Fic: Diogenes (1/2)

[rusty_armour]

Title: Diogenes (1/2)
Author: Rusty Armour
Fandom: Sherlock, The X-Files
Characters: Mycroft/Lestrade, Mulder/Scully, Sherlock, John
Category: Slash, Crossover
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,423
Summary: When an unusual clue turns up during the course of an investigation, Lestrade is thrown into a world he never knew existed and experiences emotions he never thought he’d feel again.
Spoilers: Some spoilers for “A Study in Pink” (Sherlock), “The Truth” (The X-Files), and The X-Files: I Want to Believe.
Notes: This was written for secondskin, who was generous enough to bid on this story at qldfloodauction. Her prompt was the following: “…I would like somehow for Mycroft to be involved in the British version of an X-Files type situation. In my cracky head canon, I know Mycroft has his hands in all manner of super top secret alien and supernatural dealings for the British government.” I hope I’ve managed to fulfill secondskin’s wishes on at least some level. I can honestly say that the organization Mycroft runs is so super top secret that I still haven’t learned its location.

A big thanks goes out to _doodle, who not only donated her Britpicking services through help_nz but was kind enough to provide a thorough beta as well. This story is in much better shape than it was originally because of her. I would also like to thank bamf_hbic, who provided the screencap I used for the fic banner in this post.

Disclaimer: With great power comes great responsibility. Thankfully, I have neither. Sherlock and its characters are owned by other people, though I feel fortunate to have been allowed to play in this wonderful sandbox.



This story can also be found here at A03.

---

Lestrade stared fixedly at the object clamped between his thumb and forefinger. It was just over three centimetres long, vaguely cylindrical, and seemed to be made out of some sort of metal. The surface was entirely smooth, and Lestrade hadn’t been able to find any marks, dents, openings, or any other indication of what purpose the object might serve. If Lestrade had found it on the pavement, he would have assumed it was a pellet from an air rifle or similar type of weapon, but he hadn’t found it on the pavement. In fact, he hadn’t found it at all. It was the pathologist who had made the discovery when performing the post-mortem on the victim of Lestrade’s latest case.

The pathologist had found the object buried under the skin of the victim’s forearm when she’d noticed the neat row of stitches and a nearly indiscernible lump. She had called Lestrade down to the mortuary as soon as she’d extracted the object and it had been in Lestrade’s possession ever since.

Lestrade didn’t know what the object was: it could be the key to solving the case or it might prove to be nothing. However, he suspected that it must have some significance because it was so odd. In his experience, things that didn’t add up required closer attention.

Lestrade was debating whether he should text Sherlock when he heard a noise outside his office. He froze, instantly on the alert. It was late and, the last time he’d checked, no one else was around. He was pretty sure that even the cleaners had gone home for the night. For a brief moment, Lestrade wondered if it could be Sherlock – if Sherlock had somehow deduced that he needed help with his case. Then Lestrade dismissed the idea. Despite the sound that had reached his ears, Lestrade had a feeling that this visitor was trying to be furtive. Sherlock didn’t usually sneak into his office: he marched in as if he owned it.

Still clutching the object in his hand, Lestrade was rising from his desk when he saw the three men through his office window. Even though they were dressed in the right attire, Lestrade knew they weren’t with Scotland Yard. Not only did he not recognize them but their body language seemed wrong. Lestrade quickly grabbed his phone and called security. He heard several rings on the other end, but there was no answer. Lestrade swore under his breath and dropped the object into his jacket pocket. He was searching his desk for anything he might use as a weapon when the men filed into his office.

“How did you get in here?” Lestrade asked. “What do you want?”

“I think you know why we’re here,” one of the men said. His eyes flitted from Lestrade’s face to the pair of scissors Lestrade was wielding in his hand. He was an American with a crew cut and an almost military bearing. “Where is it? What have you done with it?”

Lestrade had a pretty good idea what ‘it’ was as the timing hardly seemed like a coincidence, but he feigned ignorance all the same. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but security is going to be here in – ”

“No, they won’t,” the American said. “I’m afraid they’re a little tied up at the moment, but that’s okay. You’re the one we want to talk to.”

Lestrade’s grip on the scissors tightened. “And if I don’t feel like chatting?”

“Oh, I think we can make a pretty convincing argument.” The American nodded at his associates, who pulled out guns.

“You know, it’s guys like you who give American tourists a bad name.” Another man with an insolent smile, and rather prominent nose, had just appeared in the doorway of Lestrade’s office. Lestrade wasn’t sure how he’d managed to sneak up on them, but he could tell by the accent that his latest guest was also from the States.

To his credit, the man with the crew cut didn’t whirl around, though he closed his eyes and sighed. “Mulder.”

“Hi, Swartzky.” Mulder moved forward, stepping between the two men with the guns. “You should have told me you were coming to London. I would have rolled out the red carpet, arranged a tour of the city.”

Swartzky scowled. “Starting with the bottom of the Thames?”

Mulder tutted and shook his head. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re offered hospitality and you complain. Typical. What must Detective Inspector Lestrade think?”

Swartzky snorted. “Detective Inspector Lestrade is waving a pair of scissors at me. I don’t think he understands the meaning of hospitality.”

“He can’t help it,” Mulder said. “He’s British. He’s reserved. I’m sure he’s only waving those scissors around because you barged in here, unannounced, and started barking out orders.”

“That and these are the closest thing I have to a dangerous weapon,” Lestrade muttered.

Mulder flashed a cheerful smile at Swartzky. “Great sense of humour too, though he’s not kidding about the scissors. That’s why it always pays to do some research before you travel. I knew he wouldn’t have a gun, which is why I came prepared.”

Swartzky’s forehead furrowed. “What?”

Lestrade was also confused, but he’d at least noticed the headset in Mulder’s ear, so he wasn’t surprised when Mulder called for backup.

“Scully, it’s showtime,” Mulder said.

Swartzky’s eyes widened. “Shoot him. Shoot him now.”

Swartzky’s men pointed their guns at Mulder, who was reaching inside his jacket to pull out what appeared to be a pair of night vision goggles. Lestrade only had an instant to process this latest development before all the lights went out. There was silence for a few seconds, and then Swartzky’s men opened fire.

Lestrade dropped to the floor and took cover under his desk. If he was going to make it out of his office alive, it might help if he wasn’t hit by any stray bullets. When the gunfire stopped, Lestrade wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more alarmed, especially as it was replaced by the sound of three thuds that Lestrade could feel through the floor.

Lestrade tensed as he heard movement by his desk. He was getting ready to pounce on his would-be attacker when Mulder’s voice whispered to him in the dark.

“I need you to trust me, Lestrade.”

Lestrade squinted. He thought he could just make out the lens of Mulder’s night vision goggles as the man crouched in front of him. “Why should I trust you?” Lestrade asked. “For all I know, you’re planning to kill me as well. You’re obviously here for the same reason they are.” He tilted his head, listening carefully. “What did you do to them? Are they dead?”

“No, just unconscious,” Mulder said, “but it won’t last for long. I had to split one dose between them.”

“One dose? One dose of what?”

Mulder grabbed Lestrade’s wrist. “We don’t have time for this. We need to go. Now.”

Lestrade yanked his wrist away. “You still haven’t given me a reason – ”

“Mycroft Holmes,” Mulder said.

Lestrade’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “He’s mixed up in this?”

“He sent me here to find you. He told me my main objective was to ensure your safety.”

It was a lot harder to tell if people were lying when you couldn’t read their body language, but Mulder sounded sincere. Also, from what little information Lestrade had managed to gather over the years, he knew trust wasn’t something that came easily to Mycroft Holmes: everyone was the enemy until surveillance and extensive background checks proved otherwise. It was almost six months after meeting the man that Lestrade had even learned his name – and that was only because Lestrade had arrested his brother for drug possession. If Mulder knew his name then Mycroft Holmes must have taken him into his confidence. Of course, it could also mean that Mulder had had enough dealings with Mycroft Holmes to have learned his name and hadn’t earned his trust at all. However, as his only other choice was to remain in his pitch-black office with three dangerous men, it was a chance Lestrade was just going to have to take.

“Okay,” Lestrade said. “Get us out of here.”

Mulder grasped Lestrade’s arm and helped him to his feet. “Just out of curiosity, you haven’t found a cylindrical object that’s silver and about an inch in length, have you?”

Lestrade smiled grimly to himself. “Yes, I have it.”





Lestrade clutched Mulder’s jacket in his fist as Mulder led him out of his office and through the building. Mulder kept up a fast pace, only slowing down when Lestrade stumbled on the stairs. Then, just before they reached the main entrance, the power returned. Lestrade was momentarily blinded again by the glare of the lights. Forgetting about Mulder’s partner for an instant, Lestrade wondered if he might be hallucinating when he saw the beautiful redhead standing outside the stairwell. However, when Mulder broke into a smile, Lestrade remembered that call on his headset and knew the woman must be real. Unfortunately, Lestrade didn’t receive a proper introduction because Mulder and the redhead were heading out of the building. It wasn’t until they had climbed into the back of a chauffeured black BMW – the first clear indication that Mycroft Holmes was, indeed, behind all of this – that Mulder’s partner extended her hand.

“Dana Scully,” the woman said. “You must be our assignment.”

Noting yet another American accent, Lestrade shook Scully’s hand. “So it would seem,” he said. “Greg Lestrade.”

“Nice to meet you.” Scully’s eyes darted to Mulder. “Do you have it?”

Mulder nodded. “Yes, it’s in the right pocket of DI Lestrade’s jacket.”

Lestrade’s eyes widened. “How do you – ?”

“I’ve seen you touch that pocket twice,” Mulder said, “so I assume that’s where you put it.”

Of course, Lestrade thought. Why am I surprised? He works for Sherlock’s brother. “So, where are we heading? An empty warehouse? A deserted factory?”

“No,” Mulder said. “I’m sorry.”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “Sorry? Why are you sorry? It’s a welcome change if you ask me.”

Mulder grimaced. “You might not feel that way in a minute.”

Lestrade’s brow creased. “Why? Where are we going?”

Mulder sighed. “That’s the problem. You’re not supposed to know.”

Lestrade winced as he felt something sharp prick the back of his neck. His head whipped around to Scully, who was holding a syringe in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Scully said, and she grabbed Lestrade’s arm as he began to pitch forward. Lestrade tried to shrug off Scully’s hand, but he found it a struggle just to keep awake. Then his eyelids slid shut, and he was thrust into darkness again.





When Lestrade managed to pry his eyes open, he was greeted by a surreal sight. Mycroft Holmes was sitting by his bedside with a brown tabby purring in his lap. Lestrade blinked a few times, but the image remained the same. Well, at least it wasn’t a white Persian, though Mycroft still bore an eery resemblance to Donald Pleasance – even without the bald head and the Nehru jacket.

Lestrade groaned and ran a hand across his face. “Christ. I’ve woken up in the middle of a bloody Bond film.” He gazed down at his limbs. “What? No straps? No laser beam to cut me in half?”

Mycroft stared at Lestrade in bewilderment, and Lestrade jerked his head at the cat. Mycroft’s expression instantly cleared and he beamed at Lestrade. “She’s the wrong breed.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lestrade said. “She’s still sitting on your lap.”

Instead of being offended, Mycroft positively smirked. “Now, now, Detective Inspector, I can understand why you might be feeling a little out of sorts – ”

“A little out of sorts?” Lestrade raised himself up on his elbows. “You had me drugged and kidnapped!”

“Yes, that was most regrettable, though entirely necessary, I assure you,” Mycroft said. “As soon as I discovered which homicide you were investigating, I had to act quickly to ensure your safety.”

“Because of that silver pellet thing?” Lestrade asked.

Mycroft nodded. “The initiator? Yes.”

Lestrade let loose a laugh. “You’re joking. The ‘initiator’? What’s that when it’s at home?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly share that information with you, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said.

Lestrade smiled to himself. He wasn’t at all surprised. “Well, can you at least give me the victim’s name and explain why this initiator was sewn into his arm?”

The hand stroking the cat stilled. “The victim was what is known as a ‘courier’. The initiator was inserted under the skin in order to ensure that it couldn’t be lost or stolen. It also contains an element that has the tendency to set off metal detectors. Fortunately, as the initiator is usually placed in an arm or leg, the courier need only tell the security guard in question that it’s a metal plate or pins that are being picked up by the detector.”

Lestrade pushed himself up further on the mattress, leaning against the bed’s metal headboard. “But airports have full-body scanners now. Security personnel would know it wasn’t a metal plate or pins.”

Mycroft scratched the cat’s head, looking pleased when the cat purred louder. “Usually couriers can avoid full-body scanners by taking an alternate route. Our courier picked up his package in Munich. From there, he took an overnight train to Paris, and then travelled to the UK via the Channel Tunnel.”

Lestrade shook his head in wonder. “So, he did all that because of this initiator and then got killed for his trouble.” He glanced sharply at Mycroft. “Do you know who killed him? Was it the same men who showed up at Scotland Yard?”

Mycroft smiled in what was probably meant to be a reassuring manner. “My people are taking care of it, Detective Inspector.”

Lestrade’s forehead furrowed. “Your people? Who? The British government?”

Mycroft laughed and the cat leapt from his lap in alarm. “No, not the British government or, at least, not the British government you’re thinking of. The minor position I hold is meant to conceal my true role.”

Lestrade knew it was wiser not to ask, but innate curiosity was one reason why he had become a detective. “So, what’s your true role, then?”

Mycroft folded his hands neatly in his lap and studied Lestrade for a moment before answering. “I run an extremely covert organization called Diogenes, which specializes in all that is strange and unusual.”

Lestrade wondered if he could have possibly heard that correctly. “Strange and unusual? Do you mean the paranormal?”

“Yes, among other things,” Mycroft said.

Lestrade slouched against the headboard, trying to absorb what Mycroft had just told him. “So, if you’re brokering some trade agreement in Uzbekistan – ?”

“I am, in fact, brokering some trade agreement in Uzbekistan – for at least part of my visit. The rest of the time is devoted to Diogenes business.” Mycroft bent down to pet the cat that was rubbing against his leg. However, instead of returning to Mycroft’s lap, the cat jumped on the bed.

“Diogenes,” Lestrade said. “Isn’t he the bloke with the lamp?”

Mycroft’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why, yes, Detective Inspector. Diogenes of Sinope was a Greek philosopher who carried a lamp in daylight, looking for an honest man. This organization takes its name from Diogenes because it also seeks the truth.”

Lestrade reached out to pet the cat as she sniffed his hand. “Seeks the truth or buries it?”

A look that might have been anger flashed in Mycroft’s eyes. “Diogenes does not engage in cover-ups.”

Despite that rare flicker of emotion from Mycroft, Lestrade pressed on. “But you don’t exactly make anything you uncover public knowledge, do you?” he said.

Mycroft sighed. “The secrets we maintain are in the best interests of the public. It’s for their protection.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Your definition of ‘protection’ leaves a bit to be desired.”

“Yes, I can see why you might feel that way,” Mycroft said. “You really do have my sincerest apologies for the drastic measures we were forced to take.”

Lestrade looked away from Mycroft. He wasn’t in the mood for apologies. “So what happens now? I assume I don’t have to worry about a bullet to the head, so what’s it going to be instead? Brainwashing?”

Mycroft snorted in amusement. “No, nothing as crude as that. There are some forms you’ll need to sign, but they can wait until morning.”

“I’d rather sign those forms now, if it’s all the same to you,” Lestrade said. “It’s been a very long day, and I’d really like to go home.”

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. You need to stay here for the time being.”

Lestrade stared at Mycroft in disbelief. “I don’t have time for a safe house. I’m in the middle of a case.”

“The courier’s death is no longer your concern,” Mycroft said.

Lestrade’s eyes narrowed. “As I’m investigating his murder, I’d say it was very much my concern.”

Mycroft frowned. “Ah, forgive me. I thought you understood. This is no longer a police matter. Diogenes will be taking over the investigation.”

Lestrade rose swiftly from the bed, swaying slightly as he fought the remaining vestiges of the drug in his system. “Let me get this straight. You plan to keep me prisoner here and steal my case?”

Mycroft’s frown deepened. “I’d prefer to think of you as a guest. As for the investigation into this poor man’s murder, Scotland Yard just isn’t equipped to handle it.”

Lestrade’s hands curled into fists. “You can’t just make me disappear. People will notice I’ve gone missing – your brother in particular.”

“An email has already been sent to your superiors explaining the necessary details,” Mycroft said. “If anyone asks, you’re on a two-week course in Manchester.”

“Two weeks!” Lestrade shouted. “You expect me to stay here that long?”

Another emotion danced behind Mycroft’s eyes, but Lestrade couldn’t identify it. “My dear Detective Inspector, I’m hoping Diogenes can resolve this unfortunate situation in the next few days. What you do with the remainder of that fortnight is entirely up to you. As you’ve barely taken any time off since your wife died, I would suggest a well-earned rest.”

“A rest,” Lestrade said. “You think I need a rest.” Mycroft made him sound like some old race horse that had to be put out to pasture. And Mycroft could do it too – with an email, a text, or a phone call. But that’s what Lestrade’s life had become about the last few years: words. Empty words. It was less about catching criminals and trying to make a difference and more about HR and PR. His promotion had been made official with a brief note typed under a fancy letterhead, while his wife’s death had been marked by some doctor’s messy scrawl on a medical certificate.

Lestrade could feel the fury welling up inside of him. Apparently, it was something Mycroft had been able to detect, as he was now rising from his chair.

“As you pointed out before, it’s been a long day,” Mycroft said. “I bid you goodnight.”

Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, then. Piss off. And take Thunderball with you.”

“Thunderball?” Mycroft asked. Then he followed Lestrade’s cold glare to the bed, where his cat was sleeping. “Ah, yes. Of course.” He scooped the cat up in his arms and left without another word. The door had barely closed behind him when Lestrade picked up the chair and hurled it across the room.





When Lestrade woke the next morning, he was surprised to discover that he actually felt rested. Then, as he looked across the room, he was even more surprised to see the assortment of items that had been placed on a table. There was a fresh change of clothing, towels, and a number of toiletries, including his usual brand of razor, shampoo, and toothpaste. Lestrade knew he should probably find it creepy, but, as a shower seemed like the best thing in the world next to a full pot of coffee, he could only manage gratitude.

When Lestrade re-emerged in a bathrobe he’d found behind the bathroom door, the coffee he’d been craving had joined the other items on the table. There was also a tray that smelled like breakfast. However, unlike the last time, Lestrade now knew who his benefactor was.

“Morning, Red.” Lestrade gave Scully a cheeky wink and she blushed. “Are you responsible for the rest of this as well?”

Scully glanced at the objects on the table. “No, they must have been left here during the night.”

“But you did bring me breakfast,” Lestrade said.

Scully smiled. “I thought it was the least I could do after last night. I really am sorry, Greg. Is it okay if I call you ‘Greg’?”

Lestrade grinned. “If that’s bacon I smell, you can call me anything you’d like.”

Scully gazed at Lestrade thoughtfully. “You’re very forgiving, Greg.”

“Well, you know what they say about the way to a man’s heart,” Lestrade said. Then he noticed the gold band on Scully’s left finger as she poured him a cup of coffee. “But I suppose you know that already.”

Scully smiled again as she lifted the plate from the tray and set it down on the table. “Actually, Mulder cooks more than I do – and that’s not very often. We eat out a lot more than we should.”

Mulder? Really? Then Lestrade remembered the way Mulder’s face had lit up when he’d caught sight of Scully and it all made sense. Lestrade walked over to the table and sat down, nodding his head at the other chair in a silent invitation to Scully. “I’m assuming you both met through work,” he said as Scully joined him at the table.

“Because we call each other by our last names?” Scully asked. “Yes, we met several years ago when I was assigned to the X-Files.”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “The X-Files?”

“A department at the FBI that specialized in cases dealing with unusual or unexplained phenomenon,” Scully said.

Lestrade, who was all too familiar with budgetary constraints and dwindling resources, had a pretty good idea of the challenges a department like the X-Files must have faced. “Was the FBI forced to shut you down? Is that why you’re here?”

Scully’s lips twitched. “It’s a little more complicated than that. The reason we left had more to do with office politics than office downsizing.”

“Oh,” Lestrade said.

The amusement continued to linger in Scully’s eyes. “We were in our tropical paradise when Mycroft tracked us down and offered us gainful employment.”

Lestrade stared at Scully, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice. “You were living in a tropical paradise and you came here to work for him?” He paused, lowering his voice. “By choice?”

Scully laughed. “Yes, it was by choice. It was exactly what we were both looking for and it offered us a fresh start, a chance for a new beginning. Besides, Mulder and I were getting bored.”

Lestrade was still skeptical. “I would have thought that, with your background and experience, there would have been some other job you could have accepted – any other job you could have accepted.”

Scully rested her chin on her hand, studying Lestrade. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

“His own brother doesn’t like him.” Lestrade took a sip of his coffee, glad of an excuse to break eye contact with the former FBI agent.

“Well, we like him,” Scully said. “He’s been very good to us.”

“Working for Mycroft Holmes pays well, does it?” Lestrade asked.

Scully frowned, looking taken aback. “It’s not about the money. It never has been. And when I say he’s been good to us, I mean it. Mycroft has always been very supportive. He encourages Mulder to pursue his own projects outside of Diogenes. He’s even funded a couple of them from his own pocket. But even if Mycroft hadn’t been so generous, he would still be a pussy-cat compared to some of the people I’ve worked for.” Scully’s eyes widened when she realized what had just come out of her mouth. “Uh, don’t tell him I said that.”

Lestrade grinned over a forkful of baked beans. “It might be too late if he’s bugged the room. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Lestrade was sure Scully would insist that Mycroft would never do such a thing, so he was surprised when she put her head in her hands.

Scully’s description of Mycroft reminded Lestrade of one question that had been nagging him since the previous night. “Why does Mycroft have a cat? Is it for some experiment he’s conducting?”

Scully lowered her hands from her face. “He claims he got the cat because his doctor told him he had to lower his blood pressure. As it’s been scientifically proven that owning a pet can lower blood pressure, he decided it might be an effective way to deal with the problem as it doesn’t involve drugs.”

“You don’t believe him?” Lestrade asked.

“His PA told me that Mycroft heard the cat crying in an alley beside his brother’s favourite restaurant,” Scully said. “He made his driver stop the car so he could go into the alley to get her.”

Lestrade’s fork paused in mid-air. “Ah, so you think Mycroft rescued the cat out of the goodness of his heart. Doesn’t explain why he kept it, though.”

“I think he’s lonely,” Scully said.

Lestrade almost dropped his fork. “What?”

Scully smiled, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes. “He’s a workaholic. He spends almost all of his time at Diogenes or fulfilling his other commitments to the British government. As you’ve already pointed out, his own brother doesn’t like him, and I’m not sure if he has any friends outside of work.”

Lestrade set down his fork. “So? Maybe that’s enough for him. Not everyone needs a large social circle.”

“He kept the cat, Greg, and I don’t think it was because of his blood pressure.” Scully rose from the table. “Mycroft would like to see you in his office. I can ask someone to escort you there when you’re ready – ”

“I’m ready now,” Lestrade said. He quickly lifted his napkin to his lips and stood. Then he blushed when he realized he was still in his bathrobe. “Umm…just give me a couple of minutes to get dressed and I’ll join you.”





Part Two

Comments

[pyrateanny.livejournal.com]

I like the interplay between Lestrade & Mulder and Lestrade & Scully. Nice bit of U.K./U.S. culture shock. Poor Lestrade, trying to cope with all these brash gun-toting Americans! Looking forward to seeing how the plot unfolds in Part Two...

[rusty-armour.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you, pyrateanny! :-) I'm glad you've been enjoying the U.K./U.S. culture shock, not to mention Lestrade's attempts to deal with brash gun-toting Americans. Those scenes in Scotland Yard were fun to write. *g*

I hope you enjoy Part Two. Thanks for taking the time to read this. :-)