Disclaimer – I don't own the characters. They belong to ACD, MG and SM and the BBC. No one pays me to do this, I do it for love.

Chapter Twenty Four

'You know, Sherlock, I really feel you should wait until Mycroft gets back and tell him what you know, let him deal with it.'

'Do you know where he's gone?' Sherlock asked. She nodded.

'Do you know why he's gone there?'

'No, I don't but even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. That would be a betrayal of trust.'

'Can you contact him?'

'In an emergency, yes. Why?'

'Just so I know. As for waiting, my family and I have been holed up in that house for the last week and I need to do something about that so, if you are willing to help me, I am grateful for all the help I can get, but if you aren't willing to help me, I'm going to do it anyway.'

'You do appreciate how completely out of your depth you are, don't you?' It was more of a statement than a question. He met her gaze and pursed his lips, then gave a small shrug.

'Good, I'm glad we agree on that. I think you are insane but, if I can't deter you, then I have to assist you, for Mycroft's sake, since you are his brother and I know how much he loves you.'

Sherlock gave her a sceptical look but he knew she was speaking the truth; it was just hard for him to admit it.

'Right, let's start from the beginning. Where were you intending to meet your target?' It was fascinating to Sherlock to see how completely Anthea had slipped straight back into the role of a field agent. He was impressed. She had barely batted an eyelash when he told her his deduction. She could see the logic of it but she agreed that they needed proof to take this any further. She had agreed that a meeting was probably their best option and that recording the evidence was going to be necessary. What she had not agreed on was the necessity to do it right there and then, but that was clearly not up for discussion. So now they were planning their operation.

'I hadn't decided,' he replied. 'Where would you suggest?' He was happy to trust her judgement on this. This was her area of expertise, after all.

'It has to be on your terms, therefore on your ground. You do not go to them, they must come to you,' she stated.

'What if they won't come?' he asked.

'I think they will, out of curiosity, if nothing else. They most likely believe they are above suspicion and that this meeting is for you to give information to them, not the other way round. So, when you present your evidence, you will give no indication that you know they are implicated. They will want to know what you know, so they can gauge how vulnerable they are.'

He nodded his agreement.

'They must not suspect that they are being recorded. That would blow your cover right out of the water. They might have anti-surveillance equipment with them, just as a precaution, so they must not detect a transmitter of any sort on you. They might ask you to switch off your mobile phone. That's why you need this.' She opened her hand and showed him a tiny device that was about the size of a tic-tac. It looked like it was made of glass but he recognised it as silicon. He glanced from it to her and back to it.

'Nano-technology, what can I say?' she said, by way of an explanation.

'What does it do?' he asked, fascinated.

'It's a microchip, like the ones people get put in their pets, so they can be identified and returned to them, if they're stolen or lost. They are also, now, routinely placed in clothing and other kinds of merchandise, so it can be tracked from manufacturer to retail outlet, for the purpose of stock control, but also as an anti-shoplifting device. If your clothing is mass produced, you probably have several on you already.' He looked at her with distaste, at the phrase 'mass produced'. As if he would wear anything not tailor made!

'So why do I need one?'

'So that it can be found.' She paused and watched his face, seeing that he followed her reasoning. Then she nodded, 'Yes, exactly. If you give them what they expect to find, they might stop looking. If they detect a tracking device but find this, in the lining of your coat, for example, they may assume that it's a normal stock-control microchip. It isn't.'

'What does it do?'

'Once I've synched it with your phone, it will enable me to control the phone from my laptop. After you have switched it off, you put it back in your jacket pocket, then I switch it back on and set it to record your conversation, using the Voice Memo app.'

'What if they want to remove it from the lining of my coat?'

'Tell them how much your coat cost and put it in another room, as a compromise. It has a considerable range – much greater than you would think. It'll still operate your phone.'

Ok,' he nodded. 'Anything else I should know?'

'Yes,' she replied, going back into her box of tricks and taking out a rubber wrist band, like the ones charities sell, to raise money and awareness. 'I want you to wear this.' He took it from her hand and looked at it then looked to her for an explanation.

'It's a pulse rate monitor. You wear it on your wrist. It has a bio-feed loop embedded into it. It transmits your pulse rate.'

'Why would I need to transmit my pulse rate?'

'So I know you're still alive,' she stated, bluntly. He looked to her for elaboration. 'If your pulse rate increases or decreases dramatically, I will know that something has gone wrong and will be able to do something to help you. Otherwise, you could be dead and I'd be none the wiser. If you'd been wearing one of these when you were Tasered, I would have known about it.'

'What if they ask me to take it off?'

'Let's hope they don't. If you keep it covered by your watch, hopefully, they won't even know it's there. It's just a precaution. I'm not saying anyone is going to try to kill you, but I just like to cover all the bases.'

'That's most reassuring,' he replied.

They went on to discuss how the conversation should be steered and what needed to happen, if or when all the necessary information had been obtained.

'I intend to tell them everything I know, apart from the bit about them being the suspect. I'll say I've come to them, in Mycroft's absence, as the next best thing, as I don't think this can wait until he returns.'

'They have to believe you are working alone. If they suspect you have any sort of back up, they will probably abort before you can obtain any evidence at all.'

'What if, after I've told them everything I know, they just say 'Thank you very much, Mr Holmes' and walk out of the door?'

'Then we have to sit tight and wait for the shit to hit the fan. If nothing else, you will have given them pause for thought but I think it will provoke a reaction.'

They went on to consider all possible contingencies and to make plans to deal with them all.

'If, at any point, you think your cover is blown, we need an Abort word or phrase, so I know you need to be rescued. Can you think of one?'

He thought about this for a moment or two, then said,

'Molly will be wondering where I am.'

'Is that it, your Abort phrase?' She just wanted to be sure. He nodded.

'OK, that's fine. If I hear you say 'Molly will be wondering where I am', I charge in, all guns blazing.' She smiled at him and he grimaced back.

'OK, if you are really determined that you're going to do this thing, You'd better make your call and set up the meet.'

He nodded and took out his mobile phone.

ooOoo

Sherlock sat in his favourite chair in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, waiting for his guest to ring the doorbell. He had told Mrs Hudson that he was expecting a visitor and that he would let them in. He had asked her to stay out of sight, that he didn't want her to see the person who was coming, for her own safety. In fact, he had said, it might be better if she went out altogether. Mrs Hudson had put on her coat and taken herself off, to visit a friend.

The doorbell rang and Sherlock took a deep breath and walked down the stairs to answer it. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he put on his coat, to look as though he had just arrived himself, then opened the front door. He looked down at his visitor.

'Good afternoon, Mr Holmes, how nice to see you again,' his guest extended a hand, which he took and shook.

'Good afternoon, Dame Joan. Please, come in.'

He stood back to let her pass him in the hall way, then closed the door and ushered her up the stairs, in front of him, indicating the sitting room. He invited her to take a seat and asked if she would care for a cup of tea. She replied that she would, so he took off his coat and draped it over the sofa, then went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. They then made small talk until the tea was made and they were sitting opposite one another, each with a cup of the hot brew.

'Before we begin, Mr Holmes, would you mind if I just do a quick scan for surveillance equipment?' she requested, courteously. 'I know this is your place of work but I understand you've had problems with bugging devices in the past.'

'Please do, ma'am,' Sherlock acquiesced. She opened her bag and took out a small device about the size of a mobile phone and began to run it round the room. It gave no response at all until it passed across Sherlock's coat, on the sofa, then it emitted a sustained beep. She got up and walked over to the sofa and spread the coat out, running the device along the sleeves and pockets until she settled on the point in the seam which joined the collar to the body of the garment.

'You're not wired, are you Mr Holmes?' she asked, jokingly.

'Not to my knowledge,' he replied, keeping his cool.

'It's probably just one of those stock control things but would you mind awfully if we put your coat somewhere else? I would hate for us to be overheard.'

'Not at all,' he smiled and, getting up, took the coat into his bedroom and hung it behind the door. On his return, she ran the device over him but found nothing else to alarm her. So far, so good, he thought.

'Do you have a mobile phone, dear boy?' she asked. He reached into his jacket pocket and took it out.

'Just so that we are not disturbed, would you mind switching it off?'

That's a clever ploy, he thought, but switched it off anyway, muting the speakers, at the same time, and put it back in his pocket.

'Good!' she exclaimed. 'Right, what is it that you wish to tell me, young man?'

Sherlock smiled at the lady opposite and began his prepared explanation of all his revelations, following his visit to his Mind Palace. As he began to speak, he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate as Anthea switched it back on, remotely, from her laptop, sitting at Mrs Hudson's kitchen table, downstairs, and activated the Voice Memo app.

'I believe that the security plans were leaked deliberately in order to draw attention to the secret cadre within the Home Office. Had the plans not been leaked, there would have been no reason to investigate the Home Office. Whoever leaked the plans did so in order to arouse suspicion. They never intended them to be sold or given to any terrorist organisations. They were not leaked for profit.' He paused and looked at her. She was nodding, sagely.

'That's an interesting theory, Mr Holmes. Is that the extent of your deductions?' she asked, smiling indulgently.

'No, ma'am,' he replied. 'The plans to be leaked were chosen to coincide with my brother's return from holiday, in order to cast suspicion on him and his PA. I believe that the purpose of this was, on the one hand, to remove Mycroft from the department temporarily, putting a much less capable person in command, at short notice, in order to allow some breathing space for the perpetrator of this subterfuge to clean their house of any incriminating evidence, which may not have been possible under my brother's watchful eye.'

She held up a hand, so he paused again.

'I'm not quite sure I follow you,' she said. 'Are you saying that the plans were not actually stolen at all but that someone – other than your brother and his PA – had access to them within the department?'

'Or within the Home Office or within your own department, ma'am, since MI5 deals with national security,' he explained.

'Oh, so you believe that someone in one of those departments may have been responsible for the leak?' she asked, seeking clarification.

'Yes, ma'am, I do. The leak was discovered in plenty of time to change the plans so no one's safety was actually put at risk. However, it did lead to the investigation which exposed the secret pressure group within the Home Office and it did take my brother out of the equation for a long enough period of time for a spot of creative housekeeping, if I may put it that way.'

'So what do you think was the point of it all?' she asked, with an expression of deep sincerity.

'I believe that the secret cadre were on the brink of uncovering something far more serious than a culture of intimidation within their department. I believe that they got close to something much more sinister.'

'Like what?' she asked, looking and sounding a little less self-assured,

'I suspect, ma'am – and it is only a suspicion, for which I have no tangible proof at all – that someone of considerable rank and position has been systematically passing on government secrets for quite some time, someone in a position of trust, who has access to some very sensitive information. It is my assertion that this person became aware of the Pressure Group and needed to 'out' them, very quickly, but also needed to cover their tracks. Hence, the leaking of the security plans and the removal of Mycroft from his office, for a week.'

Sherlock paused there and waited for Dame Joan to respond.

'And do you have any particular person in mind, any specific suspect, Mr Holmes?'

'I'm afraid not, Dame Joan, which is why I have come to you. I feel that, in your position, you are the best person to lead this investigation.'

She smiled at him, indulgently, like an aunt to a favoured nephew, then placed her cup and saucer on the side table and stood up. He stood, too.

'Well, thank you, Mr Holmes. I am extremely grateful to you for bringing this information to my attention. I will certainly give it some thought over the weekend. I believe your brother is away, isn't he? Do give him my regards when next you see him.' She reached out her hand and he took it. She then place her other hand over the top of his and, as she squeezed, he felt a sharp prick in his back of his hand. He pulled it away, looking at it, in alarm. There was a puncture wound, right on the large vein that ran up the back of his hand

'You are a very clever man, Mr Holmes – almost as clever as your brother, I would say. What a wonderful asset he is to our country.' She was smiling at him but not making any move to leave. He could feel his arm beginning to ache and feel cold. He held his wrist and stared from the hand to the woman and back to the hand. His mind was racing. It had all been going so well. Suddenly, it had all gone wrong. He knew there was something he needed to say, but his vision was beginning to blur and the ache was advancing rapidly up his arm, into his shoulder. He backed away from the smiling dame and blurted out,

'Molly…Molly will be…wondering….' But that was as far as he got. He could feel a numbness in his neck, spreading down into his chest and up into his head. It was the strangest sensation.

'Do you like snakes, Mr Holmes? They are fascinating creatures. Their venom has some remarkable properties. It contains some of the most potent neurotoxins known to man.'

Sherlock felt his legs give way as he sat down heavily in his chair. She stepped towards him, as though to get a closer look at his distress, as if to gloat over him. The leering expression on her face was the last thing he saw before his consciousness began to slip. The last thing he heard was a loud crash, a shout and, then, an even louder explosion.

ooOoo