Author's Note: Wow, almost 500 visitors to this story! Thank you all for reading. We're getting closer to the end of the story. There will be two more chapters after this. And possibly an epilogue detailing Sherrinford's plane crash and how he ended up a spy. Please let me know if you would like to know his backstory. I haven't written this last part yet, since I'm not sure if it would be of interest.
Chapter 10
The emergency lights at the abandoned Sumatra Street station were already on when Sherlock stepped onto the platform and looked around.
"I wasn't sure you would come," a voice said from the shadows, and Sherrinford stepped into the lights.
"I was certain you would show, though," Sherlock replied.
"Really." The genial tone was gone from the voice, and the word was more of a sneer.
"Oh yes. I have plenty of experience with nemeses and criminal masterminds," Sherlock replied coolly. "They never miss a chance to gloat and explain how dastardly clever they've been. And that is usually when I bring them down."
"Ooh, challenge accepted! Let's see if your own brother will be a match for the great Sherlock." Sherrinford came closer. "You have been playing along so nicely this far, it would be a shame to waste it all now."
"Did I? As a matter of fact, I never bought the story with the wife and kid." If Sherlock had hoped to rattle his brother's composure he was mistaken.
"Yes, I overdid the dramatics a tad, didn't I?" Sherrinford admitted. "But I had to cater to my captive audience. Your dear little doctor friend and his bleeding heart simply gobbled it up. I was counting on him to swing your vote." He chuckled "And that picture! I'm quite proud of the staging, actually. Plenty of newborns in Karachi orphanages. I thought the undershirt was a nice touch, and the lighting was just perfect."
"Be that as it may, it was quite clear to me that a man of your intelligence and in your position would never give his captors this kind of leverage," Sherlock clarified. "And I also don't believe that you will go through with this attack."
"Oh, but I will, brother dear," Sherrinford said. "Everything is in motion, and my contributions to its success will finally catapult me to the position I deserve. I can't tell you how galling it is to be ordered around by a pompous ass who is far beneath you intellectually. I've had too much of that already at Cambridge and in the military, I don't intend to make it the status quo for the rest of my life."
"The rest of your life could be very uncomfortable indeed if you are sentenced for treason," Sherlock pointed out.
Sherrinford laughed out loud. "You have to catch me first. By morning I'll be over the hills and far away. And you won't be able to detain me. I made sure you came alone today, Sherlock. I may not be up to your level of genius, but I'm positive I can comfortably take you in hand-to-hand combat."
"Don't be too sure of yourself." Sherlock took up a basic martial arts stance, hands raised. "I've been dabbling in some fighting techniques myself."
"Seriously?" Sherrinford seemed deeply amused. "You really want us to..." He broke off. The little red dot from a sniper rifle had suddenly appeared on the lapel of Sherlock's coat.
"Hmm, it appears you did not come on your own," Sherlock noted when he realized what his brother was staring at. "How terribly unsporting of you."
Sherrinford had seemed taken aback for a moment, but in an instant the had reasserted himself. "Just a little warning before we part ways. Stay out of my way and don't interfere, Sherlock. I'd like to think our plan is foolproof, but I also don't underestimate your insatiable urge to meddle."
"And let you and your partners in crime exploit a newly founded country for your own gains? Not likely."
"Yes, I was quite impressed how quickly you figured that out." Sherrinford gave a few slow claps. "Top of the class as usual. But your opposition to this plan puzzles me. Think about it, without a strong guiding hand the Pashtuns will destroy each other over the deposits once they get their independence. It will be the South Sudan mess all over again. Different war lords battling it out while the innocent suffer and another refugee crisis looms. And if Pakistan takes control of the mining the local population won't see much of the profit either."
"Oh yes, you're a real humanitarian, aren't you? Yes, the shortage in rare earth elements has driven the price sky high and you will make a handsome profit, but I doubt much of it will trickle down to the population." Sherlock shook his head. "Enough, I'm getting tired of your justifications. Just run along and play your games. I guarantee you the outcome will not live up to your expectations." The red dot was still stubbornly clinging to the detective's chest.
"Well, I guess we'll see who is right in the not too distant future." Sherrinford pulled a package of cigarettes and a book of matches from his pocket. He tore off the last match, used it to light his cigarette and threw the empty book away. "Well, it was a real pleasure seeing you again. Say farewell to Mycroft for me. We're family after all." He turned to go.
"What about our parents?"
Sherrinford stopped. "They already believe I'm dead. Let's leave it at that."
"And what about your friend with the rifle?" Sherlock asked.
Sherrinford had started walking down the platform again. "Oh, don't worry. He's just here to make sure you won't follow me. A three minute head start should suffice."
Sherlock waited the allotted three minutes, then he turned to the tracks and said, "That will do, Watson. Excellent timing."
The red dot disappeared, and a moment later John climbed up on the platform. "Well, did this little gadget do the trick?" he asked, waving Mycroft's laser pointer. "Did you get the information you were looking for?"
"I certainly did," Sherlock said. "But let's make haste and return home, I need to research home ownership in Mayfair."
"Mayfair?" Watson exclaimed. "If I remember correctly, none of the possible targets on the list Mycroft sent over this morning was in Mayfair."
"Exactly," Sherlock replied. He bent down and picked up the book of matches Sherrinford had discarded. "The question is why."
