Sorry, it's a bit later than expected, but still just as fun to write. I make no apologies for the contents of this chapter, the mental images were just too amusing. I'll write the next part when I've figured out what to put in it. So really that could be anytime. Cheerio.

Oh, and the French translation is at the bottom of the page, in case you wanted to know the whole of the message. It's not perfect French, I typed what I wanted into Google Translate, and that's what it spat out.

The cab pulled over on a side road near to the palace. Sherlock immediately jumped out of the car and began scanning the area. John let out a long suffering sigh before rifling through his wallet and passing the correct money to the driver, thanking him. The driver grinned in response, looking amused at Sherlock's antics, and possibly because of the bickering all the way here (Sherlock had used the last of the jam for an experiment and John wasn't best pleased) He got out and quickly made his way through the throng of tourists, excusing himself politely and as best he could given a few language difficulties, to find Sherlock. It wasn't hard, he was quite unmistakeable, the now infamous and iconic coat, springy mass of curly hair and sheer long-limbed height giving him away.

"So, what exactly are you looking for?" John asked, walking in step in him.

"I don't quite know," Sherlock replied, half-heartedly, his eyes darting around the scene, looking for a sign. "Yet."

The 'yet' was added as Sherlock's laser beam like gaze locked onto a red envelope propped up against the Victoria Memorial. He quickly made his way over there, and John knew by now just to follow. Sherlock bent down and picked up the envelope.

The envelope was simply addressed to 'SH.' Sherlock grinned and tore it open. To his surprise, the letter wasn't written in code this time. But in French.

Bonjour, Sherlock.

Je suppose que vous avez décidé de suivre la piste qui me reste pour vous. Il vous mènera autour de la City de Londres et à la fin, mon identité sera révélée. Plus d'informations à suivre. Votre tâche est de trouver l'enveloppe suivante. Il est en possession de votre frère, qui est l'un des touristes autour de vous. Utilisez vous compétences célèbres pour le retrouver. Vous avez quinze minutes avant qu'il quittera, et aura rendu votre voyage ici aucun sens.

Bonne chance.

"French? John said, incredulously.

"Clearly," Sherlock retorted, before reading the letter. Before he reached the end he let out a deep chuckle.

"What?"

"Do you speak French, John?"

"I studied it for a bit at school, but not anymore."

"Well, I'll tell you what's so amusing then. Aside from the fact that the sender's native language is definitely not French and has made use of the everyman's best friend Google Translate with a varied level of success, the general message having been put across. The message being the most amusing factor. The sender has informed me that my dear brother is somewhere in the immediate vicinity dressed up like a tourist. I have to locate him, and I'll locate the next envelope. It reminds me a bit of that book you tried to make me read when I was between cases."

"It wasn't just a book, Sherlock," John replied, exasperatedly pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's an activity book which uses perception skills, so I thought you'd enjoy it."

He'd never quite forget that afternoon. There had been no calls from Lestrade for a week and Sherlock was getting restless and John had presented him with a copy of Where's Wally? This had prompted: 1) an argument that books weren't entertainment unless they were for reading, 2) Sherlock petulantly whining about why was Wally so important and why is it imperative that he be found? (which was followed by a series of deductions about Wally, his career, secrets and why he is clearly wanted by the government which John found both impressive and hysterical) and 3) extreme frustration of not being able to find the elusive man. Even though Sherlock had gone the whole hog and used his pocket magnifying glass, there was still one page that Wally still remained hidden in plain sight.

John would never tell him that before giving Sherlock the book, he'd carefully cut that particular Wally out of the page in the hope that Sherlock would never complain of having nothing to do again. Needless to say, when Sherlock needed fire for his next experiment, the book was the first thing up in smoke.

John sniggered as the idea of Where's Wally? starring Mycroft Holmes popped into his head, with Mycroft sporting a stripy jumper and novelty glasses, grinning inanely and brandishing a cane in the place of the usual umbrella.

"My thoughts precisely," Sherlock said, startling John and causing him to wonder for the umpteenth time if Sherlock could actually read minds. Considering the amount of times that he had eerily echoed John's thoughts and with his seemingly supernatural ability for deduction, John concluded that he wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. "I have to wonder how the sender managed to persuade him to partake in this, but I do believe I'm warming to this mystery person more every second."

"We'd better start then, right?"

"We, John?" Sherlock commented, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. "I believe the envelopes were addressed to me."

"They were. So are most of the calls for help from Lestrade and I still help you with those."

"I wouldn't say help, exactly."

"Fine, supervising. Making sure you don't piss off everyone at Scotland Yard."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "We're not at Scotland Yard now, John. You don't need me to tell you that, surely. However, I suppose you can supervise now, as well. There's always the chance I might piss off an unsuspecting civilian. Or perhaps Mycroft, once I've located him."

John smiled in triumph."Right. I'll go and make sure he's not dressed up as a woman."

"By that I presume you mean that you want to go and look at all the women?"

"No, I mean that if Mycroft is wearing a dress, I want to be the first to see."

Sherlock smirked. "Make sure you take a photograph."

John headed off, and Sherlock began to observe the people around him.

It is entirely possible to disguise yourself and fake your height convincingly, however it is virtually impossible to make yourself appear shorter than you are. Therefore, anybody under 6'1 is not Mycroft.

He began to prowl around, brazenly running his eyes across people, ignoring the dirty looks thrown at him. He spotted a man of his brother's height, taking a photograph of the palace. Sherlock moved closer.

6'1, an exact height match. Dark hair, undoubtedly natural. 26 years old. Married, baby on the way which begs the question, why is he in London without his wife? Unremarkable job, not particularly well paid, that is clear from his wedding ring, clothes and camera, which is seven years old and bought second hand in the first place. He's foreign, from somewhere hot judging by his tan. Italy, judging by the language setting on his camera. It's his first time in England, typical tourist, he bought that I Love London t-shirt from a street vendor. He had a Danish pastry for breakfast, there's crumbs lingering on his collar and on the cuffs of his jacket. Conclusion, he is not my brother, but he is cheating on his wife. Perhaps I should tell him to remove the lipstick from the corner of his mouth. No, John would say that would be rude.

He continued his people watching, and got a few appalled looks after narrowing his eyes in concentration at an old man in a wheelchair, who he suspected could be Mycroft. The old man's handler quickly wheeled him away. Sherlock checked the time on his phone and was still within his time limit, so ruled out the possibility of the old man being his brother in disguise. He turned his attention back to the gate, and saw another man standing on his own. He was the right height, with a bushy ginger beard and his hands in the pockets of his body warmer. Sherlock noticed that there was something poking out from one of the pockets of his jeans. It looked like a pocket umbrella. Sherlock shook his head at Mycroft's predictability, and made his way over to the man.

"Nice day, isn't it?" Sherlock ventured, so he had a way out just in case it wasn't his brother (although he doubted he was wrong)

The man turned and smiled. "What gave me away?"

"Your height, your lack of companions, the umbrella in your back pocket, and that horrendous beard."

Mycroft smiled. "Well, I suppose I should congratulate you for finding me, and give you this."

He pulled out a red envelope from the body warmer pocket and handed it to Sherlock.

"You seemed to have attracted a worthy admirer, if I may say so," he continued. "Not just anybody would bother to lay out a trail all over London just for a man."

Sherlock turned the envelope over in his hands. "Well, clearly my admirer is not just anybody."

Mycroft laughed. "Not just anybody would think they could possibly handle you."

"I take it you know who has left me this trail," Sherlock stated.

"Of course, and don't worry, I approve wholeheartedly. I daresay you could find better, not that you'd try to, of course."

"Why? What's so special about this person?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "I think you know exactly what."

Sherlock didn't reply, but the corner of his mouth twisted. The two brothers exchanged a knowing glance.

"Sherlock!" John came jogging up to him. "He's not dressed as a woman."

"Of course I'm not," Mycroft sniffed, clearly affronted, "none of the blouses would fit."

"Eaten too much cake, brother dear?" Sherlock taunted.

Mycroft opened his mouth to retaliate.

"Boys, please," John interjected, "Buckingham Palace, despite what you may think, is not the place for you to bicker like little girls. Outside or inside."

Sherlock glared at him. Although he did have a point.

"You should listen to him, you know," Mycroft said, "Doctor Watson speaks a great deal of sense that I think you could benefit a great deal from. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an important meeting in ten minutes that I need to get ready for, starting with getting rid of this heinous beard."

With that, he walked away and got into a luxury black car waiting at the end of the street.

"So, you got the next envelope?" John nodded towards it.

"Stating the obvious again?" Sherlock chided good-naturedly.

"Just open it, where do we have to go next?"

Sherlock opened the envelope.

(Translation)

I take it you have decided to follow the trail I have left for you. It will lead you around the City of London and at the end, my identity will be revealed. More information to follow. Your task is to find the next envelope. It is in the possession of your brother, who is one of the tourists around you. Use your famous skills to find him. You have fifteen minutes before he will leave, and will have rendered your trip here meaningless.

Good Luck.

Ok, if anybody has any requests or ideas for this story, I'd love to hear them. It's past Valentine's Day now, so I'm just going to take my time. Thinking of puzzles is difficult. The trail will feature a few characters, ending with the sender (and if you haven't figured out who that is, shame on you.) So puzzles and guest stars and all suggestions are welcome. I won't laugh (unless I'm meant to) so don't be shy.

Oh, and many thanks to the reviewers and followers and readers. It's always nice to know that people actually read your writing...