Two Miles North of Bradwell, England

"Welcome to ADRAD, Mr. Holmes," a man in a military uniform said, approaching the Holmes brothers and their entourage of security personnel. He stopped in front of them, nodding at Mycroft before extending his hand to Sherlock. Sherlock stared at him, taking his hand after a moment and shaking it slowly.

"Don't mind my brother. He's a bit...shall we say socially inept?" Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, who ignored him, smiling back at the soldier.

"Lieutenant Brinkley." The soldier smiled at Sherlock, who nodded in return. "Honor to meet you, sir. Now I suppose you'll be wanting to know what you're doing here."

"I think I have an idea."

"Well," the Lieutenant said, motioning for them to follow him down the hallway, towards a large, steel door. "First thing you know is what ADRAD stands for."

"Advanced Defence Research and Development." The Lieutenant turned to Sherlock, mouth open.

"How would you..." The Lieutenant paused, glancing at Mycroft. "This is a classified operation. How did he know that?"

"Oh please," Sherlock said, a quiet smirk playing on his lips. "Exercising the slightest amount of creativity when it comes to naming their secret operations would be a foreign concept to the British government."

"Don't be offended, Lieutenant. He's just showing off now," Mycroft said, his lips pressed tightly together as he smiled, glancing at Sherlock. "He can't help himself."

"Well. It was certainly nice of him to volunteer his services for the operation," Lieutenant Brinkley said, nodding at Sherlock as he opened the door, revealing an even smaller tunnel, with stairs leading them further underground.

"Yes. Quite generous of him," Mycroft said, smirking at his brother. Sherlock's head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he scowled at Mycroft.

"Come now, brother," Mycroft said, chuckling as he shook his head. "You didn't really think your little stunt you pulled was enough to send you to Belmarsh, did you?"

"You told me," Sherlock said slowly, his stare increasing in intensity. "That it was either help you, or go to prison."

"Well." Mycroft said, shrugging his shoulders as he smiled smugly, leaning back on his heels. "I lied." Sherlock bit his lip, straightening his shoulders after a moment and turning to the Lieutenant.

"Something wrong?" The Lieutenant asked, looking between the two of them questioningly.

"No." Sherlock said quickly, his voice cold. He avoided Mycroft's gaze as he nodded briskly. "Continue."

"Very well," Brinkley said, giving him a final stare before leading them towards the stairwell. "We'll be at the base shortly."

221B Baker Street

"John, where are you?"

"I'm...I'm at home," John said, glancing around the flat as he held the phone to his ear. "Is there somewhere else I should be?"

"Good. Call a cab."

"What? Where am I going?"

"Bradwell."

"Sherlock, are you alright? What are...hang on, Bradwell?"

"Yes. Actually, we're a few miles north, but I'll be available for directions if you need them. Getting through security might be a bit difficult..."

"That's miles away, Sherlock. I can't call a cab..."

"Then drive yourself. Sarah has a car."

"Sarah and I broke up last week."

"Pity." Sherlock sighed, examining the wall to his room. "Well, find one. I need you here by morning."

"Where are you?"

"Defense operations base. It's the ministry's little underground research project, apparently."

"In case you've forgotten, we don't exactly have a great reputation with top-secret military bases. We'll both get sent to prison."

"Oh, don't worry about that. No one's going to prison."

"But you said..."

"Mycroft lied because he thought it was the only way to get my help. As of now, he's under the impression that he succeeded in misleading me." Sherlock paused, waiting for John's response as a small smile found its way to his lips.

"Are you saying he didn't?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Sherlock said, the pride evident in his voice. "We need access to the Ministry's files, and Mycroft has provided the perfect opportunity."

"Why do you need their files? And we?" John said, his head lifting slightly. "What do you mean by we ? Sherlock, I am not breaking into..."

"I'll get you clearance," Sherlock said, eying the desk at the far corner of the room. "Be at the main gate by six."

"But where..."

"I'll text you the location."

"Sherlock, I can't. We don't have a car."

"Then find one."

"I'm not going to do this, alright? You've gone too far this time, and I'm not..." He paused, realizing that Sherlock wasn't on the other end of the line. Sighing, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table, running his fingers through his scalp. After a moment he stopped, picking up his phone as he sat down on the sofa, dialing a number that had become familiar to him since moving in to Baker Street.

"Lestrade? Yes, it's...it's John Watson," he said, nodding to himself. "Yes...very well, thanks...yes, actually...there is something you can do for me. Could you get me a phone number?" He glanced through the window, gazing at the rooftops on the opposite end of the street. "I need you to ring St. Bartholomew's Hospital."