Unfortunately being stuck in Afghanistan limited my resources. I needed a lab to run testing on the material I found, to figure out exactly where the salt stains came from. There was no guarantee, but if I could pinpoint the road salt to a certain region of the world, that would definitely give me more of a lead than what I currently had.
Right now I knew a few things for certain. One, I needed to contact Mycroft and get out of Afghanistan. Wherever John was, it wasn't here. There wasn't a chance that John's kidnapper would keep him here. That was too risky if I ever decided to come looking for him. This would be the first place I would come, naturally. It was the last place he had been seen, after all. There wasn't much more I could do in this wasteland of a country and I needed to get back to London so I could resume my work. Afghanistan just didn't have the resources I needed to continue my detective work.
The second thing I was sure of was that John's deployment was no coincidence. As I've stated on more occasions than I can actually count, coincidences didn't exist and those who wrote everything off just didn't want to see the truth for what it is. When John was first deployed, I was suspicious. It wasn't completely unheard of, but it was extremely rare for someone of his age and his amount of tours to be called back to a war zone without actually volunteering, especially after a war-related injury. Whoever arranged for John to be deployed had been plotting a very long, drawn out scheme. First this person had to manipulate the system to get John deployed, and then it took six months for him to actually go missing. Whatever was happening was very well thought out indeed.
The final thing I was sure of was that Moriarty was behind this. All right, I wasn't completely confident that he was the reason for John's disappearance, but if I were a betting man, I would be putting all of my money on the assumption. Who else would have such an agenda against John? Or myself for that matter? Who else would go to such great lengths to kidnap John but leave no traces of his death? Leave behind on evidence that I wouldn't overlook? Moriarty, of course.
Yes, it was an assumption and yes, I know what idiots say about assuming, but Moriarty fit. Not only did he had the motive (although his motives for everything were usually to ease his boredom) but he fit the profile. To pull off a long term kidnapping, to make it look like John was simply missing in action and assumed to be dead? That took real genius. An every day kidnapper wouldn't have that sort of capability. Moriarty's right hand man was also a former war hero, only he evolved into an assassin. Being able to sneak Sebastian Moran would have been rather simple. Moran knew how to be a soldier. Pretending he was a legitimate one would be a modest enough task. In John's letter, he said that he believed the man who was following him was lying about his identity. If it was that obvious, then the person probably was a sort of mole.
I only decided to stay in my rundown hotel room for one night. Once I was able to rest and get somewhat clean (the showers were… less than adequate), I decided that staying there wouldn't help me much. I needed to get to get in contact with Mycroft and such a simple-sounding task wasn't quite so easy. I didn't have a phone or anything on me, so I needed to find somewhere in this rundown town that would allow me to make that sort of long distance call, if it was actually possible.
As usual, I didn't sleep very long. Lately I slept even less than usual. As soon as dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, I was awake. I forced myself to eat more of the food I had purchased, since I didn't have much since I left the troop and faked my death to throw them all off my trail. Once properly nourished, I set out to find my way out of this miserable place. Mycroft must have received notice that my soldier persona was dead. After all, he was the only person I put down as "friends and family". Who else was there really? John and he had been missing for nearly three years. Surely my older brother was bright enough to know that I would need some sort of transportation soon.
In reality, finding a form of communication that would be sufficient for getting in touch with Mycroft was nearly impossible. By midafternoon I had been around most of the pathetic excuse for a town and no one had the ability to get in contact with the UK. I was beginning to think that my useless brother would, once again, prove to be useless until I saw the helicopter landing right outside the perimeter of the town. I was almost shocked to see that it got into an active warzone so easily, but my brother had repeatedly proven what he was capable of. He was the British government, after all.
Most of the time, I made my brother sound like an idiot but when it came right down to it, Mycroft truly was brilliant. He wasn't exactly a genius but he was clever in practical ways and he was almost as observant as I was. Once he received notice of my death and where I was last seen, I'm sure he assumed that I would be taking shelter in the closest thing to civilization I could find while still staying under the radar. Well, Mycroft totally destroyed that notion with his helicopter but most of the people in around to see it land immediately went back into their small homes and shops. In a matter of moments, the street around me was empty. Obviously they couldn't tell that this helicopter was from the UK and was not dropping troops.
"Very subtle of you, Mycroft," I criticized once I crossed the small stretch of bare terrain and climbed into the helicopter through the open door. Mycroft sat with a cup of tea in his hands and a tray of biscuits next to his seat. "Just because your brother jumped into a war zone doesn't mean that you have a real reason to break your diet," I added, sitting across from him.
Aside from my brother and myself, the helicopter merely had the pilot and a few men who worked as security for Mycroft. One of them pulled the door closed and Mycroft gave the order to take off.
"The biscuits are for you, actually. I figured you would probably be hungry. Not much in the way of decent food in these parts, I would imagine," Mycroft said and he passed the tray over to me. I wasn't exactly one to indulge in sweets, that was really more Mycroft's area, but I really hadn't tasted real food since I was deployed under cover, so I took the tray and began to eat.
Although Mycroft said that he hadn't broken his diet, I could tell that he gained a good seven pounds since the last time I saw him. Generally speaking, depression, anxiety and over thinking had one of two effects on someone's eating habits. In my case, I generally didn't eat if I was particularly upset, anxious or working. These symptoms had an opposite effect on my brother. When he was in a low and down in the dumps, he ate to make himself feel better. Let's all be honest, no one made healthy food choices when they were upset.
Mycroft had been worried about me. He broke his diet to fill the void that formed with my departure. I knew it seemed like Mycroft was some sort of stalker with how he spied on me. In fact, I accused him of that more than once because I hated him spying on me, but he really was trying to make sure I didn't get myself into trouble… For the most part, anyway. When I left and he couldn't tell if I was safe, in trouble or dead, it took its toll on him.
Normally I would have mentioned this, but currently I was tired and generally hungry for real food, not cookies and the slop that I purchased in Afghanistan. For now, I would just accept that Mycroft had been worried and once I was well on my way to finding John, then I would make fun of Mycroft for his weight gain. It really wasn't fun to tease him if he wasn't making jokes at my expense in return.
"So did you find what you were looking for?" Mycroft asked, sipping his tea casually. He was trying to act cool, like he didn't care about what I was doing or if I was okay. Underneath all of that, I knew my brother too well to fall for it. This was kind of just a repeat of when I left; only the relief was clear on his face.
"Do you see John anywhere?" I asked, sarcasm thick in my tone. Of course I never expected to find John in the warzone, but he was ultimately what I was looking for.
"Sherlock, you don't have to be so hostile all the time. You know what I meant," he replied coolly.
"I found enough to make my trip worth while, Mycroft. I found a letter that John left for me. I found his dog tags and I found a bit of fabric that might be able to lead me to where he's being held. I'm positive that he isn't dead, that someone kidnapped him instead. In his note, he explained how one of the other soldiers seemed to pay attention to everything that he did and that he was confident the man was faking his identity, like I did," I explained to him. I didn't have much on my person, but in my small pack, these three items were safely concealed inside.
Mycroft didn't seem very convinced. Yes, my explanation was rather vague. Over the years, I learned that people weren't too quick to believe my conclusions unless I provided evidence. Mycroft was not different. No one wanted to believe that I could be right about everything (well, most things) from a simple glance. Even my own family resented it, including my older brother. "Sherlock, just because you found clues doesn't mean that John is still alive…" he muttered, obviously trying to be cautious with his words and my feelings. "You know this."
"Mycroft, don't. Just don't. I haven't found anything to suggest that he is dead. Why would anyone go to all the trouble to follow him into a war, kill him and not make his death known?" I questioned. Deep down I knew my brother was right. Just because most of what I found suggested that John was kidnapped and being held captive somewhere didn't mean that my original assumptions were true. Perhaps Moriarty really did kill him. I couldn't actually allow myself to dwell on this. For the past three years I didn't allow myself to believe that John was dead and until I had proof of his death, he was alive. If I found out that John really was gone, I wasn't sure how I would handle it, if I could handle it.
There was also a very slim possibility that Moriarty wasn't behind this, but I highly doubted it.
"I don't know, Sherlock. There are a lot of sick people in this world, you and I included. I know you won't believe that he's dead unless you prove it to yourself, but I don't want you to get your hopes up…" He watched me for a minute before sighing softly, setting his tea aside. "But if anyone can find him, it would be you."
I didn't have much more to say to my brother at that point, so I banished myself to the seclusion of my own thoughts. There was a lot of brain storming to be done.