Part 10
"Have you ever heard of Daedalus?"
Mycroft had settled himself behind his desk, freshly shaved, with a pressed suit and tie, hiding a modicum of annoyance, (and just a little bit of relief if he was to be honest with himself). He'd summoned Sherlock from his office, offering nothing by way of excuse for the delay in returning his messages.
"The gentleman who constructed the labyrinth on Crete?" He replied, raised eyebrows, innocent tilt to his lips, infuriating his brother, not that Sherlock would ever let on that it was so. It was their game, and one Mycroft acknowledged, he lost more often than Sherlock did.
"The code name."
"I see. And why do you ask?" Of course he'd heard of Daedalus, but he wasn't about to let on immediately or divulge classified intelligence (even if the operation was concluded) without a much better understanding of why Sherlock was asking the question.
"It's for John. Rather for a friend of John's. Someone looking for his son."
Mycroft ran through the list of casualties from the operation silently, sorting out the surnames in his mind, trying to make a connection.
"Name?" He asked, having narrowed it down to two or three possibilities in his head.
"Ashcroft."
That had been one of the choices.
"And what about him?"
"He died, in 2015, in Aleppo."
"Then why is his father looking for him?"
"Because he got a phone call. Two weeks ago, and he swears it was from his son."
"A grieving father's misunderstanding perhaps?"
"Major Ashburn is not a man given to delusions."
"You've spoken to him then I gather?"
"I have. And I believe he has some reason to question the military regarding his son's supposed death. But of course, all he has been able to uncover is the name Daedalus, reluctantly given over by some of his son's comrades, and this mysterious phone call, which followed the inquiry. So, if you can enlighten me as to what, or who Daedalus is I'll continue my investigation and leave you to your own pursuits."
"A 'What' then." Mycroft left aside the innuendo presented about his 'pursuits'.
"Well that is a start at least. Care to elaborate?"
"An operation. Its goal to disable a plant, manufacturing drones."
"And not the ones you order off of Amazon I presume?"
"Hardly."
"So, military quality."
"Beyond what you might imagine brother mine."
"Oh, I have a rather excellent imagination."
Mycroft shook his head.
"Shall we agree then that they are ones that could carry ordinance of a very potent nature? Just to save ourselves some time?"
Sherlock nodded and Mycroft continued.
"There was a man in Syria, who had designed quite the unique delivery system, and had undertaken to produce and market that system."
"And obviously not to our side."
"Indeed."
"And so you sent people in to dissuade him from that pursuit?"
"We did."
"And how did that go?"
"Well you haven't seen anything hovering over Buckingham Palace have you?"
"So, a mixed result you could say?"
"Losses were, acceptable."
"Except possibly to Major Ashcroft."
"He's a soldier himself, if anyone could understand."
"And yet he believes that the military has lied to him and that his son is still alive, despite the flag draped coffin that was delivered to him."
"When one is dealing with large explosions identification can be flawed."
"So you are admitting that there may be something to this suspicion Mycroft?"
"Not officially."
"Is anything ever official with you?"
"No."
"And if this hypothetical soldier was alive, any thoughts as to where he might be?"
"I really couldn't say. But if he had come home, I'm certain he would have been given quite explicit instructions about contacting people, and avoiding certain places."
"Orders are different when it's someone you love."
Mycroft paused.
"Yes, I suppose they can be. But when it comes to a matter of life or death, decisions have to be made, no matter how flawed they may seem in retrospect."
They both stared at each other for a few minutes, willing neutral expressions on their faces, examining each other for any clues.
"How is Molly?" Sherlock asked, more quietly than his other questioning.
"She is healing."
"I'm glad."
"You aren't going to warn me off her, or threaten me Sherlock?"
"No. Not this time."
"More important matters to concern yourself with then?"
"Nothing is more important than her."
Mycroft wanted to agree with Sherlock, but he kept silent. Even after his conversation with Molly, he wasn't quite certain where things stood between them, and he certainly wasn't about to hash that situation out with his brother.
"I'll be going then, hypothetical solider to find." Sherlock stood.
"Where will you start?"
"With the motivations for faking your own death, or having someone help you with that."
"Which are?"
"Fear, or love."
"Or both?" Mycroft offered.
"Yes, likely both. Though I imagine that any fear involved wouldn't be for himself. David Ashcroft walked into Aleppo knowing that he might not walk back out. If he's hiding, he's hiding someone else with him."