#shifterlock

Lestrade puzzles at it, but as there’s no ignoring it, he showers, dresses and makes his way to the address. It’s a specialist lighting store and the finds himself the bemused owner of a large heat lamp.  Still questioning his life, he lugs it to the innocuous looking building where Mycroft keeps his offices.

He inhales out of habit upon passing through the door; but there’s nothing of any note. Sherlock evidently hasn’t been here, nor John or there’d be a darn slight higher level of Shift stress about the place. For somewhere government run and concerning national security, they noticeably lack a lot of top-of-the-food chain predators.

Either that or they’re so stupendous at keeping their shifts under control that he can’t sense them and they aren’t at all perturbed by other people’s shifts either.  Anthea greets him at the front desk, which takes the form of her merely looking at him and announcing, “You need a new bed.”

“Um, yeah,” Greg replies, thrown.

“You’ve got fur on your shirt.” She tells him. He rubs at the fabric and can’t find it.

“So what’s going on? I’ve got your lamp.”

“Thank you, I’d noticed,” Anthea replies. “You can take it through.”

Lestrade is more confused than ever. He’s never owned one personally, but he’s seen lamps like this before in people’s houses. Typically in nurseries where the child can’t control their shift yet and the animal form is something fragile or exotic. More rarely, it’s used as a form of therapy for reptilian shifts, who usually spend all their time in human form but still stuffer from heat-withdrawal and a need to reach certain temperatures before they can focus. 

Maybe Mycroft has visitors.

He doesn’t strike Lestrade as a snake-shift or anything, for all his coldness. Lestrade’s run across one or two and they automatically make the hair on the back of his neck rise. An innate reaction based on his animal originating from places where reptiles pose a significant threat. 

Anthea leaves him at the door, with the cryptic final comment of “He’ll be under his desk.”

This is not what Lestrade was expecting. He’s seen Mycroft’s office before; it’s rather severe painted walls, the portrait of the queen and the big old desk with its red telephone. There’s a painted screen to one corner which, usually folded, has been furled out to provide a discrete corner. There other is the lack of Mycroft; or at least, the lack of the man. 

Lestrade’s used to finding him at his desk, looking stern and buttoned up to his chin. Today there is nothing but a discarded heap of blanket under the desk.

“Hello?” Lestrade says, putting the box he’s carrying down. The heap doesn’t move. Slowly he approaches it. It smells of animal; not strongly but his shift has a good sense of smell and he can pick it up and it’s nothing like anything he’s smelt before. He lifts the corner of the blanket and finds nothing but coarse black and white hair.

“Uh,” he says in surprise and then backs off as the heap stirs. A limb with claws pokes free and Lestrade is further astounded by the shape of it. What’s more, it appears to be wearing a jumper made of bright red acrylic. Clumsily the most ridiculous creature Lestrade has ever seen struggles free from the blanket.

The body is swathed in thick black hair, except where the colour is cut through which white and grey in sparse stripes,  and where it’s not covered by the ugliest oversized jumper imaginable. The body itself is thick and muscular; inelegant. It rises over the ribs to a crest and the animal would look weirdly short if it weren’t for the nose and the tail. Each is about the same length as the body itself and the tail is an enormous flat brush that bristles up in irritation. The face is inexpressive although somehow it manages to look pained, the eyes squinting. The nose curves towards the floor, darkest at the tip. The claws scrape the floor as it makes a surprisingly fast get away towards the screen for something that walks on its knuckles. 

“Mycroft?” Lestrade asks, too stunned to even laugh. The tail disappears behind the screen and a moment later, Mycroft’s voice echoes out.

“What are you doing here, Lestrade?”

“I got a text to come and bring this.” Lestrade taps the box, and then, rather gleeful, approaches the desk.

“You’re an anteater!”

“You’re a dog,” Mycroft throws back caustically.

“I’m a painted dog,” Lestrade replies. “I’m not any old mutt, thanks. What were you doing?” 

“I was thinking,” Mycroft answers. There’s a flump as the hideous jumper appears over the top of the screen, and Lestrade can hear him pulling on his clothes.

“You were napping, more like.”

“Oh do shut up.”

“Nice jumper,” Lestrade grins. “Who got you that?”

The screen sighs. “Mummy. You can go, you know.”

“I know,” Lestrade answers, taking a seat and hanging onto the box. He can’t stop grinning. This is the best thing he’s ever learnt. Mycroft Holmes is a giant, novelty-sweater wearing hose-nose. “It’s very cute.”

“It’s the only damn thing in my size,” Mycroft complains, emerging now more respectably attired in his suit.  “No one here knits for Myrmecophaga.”

“Not too common, no,” Lestrade agrees.

“I’m the only one in the country.” Mycroft takes a seat.

“Really?” This interests Lestrade. Plenty of people have non-native Shifts and even the likes of Sherlock Holmes can’t say they’re the only example of their type. There are other big cats.

“Yes. Should I want to meet another, I’d have to go to either South America or I believe there’s a small community in India.” Mycroft looks annoyed by this, as though the others have conspired to be born in significantly warmer countries. 

“Do you often shift at work?” Lestrade can’t restrain his curiosity.

Mycroft sighs, exasperated. “It helps me think. Anteater minds are quiet and focused. May I take my lamp now.”

Lestrade relents and passes the box over. “I’d have thought you’d have one.”

“I did. It broke.”

 “The claws are a bit…” Lestrade comments, miming with his hands. “How do you walk?” 

“Funnily enough, I do believe they evolved to be walked on,” Mycroft says frowning. “They’re for digging through termite mounds. I assume you’ve seen my brother’s shift.”

“Yeah, big black cat thing.” 

“Yes, most ferocious,” Mycroft says with a trace of sarcasm. “In the wild, anteaters are capable of killing predators with those claws.”

“Right. Well. Not looking to fight you,” Lestrade answers carefully.  “Especially not wearing that jumper; that’d be a terrifying way to go.” The thought occurs to him just then that when Mycroft shifted back, he would have been wearing nothing but the jumper behind that screen. Indiscreetly, this thought must show on his face.

Mycroft scoffs, the back of his neck turning red, and hastily sends him on his way. Lestrade goes, still brimming with amusement and curiosity, and with the intention of prodding Sherlock for more information.

____ 

It’s not till a few hours later, when Lestrade is holed up in his own office getting on with his work, that a package arrives for him.

He opens it, and the spill of wool that comes out of the paper is dark green and ornamented with elfish pompoms. It’s the right size for a dog, even though there’s no way Lestrade would be able to put it on while he’s shifted. Lestrade tries to look annoyed but it’s too good a joke and he looses it when he reads the card that comes with it

“For a more worthy opponent,” it says. “Or else to improve your thoughts.”

“Jesus,” says Lestrade, putting it aside with a laugh. One of these days he’s got to get Mycroft out of that office and into a restaurant with him.