"This matter requires we meet."
"I'd rather not," Sherlock replied.
"I insist."
"I decline," Sherlock snapped. 'If you need to talk to me so urgently come to Baker Street."
The voice on the other end of the phone sighed delicately. Sherlock pictured his brother rubbing his eyes with his fingers in exasperation.
"You know I can't. I have sensitive business to attend to. A compromise. We meet at the café."
"The bakery. They have excellent cake."
"The café, Sherlock!"
Mycroft had almost hung up the phone. Sherlock could tell. A close victory but not complete.
"Two o'clock, Sherlock," Mycroft said more calmly before hanging up.
Sherlock rolled off his bed and onto the pillows and blankets on the floor. He stared up at the ceiling. It became increasingly uninteresting until getting dressed seemed like a better option. The blue phone went in his suit pocket. He never went anywhere without it.
His early arrival was carefully premeditated to annoy Mycroft. Sherlock was perpetually late, which meant Mycroft would plan to arrive late. The surprised arch of one eyebrow as his brother joined him at his table was worth the wait he'd had to endure. Mycroft pulled his chair out and it scraped along the floor, screeching loudly. Mycroft winced.
"Aren't we above these childish games? There are matters of national importance to discuss," he said.
Sherlock gloated into his coffee. It turned into a scowl as Mycroft continued.
"Finding Moriarty and putting an end to this threat is imperative to a full pardon. It's been two months, Sherlock. The wrong people are starting to question the validity of your return. When the right people join them there may be consequences neither of us can forsee. I told you not to get involved."
"I'm not involved," Sherlock muttered.
"You're distracted," Mycroft replied.
"I don't have any more information. It doesn't make sense! Why would Moriarty concentrate his efforts on John? Doesn't he have a criminal underworld to run?" Sherlock said.
"It does all seem very personal. Surprising considering how little you know of him. Which suggests a deeper motivation," Mycroft said, studying his nails.
"I can't ask John to be a walking target."
"He already is," Mycroft replied. "Can you surmise what will happen to him if you ignore Moriarty? I've already placed a call to John. He'll cooperate."
"You sound very confident," Sherlock said.
"Mary is due any day. Imagine if this matter hasn't been settled by then. The child would be under constant threat. John wants to see this resolved as quickly as possible. To ensure he and Mary can return to their blissful domestic lives of course."
Sherlock's eyes dropped to Mycroft's hand. The fingers were twilling the umbrella about the floor. Mycroft's body was still except for that one significant motion. His words were meant to draw his attention to John and away from something else.
"What aren't you telling me?" Sherlock asked.
The umbrella stopped moving and Mycroft gripped the handle.
"Damn," Mycroft said.
"Now who's being childish? How do you expect me to work without all significant pieces of information? Given your presence here today and the delicate matter of state you refuse to discuss I gather that some threat was received. What was the nature of that threat?"
Mycroft took a sip of tea before continuing. A small bell chimed as the door to the café opened. Mycroft glanced over before continuing.
"A list. A list of demands for access to top secret information," Mycroft said with a sigh.
"What was on the list?" Sherlock asked.
"It doesn't matter. All that should concern you is that it came without the usual stipulations and consequences one would expect with such a request. There's no question to its author. Tell me, Sherlock, have you heard of the EFF?"
"Electronic Frontier Foundation. The group gained media attention after their exposé on the tracking codes being used in laser printers and color copiers," Sherlock said.
"Yes, the Yellow Dot Conspiracy Theory they called it. A single sheet of paper has an almost invisible pattern of small yellow dots with information about the date, time and serial number of the printer used. Some feared the government would use the information as a digital fingerprint, impinging on their personal freedom. Mostly it's used to catch counterfeiters."
"Mostly," Sherlock repeated.
With a flourish Mycroft pulled a single sheet of paper from his breast pocket. He unfolded it so that the five words were facing Sherlock.
The east wind is coming…
"The list of demands used the same printer as this sheet of paper. The digital fingerprint is the same. And it came from a business, a nightclub to be exact. You and Dr. Watson are to infiltrate it tonight. Intelligence teams tell us this is our best and perhaps only chance of catching Moriarty's superior. I'll text you the address."
Sherlock drank the remainder of his coffee in one large gulp. It was cold and a poor choice for staying caffeinated. He left Mycroft to pick up the tab. None of that mattered because he had work to do. Moriarty wouldn't expect them. For once they would have the advantage.
Sherlock's fingers paused over the keyboard of his phone, considering. He'd thought it would be amusing to bring himself back to life in front of John. He wanted John to be impressed with his ability to blend in, to be seen and unseen. In that moment where John went from disbelief to anger he'd known it had been a mistake. He wasn't prepared to cause John that kind of grief again. Only his absolute honesty would salvage the remains of their relationship, and he would take the ruins that were left and treasure them.
You won't like this. –SH
When do I ever. –JW