Chapter 3

After Michael's departure, Mycroft dragged his hands down his face again and then looked despairingly at his brother.

"How is she?"

Sherlock looked sombrely at him.

"You know how she is."

"Tell me anyway." Sherlock sighed, impatient to get on with Mycroft's full explanation.

"She was acutely distressed, shocked, and heartbroken when Michael and I got to her in Mayfair. She experienced even more stress when we reached the hotel because she was frightened that she was losing her baby. Molly is with her and the consultant has reassured her that the baby is in no danger. Is she the one in danger Mycroft? Is that why you did this?"

"No, that's not why. I'm a complete idiot Sherlock. Was it really so simple, in the end? They played on my own insecurities."

"Mycroft! Not this again!"

"From the man who could model for GQ magazine. You'll never understand. Sometimes I look at her and she's so beautiful, extraordinary, and I keep having to ask myself what the hell is she doing with me? We are chalk and cheese Sherlock, Beauty and the Beast is just a bloody fairy-tale."

"That's just pathetic Mycroft. How many times do we have to have this conversation? She chose you. She loves you. Do you really believe that she moved in with you, has sex with you, because she's an Irish version of the Mata Hari? For Christ's sake, she's a billionaire, so money is not a motive for her anyway. We share as much security information with Ireland as we do with the yanks, so that's not a motive either. What on earth were you thinking?" He sighed, really frustrated with his brother. "There's more, what happened yesterday and today; what are you not telling me?"

"It was a succession of little things, information that got out before we intended, nothing too serious, not as big as the Google tender, but all enterprise issues and all relating to the Republic of Ireland. We may have the best relationship with the Irish in our nations histories, but we still compete with them for business and well, they're bloody good at it. The only other English speaking country in Europe, and God knows they have the charm offensive down to a tee…" he flinched in agony, thinking of Aoife's laughing green eyes. He sighed sadly again and continued.

"The point is, every piece of information that was leaked, was, at some point, documented in my briefcase, and the only place that case is not in my direct eyesight is in my office and at home; and I'm absolutely certain that it was not accessed at River House.

"Oh really?" Sherlock snorted disparagingly. "That place is leakier than a colander."

"Yes really, Sherlock. Either Anthea or myself had it at all times in the last two months."

"I may be wrong brother dear, but I suspect it's advisable never to say to Aoife that you trusted Anthea more than her." Mycroft closed his eyes, conceding the point.

"If she ever speaks to me again, that is."

"Give her time, Mycroft, and get in touch with her."

"How? She's blocked me from her phone. She won't see me. I know her Sherlock, she's so proud. She may never forgive me."

"If you know her so well, how in the hell did you believe for one second that she'd betray you? How could you doubt her?"

"I believe it was myself I doubted, not her, not really." He looked bleakly at his brother. "I was awful to her, Sherlock, I humiliated her."

"I know."

"She's carrying my child. She practically skipped up my garden path this morning, and I…" His voice broke off.

"Write her a letter, and I'll deliver it to her. You'd better make it good." He paused in thought.

"I'll need to interview your driver, any agents with access to your house, and before you ask, no it wasn't me."

"I know, I ruled you out. Only because you were in Ireland with Molly for most of the other times."

"Also, your household staff."

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"I've checked them all out, for God's sake Sherlock. I'm not an idiot" Sherlock raised a mocking brow and his brother sighed again.

"I take your point, besides my housekeeper, Helen, whom you know and has worked for me for over fifteen years, there's a gardening company on contract, but they never access the house. There are two-part time cleaners, both of whom are Polish and their security checks are clean." Sherlock nodded.

"Right, tell me what happened last night and this morning to precipitate your idiocy this afternoon." Mycroft glared at him but complied.

"I left my briefcase open on my desk in my study last evening from about seven o'clock while I exercised on the thread-mill upstairs. The UK tender document was actually open on my desk. Up until then I had never really suspected Aoife, and well, maybe you're right, I knew we were never going to get Google out of Dublin, so yes, I did set the bait and hope to find out who it was. Look, let me just show you why I was so angry, and so convinced." He clicked a file on his laptop and then looked pleadingly at his brother. "Please, Sherlock, don't mention this film to anybody else, not even Molly, and certainly not Michael. I want to talk to Aoife myself before the situation between us gets even worse."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. He watched the laptop, the film of Aoife, starting as she can be clearly seen calling his brother's name as she walked into his study, obviously looking for him. She pauses, tuts, as she notices his absence. She tugged at the zipper at the back of her day-dress, and it was apparent that she was looking for him to assist her with it. Sherlock watched keenly as she pulled out her phone and pressed a speed-dial number. Immediately, a phone buzzed on the desk. She tuts again and approached the desk, picking up Mycroft's phone. Her eyes fall to the open documents, then she can be seen squinting at them and muttering an expletive. She pulled out her phone again as she left the room. Then the film ended.

"Where's the rest of the film?" Sherlock asked, irritated.

"What do you mean, the rest of it? What more do you need? It's totally incriminating!"

"Mycroft, don't be so obtuse. I want to see the film from when you opened the briefcase, took out the document, left the room, up until you came back in and locked it away." Mycroft stared at him, and groaned.

Sherlock's phone rang. "That was fast, Michael"

"Yeah, I'm in a taxi to the airport. I'm using the time to set up interviews with the Irish tender team for later tonight and tomorrow and they're very surprised, as they know I work with Aoife. Guess why they're surprised, Sherlock?"

"Oh, because last night Aoife recused herself from consulting with their negotiating team, by telephone, citing a conflict of interest, at, let me guess, about 7:10pm."

Mycroft groaned, his head downcast and in his hands. "I am a complete and utter idiot."

Sherlock shoved a pen and paper across the table at his brother.

"You are; now start grovelling."

Mycroft clenched his jaw and picking up the pen and paper, he began to write.

"Michael, you still there?"

"Yep. I thought your brother was a genius?"

Sherlock laughed.

"He is; he's having an 'off' week. He's going to be a father. We'll have to excuse him. Now listen, someone on that team got a tip off about the British bid. That's for sure. Interview them all and put pressure on them. 'Criminal espionage', 'threatening international relations', that sort of thing, that'll rattle them. Probably useless though, it was an anonymous phone call to one or more of them. We need to find the leak in both countries, although I'm pretty sure I know who it is on this end, we just need to know who is pulling their strings from Ireland. It's more than likely a board member of Oisin Holdings, I'll fly over there to interview them all with you so hold off on them until I get there. We'll get Aoife to call a board meeting as soon as possible afterwards, shake them out. She'll need to get them all back to Ireland, they're an international company, I'm sure they're all scattered to the four winds at the moment."

"Right you are, Sherlock, let me know when you get to Dublin." Michael rang off. Mycroft, instead of writing on the paper, was sending an email.

"I'm getting phone records, and travel details for every member of that board for the last few months examined, especially focus on London or other UK visits."

"The Irish Intelligence Services will go mental if they catch you."

"Yes, well, they won't mind if they don't find out until afterwards, deniability, and all that, and I'm going to destroy the bastard that did this." He paused and sighing deeply, he looked across at his brilliant brother again.

"You said you know the leak from here. I'm going to get Helen's phone records too. It was Helen, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Care to divulge why?"

"She's fifty-two years old and in love with you. She has been for years. Quietly, undeclared and unrequited. Then, you brought Aoife into your home. You have never brought a woman to live with you before, and she's, like you said, beautiful, younger than her by nearly twenty years, but worse of all, Mycroft, she's Irish."

Mycroft stared, aghast, back at him.

"Her brother was shot dead by the IRA while on border patrol in Co Armagh, twenty-seven-years ago. Ah Christ Sherlock, Aoife asked me a couple of times about her, she said she sensed that Helen didn't like her, and I dismissed it as two women staking out territory. I have never been so wrong, so blind, in my life."

"No, I don't believe you have. It's very unsettling Mycroft, I don't like it, don't do it again. Oh and I wouldn't let it fester with Aoife, if I were you. Why don't you come back to the hotel with me and give her the letter yourself? You have to start apologising, at least. She doesn't know that you believe her to be innocent yet. Start there."

Mycroft looked at his younger brother with a perplexed, astonished expression. "Molly Hooper is very good for you, Sherlock. I glad you found each other." "He shook is head despairingly. "Aoife won't see me. She's too hurt and angry, but I will go with you; I'll get another room there, so she'll know I'm nearby, and well, I don't want to go home, not without her. Let's not tip Helen off. I'll get agents to put surveillance on her. I don't want to see her yet, if at all. You should interrogate her. I can't do it. I'll probably kill her."

Sherlock didn't doubt it for a minute. They sat in silence while Mycroft finished his letter and then he folded it, sealed it in an envelope, and handed it to his brother. Sherlock tucked it into his breast pocket and stood up, looking sympathetically at his brother. He gestured to the door.

"Shall we?"