock had acquired over the years of cases before John had come onto the scene.

Lestrade placed his ear against the door to hear more of the conversation as they had stopped arguing and the conversation was at a normal level.

"Stop rubbing in, John, it is not my fault. If you are going to blame someone, it's Anderson."

"It is your fault. You don't drink enough milk, your bones are probably brittle from the lack of milk that you never buy. And did I mention, you falling out of the window?"

After that, the only conversation that filled the silence had stopped, Sherlock must have been in a sulk again, Lestrade thought. He tried to look at Mycroft's phone in hopes that he would be doing something interesting. Instead of actually doing something interesting on his phone, Mycroft was only pretending to text, just so he wouldn't have to talk to him. Greg usually thought that Mycroft was an alright sort of bloke, but right now, Lestrade had decided that Mycroft was his archenemies.

Mycroft looked up from his phone and sighed. "Can you stop looking at my phone; I'm trying to do some work."

"Your phone screen is not on."

"It's a special screen." Mycroft sighed at Lestrade after he smirked at Mycroft's excuse. "Fine, my phone is off. I am saving you the effort of trying to have a conversation with me. You don't need to talk to me, I'm just here to check up on my brother and then I am leaving."

"You look lonely." Lestrade commented as he lent back against the door and folded his arms. "You know that we haven't spoken about anything other than Sherlock?"

"You asked me about the weather, isn't that enough?" Mycroft sighed as if he was being severely punished. "Our paths rarely cross and when they do it involves my brother. We have nothing in common and there is nothing for us to talk about. And if you are wanting to be my friend there is no point in trying, as I don't have time for friends."

"High functioning sociopath too then?" Greg joked while hysterically laughing in hopes that Mycroft would at least crack a smile. Instead Mycroft glared at him. Mycroft wished that Lestrade would die. Lestrade wished that he was dead. Greg considered not asking Mycroft to drinks at the local pub. Mycroft considered getting Lestrade arrested for treason.

"There is no such thing as a 'high functioning sociopath', Sherlock created the term to scare people away from him. Mummy has had him tested for everything that could be possibly wrong with Sherlock, and being a sociopath hasn't come up. I even took it up on myself to research the possibility of Sherlock being a sociopath, he is not. And if you are insistent about talking to me, change the subject as the one about my brother is rather tedious."

Greg flashed a grin at the chance of properly having a conversation with the British Government, it felt like a great honor like winning a large trophy or the lottery. Greg went through his head for all the possible conversation starters he could use.

"Sports?"

"No interest. Why would I want to see men running around in a field in shorts?"

"Because football is quality entertainment." Lestrade sat himself straight against the wall and prepared to defend his favorite thing in the world.

"You only like football as you used to play it at school and you wanted to be a football player, however you got a knee injury that now prevents you from playing it. You were a center midfielder and you were the star player." Mycroft deduced with a raised eyebrow. "I am correct?" He asked even though he had knew the answer.

"That it is bloody amazing!" Greg exclaimed. "I thought that Sherlock was the only one who could do that deduction. How do know so much about football?"

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock went through a football phase when he was younger, he played it , watched it and he would read about it. Since I was older, I had to stay for his games. It was absolutely evil. And before you ask, Sherlock was an average player and he will refuse to go for 'kick about' with you and your friends."

"Between Sherlock and I, I'm the more intelligent between the two of us. And before you ask, I won't help with your crime scenes, I have more important things to do than look at corpses, and I dislike legwork."

"I wasn't planning on asking you. You are the British Government and you have to save London from terrorist attacks every week. The fate of London rests on your hands." Lestrade wondered if Mycroft had his own Batcave and if he wore a cape. Mycroft was like Bruce Wayne, both were rich and they could afford a Batmobile. And they had butlers –well Anthea was more of an assistant than a butler, but it was the same. What would Mycroft's alter ego be? Brainman? Umbrella Boy? Super Government? The British Government, was probably Mycroft's alter ego that he used to fight crime with. And The more important problem, what would Mycroft's powers be? Cake eating skills? Being able to fly thanks to his umbrella? Would Mycroft be called Mycroft Poppins, if he had that power?

Mycroft coughed loudly to bring the attention back to him. "My job is not that exciting as you may think. Terrorist attacks only happen a handful of times during the year. I had a meeting discussing the pros and cons of having plastic forks over metal ones in schools. We can discuss that if you want."

"Sherlock always make your job to be more interesting that it is then. I expected you to be chasing the terrorists yourself in a big Batcave of some sort."

Mycroft sent a confused look at the mention of a 'Batcave' , it would have to be something that he would research later, when he had the time. "As I told you before, I dislike the legwork and I would have one of my many contacts to do it for me. I have meetings, do paper work and more things, but that it confidential. Mostly I sit in silence with fifty other men in the Diogenes club. It is not exciting apart from one of them decide to have a heart attack."

"My work is not that amazing either." Lestrade commented with a sigh. "The best bit is the serial killers. as Sherlock gets things done quickly, but it's mostly paper work. I would rather chop off my arm than fill in another form."

"You should consider yourself lucky that my brother goes and saves the day and your career for you. He also tells me that you just eat doughnuts and claim things are not in your division. You do seem to be very productive."

"I do not do that!" Lestrade exclaimed with his ears turning a lovely shade of red. "You're right about Sherlock saving the day with his cheekbones and all that, but the doughnut thing is not true."

"Sherlock has told me that you have an emergency supply of doughnuts in your office, and Sherlock has made an video of all the times you have said things are not in your division, I will need to show it to you. Also you have the nicknames of 'Fatty Lestradey' and 'Doughnut Inspector.' Do I need to carry on?"

"Do you know who started these names, by a chance, as you are the 'British Government'?" Lestrade asked as he pulled out a pen and prepared to write down the culprits names, as he was planning to have a bit of a chat with them.

"That Anderson fellow, the one who Sherlock dislikes and is obsessed with dinosaurs. Also there is Miss Donovan, who I believe is the one who supplies the Yard's doughnuts."

"Thank you for that information, Mycroft." Lestrade commented as he wrote down the two names on his hand. "I could get you charged for breaching into the Yard's computer system, you know?"

"Of course I know, I am the British Government." Mycroft scolded. "And you should know that I can put some incriminating file on your computer hard drive and it will led to immediate incarnation."

"I know that." Lestrade rolled his eyes. "You don't scare me, if I can put up with one Holmes, I can put up with the other one. I'll take all of your threatening behavior is because you are worried about your brother."

Mycroft snorted loudly and rolled his eyes. "Why would I be worried about my idiot of a brother? He was the one who fell out of a window. I would be concerned about him, if someone pushed him out of the window."

"You must be so popular at your club." Lestrade muttered. "Everybody must love Mr Holmes."

"Well Mr Holmes has prevented Britain from being destroyed by rather large bombs on multiple occasions. I think that everyone must Mr Holmes."

"Does Mr Holmes get called something other than Mr Holmes at work?"

"Mr Holmes gets called Mycroft only when he is not in work or on informal Fridays."

"I thought that Mr Holmes would be called something on the lines of 'Your majesty' or 'Master'."

"Mr Holmes is only called that in informal affairs, and that is in the bedroom, but you won't be wanting to go in there."

The rest of the hospital went silent, all activity stopped. Lestrade didn't say anything and just started at Mycroft, who was just smirking, It had been two minutes and Lestrade hadn't said anything, mostly as his mind had crashed like a virus filled Microsoft product. Lestrade's mind had to still reboot, but the only thought that was going through his head was the questions of was Mycroft making a joke? Or was he in fact making a move on him? Mycroft must have joked, but then again he said it with his normal tone of voice. Did Mycroft like people that way? Mycroft was sniggering quietly to himself, Lestrade would have yelled at him, except his brain had to reboot. From the amount of time it was taking, his brain was running windows vista.

John walked out of the room and stopped, when he saw Lestrade sitting on the floor with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, and Mycroft was sitting on the floor smirking and chuckling to himself. Lestrade looked as if he was going to need therapy, from what ever Mycroft had ever done to him, John picked up a pen from his pocket and scribbled his therapist's number on Lestrade's hand, and ordered him to call her.

Lestrade nodded and stood up and poked his head into Sherlock's room for a few seconds and muttered something about Mycroft and Sherlock replied with something about goldfish, after this conversation with Sherlock, Lestrade walked out of the hospital calling the number that John had written on his hand.

Once Lestrade was out of sight, John stood in front of Mycroft and folded his arms and gave him his best intimidating look that he used on Sherlock when he was having a tantrum over not being able to keep a dead sheep in his bed. "What did you say to Lestrade?" John questioned with his best tone of authority. "I have never seen him like that before. You have broken Lestrade!"

"I haven't said anything to him." Mycroft replied with false innocence. "We only discussed the weather and work."

John sighed and crossed his arms, and muttered something about the Holmes brothers being idiots, mostly as one fell out of a window and the other had destroyed Lestrade by talking about a rather mundane topic.

Mycroft stood up and brushed the imaginary dust off his suit and shoved past John as he made his way into his brother's room. Sherlock was shouting a nurse who was crying her eyes out. Mycroft shook his head, why did his parents decide to give him a little brother instead of the Dalmatian that he wanted? He quickly ordered the nurse out of the room after giving her a twenty pound note to apologize on Sherlock's behalf. Sherlock then ordered John out of the room with the demand of coffee.

Exactly two minutes after John had left, Sherlock started to smirk at his brother. "The hospital walls are surprisingly thin; you had a rather interesting conversation with Gavin Lestrade."

"I don't see what is interesting about the weather. It's not like we exchanged government secrets or anything of great importance."

"You do the claim that you are the smarter one between the two of us, but you do lack social intelligence. It's your own fault that you are lonely."

"I'm not lonely, Sherlock." Mycroft chuckled as he rolled his brother's stupidity.

"Sure you're not." Sherlock smirked. "You had a conversation with Graham, and then you ruined it on purpose, so you could push him away from you. And you pretended to text someone, so you didn't have to talk to him. I thought that you would be better than that, and not use childish methods to stop making friends."

"I don't want Lestrade to be my friend. Every single person in this planet, is a goldfish to me, and they are ever so predictable."

"If one of us can make a friend, so can you. One of us is a high functioning sociopath."

"That term doesn't even exist, Sherlock." Mycroft scolded as if Sherlock was a small child. "As I have told you before; I. Am. Not. Lonely. Do I need to tell you that in different languages? French; Je ne suis pas solitaire. Italian; Non sto solo. Do I even need to tell you in Binary? Zero, one, zero-"

Sherlock cut Mycroft by shoving his pillow into his face. "You can stop acting clever. I am not an idiot. "

Mycroft removed the pillow from his face and shot Sherlock a deathly glare. "You are saying that you are not an idiot?" Mycroft asked. "Do I need to remind you who fell out of a window while insulting someone?"

"Anderson distracted me and you know it!" Sherlock exclaimed with a hiss like an angry cat. Why did everyone have to keep reminding him about him falling out of the window? Come to think of it, people only remember all the idiotic things that he had done, John only remembers when he got covered in all substances in the kitchen when he actually did make breakfast, but he didn't remember the success Sherlock experienced when he didn't set the kitchen in flames.

Sherlock decided to ignore his brother's comments about how much of an idiot he was. Deciding that his brother was probably lonely and was taking out his frustrations of being alone on him, he would let his brother have this insults just for today. "But you are." He pointed out even though that his brother was rather instant that he was lonely, but then again Mycroft was always rather insistent about things when he was lying, maybe this is how Mycroft did so well in his political career. "I wouldn't object to you making friends. George is a suitable match and he can give me more cases if you create a bond together. You can be friends with benefits."

Mycroft started to make a gurgling noise at the back of his throat at the shock of Sherlock using a term, that common people used. "Sherlock…Do you even know what that means?" He spluttered. When Sherlock shook his head, Mycroft sighed loudly and considered getting Sherlock a slang dictionary. "What do you think it means?"

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment as he went through his Mind Palace to try and find the definition of 'Friends with benefits.' He had no idea about what the definition of the term was, he heard it from the telly when he was watching the programs where you find out who is the father of their child. Mycroft swore that he would hear the gears in Sherlock's head turning. After a few moments, Sherlock thought that he knew the answer to Mycroft's question. "It is when you are friends with someone and they give you something that you want or need, like car insurance."

"I think that you need to ask Mrs Hudson for the answer. I'm sure that she will be delighted to answer it for you. Also I recommend that you go outside more and then you can learn more street slang."

Sherlock shrugged at his brother's suggestion and for a few moments the room fell silent. Mycroft had taken to staring out of the window and Sherlock started to deduce the people from the small glass panel on the door. After a few minutes, Sherlock spoke. "Maybe if Lestrade is a goldfish, he can forget that conversation that you messed up. Goldfish have short attention spans, and Lestrade's attention span is only three minutes long. So he will forget it ever happened. Like how you deliberately forget your diet, when there is a cake in the room."

Mycroft gently slapped the back of Sherlock's head with his hand at the mention of his many diets. He wasn't that bad with his diets, but Sherlock kept ruining them by buying muffin baskets for him and leaving him at his office and the club. "The diet is going fine, I've lost seven and a half pounds." He stated to show that despite Sherlock's efforts to ruin his diets, he was still going strong.

"I don't think that you need a goldfish." Sherlock commented as he ruffled his hair back into perfection.

"I'm glad that I managed to knock some sense into you, or was that the fall from the window?" Mycroft asked with a smirk, he wasn't going to let Sherlock live that down and it was perfect blackmail material, he could use it to get Sherlock to visit Mummy when she wanted.

"Maybe, you just need to find a dolphin instead. Dolphins are much better than goldfish and they are much more intelligent." Sherlock suggested. "Or, you can stop being such a shark and eating all the little fish who approach you." Sherlock commented with a smirk.

"Stop being so ridiculous." Mycroft sighed as he picked up his umbrella and slid his coat on.

"Maybe while you are here you can learn not to be such a nuisance. I need to save Britain now, so I must leave, don't upset anymore nurses."

"I can't promise you anything." Sherlock smirked. "But for you, I will try."

"You must be on good medicine, as this is the longest conversation that we have had with no one crying from it. Why are you so concerned about my social well being? You have never cared about it before, so why now?" Mycroft asked, as this was the nicest his brother had ever been to him, in all their years of knowing one another. Even when they were children, they didn't get on well and their dislike for one another carried on for a while. Sherlock always took pleasure when they were younger, that Mycroft had no friends, but then again neither did he and he only had Redbeard to talk to.

"Well," Sherlock said after a moment, for he didn't have an idea about why he was being nice to his brother and started to hope that it was the medicine that was doing it to him and not him becoming soft. John's kindness was starting to rub off on him and he didn't like it. "I think everyone needs to find their goldfish, and that even includes you. I found a goldfish and I think that you could get yourself one."

"I don't have the time to find a 'goldfish', and I don't intend to get one. And for the last time Sherlock, I am not lonely. The greatest heroes on the planet do not have one and they do perfectly fine without someone to annoy them."

"Even if heroes did exist, they'd be lost without their sidekicks. Even the most powerful heroes, need someone to be there for them. Everyone needs a Watson."

After Sherlock's comment, John walked back into the room as if he had been waiting for Sherlock to say his name, just so he could enter the room. John looked rather angry and started at Sherlock with a severe look that could resemble a rather angry mother. "Sherlock, is there any reason that you have made thirteen nurses cry?" He asked. "They're considering getting you in trouble for harassment. Mrs Hudson is not going to be happy with you, she is already upset about the dead owl in her flat."

"Maybe Lestrade might come over and give me a warning for it, Mycroft you should stay a bit longer, so you can talk to him." Sherlock suggested with a smirk that was directed to Mycroft.

"I am leaving now. Good evening, Dr Watson" Mycroft said as he tilted his umbrella in John's direction. As he left the room, he could swear that he heard Sherlock talking about goldfish. Rolling his eyes at his brother's obsession with the fish he left the hospital thinking of boring things, to prevent himself thinking too much about what Sherlock had told him.

Later that evening, despite all of his efforts to push the thoughts about his head about if he was lonely. He couldn't be lonely, he had Anthea, but then again, he paid her and according to all the books he had read about the topic, you didn't pay friends. The closet thing that Mycroft had to a friend was Sherlock, and he could only tolerate him in small amounts. Maybe Sherlock was right, he was lonely.