3. A Wall And A Barrel

Sherlock looked down to the Street and waited to see his brother get in the usual black car. Mycroft looked troubled, to say the least. Under all those layers of rehearsed disinterest, Sherlock saw the fear, raw and destructive, gnawing its way to the surface. It was not the type of fear he had seen before, or the one that showed up when he pushed Mycroft's buttons hard enough, it was different. He was trying a bit too hard to keep his cool, and for the common eye, he was succeeding. Mycroft knew very well how to keep a facade; he had worked all his life to build that impenetrable armor around himself, and when it slipped, it was always under a calculated and controlled environment with people he knew and sort of trusted or, as it was clear during the Sherrinford events, when he knew he was not being seen by anyone important enough to compromise his position in the British Government; but this time around, it was a whole other situation. An unfamiliar situation…

He had been suspecting for a while that his brother was, at least, having an affair; all available evidence pointing towards a female coworker, and when he found Lady Smallwood's personal number registered in Mycroft's phone, he deduced it was her…it almost made sense. Mycroft had always showed signs of having mommy issues…Sherlock should have noticed that the scent was different, that his brother's behavior around the woman had not changed, but his brain decided to ignore those facts for some reason…Maybe it had something to do with his own personal agenda, his new found "domestic" life. He saw the car disappear on the distance and he smiled. It was time to do some real research.

Something had caught his eye as soon as he entered the flat, but he could not pinpoint it quite yet…something was off. Something was missing or maybe misplaced. Now, what was that something?

John sat down on the sofa, reading the report all over again and Sherlock stepped away from the window to look around the living room again. It was cold, impersonal...had the painting not been there, the flat could have easily passed as a brand new one. Everything was clean to perfection, and it bothered him.. Sherlock could not say as precisely as he'd like that she was as OCD as his brother, he just wasn't sure...the tidiness was almost surgical...almost. Mycroft had not notice anything unusual, he clearly was familiar with the place and didn't frown at the cleanliness or the millimetric order, but, could Sherlock trust his brother this time?

Something was off…

He stood in front of the Van Gogh hanging in a central place on the wall. It was a contrast piece. The blue and pink tones of the Almond Blossom standing out against the predominant browns in the room. The intention of the placement was clear...it had a sentimental value, it was important. He took the painting off its hook and inspected the wall behind it. Nothing apart from the usual changes in the colour of the wallpaper, the wall was near the windows and would receive sunlight often enough to cause the colour to change. Sherlock turned the painting around to examine its frame.

Love ceases to be a pleasure, when it ceases to be a secret.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Leave it to Mycroft to quote a spy…He hanged the painting again, starting to feel frustrated.

"Something is off, Sherlock" said John, stating the obvious for the hundredth time

"Obviously, otherwise she would be at Mycroft's place, eating cake"

Sherlock got into her room again, putting the clothes Mycroft had arranged in the bed back into the suitcase. He lift it up. Around 18 kilos. Assuming nothing had been taken besides her phone, it still was within the acceptable weight for hand luggage, specially on a private flight.

"John! Does the report say if she documented her suitcase?"

"Let me see.." he shuffled the pages "it's not specified, but it says here that she was carrying only a suitcase and a handbag, only item missing is the handbag, probably taken with her..."

"Where did they find the suitcase?"

"Says here someone from her team took it to the car they were boarding after leaving the plane"

"And where was that car?"

"Heathrow's parking lot"

"Do you remember when they exiled me, John?" Sherlock smiled, finally, something he could work with...

"Yes, i do" John frowned

"I was leaving in a private jet, remember? Private jet, private cars in the middle of the landing track, a security detail right outside the plain and a driver in each car…" he paused, waiting for him to realize the big detail the had missed since the beginning.

"Why would she have to go to the parking lot when the cars always pick them right there in the landing track?"

"Why indeed. And if her suitcase wasn't documented…"

"Why would the cargo staff be needed in the jet?" John completed his sentence "Cabinet or Airport?"

"Cabinet" Sherlock glanced around the bedroom for the last time, unable to shake off the feeling that there was a clue there.

They left the flat and entered the lift, both of them silent. Sherlock's phone vibrated in his pocket. He rolled his eyes and looked at the security camera hanging in one of the upper corners of the lift.

Where to?- M

The Cabinet. Seriously, not even a minute?- SH

Wait for the car- M

The doors opened and they went out the building, the concierge looking at them, intrigued. John smiled at the man and bid him farewell, but Sherlock ignored him. The sky was getting darker, and the streets were busy, people leaving work, people going home, people, people, people…

"So, what do you think happened?" asked John

"Kidnapped, definitely kidnapped, but why?"

"She is an important member of the Government, you said so yourself…"

"Have you read about her in the papers?"

"No"

"Then how would anyone know she is important?"

"The same way people know your brother is important, i guess"

"That's what i'm afraid of…"

They got to the sidewalk and waited a couple moments before the car was parking before them. They went in knowing perfectly that they wouldn't have to tell the driver where to go. Sherlock tried to go into his mind palace, arranging and rearranging the new information, trying to find that thing he had missed in her flat. What was it? Where was it? He replayed the last few hours in his head while John was silent by his side, Sherlock put his hand above John's and gave it a squeeze, John entangled their fingers…

"I don't want to say this, i don't feel good saying this, but i can't shake the feeling that she is hiding something" he said, his volume closer to a whisper

"I know" he looked into John's eyes and saw his genuine concern

SIlence reigned between them again, both lost in thought, until the car parked in front of the Cabinet. They left the car and saw Anthea waiting for them already in the front desk, wordlessly, they followed her through the hallways and she let them into a conference room where Mycroft and a handful of people were already waiting, the blonde man Mycroft had earlier called Damien was by his side and Anthea joined them as soon as they walked in. The more curious employees looked at them and whispered to each other, surely wondering why they were there.

"This report is incomplete" Sherlock threw the folder on the large table. He saw Mycroft raise a brow and look at Damien

"I apologize if we omitted any information, surely it's available here, what exactly do you need?" replied Damien, clearly trained to be diplomatic.

"Did she documented her luggage? If so, why would the cargo staff be needed? Why was the car in the parking lot instead of the landing track? Did you talk to the cargo staff? Did you check the Customs Office daily report?" he asked, talking as fast as his mind was going, the room went instantly silent. Second after second passed and no one answered.

"Well, which one of you is going to answer?" said Mycroft

Damien cleared his throat

"The suitcase she was carrying was light enough to be allowed as hand luggage, so it wasn't documented. The car was in the parking lot because Control Tower at Heathrow needed the landing track as soon as possible, air traffic was packed today, sir"he looked at Mycroft, knowing he was the one he had to explain himself to "The cargo staff was properly interviewed and we didn't find any inconsistencies, so we let them go. The Customs Office report turned out clean"

"I want to see the interviews" he sat down in one of the executive chairs

"Of course, Mr. Holmes" he made a head sign to another agent

"Which ones, sir?" said the man, in a barely audible voice

"All of them, obviously" replied Mycroft, his hands crossed in front of him.

"Right away, sir"

"Go back to your duties, you are dismissed" he said to the rest of the agents, leaning back on his seat. Anthea looked up from her phone to stare at him, Mycroft only nodded at her and she got up, taking Damien and the rest of the staff with her.

"I'll let you know when the videos are ready, sir"

The glass door closed and Sherlock turned to shut the blinds. John sat down in front of Mycroft and Sherlock soon followed. Mycroft looked at them, surely reading them like an open book, his impassible expression unaltered.

"So, what's your theory, brother mine?"

"She was obviously smuggled out of the airport, those videos may have a clue of her kidnappers or her whereabouts. Too soon to tell, but i have reasons to suspect of an inside job"

He only nodded and stayed silent, looking at him.

"How much does she know?"

"She is a Govern…"

"You know what i mean, Mycroft, so don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you"

Mycroft leaned back again, crossing one of his legs above the other; Sherlock marveled at the sight of his brother...he had just build another layer around himself. Brick after brick, stone after stone. Fascinating. Almost believable. If only he could stop touching Rudy's ring in his right hand… Mycroft was trying to detach himself from the situation, go back to his Iceman persona, he wanted to be in control of something again…

"We are ready for you, sir" said Anthea from the door.

"I have several meetings i can't postpone, Sherlock, i hope you and Dr. Watson find something of use on those interviews" he left the room, leaving them to follow Anthea again and watch endless, boring and unproductive interrogations… The minions were right, it all fit, no suspicious activity before the events, no statement inconsistencies, nothing strange after 11 am. The statistical probability of everyone in the airport to be in a plot for the kidnap of Gaia Brookfield was quite low, everyone knew that the more people involved, the more the failure rate increased. He watched the cargo staff interviews with curiosity, they were lying, he knew that, but they weren't giving him any hint of where to look next. He asked for the information on the men who were assigned as cargo staff for that landing track and read their files while John looked at the rest of the videos.

"Wait! Go back!"

John looked at him and he put his attention back on the screen

"Play it"

It was a short woman in her late fifties who spoke

"No, i did not see anything, the guys in cargo should know, like i already told you, it was a busy day and i had to catch up on work, specially after the mess in Warehouse 3"

"Stop" said John

"What mess in Warehouse 3?"

The agents shuffled around some papers and talked to each other before one of them excused himself and went out the room, saying he needed some more documents to retrieve. Sherlock took his phone out and started googling.

"What do you think Sherlock?"

"I think you just found the clue we needed to move forward on this case"

"Mr. Holmes, the only record we have of disturbance in Warehouse 3 was this morning at 9 am, a 600 lt barrel of cleaning products had a damaged lid and it spilled, a few janitors cleaned the mess and that is pretty much it"

"What happened to the drum?"

"Well, it says here that it was taken back to the manufacturer"

"Call my brother, i want to know in which truck it was taken, and we'll follow it in the CCTV"

Anthea got quickly on the phone and the rest of the agents started typing on their computers in an attempt to find said truck. If Sherlock was correct, and he almost always was, she had been smuggled out on that truck, inside that barrel. But why? Why bother so much with an almost anonymous Government employee going back from Finland of all places? He was sure the two men from cargo staff were behind it, for what he could tell from the interviews and the little information their files provided, they were professional liars, but they had been working at the airport long enough to avoid suspicion, and that fact alone only made things worse.

This was a well rounded plot, the kind of plot it takes time to plan. The kind where all loose ends were dealt with...

So now the primordial question, the one that could crack the case, was one and only one: was Gaia Brookfield a liar or a loose end?

TBC

After a bit of a delay, the chapter is here.

Thank you for your reads, favorites, follows and comments; trust me, they're the very thing that keeps me going. I wanted to include a teeny tiny bit of Johnlock in the story, asides from Sherlock's pov, so let me know what you think about it.

Let's see if someone can guess the author for the quote on Gaia's painting ;)

Until next time!

S