Mycroft put his phone back into his jacket pocket and sighed. He had just instructed Anthea to send a car for his brother, and she had already done so without asking any questions. It was one of the things that the elder Holmes liked about Anthea. She was efficient and respected Mycroft's request that she refrain from bothering him with sentimental opinions. There was no room for sentiment in his line of work.

Mycroft supposed that he should be grateful that Sherlock had informed him of his temptation to relapse. He certainly preferred this scenario to the one where his men stumbled across his drug-riddled brother lying in a gutter somewhere. What troubled Mycroft the most was the fact that Sherlock had been tempted to relapse in the first place. Sherlock's text message, combined with reports from the surveillance team that he had strategically placed around Sherlock, indicated that it was all the fault of two people. Two ordinary people who were now causing the two geniuses problems. It could not be allowed to continue. It was highly unfortunate that these two imbeciles - a woman called Sergeant Sally Donovan and a man called Anderson - were colleagues of Greg Lestrade. Mycroft highly doubted that the detective inspector would allow him to, shall we say, remove Donovan and Anderson, and so the elder Holmes would have to find another remedy.

Mycroft's sources had wasted no time in informing the government official that the woman had become 'attracted' to Sherlock, and though said sources could not given an accurate measurement of how deep or sincere this sentiment was, it was evident that Sherlock did not reciprocate at all, and had rejected her in what Lestrade would probably deem to be 'true Holmes style'. Unfortunately, instead of simply accepting the situation, it had escalated out of proportion, with the adulterous Anderson interfering in something that did not concern him, culminating in him forming an alliance with Donovan in order to ridicule Mycroft's little brother. They did it because they didn't understand him, and because he was different, and most people automatically assumed that 'different' was a bad thing. Both Holmes brothers had been social outcasts since childhood, but it never really got any easier to accept. The brothers had simply become adept at hiding the pain of their rejection from society better. Sherlock's emotional outburst tonight was admittedly a rare occurrence, but Mycroft still made a note in his memory fortress to chide his brother about it when he arrived. It would do his brother no good to reveal his feelings so obviously; it would only give Donovan and Anderson more ammunition once they realised that it was Sherlock's weakness. Ordinary people were undeniably unobservant, but a literal punch in the face was hard to miss.

Mycroft was more than happy to help his brother, even if Sherlock didn't realise it, but they simply couldn't keep repeating this cycle. It was unhealthy for both of them, with wasted time, money and energy being put into weaning Sherlock off the drugs that banished his boredom, only for him to be rejected by his peers whilst attempting to preoccupy his rebellious brain with a case, consequently causing him to relapse and take the drugs that would provide him with a temporary escape route from reality.

What Sherlock really needed was a permanent fixture in his life, somebody that could be there for him all the time, and defend him against the jibes that he received but usually did not deserve. This was where the Holmes brothers differed. Mycroft was perfectly happy to forsake all types of emotional relationships with other people completely - the only exception being his younger brother, of course - in order to advance in his career. However, for reasons that Mycroft could not quite fathom, Sherlock had always rebelled against the idea, professing to 'needing an assistant'. He had tried to get Greg Lestrade to fill this role, but the detective inspector already had several full time commitments - such as his failing marriage and having finally achieved the rank in the police force that he had always wanted - and therefore could not commit to jeopardising these things to be at Sherlock's side on a whim. Mycroft had admired the man's courage for letting Sherlock down gently and still tolerating him, even providing him with cases. This was how the detective inspector had first come to Mycroft's attention. Their current relationship, on the other hand, was far more complex than it had been initially, but the government official could not dwell on that thought for now. He locked it away in his memory fortress in the room labelled 'Lestrade' and thought no more about it.

Mycroft concluded that it was time that somebody was placed by Sherlock's side. Somebody reliable, somebody who would not be detrimental to Sherlock's recovery from drugs, somebody to keep his younger brother on his toes so that he did not grow complacent or bored and become tempted to relapse again, but who would also defend Sherlock to the very end. Somebody with no full time commitments or family that could interfere with Sherlock's care and protection. A permanent Lestrade figure, or something very similar. After all, his little brother deserved no less.

But where could Mycroft find such a person? He had numerous contacts, each with contacts of their own. He could ask them all for their suggestions, but this would be extremely time-consuming, and time was not a luxury that Mycroft had. He mentally filtered through them and found that he had one acquaintance in particular who might know somebody that fit all of the above criteria. A man by the name of Mike Stamford. Doctor Mike Stamford, who trained at St Bartholomew's Hospital, if Mycroft remembered correctly, which he always did. Mycroft took out his phone, scrolled down his vast list of contacts until he found the right one, and pressed the dial button. Doctor Stamford answered after three rings.

"Mike Stamford's phone," he said in a business-like tone, evidently confused as to why a blocked number was phoning him so late at night. Mycroft noted that Mike Stamford had not used his title of 'Doctor' when he answered the phone. The most likely explanation for it, bearing in mind that Mycroft already had an accurate reading of Mike's personality and life story, was that he was growing tired of being a doctor, and having done very little else with his life. To Mycroft's knowledge, Mike hadn't left St Bartholomew's Hospital in years. He had studied medicine there and then gone on to become a teacher at that same hospital. It was a repetitive job, doing the same thing in yearly cycles. This was something that Mycroft could not empathise with, as his job was unique, challenging and varied, and so the government official decided not to waste breath on forced politeness discussing the situation when it didn't compute to him.

"Good evening, Doctor Stamford."

"Oh, Mr Holmes, it's you! Honestly, what do you think you're playing at, phoning me at this late hour from a blocked number?" The relief that had flooded Mike's voice soon turned to frustration. Mycroft rolled his eyes at the emotional display, thankful that Mike could not see him do so.

"Apologies, Doctor, but needs must."

"Call me Mike," Mike sighed. "What do you want from me, Mr Holmes?"

"I need information."

"You always need information. What specific information do you require this time?" Mike sounded weary, and this was before the topic of Sherlock had even been approached. Normally, this would not bode well for Mycroft's request being granted, but the government official knew exactly how to coerce the doctor. Mike was indebted to Mycroft, and this debt had not yet been repaid in full.

"It is imperative that I find somebody who would be able to tolerate my younger brother for extended periods of time."

"Oh right, I see," sighed Mike before silence took over. Mycroft decided to prompt the doctor, not sure if Mike had detected the underlying request in his last statement. After all, ordinary people could be incredibly unobservant.

"Do you know anybody that might suit, Doctor Stamford?"

"Nobody springs to mind, I'm afraid, Mr Holmes. Sherlock has done a pretty good job of offending most of my staff and colleagues."

"Of course," Mycroft rolled his eyes again. Trust Sherlock to have already alienated the people who had the potential to help him. "Well, Doctor Stamford, thank you for your time. I'm sorry to have disturbed you. Good bye."

Mycroft was about to end the call when he heard Mike exclaim loudly, calling the government official's name.

"Mr Holmes, wait! Don't hang up! I think I know somebody who would be ideal. There's a slight problem though."

"You have my attention. What is the problem?"

"The person I'm thinking of it currently serving as an army doctor in Afghanistan."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Is that it? It's quite clear to me that you have no idea of what I am capable of, Doctor Stamford. Distance or location is no barrier. Transport can always be arranged."

"It must be nice being you, Mr Holmes. Having the power to do almost anything and everything at the click of a button." Mike sounded resentful at Mycroft's perceived freedom, supporting the government official's earlier deduction that Mike was stuck in a repetitive job and feeling very unfulfilled.

"It has its advantages. What is the name of the person that you have in mind?"

"John Watson. Doctor John Watson."