In the bowels of Whitehall, within the well protected confines of a Cabinet Office, Lady Elisabeth Smallwood finds herself at the breaking point. She would not be cowed by the suffocating silence of their lack of intel no more and spoke to the room in general.
"I think its time to admit it," she declares from her seat with a calm she hasn't felt in weeks.
Her fellow peers exchanged a mixture of perplexed to wary glances before Sir Edwin clears his throat only to patronize politely, "And what exactly are we admitting to, Lady Smallwood?"
She ignores the condescension and replies in kind, though her demeanor remains the same when she points out, "Obviously the list of suspects are too long. We need an expert."
Yet, Sir Edwin persists to follow the same vein, "With all due respect, we have our best people on it. Our tech engineers are screening all the security footage as we speak. Our fives and sixes are scouring for any scrap of information regarding his whereabouts. Whether it is the Iranians, North Koreans or Russians, we will find him."
Despite her growing weariness, she remain steadfast, "Very well. I suppose you, Sir Edwin, will have no qualms explaining this to the Prime Minister and her Majesty tomorrow?"
"Now, see here—"
She doesn't wait for his immediate spluttering objection to be voiced further before continuing helpfully, "I will inform his assistant to transfer his current diary with them as well as any other pertinent appointments to yours. I'm sure you will do more than adequate job filling in for his shoes in the interim."
Red faced and finally cotton on, Sir Edwin scans his peers for an ally and was met with a few wry smirks. Retreat seems to be his best maneuver when he offers after another round of offended throat clearing, "What would you suggest, Lady Smallwood?"
"Sherlock Holmes," she said without fanfare.
The small commotion garnered renew Sir Edwin's drive as the voice of opposition when he scoffs, "England will not fall without a Holmes running it. Besides, he's barely tolerable with his brother holding the leash. What makes you think he'll heed our beck and call?"
With her victory at hand, Lady Smallwood allow a small upturn of her lips when she replies, "He will not decline our offer, not when the game is finding Mycroft Holmes."