Under the Radar
Summary:
Fifteen years after the events of "The Three Students", London is under threat, a ghost from the past reappears, and at the instigation of the British Government, Sherlock and John set out to fight a battle they can't win.
Author's note:
This story is set about a year after the events concluding "His Last Vow".
It is a sequel to "The Three Students (Variations on a Classic Theme)" in the strict sense that I'm afraid you will have to read that one first to understand who some of the characters in this story are, what their relationship is, and what drives them.
I have taken the liberty of ignoring the as yet unresolved issue of Mary Watson and the baby. You're free to imagine whatever you like - that they died tragically; that Mary turned out to be evil after all and left John, taking the baby with her; or that they've simply gone down to Janine's in Sussex for a short holiday without John - as long as the result is that Sherlock and John are back together in 221B Baker Street for the time being.
If you've never heard of the hacker group "Anonymous", or know only little of their aims and activities and the symbols they use, you may want to read the Wikipedia article on them before reading this story.
Please note that this is NOT a WIP, but already completed. I'm posting it in several parts to allow for some last minute polishing.
Part 1: The Message
Baker Street, London, on a chilly morning in November. John Watson, wearing his usual black jacket, is walking purposefully along the pavement towards the door of No. 221B, lets himself inside, crosses the quiet hall and makes straight for the stairs. He ascends them in a hurry, two steps at a time, turns on the landing, comes out on the first floor and makes straight for the open door of the living room. In the living room, Sherlock in his dark suit - or a man who looks very much like him - is sitting at a computer with his back to the door. He hears John entering the room and turns round in his chair. John jumps almost out of his skin. The man at the table is wearing a garish yellow moustached smiling Guy Fawkes mask.
GUY FAWKES: Hello, John.
JOHN: Jesus.
Guy Fawkes pushes his mask up into his hair, and Sherlock's real face emerges from under it, grinning almost as broadly as his artificial counterpart.
JOHN: Just how many secret lives that I know nothing about do you have?
SHERLOCK: No more than six or seven.
He disentangles the mask and the elastic strap that held it up from his hair and puts it down on the table.
JOHN (pointing): And that is not my computer again, is it?
SHERLOCK (innocently): "Again"? And no, it's not.
John walks closer to the table and takes a look to make absolutely sure, then shrugs.
JOHN: And what exactly is the point of hacking your own computer?
SHERLOCK: I'm not hacking it. Just doing a bit of research. (Nodding towards the mask) Trying to see the world through their eyes.
JOHN (slightly alarmed): And succeeding?
SHERLOCK: Moderately, at best. Those masks limit your field of vision rather dramatically.
JOHN: And how come you're suddenly taking an interest in cyber terrorism?
SHERLOCK: I forbear from making the obvious rejoinder.
JOHN: Ah. Going well?
SHERLOCK: Not going at all, so far. Mycroft called just after you went out and asked me to join him at Thames House at eleven. There's something relating to this (nodding at the mask again) that he wants me to look at. That's all I know.
John glances at his watch. It is at ten past eleven.
JOHN: But then you had another call offering you an alternative form of entertainment for this morning, so you didn't go. No, I'll correct that to "you're not decided yet". But the other one seems rather more tempting at the moment, doesn't it?
Sherlock stares at John, unable to believe what he has just heard. John grins, shamelessly enjoying his moment of triumph. Unfortunately, it lasts for all of three seconds.
SHERLOCK: Lestrade called you as well.
JOHN: Of course. Wanted to know what was keeping you. And I must say I agree. A body of an unidentified man with his throat cut and his head bashed in seems a lot more interesting than some idiots in masks trying to save the world.
SHERLOCK (feigning surprise): You don't want to meet any of Mycroft's charming colleagues?
JOHN (appalled): Oh, thanks, no. I'll take the battered corpse in the morgue, any time.
SHERLOCK (standing up): Come on, John. Business before pleasure. First Mycroft and his cronies, then the morgue, alright? (Imploringly) Please don't leave me alone with those people. It becomes physically painful when there are three or more of them gathered in the same room.
JOHN: Such a big affair?
SHERLOCK: Apparently, yes.
JOHN (generously): Alright.
Sherlock smiles, gets his coat from the hook behind the door and puts it on, then walks back to the table to switch off the computer and get his phone. He picks up the Guy Fawkes mask and holds it up.
SHERLOCK: D'you think I should wear that? Give them all a little fright? (Seeing John's expression) OK. Maybe not.
A grainy video image of four men sitting in a row, facing the camera. They all wear identical Guy Fawkes masks of the same kind that we saw on Sherlock's face earlier, and identical black hoodies with a white image of a headless man in a suit printed on them. The second man from the right is the only one who has his hood up. The man on the left is speaking through the mask in deep-voiced, guttural Russian. We hear his voice in the slightly tinny quality of a laptop loudspeaker. After about twenty seconds, by the display at the bottom of the screen, the man falls silent, and the next man in the row speaks up in the same language.
JOHN (off-screen): What are they saying?
YOUNG MAN'S VOICE (off-screen): Some of it is just waxing lyrical about their long-term aims, but what they're saying specifically is that they're going to take down the entire CCTV system in central London bit by bit, just to show that they can. (The sound of some computer keys being hit.) I'll switch the subtitles on.
SHERLOCK (off-screen): No, don't. It's distracting.
YOUNG MAN'S VOICE (off-screen): Here's a transcript.
JOHN (off-screen): Thanks.
Meanwhile, the video has played on. The third man in the row – the one with the hood up – is now adding some lines of his own to the message. By his voice, he's a younger man than either of the other two. Then it is the last man on the right's turn, who confines himself to only a couple of words. Incongruously, he speaks in a very high voice, although he appears to be the tallest and heaviest of the four. Then the video freezes, and we zoom out of the image and realise that we're actually in -
Thames House – the headquarters of the Security Service, also known as MI5.A conference room, furnished in a modern but completely nondescript style, very functional and sterile. A long narrow table with two rows of empty chairs on either side. At the end of the table, a young man with a lot of gel in his spiky hair is seated in front of a large laptop, on the screen of which we can see the closing image of the video with the four masked men. A neat stack of files with blank covers has been placed to the left of the computer. Standing in a semi-circle behind the young man at the laptop, all with their eyes fixed on the screen, are five more men - in the centre, Mycroft Holmes, as usual in an impeccably elegant three piece suit; next to him on his right Sherlock, with his hands buried in the pockets of his open coat; then John, with a stapled-together printout in his hands; at Mycroft's other side, a man about his own age who appears to be entirely colourless - sand-coloured suit, sand-coloured hair, exactly parted, even his skin sand-coloured; and beyond him, another unknown face, an overweight, grey-haired man beyond fifty who looks like a perpetually discontent older version of Mike Stamford. By their bearing and manner, both these men are used to being in authority and to having their authority acknowledged. The young man at the computer – obviously a technician, by his age and the fact that unlike the other secret service men, he wears no suit - glances up at the overweight official, who appears to be his superior.
IT TECHNICIAN: Shall I replay it straight away, sir?
The elderly man exchanges a look with Mycroft. Mycroft turns to Sherlock.
MYCROFT: Well?
SHERLOCK: Well what? (Without taking his hands out of his pockets, he nods at the stack of files on the table.) What exactly do you expect me to tell you that isn't already in there?
MYCROFT: There is a good deal of information in there, but not all that we need. Both the gentleman from the Security Service (inclining his head slightly towards the sand-coloured official) and the gentleman from the Government Communications Headquarters (nodding towards the overweight man) would be grateful for any further insights that might happen to come your way.
Both the MI5 man and the GCHQ man look doubtful rather than expectant, and certainly not grateful for anything just yet. It is clear that inviting Sherlock and John to this meeting was not their idea.
MI5 MAN (importantly): A message like this, with the actual authors visible on screen as well as their own voices being audible, is extremely rare, and a heaven-sent opportunity for us. (With a somewhat reproachful glance at Mycroft) We have already taken this sequence to pieces in the most technically elaborate manner known to our experts.
GCHQ MAN (with only thinly veiled jealousy): Not to mention the effort that our linguists have put into identifying the authors.
SHERLOCK: It may look like it to you, but I don't suppose those gentlemen (nodding at the screen) usually regard themselves as messengers sent from above to facilitate the work of our secret services. (To Mycroft) I hope you've ruled out the possibility that the whole thing is a hoax, or even a red herring?
MYCROFT (curtly): We have.
Sherlock nods, apparently content with the answer. He puts his head to one side and takes a closer look at the files. In close-up, the stack can be seen to consist of four folders, two of which are bulging, one of which is about a third the size of the first two, and one which is so thin that it seems to consist of little more than the covers.
SHERLOCK (to the room at large): Well, since you obviously already know all you need to know about two of them, and a good deal about the third, I would appreciate it if you could stop wasting any more of my time and start being a little more specific about your knowledge gaps.
The MI5 man glances up at the clock on the wall, which is at twenty to twelve, and exchanges an indignant look with his colleague from the GCHQ.
SHERLOCK (to Mycroft): Tell me what they've got, and then tell me why you can't give them the rest of it yourself, and then, I hope, I can go and have lunch.
MYCROFT (irritably): I was just about to do that. (To the technician) Would you replay it, please? (The technician obliges. When the video reaches the point where the first man stops speaking and the second is about to begin - ) And pause it there, please. (To Sherlock) This first one goes by the nom-de-guerre of Arbo, and he's all over the place. A virtual celebrity, in those circles. Sony, , Mastercard, Visa, Bank of America - you name it, he was part of it. He's been active in those masks since they first put them on, and he's been giving us major headaches ever since. Corporations are his favourite targets, very closely followed by both military and civil institutions in the U.S. He operates exclusively from Russia. He's an ideologist – this message is surprisingly calm and factual, compared to the usual tone of his tweets and other utterances. He can be quite a preachy hatemonger. An international arrest warrant was issued against him in 2010, and it's still waiting to be executed. (To the technician) The second one, please.
The video continues with the second man's part of the message. The MI5 man picks up one of the bulging files, opens it and glances at a memo in it to refresh his memory, then puts it down again.
MI5 MAN: This one calls himself Yevgeny, which is very likely his real name. If he is who we think he is, he started his professional life in a signal unit in the Soviet Army, just before it stopped being the Soviet Army. He rose through the ranks and had reached Captain by the time he was discharged, at his own wish, in 2009. He had quite a reputation within the Russian military, not only for his technical skills. He is a veteran of both Chechen wars, and if rumours are to be believed, he was never exactly of the squeamish sort.
The technician has stopped the video at the end of Yevgeny's part of the message to allow the MI5 man to complete his account.
MI5 MAN: Ever since his discharge, he has shifted his existence almost entirely to the virtual realm. There are traces of his involvement in almost any major cyber attack that has come out of Russia since. But so far, there haven't been any strong links with this particular group. It's the first time he seems to be after something other than money. Arbo may be a believer, but Yevgeny is a mercenary.
JOHN: There's something I don't understand.
The secret service men (apart from the technician) turn towards John as if they have just noticed him for the first time, which may well be the case.
JOHN: They're announcing a cyber attack on London. Why don't they do it in English?
Both the MI5 man and the GCHQ man frown.
MI5 MAN (to his GCHQ colleague): That is a legitimate question, actually.
John visibly restrains himself from rolling his eyes.
GCHQ MAN (dismissively): Their accents would probably be too atrocious to understand a word they're saying.
Sherlock, whose eyes have been on the computer screen until now, glances up at the GCHQ man, but refrains from commenting. The GCHQ man picks up the middle-sized file. He taps the technician on the shoulder to signal to him to continue the video. The technician obliges.
GCHQ MAN: Now, number three. This one is known as Kareem, but in spite of the Arabic name we think he's a native speaker of Russian, too, although he's proving tricky to trace regionally. Very few distinctive features in his speech. Very textbook.
MI5 MAN: Russian expat?
MYCROFT: Or very well-educated.
SHERLOCK: What's his record?
GCHQ MAN: As far as that word is appropriate in this context, he seems to be the decent one of the bunch. He surfaced at the beginning of the Arab Spring, in 2011, when he and some others of his masked friends provided massive technical support to the Tunisian opposition. The Occupy Wall Street movement also owes him a debt of gratitude for technical assistance. He came too late to the show for any substantial activities against Scientology, but whatever they've done to annoy them since 2011 is mainly due to him. He's also managed to crash quite a number of child porn sites. He's not a great friend of the big corporations either, although his personal favourites are definitely the IT security companies. He loves playing havoc with those. We know next to nothing about his real identity, I'm afraid. For the past year or so, he has been operating from Russia, like the other two. Before that - very hard to tell.
IT TECHNICIAN (over his shoulder, with grudging respect): He could run IP spoofing master classes, that one. Probably does.
The GCHQ man frowns at his subordinate for daring to open his mouth without being asked. Sherlock frowns at the GCHQ man.
SHERLOCK (holding out his hand for the file): May I?
The GCHQ man hesitates, and the MI5 man makes a move forward as if to physically block Sherlock from even so much as touching the cover. Mycroft smiles sourly.
MYCROFT (to Sherlock): Yes, I believe there is such a thing as protocol. Let's not get the GCHQ in trouble for providing unrestricted access to classified information to -
SHERLOCK: - casual bystanders?
Mycroft gives his brother a disapproving look. The GCHQ man clears his throat.
GCHQ MAN: Well, as for the fourth -
SHERLOCK: - I can see from here that that file is empty.
The GCHQ man and the MI5 man exchange another look.
MI5 MAN (to Sherlock, rather unwillingly): Indeed, yes. That one's the only real Anonymous, so to speak.
GCHQ MAN: He isn't named in the message, we haven't seen him before, in short we know nothing about him.
SHERLOCK (in a tone of disbelief): "Nothing"?
GCHQ MAN (rather offended): Rest assured, Mr Holmes, that our analysts have done their best. We take him to be a native speaker of a Slavic language other than Russian, in his early or mid twenties – (self-consciously) overweight, obviously –
SHERLOCK: Which makes him quite unique...
GCHQ MAN (with a visible effort to stay polite): If you can think of anything useful to add - ?
SHERLOCK: Such as the fact that he's Czech, to start with?
MYCROFT (drily): Slovak.
SHERLOCK: Czech.
MYCROFT: Born and raised in the Czech republic, but by a Slovak mother.
SHERLOCK: Agreed.
MYCROFT: You're not in top form.
Sherlock scowls.
MYCROFT: Come on. Do better on the other one.
SHERLOCK: Who, the one that calls himself Kareem? (To the MI5 man) I thought it was all in the file?
MI5 MAN (completely missing the sarcasm): No, a physical description is still lacking, and it might prove helpful.
SHERLOCK (with a shrug): Alright.
The GCHQ man nods to the technician. The technician glances at Sherlock.
SHERLOCK: The whole thing, yes. But you can switch the sound off. I've heard enough about no borders, no laws, love, peace and the brotherhood of man.
The technician replays the sequence with the sound off. Sherlock is watching it with his head to one side, his eyes fixed on the man in the hood.
SHERLOCK (speaking along with the video): Not much there, really. Very lightly built... if it wasn't for the voice, it might even be a woman. Used to suffer from asthma as a child, but has grown out of it now... short-sighted, contact lenses. Vegetarian... but that's about it. (To the MI5 man, with glaring insincerity) Sorry.
The MI5 man gapes at Sherlock.
MYCROFT (to Sherlock): You're definitely not in top form.
The MI5 man gapes at Mycroft.
SHERLOCK (to Mycroft): It's not that. It's lack of incentive. I still fail to see what I'm doing here. You could tell them the exact same things.
MYCROFT (pointedly): You are here because these four men have apparently started doing exactly what they announced in the video, and we would like to stop them.
SHERLOCK: And what gives you the idea that I'm the person to stop a concerted hacker attack on your CCTV system?
MYCROFT: You have a reputation for being able to find people who don't want to be found.
SHERLOCK: I decline. Russia's even colder at this time of the year than Merry Old England. I really don't fancy a trip right now.
MYCROFT: Who's talking about a trip? They're here in London, Sherlock.
Sherlock, try though he may to hide it, is rather taken aback. Mycroft smiles.
MYCROFT: This video surfaced on the nineteenth, and ever since, those in charge of the CCTV maintenance in the city have had strict orders to investigate and report every little glitch, every little hiccup in the system, and it seems that our friends in the masks have started getting down to business. There is a pattern emerging.
MI5 MAN (tetchily): Or rather a lack of a pattern.
MYCROFT: It started in Camberwell on the night of the nineteenth. A camera on Brixton Road had a downtime of an hour and a half, and the entire recording of the twenty-four hours before that was deleted as well. The next night, the same occurred near Victoria Park in Bethnal Green, though the downtime was a bit shorter. On the twenty-first, the same in the West India Docks, with a similar downtime. On the twenty-second, a much shorter spell in Southwark. On the twenty-third, they'd relocated to Notting Hill, and last night they were south of the river again, in Deptford.
SHERLOCK: "They were"?
GCHQ MAN: Yes. To manipulate these cameras in the way they did, they had to be on the spot. These are all modern IP cameras. They transmit to a central recording device, called the Video - erm, the -
He falters. The technician is watching his superior anxiously, clearly embarrassed on his behalf. Sherlock ostentatiously turns to him, eyebrows raised questioningly.
IT TECHNICIAN (quietly): NVR. Network Video Recorder.
GCHQ MAN (pointedly): Thank you.
SHERLOCK (to the GCHQ man, generously): It's alright, you know. At your level of seniority, you get away with not knowing things.
GCHQ MAN (to Mycroft, with a visible effort to keep his temper in check): I'm not sure I came all the way from Cheltenham only to – (He breaks off, seeing very little sympathy in Mycroft's face. Stiffly) Well. These recorders store the images they've received from the cameras attached to their network for exactly twenty-four hours, after which they are automatically forwarded to a central archive for future reference. They also house an alarm system, in case one of the cameras fails, or is vandalised.
MYCROFT: And in all these cases, the alarm system was disabled along with the camera itself, which means that the actual attacks weren't on the cameras, but on the recorders.
SHERLOCK: Plural?
GCHQ MAN: Yes. There are several in every borough.
SHERLOCK: Where are they situated?
This time, the GCHQ man voluntarily turns to his technician for enlightenment. The technician speaks rather diffidently at first, but gathers courage as he goes on, happy to be speaking to someone who actually appreciates his expertise rather than just taking it for granted.
IT TECHNICIAN (to Sherlock): They're hidden in plain sight, so to speak. Most of them have been integrated into transformer stations and distribution boxes. Anything with a BT or EDF Energy logo on it could in fact be an NVR as well. The point is, you have to know where to find them, but you don't have to physically break into the London Internet Exchange to access them. Besides, the cameras and the recorders don't operate on the public internet, of course. It's a private LAN. So you couldn't hack them by remote access, you actually have to be there to get a foot in the door.
MI5 MAN (clearly grudging a mere subaltern so much speaking time): The decentralised structure was supposed to make the network less vulnerable to attacks.
Sherlock raises his eyebrows again, expressing despair of the stupidity of mankind in general and the secret services in particular.
GCHQ MAN (petulantly): We were against it from the start.
Mycroft clears his throat.
SHERLOCK (to the MI5 man): You spoke of a lack of a pattern.
MI5 MAN: Yes. Obviously, to stop them, it would be of vital importance to know where they will strike next, but so far neither of us (inclining his head towards his GCHQ colleague) has been able to establish a pattern. (With a clear note of frustration in his voice) My people have analysed the locations of the attacks with a view to possible targets of strategic or symbolic importance, of course, but we find nothing of the sort in most of these places, let alone a unifying factor.
IT TECHNICIAN (by now bold enough to speak up without asking his superior for permission): And we've looked at every possible technical link – IP addresses, obviously, the system by which the maintenance people have them listed, camera make, even the serial numbers of the actual cameras – but there's nothing to connect them. It looks totally random, like they take the London A to Z and just blindly put their finger on the page.
SHERLOCK (pensively): No, there has to be a link. (He's clearly beginning to enjoy himself. Thinking aloud) Camberwell, Bethnal Green, the Docklands, Southwark, Notting Hill, Deptford. (He looks at Mycroft, inviting him to share the fun.) Points of the compass? Too easy. Postcodes? SW9, E2, E14... No. Well. What have you gathered from the exact locations of the cameras that were targeted?
MYCROFT (leaning across to the GCHQ man): May we have a list, please?
SHERLOCK (to Mycroft, in a tone of disbelief): Are you telling me that you haven't -
MYCROFT (testily): No, not yet. As you might imagine, there are other things that require my attention now and again, apart from this affair.
Meanwhile, the technician has been typing on his computer, and has pulled up a spreadsheet.
IT TECHNICIAN (reading aloud from the screen): Brixton Road, Camberwell. Bishop's Way, Bethnal Green. Blackwall Basin in the Docklands. St. James's Road, South-
SHERLOCK (impatiently): No, no. The exact locations, if you please.
The technician looks slightly crestfallen, but quickly composes his face into a neutral expression again when he sees his superior frown.
IT TECHNICIAN: Alright. No. 122 Brixton Road, Camberwell, SW9, on the corner of Normandy Road. No. 35 Bishop's Way, Bethnal Green, E2, on the corner of Waterloo gardens. Trafalgar Way, in the Docklands, E14, on the eastern side of the bridge across Blackwall Basin. No. 173 St. James's Road, Southwark, SE1, on the corner of Culloden Close. No. 18 Blenheim Crescent, Notting Hill, W11, on the corner of Ladbroke Grove. No. 207 Evelyn Street, Deptford, SE8, on the corner of Armada Court.
SHERLOCK and MYCROFT (simultaneously): Ah.
All the other men in the room look at the two brothers in surprise, except maybe John, who seems more amused than astounded.
SHERLOCK (to Mycroft): Clever.
MYCROFT (to Sherlock): I said we were dealing with at least one well-educated man.
SHERLOCK: One with a shrewd sense of humour, too.
In a rare moment of unclouded brotherly accord, the two of them seem completely absorbed in the pleasure of their little game. John smiles. The MI5 man and the GCHQ man exchange a doubtful look, then the MI5 man clears his throat.
MI5 MAN: If you wouldn't mind explaining –
SHERLOCK (to Mycroft, generously): Your turn.
MYCROFT (in the same tone): Oh, no, please. I think you got it a fraction of a second before I did.
SHERLOCK (modestly): I really didn't.
Mycroft makes a gesture to invite Sherlock to go ahead anyway.
SHERLOCK (to the secret service men): Alright. Normandy – Waterloo - Trafalgar -
JOHN (comprehension dawning on his face): Oh.
The secret service men stare at John, half surprised, half jealous. Sherlock glances approvingly at his friend.
JOHN: - Culloden, Blenheim, Armada?
SHERLOCK: Exactly. (To the secret service men) As anyone familiar with our country's glorious military history can tell, we're celebrating famous English victories. And we're going back in time. I wonder what –
MI5 MAN (firmly): That's ridiculous.
SHERLOCK: Why?
MI5 MAN: It's a coincidence.
SHERLOCK: With two or three of the kind, maybe. Not with six in a row.
The MI5 man glances at Mycroft for confirmation. Mycroft nods.
MI5 MAN (still unconvinced): But they're our victories. Why would a gang of Russian cyber terrorists arrange their campaign according to our victories?
SHERLOCK: It's called irony, I believe. A variant of humour.
MI5 MAN (to Mycroft, in a highly offended tone): Mycroft, please tell me that the results will justify this.
MYCROFT (drily): I'm afraid they will.
SHERLOCK (to the MI5 man): Besides, you would be hard put to it to find a street in London that was named after any famous English defeats. (Aping a tone of pompous indignation) "Defeats? What defeats?" (Back to normal) Precisely. You could read the London A to Z from cover to cover and would still fail to find a Gallipoli Road. In a surprising instance of decorum, there isn't even a Somme Street, although that one technically does rank as a victory. (To Mycroft) And I know I just told a lie.
MYCROFT: I wondered when you'd notice.
SHERLOCK: I did mean to ask what will happen when we get to Hastings.
The MI5 man stares at Sherlock, suddenly extremely alert, almost electrified.
SHERLOCK (to the MI5 man): Which, for your information, only the boldest historians would classify as a major English victory.
MI5 MAN (not listening, to Mycroft, in a tone of alarm): Hastings, Mycroft –
Mycroft raises his eyebrows.
MI5 MAN (excitedly): We've received a letter, only last night, or rather a crude sketch, depicting the neighbourhood of No. 55 Hastings Street, and to all intents and purposes the author of it wants to convey the information that there is going to be a car bomb planted in front of No. 55 on the twenty-sixth of this month. Tomorrow, that is.
MYCROFT (massively displeased): And I hear of it only now?
MI5 MAN (defensively): We get almost a hundred of those letters every week. We're still in the process of determining whether this one is a hoax, or whether it is to be taken seriously.
MYCROFT: Well, I'm glad we've been able to speed up that process. (The MI5 man looks mortified.) I believe I said the result would be worth the trouble.
An uncomfortable silence. The IT technician begins typing on his computer again, by all appearances just filling the time until he is needed again.
MYCROFT (with a pointed look at the MI5 man): The tenants will have to be notified.
The MI5 man sighs and nods. Sherlock and John exchange a look, Sherlock quirking an amused eyebrow at his friend, John looking puzzled.
JOHN (to Sherlock, quietly): What's at No. 55 Hastings Street?
SHERLOCK: I have no idea. Though not your average office block, by the sound of it.
MI5 MAN (stiffly): No. 55 Hastings Street is the seat of a branch office of the United States Institute of Peace.
MYCROFT: But in fact it is something else entirely.
SHERLOCK: Ah. Have the CIA relocated again?
MYCROFT: No, it's the other ones. Those with their basement full of servers and other computer hardware.
SHERLOCK: Marginally better than torture chambers, at any rate.
GCHQ MAN (incredulously): So this whole CCTV stunt is in fact nothing but covering fire for a plot to blow up our American colleagues in Hastings Street?
Nobody bothers to reply.
GCHQ MAN: Jesus.
There is another silence. The technician is still typing away on his computer.
SHERLOCK (to the MI5 man): That letter, or sketch – how did you get it?
MI5 MAN (with a shrug): In a very old fashioned way. It was dropped in the letter box of the Deptford Police Station, some time between 8 and 10 p.m. yesterday evening. They forwarded it to us immediately when they found it, but there is no clue - (with a sour look at Sherlock) or should I say no obvious clue - to the identity of the author. He very clearly took pains to remain –
SHERLOCK: - anonymous?
Mycroft glances sharply at his brother, but Sherlock doesn't seem to notice. Then Mycroft clears his throat.
MYCROFT: Well, I believe time is of some value now, if the attack on Hastings Street is scheduled for tomorrow. If our cyber terrorists have indeed forged an unholy alliance with their old school colleagues of the car bombing branch, the former should lead us to the latter easily enough. Since we know where they will strike next -
MI5 MAN (anxiously): But we can't possibly risk waiting for tomorrow night!
MYCROFT: That won't be necessary. I believe we can predict with reasonable certainty where we may pick them up tonight. Any historian you'd ask to pick one major English military victory between the time of the Spanish Armada and the Battle of Hastings would certainly -
SHERLOCK (with a nod at the laptop screen): Look, he's got it already.
The IT technician turns round in his chair, caught in the act, beet red in the face.
IT TECHNICIAN (embarrassed): I – I was just fiddling around a bit.
He has pulled up a section of a map depicting the area around the Kentish Town railway junction.
SHERLOCK (to the technician): And I suppose what you've got there is the position of the Network Video Recorder that receives the images from the camera on the corner of Agincourt Road and Cressy Road in Hampstead?
IT TECHNICIAN (blushing even more): Yes, it is. (He switches the view of his map to that of a satellite photograph and makes the cursor hover on the spot.) A small transformer station on the edge of the car park behind the Kentish Town recycling centre, on Regis Road. Here.
SHERLOCK (with a rare note of respect in his voice): You're clearly wasted in your current job.
The technician looks ready to burst with pride and is having a hard time trying to hide it. His superior looks mortally offended.
MI5 MAN: Agincourt Road?
SHERLOCK: Yes, of course. Rings a bell? "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more – or close the wall up with our English dead"? No? Never mind, it's just poetry. Unless you let it become a reality tomorrow, but I think we're all in this room working hard to save you from that.
The MI5 man gapes at him, unable to believe such insolence. Mycroft opens his mouth as if to call his brother to order, but Sherlock continues too quickly.
SHERLOCK: Anyway, you're in luck. Agincourt is the one famous victory that appears only once in the London A to Z, so you won't have to stretch your resources. Just wait for them to turn up in Kentish Town tonight, and you've got all three of them.
MI5 MAN (very pointedly, inordinately happy to get back at Sherlock at last): Four of them.
SHERLOCK (unfazed): Three of them. The fourth has already been found.
A stunned silence. Sherlock is enjoying himself immensely.
MI5 MAN (in a tone of disbelief): Dead?
SHERLOCK: Yes. (To Mycroft) Congratulations.
MYCROFT (peevishly): It wasn't us.
The MI5 man looks scandalised at the very notion.
SHERLOCK (innocently): I never said it was. It's apparently, as yet, a genuine, regular murder enquiry conducted by the Met.
MYCROFT (equally innocently): By the Met, or by someone else?
SHERLOCK: Sometimes they do try and work things out on their own, you know. (His phone in his pocket starts to ring. He takes it out and glances at the caller ID, then ends the call without taking it.) At least for a little while. Now excuse us please, gentlemen. I believe we're urgently needed elsewhere. Thank you for a very enlightening morning. (To Mycroft) Let me know when you've got everything in place for the operation in Kentish Town. Some friends of mine would love to be there.
MYCROFT: I beg your pardon?
SHERLOCK: You certainly won't object to the presence of the Murder Investigation Team in charge?
The MI5 man gives a short, humourless bark of laughter.
MI5 MAN: Are you suggesting that seizing the remaining terrorists will help the police to find the killer of the fourth?
SHERLOCK: Naturally.
Mycroft frowns at his brother.
MI5 MAN (to Sherlock, acidly): And of course you're already sure of his identity?
SHERLOCK: Yes, I am.
Mycroft's frown deepens.
MI5 MAN (barely able to contain himself any longer): Then wouldn't it be proper to -
SHERLOCK (smiling insincerely): It'll all be in the file.
Finally, Mycroft cracks.
MYCROFT (to Sherlock): And now just get out.
The door into the conference room in Thames House,seen from the corridor outside. The door opens, and out walks first John and then Sherlock. Behind them, the door falls closed again with a dull thud. John chuckles. Sherlock stops just outside the door, looks down at his shoes and blinks a couple of times. John stops chuckling.
JOHN: What is it?
SHERLOCK (distractedly): Nothing. Just... processing some data. (He raises his eyes to the ceiling and exhales audibly, making the hair on his forehead dance.) And forwarding it to a central archive for future reference. (He meets John's eyes and smiles, if a little half-heartedly.) To stay on topic.
JOHN (with a sigh): Yes, it was rather a lot.
SHERLOCK: Enormous. (He visibly braces himself.) Right. Now for the pleasurable part of the morning?
John, slightly surprised at the sudden change of subject, glances at his watch.
JOHN: Morning? It's a quarter to one. Greg will kill you, and then who's going to solve that case?
Now Sherlock chuckles. They start walking down the long corridor that stretches before them.
JOHN (after a moment): I happened to know about Russian, but since when do you speak Czech as well?
SHERLOCK: I don't. Way too many consonants to get your tongue around. I understand a bit of it, though. A remnant from trying to track down the Golem, years ago. But I had to dig very deep to find it again, I admit, even with the little nudge I had. Small wonder Mycroft called me on it straight away.
JOHN (shaking his head): And that bloke in the video speaks all of six words in Russian, and you've got him.
SHERLOCK (soberly): No, Lestrade's got him. In the morgue.
John stops dead in his tracks.
JOHN: What?
SHERLOCK: He's the dead one, John.
JOHN: Greg's identified him?
SHERLOCK: No. Molly Hooper has.
He takes out his phone, punches a few buttons and holds it out to John. John takes it. In close-up on the screen, there is a text message which reads:
Sherlock - He's Czech by his teeth and an IT pro by his right index finger, but Greg isn't listening! Come and back me up! Molly x
SHERLOCK: I got this when you were paying the cabbie.
JOHN (returning the phone): Ah. And I thought I'd just witnessed another brilliant deduction.
SHERLOCK (in a surprisingly irritable tone): Excuse me? You have. (He holds up the phone.) Or what else would you call this? Just because it wasn't me doesn't mean it can't be brilliant, you know.
He pockets the phone and walks on without waiting for an answer. John shakes his head again and follows. They continue down the rest of the corridor, turn a corner and begin to descend a staircase.
JOHN: But you made that up, right, about knowing who the murderer is? Just to snub the MI5 lot, like they're a bunch of stupid schoolboys?
SHERLOCK: Well, they are, mostly. Though the GCHQ are usually my favourites, as far as snubbing goes. Not the techs, of course. They're alright, like everywhere. But the ones in charge - ugh. (He pulls a face and shudders.)
JOHN: They read all your e-mails as well.
SHERLOCK: Yeah. Yours, too.
JOHN: Everyone's, basically.
SHERLOCK: I wonder how they ever came to think that that's going to make the world a better place?
John shrugs.