Sherlock slammed the door behind him as he swept into Mycroft's spacious office. He strode forward and slammed his hands on the desk. His face was stern, his eyes steely. Mycroft looked at him lazily, leaning back in his chair. "Really, Sherlock. Don't be so petulant. You could at least knock."

"I'm afraid I don't have time for courteous nothings," Sherlock replied.

"Ah, yes, your case, right? You've been talking about it all—"

"Oh, don't be stupid," Sherlock said, grimacing. "It's insulting for me to be related to you if you go blabbering about like that. What, with all your little fancy government toys, you couldn't figure it out? That my 'case' is a fake?"

"Oh. Well, it's no concern of mine, I suppose."

"Is that why you have those stupid little cameras hidden all around the flat? Oh, don't think I didn't notice."

"It was for your protection…"

"No, it was so you could keep tabs on me and the goings on in my flat. Well, good lot that's done. Someone's managed to muck about without your knowledge," Sherlock said, starting to pace furiously.

Mycroft looked honestly surprised. "But we haven't received notice of any unusual activity."

"What, no glitches, no technical interference?" Sherlock asked indignantly.

Mycroft gave him a look. "That is to be expected, Sherlock."

"And that makes for a gaping blind spot, doesn't it?"

"It's not security we're worried about, Sherlock, as you so kindly pointed out," Mycroft said calmly.

Sherlock started to pace more quickly. "Mycroft, as much as I hate to say it, I need your help. There is something going on, and I'm…concerned," he said finally.

Mycroft grinned a bit. "Oh really—"

Sherlock spun to face him. "Mycroft, don't you dare exploit this."

He shrugged. "I'm just glad to be of some help! What's the problem?"

Sherlock resumed pacing. "There's some sort of interference at the house. It's been interfering with the television set, and, I assume, your recording equipment. And, ever since that started, John's been acting peculiar. Very…different. He keeps wondering if he's going mad or not. He's very much not himself, and this worries me. You of all people should know there are only a small number of people who can really stand me, and he happens to be one of those people. And I can't have him thinking he's mad."

"Does he hear drumming in his head?" Mycroft asked.

"What? No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Nothing."

Sherlock looked at him for a moment, and then continued. "It all started this morning. I was watching the telly, watching the static, really, and when John came down, he barely noticed. Kept talking about his dream. That's when I started thinking. So I went out on a dummy case, and investigated. I've come to the conclusion that John's fears may be the result of a combination of hallucinogens and suggestive cues, with the desired end result of crippling his mental abilities, or at least his will to assist me or stay at 221b."

Mycroft raised his left eyebrow. "And you found all of this out…how?"

Sherlock sighed. "That's not important! The important thing is that John is somehow being watched, and any sign of me being onto the whole game could prove dangerous!" Sherlock paused. "The signal disruptions to the television could only have been cause by the active presence of too many interfering devices. You're lot had already had your machines installed for at least a few months, and no disruption had been caused before. Couple that with John's uncharacteristic behavior and super realistic 'dreams,' and you've got strong signals and erratic, drug-induced behavior caused by orchestrated stimuli. Happy?"

"Quite," Mycroft said as Sherlock caught his breath. "What do you need me to do?"