Mycroft had been willing to see the DI when the man arrived unannounced at his office. He took in the sorry state his visitor was in. Bad cold as he had predicted, less than three hours of sleep, running a light fever and looking ready to keel over at any given moment.
"Might I ask what medication you took for your cold?"
Greg flopped into the chair the Government official had indicated, pulled the container with his medicine from the pocket of his coat and showed him the label.
"You took a remedy that it clearly to use in the evening?"
That explained why Greg was close to falling asleep right then and there.
"Didn't notice," he told Mycroft in a raspy voice.
"Now, what is it that you want? I doubt you came for medical advice."
He listened to the requests the DI had and when the man had stopped talking he remained silent, taking his time to reply.
"So you want me to retrieve the text Doctor Watson sent my brother yesterday, while you two took a dip in the lock."
Greg nodded peevishly.
"And why would I do that? You and Sherlock made it quite clear my presence was unwanted."
"I'm sorry," Greg said, and he meant it. The elder Holmes was a pain in the arse most of the times but the DI knew the man cared deeply for Sherlock and was probably hurt from the constant rejection. He rubbed a hand over his tired face before he pushed himself out of the chair.
"Look, I can't take back those words but I'm truly sorry. I fear something has happened to John and currently a text he might have sent to Sherlock is our only clue. Your help would be very much appreciated."
Mycroft was tempted to say no but even in his current sorry state a look from the Inspector's brown eyes, combined with a slight tilt of the head, blasted efficiently through his armour of resolute determination. The infuriating man held as much power over him as Sherlock's dog Redbeard once had. The difference was, that Redbeard had only requested biscuits or being allowed to sleep on the sofa instead of access to information.
"Sit down before you fall over. I'll get you a cup of tea and see what I can do. It might take some time to get those texts."
"Thank you."
Mycroft, rewarded with a soft smile, left his office.
When he came back with the cup of tea a few minutes later he found the Inspector fast asleep, sprawled on the sofa that stood in the back of the office.
"You're not getting any biscuits," Mycroft grumbled while taking the man's shoes off and rearranging him to a position that would allow the DI to sleep without suffering from a crick in the neck later on.
Mycroft drank the tea himself and once he had even thrown a blanket over the sleeping man for comfort, he left instructions with a secretary and shrugged into his coat, a heartfelt sigh on his lips. How he loathed legwork.
oOo
After an arduous argument with Sally, Sherlock had been granted access to the file about the murder of Cyrus Winters. Sherlock quickly came to the conclusion that Cyrus hadn't been killed where he had been found and that Carl Sdunek, a man he also knew from the underground network, was the most unlike perpetrator. The cause of death of Carl hadn't been verified yet but Molly had been quite certain from her initial post-mortem examination, it hadn't been because of an internal injury. Most likely he had died as a result of hypoxia; the blueish colour of his lips as well as fingertips were conclusive symptoms.
Sherlock was baffled though by the three Ks, Carl had etched into the floor. He only knew the three Ks as an abbreviation for the Klu Klux Klan. Could the Klan be responsible for the deaths in some obscure way? He had his doubts but stranger things occurred in the city of London.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock snarked, when his brother came strolling into the office.
"I was under the impression you required some information regarding the whereabouts of Doctor Watson. If you changed your mind..." Mycroft turned on his heel to leave.
"Good Lord, you are touchy these days."
When his brother kept walking away, Sherlock called out, "All right. I'm sorry, Mycroft." Willing to feed his sibling that empty phrase for the sake of getting information on his absent flat-mate, revealed how very distressed the younger Holmes truly was.
The Government official rolled his eyes but came back.
"Of course, you are." He pressed a note into Sherlock's hand. "In case you are waiting for the Detective Inspector to return, he decided to take a nap at the sofa in my office."
"He's doing what?" Sally Donovan walked into the office, having overheard Mycroft's words.
"As of this morning he apparently took four capsules of a cold remedy that is specifically designed for the night. I'd say we shouldn't expect him to be around for the duration of at least eight hours."
"Oh joy!" Sally exclaimed, realizing it would be her who had to deal not only with the Freak but the British Government as well.
Meanwhile Sherlock studied the note his brother had handed him. "John has met with Cyrus at Finsbury Park station. That's also where the signal of his mobile was located last. Let's go."
Both Holmes men were half way out of the office before Sally could stop them.
"Wait, the station as well as the area around is already closed down. They're going to detonate the old bunker north of Finsbury Park today."
Sherlock threw his older sibling a scalding glance. "You wouldn't know anything about that?"
"Thank you, Sherlock. You make it sound like it was my idea to blow up the bunker and blast your precious flat-mate to smithereens, provided he is still in the vicinity of the bunker. The area was supposed to be thoroughly searched and evacuated beforehand."
Sally wondered if she should get her mobile out to film Sherlock Holmes killing his brother, considering that the man's expression turned positively murderous.
"But," Mycroft held up his hand, "I made a call on my way here to stop the demolition team. The evacuation is almost complete so I suggest we better hurry." Pointing at Sally, Mycroft added, "And you are to come with us, Sergeant Donovan. You've been in the tunnel before so you might lead my brother to the scene of crime."
Sally rolled her eyes but grabbed her jacket and followed both men downstairs where a sleek black limousine was waiting.
