Congrats to those who had guessed correctly! Originally I wanted this to be just two chapters, but you know how those muses can be sometimes and well, Holmes has decided that I needed to cover the post-Reichenbach before getting to the conclusion of the story which is set many years later. So this story will be at least one more chapter longer than originally planned. Also I added a quotation at the beginning of the last chapter if anyone is interested.

Now here is the answer to the mysterious identity of the Real Napoleon of Crime! Enjoy!



The Phantom Mastermind Mystery

"Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster." – Sun Tzu

1st April, 1894 – London, England

It would be nearly thirty years since I had learned that Professor James Moriarty was no more than a pawn in a larger game of cat and mouse (in which I was the mouse), at that fateful confrontation above the roaring and deadly falls of Reichenbach. Since then I had spent half of my life trying to thwart and ruin the man who had deceived me and so many others so remarkably well. The same man whom I felt betrayed by as if he had attempted to take a dagger to my heart himself.

To say that it did not hurt would be to lie to myself, and to see that my attempts to win in this battle of wills and wit against him frustrated me beyond my boundaries. So much so that my friend, Watson, had become increasingly concerned with my well-being and one-time became quite reasonably alarmed when my addiction to the cocaine nearly killed me during one of these black depressions brought on by this long-term case (which resulted in I taking a holiday out to Cornwall and finally ridding myself of that cruel vice)[1].

It was a fruitless attempt on my part and I should have known better than to think that I could outwit such a superior intellect.

To whom am I referring to that has left me drifting on the river of depression and self-loathing at how stupid I have been, you ask? I am speaking of my elder brother, Mycroft Holmes, whom I have on numerous occasions admitted to Watson that he was my superior in intellect and deductive reasoning. The fact that he has led a criminal empire for the better part of my life without my knowledge is a testament to his superiority.

His accomplishment as a criminal emperor[2], an untouchable leader of a vast empire, has left me feeling like I am walking in the shadow of a giant. A feeling, I realize, that I have had for many years long before my eyes had been opened to the truth. It would explain why my brother had opposed my choice of profession, which he had called a 'fancy notion', an obsession that I would grow out of as the realization of reality finally dawned on me and get a proper job within the walls of Whitehall[3]. Eventually he gave up and accepted it, or so I had thought anyway. I realize now that I have been nothing more than a pawn to him, a tool to use to dispose of rivals and incompetent subordinates and unknowingly serve messages of warning to the more ambitious employees. If he could not dissuade me from my choice of life, then he would use me to his advantage and thus give new meaning to that age old maxim of "keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

No wonder the criminal world feared my name.

But I am making the mistake of starting a tale in the middle rather than at the beginning, even though I would much prefer to tell all the conclusion of my story rather than suffer through the painful memories of having to pretend that all was well in my family while secretly trying to destroy the only relative I had left.

After the events at Reichenbach had become a week old and I found myself in a small French town near the border of Switzerland and France, I had immediately wired my elder brother of what had occurred at the falls and to help alleviate any misconceptions he might have heard from my friend and colleague, Watson. If I had known it was he who had orchestrated for my murder and abandoned Moriarty, I would have allowed even my brother to believe that I had been killed at Reichenbach. It might have given me the advantage I needed to topple his international empire a lot sooner.

But it was an opportunity lost due to my ignorance on the matter and one that I could have prevented if I had not been so emotionally stubborn to believe in the possibility that someone close to me had been betraying me all along. For three years I would travel across all of Europe, visiting the cities that Moriarty had mentioned and seeing what I could do to dismantle this phantom's influence within them. The deeper I deviled into his criminal world, the more I came to realize how sophistically organized his branches were that I became to suspect that these crime rings were not only funded by, but controlled by the British government or someone in power who had access to such resources.

It would not be until my eventual return to London and the events of The Empty House had transpired that I would finally lift my self-made veil and see clearly what had been so obviously glaring in my face for the last three years since I had learned of this truth. In fact it would be Colonel Moran who would rip away the illusions that I had wrapped around my mind in my attempt to protect both my sanity and heart from the inevitable truth.

"He knows!" I remember Moran saying finally once his tongue had untwisted long enough from his shocked spiel of You fiend, you clever, clever fiend. "He knows that you know, Sherlock Holmes." With a gesture of my hand I had stopped Lestrade and the others from escorting the man out of the empty house. I wanted to know what he knew about my phantom mastermind that I've been seeking for the last three years. I had known then at Reichenbach that he had been sent by his higher master and would know whom he was and now I wish that he had not.

"Pray tell how does he know, my dear Colonel?" I had asked of him confidently, but still I dreaded the answer that was to come. "Did you tell him by any chance?"

"No," said he, a sinister sneer of triumph on his mustached face. "You told him."

My face had blanched at his words as he laughed at my clear reaction, turning to a chalky white at a truth I had not ever wanted to hear or acknowledge.

They say that the greatest deceiver is not Satan himself, Mister Holmes, but those whom are closest to you that continue the lie that has deceived you, echoed the words of the late-professor who had first told me of his superior. Those whom are closest to you.

Closest to you.

"I say, old fellow, is everything alright?" my friend, my only friend, the only man in the world whom I could indubitably trust with my life and secrets now that the only other person whom I once had such confidence in had betrayed me. Watson caught me by the arm as my own knees gave out from under me as the shock of the revelation overwhelmed me and the pieces of the puzzle all fell neatly in to place before my eyes. I could feel his fingers loosening my collar and saw his concerned face move into my line of sight. "Holmes?"

"Watson," I breathed and I could hear my own normally controlled voice shake from the emotion of betrayal. "I have been such an utter, stupid fool! Why did I not see it sooner? Why did I tell him about himself? Why did I not just keep my survival a secret from everyone?"

"Holmes, you are not making any sense, old chap. Who are you talking about and what did Moran mean by 'he knows'?" Ever the curious and compassionate fellow, my Watson tried to make sense of what was upsetting me so. Should I tell him the truth or should I keep him in the dark for his own sake? Could I even trust him? Who was to say that he was not in league with my dastardly brother, an agent sent to keep an eye on me and watch my every mood and action?

No! My Watson would not do that to me! He would not betray me in such a way. I knew him too well to think that he could hide such an elaborate scheme from me forever. I have always said that he could not lie if his life depended on it. He was too honest, too honorable and chivalrous to carry out such a long term deception in front of me. And yet I thought I had known my brother and everything I had believed about him turned out to be nothing more than a two-faced lie. Who was to say that Watson was not the same?

I needed to know for certain.

I clasped a vice-like grip to the arm that was holding me up steadily against the wall that my back was pressed against while I sat on the floor. "Watson, please... please tell me you are not in his employ! Tell me you are indeed my friend and not some criminal agent sent to spy on me!" I would regret my words upon the sight of the hurt expression on his face, but would come to feel relief when it shifted to a mask of confusion and then open affection for a man whom he thought was having a mental breakdown.

And perhaps I was. The shock of my brother being the real Napoleon of Crime was almost too much to bear alone. I needed someone to confide in, someone I could trust and thoroughly rely on. I needed my Watson.

He grabbed me under my shoulders and hoisted me to my feet. I felt too weak from my shock still to attempt to walk on my own and was grateful when he let me lean on him. "Let's get you back to Baker Street, old chap, and then you can tell me what has you so disturbingly shaken."

It had taken us only a few minutes to return to my flat and several more, plus a couple glasses of brandy, before I could tell him the truth about the events of Reichenbach Falls. As I retold the tale, I had grown significantly worried that he might get angry with me and abandon me for my deceit once more. But he stood fast and kept his emotions, for the most part, in check until I had finished with the events that had just transpired moments before across the street.

"I cannot believe it," were his first and astonished words after a period of silence between us. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Positively," said I, pouring myself another shot of the brandy from the decanter sitting on the tea table before us. "He was the only one whom I confided such information to."

"What if Moran is lying though?" he tried to reason but I knew it was hopeless in trying to deny it.

I shook my head lightly. "Then how does he know that I told him? No, Watson. Mycroft is the master and I have been such a blind fool to believe otherwise."

The crackling fire from the hearth was the only sound in the room for the longest time as we sat there in our armchairs, contemplating over this bit of shocking information. I heard him shift in his chair and caught him out of the corner of my eye staring at me. Slowly I met his gaze. "I am not," said he and I gave him a confused look at his statement and he repeated himself. "I am not one of his agents, Holmes."

I gave him one of my rare small smiles in reply.

At least there was one thing in my life that was consistent.

In the following days and months after that fateful day in Camden House, I would bring Watson up to date as to what I knew about Mycroft's enterprise both here at home and abroad and together we would formulate a battle strategy as to how we could bring him down and to justice. But life afterward was not always easy for me or for us both.

To outward appearances I looked and acted like my regular self and the world would come to believe that I was recently resurrected from the dead and quite eager to get back to work. But in truth, and only Watson would have the privilege of knowing, I was an emotional wreck inside. The truth about my brother had hurt me far more than I had originally believed or led myself to believe. I could now see why Mycroft would have preferred that I had died at Reichenbach rather than have me learn the truth. Moriarty was right that it would break my spirit. If it had not been for my dearest friend, I would have succumbed to my own self-destructive habits long ago nor found the strength to rise up and challenge my brother for so many years to come.

I did not hear from Mycroft after Moran's revelation and it probably was best that I did not. By now he probably had already learned that I now knew the truth about him and has chosen to distance himself from me. Whether it was for the sake of my own soul or for his own liberty, I would not come to know until some years later when we would finally speak to each other again. That meeting would be the first among many of the coldest encounters with him that I would ever have to experience. Afterwards I found myself continuing to accept his cases after all that I have learned, but I only did so under the pretense that I am only doing it so that I could learn more about his empire and connections and not because Her Majesty's government actually needed my help.

Watson would sell his practice and move back in with me and bury himself in whatever tasks I gave him in order to help me combat my brother. He was equally as determined as I to see to it that Mycroft's organization was dismantled and the master himself brought to justice. When he had first told me that he wanted to do more than just secretarial work and watch my back which he had done prior to Reichenbach, I, at first, had protested. He was my anchor in this raging storm and I did not wish harm upon him or lose him to my brother's machinations. But he was quite insistent and eventually I gave in and did my best to school him in the finer arts of detection and deception.

Why I had not done this sooner, I would never know. Watson had proved himself to be quite the capable detective once he set his mind to it. Although I left the more dangerous and deceptive work to myself, my friend was no less incapable of doing the same whenever I needed to be in two places at once. But I did not relish in the fact that I was placing my friend in harms way. I would rather give up a kingdom to see to it that he would not come to harm, but I did not have a kingdom to give nor did I have the means to keep his stubborn soul from doing what he wanted.

He was truly a man of action and someone I could thoroughly rely upon.

Our first order of business in that first year of war against the Napoleon of Crime, was to gather our troops and determine who was caught in Mycroft's web and who wasn't. Watson would come to call me paranoid after he had learned that I had thoroughly interrogated our landlady, the ever insufferable Missus Hudson, to make sure that she was not in the employ of my brother. I had always said that there was something sinister about her comes and goings, but as Watson had proven, my fears were unfounded and our landlady turned out to be nothing more than a most tolerant Nanny[4].

I was quite glad she had not evicted me for my less than polite questioning of her.

When it became apparent that I was starting to jump at shadows and see everyone and everything as an enemy, my friend insisted that I take a long holiday and get away from both the city and my brother. "You are going to do the deed for him and run yourself into an early grave, Holmes," my friend had told me. "Mycroft has known for four years now that you knew about his existence. If he hasn't killed you by now, he probably never will. Relax, old friend."

"I cannot relax, Watson!" I had snapped at him. We had been enjoying the warmth and comfort of our sitting room when this conversation had started. I, myself, had sprung to my feet and began pacing back and forth in front of the fire like some caged tiger eager to be released upon that which was vexing him so. "If I so much as let my guard down just once, he will..."

"He will not," Watson interjected harshly and stood to stop me from my pacing by placing a gentle hand on my arm. "Holmes, there is an old saying that I think can help you and which I believe you've forgotten in your paranoia."

"I am not paranoid!"said I in protest. I looked at him sharply, wondering what exactly it is that I had forgotten though. But I kept my silence after my outburst and waited for him to tell me.

"An ancient general once said; 'Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster,'" said he and I just simply stared at him. I was not ignorant of the wisdom of Sun Tzu, an ancient Chinese general who had perfected the art of war. I had used many of his maxims to my advantage throughout my career as a consulting detective. Like a general of an army, I had my own troops and spies, I employed deception and strategy against my enemies and I always made it my business to know my enemies first before I battled them. The fact that Watson was reminding me that I had not only forgotten who my enemy was, I had also forgotten who I was in the process.

I had been spending the last few months trying to attack my brother directly under the belief that he was this omnipotent manipulator who had his web of deception wrapped around every individual and was turning them against me, and in so doing I had made a most grievous error in my war against him. I had fallen for the illusion of what my mind had created on just a lie and that was how my brother was winning this war.

My brother was a criminal, yes, but he was still my brother. That fact did not change no matter what he had been keeping from me.

With that ever so gentle reminder from my friend, I accepted his offer to holiday out in the country and spent the time rediscovering myself and tearing apart the fears and illusions I had created in my vain attempts to cope with the truth about my brother. Throughout that entire week I had slowly peeled away everything I had thought my brother was as a criminal and soon saw what he had always been.

He was still the detached, unsociable creature of habit who despised change from his routine but was no stranger to adjusting whenever necessary. He still went from his flat to the Diogenes Club to Whitehall and back every day and partook in his vices of snuff, brandy and good food. He was still highly respected by his peers in the government and his advice was still sought after by his superiors. He still had no qualms in using people for whatever reasons he needed them for and had a way to appease them so that they never felt like they were being used (a technique he often employed upon myself and Watson many times prior to Reichenbach).

The only change with him is that he had a second occupation that correlated with his official occupation.

As for myself I was still Sherlock Holmes, the world's only and first consulting detective. Despite the fact that I had been used for criminal means by Mycroft, I still attacked a case with the same vigor and tenacity as I do with my own experiments. My methods of analytic reasoning and deduction had not changed with the revelation. I also had not altered my modus operandi when tackling a mystery or boredom. I was still an eccentric, unsociable, unpredictable bohemian with odd habits and partook in vices of cocaine and tobacco.

So why do I still feel like I am lost?

I probably would not ever know the answer to that question, but I had to learn to accept it and use it to my advantage rather than allow it to rule me. I needed to return to my mask of reason and logic and lock away everything else that could not help me in defeating my brother. So on the last evening we had of our holiday, I was back to my normal self both in outward appearance and within myself. I was Sherlock Holmes the cold, calculating machine of logic and reason once more.

And it was time that I tackled the singular problem that was my brother like the detective that I prided myself into being. I had destroyed his London branch once before, I will do it again and in doing so, this time I will find the evidence I needed to see him and his associates on the dock.

"Watson," said I that evening in our cottage flat we were renting for the duration of our stay out in the countryside. He lowered the book he had been reading and looked over at me with his questioning gaze. "We are going to need to come up with a better strategy to combat my brother other than tackling one case at a time like we've been doing."

"How are we going to do that, Holmes?" he asked.

How indeed.

"By any means necessary."


[1] a tribute to KCS story "Broken and Buried", which I recommend for reading.

[2] a term Arisprite came up with to describe the phantom mastermind

[3] Westron Wynde's Mycroft was quite opposed to Sherlock's chosen profession in the early years, and here I'm giving a tribute to her manifestation of said character. I also recommend reading her stories.

[4] in the new movie, Holmes would call Mrs. Hudson "Nanny" for her nagging, but caring temperament towards his well-being and the well-being of her home. Although it is not in the books, I do like the idea that he might have a pet name for her just to annoy her.


Oh dear. You better look out Mycroft, your brother has found himself again and is determined to see you fall! Next chapter will have the final confrontation between the two brothers. Will Mycroft triumph or will it be Sherlock? Tune in next time on "The Phantom Mastermind Mystery!" Muahahaha *cough cough*