Sorry this one took so long. I've been pretty busy. But at least it's longer this time. Again, I apologize if I got any English government stuff wrong. Enjoy!

Spoiler Alert: You need to watch Sherlock: Scandal in Belgravia before reading this one if you don't want serious spoilage.


Chapter 9: Attachments

X X X

Sherlock wasn't happy. He silently accepted the tea and aspirin that John gave him and waited until he had emptied the mug to begin complaining.

"It's nine-thirty. Hart's been and gone, hasn't he?"

"You were out cold," John replied in that daddy-knows-best, I-told-you-so tone.

"Yes... thanks for that."

"It's not my fault!"

"If you'd been down here helping me, you could have kept me awake." Sherlock massaged his temples, trying to mute the drumming of the heavy metal band in his brain.

"I didn't know you were up! And if I had, I'd have been trying to get you to go back to bed."

"Exactly."

John sighed. "Never mind. You can't go to Torchwood now, so you may as well concentrate on the Chancellor, right?"

He was right, but Sherlock didn't care to acknowledge it. "I've been concentrating on the Chancellor." He shuffled the remaining unidentified clippings. "We may have enough evidence to identify one of the kidnappers," he said slowly. He picked up the tablet he'd been taking notes on and held it out to John. "Text Mycroft and have him check the subscriptions of these periodicals and their dates. Surely there can't be many people who subscribed to all of them at the right times."

"Okay... where's your phone?"

Sherlock nodded to the phone's resting place on the table.

"Too much effort for you to hand it to me?"

"I'm thinking."

John sighed again. More like a groan this time. He picked up the phone and began copying the information from Sherlock's notes. "Are you sure all of these are correct?"

Sherlock didn't answer. The question wasn't worth an answer.

"Okay, done."

"Tell me what he says."

"Hasn't had a chance to answer yet."

"When he does."

"Oh, here it is. He says—"

"Will check and let you know?"

"Basically."

"Let me see." Sherlock took the phone and looked at the message: Chking. Wil let u no. He shrugged. Close. Very close. "Now we have to wait. What can we do in the meantime? I know! We can work on Torchwood's problem... oh, wait. I can't go to Torchwood because someone let me miss my ride."

John rolled his eyes. "There's got to be something you can do without running off to Wales."

"Yes. Yes, there is. UNIT."

"What is UNIT?"

"Unified Intelligence Taskforce. Secret organization. Used to be under jurisdiction of the UN. Now they're more or less freelance, but they still answer to the higher powers."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning they formulate their own plans, but the UN can still intervene to bollocks them up."

"Okay..."

Sherlock's phone vibrated in his hand as a new message came in. "Another one from Mycroft. They're going to have a press conference soon to let the public know that the Chancellor is missing and to let the kidnappers know that we are trying to cooperate with them."

"So they're going to know that we know that they're not foreign terrorists."

"Right. Press conference is at one o'clock." He checked the time on his phone. "We can't hope to get very far in the case before then—it's scarcely more than three hours."

John stepped toward the door. "We can try, though."

Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. What John Watson lacked in intelligence, he made up in loyalty. "We certainly can. Text Mycroft on the way; I'm going to need his security clearance."

X X X

"Must be serious if Mycroft Holmes sent his little brother over," observed Kate Stewart, head of scientific research at UNIT. "Have you got anything for us?"

"I was more hoping the other way round," Sherlock said frankly. "I understand you've attempted to trace the message posted to you."

"Attempted is a good word. We know it was posted in Surrey. There are no identifiable fingerprints. The paper and envelope were the sort that are easily come by all over the country. The address was printed on a laser printer. There was no return address."

"Epsom's in Surrey, isn't it?" asked John. "Epsom Downs?"

"The racetrack?" Kate asked, raising one eyebrow. "Yes, I believe it is."

"Better than nothing," said Sherlock. "Now, I understand that UNIT is acquainted with Torchwood."

Kate glanced around. "Yes... but not many of the lower ranks even know of its existence. A few things leaked out during the Harold Saxon affair, of course."

"What exactly happened to Mister Saxon anyway?" asked John. "There's talk of alien abduction and conspiracy and a lot of rot..."

"John," Sherlock interrupted. "Stay on topic, won't you?"

"Sorry."

Sherlock turned back to Kate. "Have you communicated with Torchwood lately?"

"No," she answered. "Do you think we need them onboard for this?"

"Probably not. Not yet, anyway. But I would like to see records of your latest communications with them. It could be important."

She looked skeptical, but she didn't question him. "I'll see what I can do," she said.

He knew John was burning with questions, but he was doing better about keeping quiet. Every time he wanted to ask something, he instead took to fiddling with his visitor's badge or checking his phone.

Sherlock scanned over the list of communiques that had passed between UNIT and Torchwood in the last year. "I don't think this is what I need," he said at last. "It could be hidden here, but I'm guessing that it wasn't planned this far in advance. I'd like to see all emails sent out of UNIT in the last week."

Kate stared at Sherlock a few moments, as if waiting for him to realize what a ridiculous request he had made. When he merely stared back at her, she said, "I don't even have authorization to look at those myself, let alone show them to you."

"Then, I suggest you get authorization. Do I need to put Mycroft in touch with your superior?"

She didn't back down. Sometimes the intelligent people could be even more annoying than the dull-witted ones. "Since I can't see what it could have to do with the Chancellor's abduction, yes. I think you better had, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft was uncooperative, as usual. But eventually he decided that his brother's methods were for the greater good, and Sherlock's request was granted.

"There's a good half hour wasted," Sherlock muttered as he sat in front of a new computer and looked at the master email log. He glanced at the right-hand corner clock. "Press conference is in fifteen minutes."

John pulled another chair over next to him and sat. "Well, you knew we wouldn't have this thing solved by then."

"No, but the ball will be back in their court, John. However helpless we may be, their request for a show of cooperation gave us a tiny scrap of control. We're about to lose it."

"Um, excuse me," said the man who had ushered them into the room, "I'm Brandon Seal, and this is my usual workstation—if you need any help, I'm here to assist."

Sherlock gave him the once-over. Young for this job—genius. Small, square-frame glasses—geek. Star Trek insignia tiepin—nerd. Flared jeans—hipster. Anti-uniform—nonconformist, gets away with murder in the workplace, again genius. "Thank you. I'm sure you'll be a great help to our investigation."

"Is it true the Chancellor's been kidnapped?"

"It's true. Tell me, Brandon: is it possible to hide an email you send out?"

"Hide it? Uh, sure... You can delete it from your sent folder, or..."

"No, no. I mean if you not only don't want a record of your sent message, but you also don't want the recipient to see where it came from."

"An anonymous email? Yeah, you could use a remailer to hide your email address from the recipient. Getting rid of it from your sent box is a simple matter of deleting it and then deleting it from your recycle bin. That's not a hundred percent guarantee, though... Better to use multiple remailers to be sure it can't be traced back to you. And even stuff deleted from your recycle bin can be recovered if you know how."

Sherlock smiled. "I'm guessing you know how."

"Oh, sure." Brandon shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger.

Total hipster. Sherlock glanced at John. His companion's eyes were beginning to glaze a little. "Brandon, does UNIT keep coffee available?"

"They got it on tap," Brandon replied with a small chuckle.

"John, why don't you go get us all some coffee?"

"Okay." John set out willingly.

"Now... supposing you wanted to send an attachment, but you didn't want the recipient to know where it came from? Is it possible to send something that will appear as an attachment in an unrelated email?"

"Hm." Brandon removed his glasses and tapped the end of one bow against his mouth. Sherlock suspected he had practiced that thoughtful expression in front of a mirror. "That would take something a little fancier. Huh. May I...?" He gestured toward the computer and Sherlock moved aside for him.

X X X

"How's it going?" John asked, carefully setting two Styrofoam cups of coffee on the desk and sitting down to drink his own.

"Pretty good," Brandon said, not looking up. "I think we've about got the formula. Just going to send a tester..." The computer whiz finished typing something and made a few clicks of the mouse. "Okay, lemme just check. Uh... I'll send an email to myself here... okay." He sat back and waited a moment. "There it is. Open 'er up... Yes!"

John leaned in. "What are we looking at?"

"My friends, we are looking at a phantom attachment," Brandon said with excited dramatization.

"Um... brilliant. What's it for?"

"Never mind; this is an important breakthrough," Sherlock assured him. "Now, Brandon, if someone at UNIT had sent one of these attachments in the last week or so, could you find it?"

"Hm. Maybe... If they used their UNIT email account, I probably could. If they sent it from an online account, it would be harder. Then again, I might be able to find the file they attached if it was saved to a UNIT computer. If I knew what I was looking for, that is."

"I can give you a place to start. But Brandon, this is all top secret. You can't even let your coworkers here at UNIT know what I have you working on, understand? Not even your superiors. Can I count on you?" He'll go for it. He's lapping up the intrigue, not to mention the attention.

"You can count on me, Mr. Holmes."

"Good man." Sherlock followed it up with a pat on the shoulder that he could see was welcome gratification to the young man's nerd sensibilities. He took out his phone. "I'm going to send you the attachment I'm trying to find. When this is over, you'll need to erase all evidence that you ever saw it. Understand?" Probably completely unnecessary, but Brandon would love the added secrecy.

"I understand."

"All right. Start investigating the cleverest ones first. Someone you think might have this sort of computer knowledge. Someone goodvery good."

Brandon nodded. "I can think of a couple right off. UNIT has quite a few tech experts that could probably figure this out."

"Excellent. Get started as soon as you can."

"I can start now. I'm on orders to help you as long as you're here."

When Sherlock returned to his inbox, he saw that Mycroft had sent him a video. "It's the press conference," he reported, holding the phone out so John could see. He turned up the volume and played the video.

After the opening speech, the members of the press began their barrage of questions, and Prime Minister Brown did his best to answer them.

"Who is responsible for this abduction?"

"At this time, the abductors are still unknown to us. We've taken measures to find out who these people are, but there are no solid answers yet."

"Is this a ransom demand? What do they want?"

"Thus far, the kidnappers have requested only our cooperation. For the time being, we plan to give it. The Chancellor's safety is our priority."

"Could this be an act of terrorism?"

"Since we do not yet know whom we are dealing with, or the purpose behind the abduction, we cannot verify whether or not we are dealing with terrorists. More information will be released to the press as developments are made."

Sherlock closed the video.

"It's terrible that there's so little to go on," said Brandon.

Sherlock nodded toward the computer. "Just keep to your work, Brandon. Every moment counts."

X X X

Have list of subscribers. Sending.

"Brandon, Doctor Watson and I will have to leave in a moment. I want you to continue your investigation as you're able and contact me the moment you find anything."

Brandon nodded. "I will. And you don't need to worry. No one will know I'm investigating them."

"What did Mycroft send you?" John asked as they hurried toward the elevator that would take them to ground level.

"The list of subscribers to the various publications the clippings came from."

"Oh, excellent. How many are there?"

"Four."

"Four? That's all?"

"Taking into account the proper years of publication, only four people subscribed to all the periodicals I identified at the correct times. And only one of them lives near Surrey."

"Then... we have our man?"

"Not so fast. Our evidence is purely circumstantial. We have no proof yet. How would you like to do a bit of reconnaissance for me?"

"Well... what would I need to do?"

"Go to the subscriber's address and observe it from a distance. Talk to people in the neighborhood: the mailman, the people next door, et cetera. Just don't make contact with the current resident. Can you do that?"

"I suppose so, but what will you be doing?"

"I'm going to retrace the Chancellor's route to determine whether or not the car and driver seen that morning were part of the plan."

"Okay. Do you want lunch first?"

Before Sherlock could answer, John spoke again.

"Oh, of course. You're not going to eat right now because it'll disrupt your train of thought, right?"

"It's not that." How could John scramble details so easily? "The digestion process takes blood away from the brain and makes it difficult to work effectively."

John sighed. "Whatever. You suit yourself, but I'm going to stop by the house and eat something proper before I start my mission."

X X X

Hart had almost dozed off when John came back into the flat. As usual, his presence was railed against, but he ignored it.

"Hello, John. Where's Sherlock?"

John groaned. "He's out. Following a lead. What do you want?"

"Had news for him, but it can wait. You told me to ask you later... about Sherlock's sordid past."

"Did I?" With a sigh, John wandered out to the kitchen. "I'm famished."

"That's okay. We can eat and talk at the same time." Hart could see that his assuming manner was really irking John. "Tell you what: why don't we go eat at a nice little pub or somethingI'll payand we can talk there?"

John paused, leaning on the open refrigerator door. He slammed the door with finality. "Okay, let's go."

It didn't take too long to get John talking about Sherlock's past. After all, Sherlock was one of the few things they had in common.

"I'm surprised he told you as much as he did," John said, doing a good job of hiding his annoyance. "He's not um... not a very open person."

"Well, no. I think I got as much out of him as I could at the time." Hart leaned toward John over his drink. "I asked you before if he'd had a romantic attachment. And you were going to say something about it..."

"Right. Um... there was this woman. The woman."

Hart grinned and leaned on his hands. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"The Woman was her professional title... She was a... a..."

Hart's grin widened. "A lady of the evening?" he offered.

"And then some. She stole some very important information and Mycroft brought Sherlock in to get it back from her."

"And he fell for her?" Mm, he likes the edgy type. I can work with that.

"No. Well, I wouldn't say 'fell for her.' I think it's just that she's the first woman he'd met that could really match wits with him, you know? She intrigued him."

Damn... I'm above average, but he's off the charts. My mind might not be enough. "So, who broke it off?"

"The weren't officially together. They never went on a date or anything..."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"She kept inviting him to dinner, but he just... ignored it. She texted him now and then; ended most of them with 'Let's have dinner.'"

Hart felt like purring. "She sounds like a piece of work. Where does she live?"

"She doesn't."

"Eh?"

"She's dead. Sherlock doesn't know... he thinks she's hidden somewhere safe in America."

"Oh... so, for all he knows, she broke it off?"

"I told you, they weren'tit was just a... thing."

"What was her name?"

"Irene. Irene Adler. You can't tell Sherlock I told you about her. And you especially can't tell him she's dead. Understand?"

"Got it." Hart took a swig from his glass and moved it aside to make room for the waitress to set their plates on the table. "So, all they ever did was talk? Compare brains? There was no hand holding, no kissing, no... rendezvouses? Is it pronounced 'rendezvous' like the singular, or is it anglicized, 'rendezvous-ez'?"

John shook his head. "No. I mean... I don't know about therendezvous thing. But no, they didn't hold hands or kiss or anything. There was no..." John rubbed the back of his neck. His face was flushed.

"You look uncomfortable. If there was no... then why do you look like that? You fancied her too, didn't you?"

"No!" John looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed his raised voice. "Look, there was this one time... when we first met her. She walked in..."

"And?" Hart prompted.

"She was stark naked."

Hart resumed his grin. "Oh, now I understand! That's how I should have met Sherlock! It's no wonder we got off on the wrong foot."

John's flush deepened.

"So, how did he react to that?"

"He didn't. I mean, there was no reaction at all that I could see. It was like... like he was looking at a stone wall and trying to guess what sort of cement was used, you know? Sort of... curious, but bored."

"Well, that settles it. He's not straight."

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," John said quickly.

"Why? Is that subterfuge? Do you have inside information that he's gay?"

"No." It was almost a squeak. John followed it up with a much stronger, controlled "No. It's just that Sherlock doesn't really react to anything in a... in a sexual way. The closest thing is when he's very close to solving a case. He gets very excited and nothing could tear him away from it. That's all he gets off on. He once told me that he considers himself to be 'married to his work.' I doubt that he'll ever fall in love."

"Well, maybe if he knew 'The Woman' was dead, he'd move on and start looking at people differently."

"Don't you dare."

Hart found himself taking John seriously for the first time since he met him. There was a fierceness in the doctor's gaze. "All right, I won't. But I'm not giving up by any means."


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