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Mycroft had become fond of the castle the instant that he saw the picture of it in the solicitors office several weeks ago. It was an unexpected inheritance from a distant relative on his mother’s side. This relative was possibly a second cousin once removed or a great uncle, Mycroft was not certain of the relation or if he had even met this relative, or if they had even known about him in the first place.He had received a phone call from the solicitor one morning out of the blue. They had asked to arrange a meeting so they could speak about a piece of property that he had inherited. He had expected to be presented with a cottage in the countryside or a flat in the city. He had assumed that the solicitor was joking when he had presented him an image of a castle and the deeds of the castle that he inherited. He had laughed when his solicitor had told him that he had also inherited the title of Duke.It was a small castle in the north of Scotland. It was smaller than the other castles that Mycroft liked to visit on the occasional day off he took. He had been to larger stately homes in the past. The castle was around the size of a large manor house, and it was complete with stone walls and a turret. It had been used as a home for the previous Dukes for centuries. The land which surrounded the castle was the ancestral seat of the clan since the thirteenth century, and somehow, Mycroft was a new link in this ancient chain.From the pictures that he had seen in the solicitors office and the deeds, it was evident that the castle was a derelict building and it had fallen victim to time and the elements, not to mention the political events of the century. The large wall which surrounded the castle had first been damaged by the Scymgeour’s in 1492 according to the books and records that Mycroft had studied. The events of the ‘Rough Wooing’ of 1543 to 1551, had caused some major damage to the castle and the lands. Over the centuries, there had been attempts to restore the castle but it was evident that time and the elements seemed to eradicate previous attempts to restore the castle to it’s glory.A lack of money had been a major problem in the restoration and maintenance of the castle over the years. The previous Duke had opened up the doors of the castle to tourists and for weddings in the attempt to raise funds to help fund repairs and to support the farmers on the estate. Some families had been on the estate for centuries and were reluctant to part from the land and they had a close working relationship with the previous Duke.The tenants spoke well of him. A member of the community council had been in contact with Mycroft as he prepared to move up to Scotland, Martin McGregor. A brash farmer who spoke with a thick accent that Mycroft struggled to understand. McGregor had spoken highly of the past Duke and they had been rather insistent about how they were keen to have a similar, if not better relationship with him. He had welcomed Mycroft to the village and invited him to go to the local pub for a drink when he arrived.The strangest clause of the will was that a Mr Gregory Lestrade, an estate worker, was to continue to be employed and to have a permanent home in the castle until he had decided to leave. He was to remain in the estate permanently even if he had obtained employment elsewhere.Mycroft had done some research on this man after his meeting, taking great interest from the little that he could find on the internet and his other resources. Lestrade had been working on the estate permanently for the last five years though he had lived on the estate for years before he had moved to London. He had family on his mother’s side, who had been working on the estate since the late eighteenth century.Lestrade had been a Detective Inspector for the Metropolitan Police for years and seemed to be a colleague of his brother, before he seemed to leave London one day and move back home. He was welcomed warmly by the community in an article from a local newspaper several years ago. He was frequently photographed for the village newsletter, and he was an attractive man with silver hair and dark brown eyes and was usually dressed in a set of overalls. He had a genuine smile, boyish at times in the photos. A picture of him in a kilt made Mycroft’s stomach twist in a way that it hadn’t done in years.From appearances alone, Mycroft did not mind keeping Gregory Lestrade in the castle. Mycroft wouldn’t mind his company too much and he supposed that it would good to have a friendly face around.This new inheritance had been a welcome gift to Mycroft and it seemed to arrive at the perfect time for hm. He had made the recent decision to step back at work and scale down the amount of work he had been doing recently and focus on some other projects. He had little idea what these projects would consist of or what he would do in Scotland other than some consulting work for the govement in order to keep his mind occupied.Mycroft looked forward to leaving the city. It did not suit him and he found it increasingly difficult to pretend that that he enjoyed it. He was fed up of the greyness of the city and he had suddenly developed a sense of claustrophobia in the bustling city. He disliked the constant noise even in the somewhat ‘quieter,’ parts of the city.He preferred the quiet and the feeling of peace that he experienced when he was in the countryside and rural areas. He liked how his phone signal was patchy in some areas and how it made it harder for people to get in contact with him. He felt like an ordinary person and he did not miss the feeling of the world on his shoulders and the constant stress that he experienced when he was in the countryside. He hoped that some time in Scotland would provide him with that same feeling of peace.As much as he felt proud of his career history and he liked how his job kept his mind occupied, Mycroft disliked his job for the most part. He was bored and his day was predictable. His interactions with others were so insincere and painfully scripted and rehearsed. He could go each day at work, knowing exactly what to day and when, how to move and when he was to smile and shake a hand without even thinking about it. Most of the time, his role, meant that he was to provide advice to others, but people refused to take it and often did the opposite of what he suggested, and he was to clean up the mess.He disliked the lack of honesty in the job and the people who he had to deal with on a daily basis. He disliked the fact that he had failed to make any positive difference to the country after so many years in in the government and that his colleagues seemed to be intent on making things worse for ordinary people. He had recently come to the sharp realisation that he was unlikely to make a change, no matter what he had did or how much he tried. He decided that he needed to step back as he was making himself ill and this inheritance would hopefully allow him to be a positive force for good.
Mycroft had once been an idealist in his early days of his career. He had believed that he could make a difference to the country, having been empowered by those other students in his politics lectures. He believed that if anyone was going to help change the world, it would be him. His intelligence, work ethic, and not to mention his devotion to a cause, would surely change the world if he set his mind to it.He used to go to protests when he was in university with other students. He used to march around with a banner and chanted, believing that it would help to make a difference. He protested against nuclear war, animal testing, any injustice that his political classmates had rallied against. He went to pride marches at one point in his life. He helped to raise the money for the miners back in the eighties with LGSM. He had been clubbed by a policeman in the poll tax riots in March 1990. Mycroft believed that it was the most exciting thing that he had ever done in his life. After that, nothing in his life seemed to be that exciting and he hadn’t f really felt anything since.He had believed that he had bene able to make a difference by getting a job on the inside. He believed that he was bound to make a change in the world and help others by working for the government. He had worked endlessly and far too much, finding himself rather burned out and jaded. He worked through his tasks mechanically and without much care or even really knowing what he was discussing or signing. He found himself frustrated with the lack of progress he or the government had made in the years since he become effectively become a bureaucratic pencil pusher. He disliked the people that he worked with and how jaded and corrupted they were. How they are more concerned about contracts and money in their bank accounts.Most of all, Mycroft disliked the person he had become. He disliked how increasingly apathetic he had become. He knew that his younger self would be horrified by the person that he had become. He was not sure if it apathy due to feeling burnt out or he had become apathetic as he had failed to make progress in improving the country. He read the newspapers, and he frequently sat through meetings where MPs were discussing about cutting budgets on education and debated if children should be given free school meals in the face of increasing levels of food poverty. It would be far too irresponsible to leave his position completely, but he had thought that scaling back his workload and some time away from London would alleviate the dark cloud of apathy and burn out that floated above him. If he was lucky, it would allow him to feel some happiness once more.This inheritance, though unexpected was going to take his life into a new direction. It was a change that he had needed for a long time. Mycroft did not care for the title, and he knew little about the estate itself and the management, but he was willing to learn and to get his hands dirty if required. It was going to be challenge but it was a welcome one.Mycroft was excited for the opportunity that had suddenly fallen into his hands. He looked out the window as the train pulled into Edinburgh Waverly station and he smiled to himself. Change and opportunity seemed to be in the air.
It was a drizzly and dully morning and the rain showed now signs of stopping. His body ached from being out in the fields all day trying to herd the sheep that had escaped due to the broken fence. Pippa, the border collie seemed to have a good time being out in the field, trying to round the sheep out, though she made little progress. She was not the most obedient or intelligent of sheepdogs that Greg had worked with in the past. If anything, she was the worst one that he had ever worked with, but she was good company and Greg enjoyed her enthusiasm.Once he had managed to herd up the sheep with help from one of his cousins and his competent dogs, Greg spent his morning repairing the fence. He had an never ending list of jobs that he had to go through. He had to fix one of the doors of the dining room after lunch and there was a tour group of Americans visiting the castle after lunch. He couldn’t wait for the day to be end and fall into a warm bed.It was endless work but it kept him busy. He liked it and it was a different pace of life. He had loved London and enjoyed his work there. He still visited his friends and family, but London was never home. He had decided to take the plunge and move back up to Scotland after the divorce. He had grown up on the estate and though he was somewhat of an outsider to the community due to being English and living in London, he considered it home. He had moved up permanently for five years now. He was originally meant to stay to help look after some elderly relatives and to help his cousins on their land for a year or two, but he could not see himself going elsewhere. He started working with the old Duke, an eccentric old fellow who preferred to spend most of his time in the fields and with his sheep, by accident. He had gone to the pub one day and the duke was moaning about how his estate manager had moved away and he heeded to get some work done and he couldn’t get a contractor in. Greg had offered to help him out and he somehow got a job. He was a glorified handyman or personal assistant. He did any job under the sun. He acted as a tour guide, he repaired fences and cleaned chandeliers. He heled the other tenants with their sheep. He chased peacocks. He helped organise events. He cooked. He looked after the animals. He helped the other tenants. No two days were the same and it helped Greg keep busy. It was the only part of the police work that he missed, the always-being-needed aspect and the urgency in which to get work done. He had a small team of workers, who assisted him, but for the most part, it was just him and Pippa since the Duke had died. She had been a gift from the Duke in his fourth year of service. She did not have the instincts to herd sheep and was too neurotic to be a house dog. She liked to accompany him on the quadbike to the fields and she liked to run around with the other sheep dogs. Greg had hoped that they would have inspired her instincts to kick in, but they hadn’t done anything yet. At most, she could heard elderly sheep but they mostly moved as Pippa was annoying them than anything else.Greg took of his wet clothes and dressed in a holey grey knit jumper that was knitted for him. He went into the kitchen and he switched on the kettle to make himself a well-earned coffee . the kitchen was as mess, the whole castle was if Greg had to be honest. He would have to tidy up before the new Duke was to arrive. Knowing his luck the new Duke was going to be the snobby type or at least had been bolstered by his new title and he was going to expect to be treated like lord of the manner.Greg was not keen on meeting the new Duke and he had found himself hoping that he would stay away for the most part. He heard that the duke was from London when he was in the pub for the wake for the last Duke. He heard the rumours that the duke was going to cash up on the property and the estate and to stay down in London. He would probably turn the castle into a hotel. Luxury B&B’s in castles and manor houses were all the range these days. An Earl in the nearby area had sold up a property and turned into a luxury yoga retreat and it had caused some speculation among the village when the Duke had passed away.Greg knew what these city boys were like, and he disliked them. If this new Duke actually cared about the title and the land, he would have been involved with his uncle in the last few years. There would have been a phone call at the least and Greg would have known who he was. Instead, he was the type who only showed his face and made his appearance with this new inheritance. Greg sighs when he looks at Pippa, who is standing patiently by the cupboard where her treats are kept. Her dark eyes looked at him hopefully and her tail wagged in anticipation as he opens up the cupboard and takes out the biscuit jar.“You shouldn’t be having this, “Greg says to her. “You are meant to be herding sheep instead of running away from them. I’m not happy for having to give you a bath after you decided to jump head-first into that puddle.”Pippa seemed much more occupied with getting a biscuit than to listening to what he had to say to her. She snatches the biscuit away from his hand and makes herself comfortable in her bed under the kitchen table.Greg hears a noise at the door as he was helping himself to a second biscuit. A sound as if a key was being turned in a lock with some difficulty . He hadn’t been expecting anyone and the weather was atrocious. He had been soaked through that morning from the rain and it had only gotten heavier as the morning went on. No one in their right mind would be out in this weather.The door opens as soon as Greg walked into the hallway and he found a man who resembled a drowned rat with a suitcase in hand, the keys in the other. The other man looks at Greg with a surprised expression as if he did not expect to see him there at all.“This is a private property,” Greg says without much thought. “The tours take place at the front entrance. Why are you here?"“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question?” The other man asks him briskly, moving the sodden flat cap from his head.“I live here,” Greg says, rather accusatory. “I’m Greg Lestrade, and who are you?”“I’m Mycroft Holmes,” the other man says rather prickly. “I thought that you would be expecting me. Though I am not one for formalities, I am certain that you do not speak to a Duke like that.”Greg feels his jaw drop, suddenly aware of the fact that he had been rather rude to his new employer, the new Duke of all people. He wasn’t what Greg had expected. He found himself unable to speak. The old Duke did not keep formalities, and he often turned the air blue, but Greg did not know how much this one cared for manners and the pretentious fluff that arose with titles. “Shall I put on the kettle?” Greg asks, excusing himself before Mycroft could reply. He did not know what else to say and perhaps a cup of tea was perhaps a good way to make up for how he had spoken to the Duke. He did a clumsy bow, nearly toppling over as he did so in haste and quickly went into the kitchen, wondering if he had still had a job.