Malcolm Ashby was waiting for them, and led them once more through to the kitchen.
"Coffee?" He offered as his guests settled down at the table, they both declined.
As he poured himself a mug of the strong, rich brew Malcolm looked at John speculatively.
"I wonder if you're aware of the can of worms you've opened, Dr Watson?"
"John, please." The sandy haired man replied, steadily holding the other man's gaze. "And yes, judging by what's happened since we last met you might safely say I'm aware."
Malcolm smiled as he slid into his seat.
"My contact was wary about being asked about this ammunition, said he'd heard rumours of its existence, but never seen it." He watched John's face carefully.
"But not rumours of the gun it was made for." It was a statement.
"He's quick, your friend." Malcolm offered Ellen grudging praise, and she grinned in reply.
"He has that reputation."
"So he made the gun? Or more than one of them?"
Malcolm nodded.
"Three in total – all went abroad, according to the man who placed the orders and took delivery of them."
John watched the other man twist his coffee mug round in his hands for a moment, then took his notebook and pencil from his pocket and slid them across the table.
Malcolm looked down at them, then back up at John.
"You didn't bring us over here to tell us that three were made and shipped out of the country." He sat back in his chair, his whole demeanour relaxed. "So it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together and get the three names of the purchasers."
"I told you Malc, John's no fool." Ellen rested her elbows on the table. "And neither am I – if your contact had heard rumours of the ammo being made, then he would also know that one of the guns had been modified to fire it."
"So did he do the mods himself?" John asked, his mind working overtime around possibilities.
"One of the guns had two magazine locks and two barrels. Apparently the customer was working on some prototype ammunition, and asked for the modifications to be made up in advance."
John and Ellen shared a glance, and then turned back to their host.
"The name of the purchaser would be handy too." John looked significantly at the notebook, still untouched in front of Malcolm. "You needn't worry that any untoward interest will be taken in these people – we just want to find the man who's trying to kill my friends."
"The purchaser's dead."
John's head shot up at that, and he stared at the armourer.
"My contact believes the bullet that killed him is similar – if not the same – as the one you left with me."
"Then your contact had better pray that his name wasn't mentioned, or he may find himself on the receiving end of one himself." John said softly.
Malcolm nodded, picked up the pencil and started to write.
xXx
The taxi pulled up in Whitehall and two smartly suited men stepped out, paying their fare and waiting for a receipt before stepping smartly into the Government offices. Giving their names to the receptionist, they were handed visitor's passes and asked to sit in the reception area until Mr Holmes' PA could come down to meet them. In silence they moved to sit in the grey leather chairs.
Georgie Dunn pulled at the collar of his white shirt, and grimaced at his companion.
"I knew there was a reason I hated wearing suits." His face twisted with discomfort.
"Yes, not really your style, eh Georgie boy?" Jim Wainwright didn't suppress his smirk, and his companion's aggrieved snarl was hastily subdued as Anthea approached them, Blackberry in hand.
Both men rose to their feet, Georgie still pulling self-consciously at his clothing. Anthea struggled to keep the smile from her face at his adolescent antics.
"Mr Wainwright?"
Jim nodded
"Then you must be Mr Dunn." She looked at Georgie with a smile. "Mr Holmes will see you now." Turning back the way she came, Anthea didn't wait to see if they were following, she simply walked, and the two ex-soldiers had to hurry to catch up with her.
They travelled to the second floor in silence, and as they stepped out of the lift both men rapidly scoured the area for threats, perceived or real, but finding the hallway empty relaxed slightly and followed the slim brunette into the outer office. With a wave of her hand, she gestured then towards the inner office door.
A brief knock, and a call to enter, brought Georgie and Jim face to face with the elder Holmes brother, and they swiftly assessed him as he did the same to them.
"I was impressed," Mycroft said finally, "with your colleagues. John is a constant surprise to me."
"He surprises us sometimes." Jim said with a grin. "Jim Wainwright."
"George Dunn"
Mycroft shook each man's hand in turn, not seeing the need to introduce himself.
"John wants one of us with you at all times." Jim said as Mycroft gestured them both to sit down. "He also wants up to take a look around your staff."
"Fairly standard practice for us." Georgie added as Mycroft opened his mouth to deny the necessity. "For our safety as well as yours, we need to know the calibre of people we're working with."
"And for?" Holmes asked softly.
"John vouched for you and your brother when he asked for our help – if he feels you're worth the effort, then who are we to argue." Jim's voice was equally as soft, but the look he gave the government official said 'Don't let him down, don't prove him wrong.'
For a long moment the three men sat in silence, Mycroft silently getting the measure of these friends of John's, while they sat making their own assessment.
Mycroft eventually broke the tension by standing up.
"Where do you propose to start?"
Good manners bringing them to their feet also, Jim and Georgie looked at each other, before the latter answered.
"John wants one of us with you at all times – now that looks as if it's not the norm for you?" his eyes flicked around the room.
"Normally I'd have two of my men on standby, generally in a staff room next door." He indicated a door on the far side of the room. "Currently there is no-one in there, as far as everyone except Anthea is concerned I'm welcoming in two new members of staff."
"So your immediate protection is your PA and two armed staff?"
"Don't underestimate Anthea Mr Wainwright, she's better trained and deadlier than she looks." A shapely eyebrow was raised. "And I'd think twice about questioning her efficiency within her earshot – she may just feel she has to prove why she is, quite literally, my right hand woman."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Mr Holmes." Jim's grin re-emerged. "Now, Georgie here will take the first shift with you, I'll mingle with the other staff, if Anthea could show me where I need to go."
He turned to leave, then paused as a thought occurred.
"How should we address you?"
"As 'Sir'." Mycroft replied drily.
xXx
Jamie rubbed his eyes in an attempt to ease them after an hour of trawling through CCTV images, trying to find a car that matched the shadowy outline that was seen driving away from the bombing.
Across the room H was talking quietly to Pat, getting the overview of the flat in Stratford.
"There's absolutely no sign of movement." Pat was saying. "Dan has actually found himself a prime spot where he has a clear view of the penthouse."
"High ground?" H asked, surprised.
"No, but he can see all of the windows." Came the grudging admission. "He says no movement – no twitching curtains or blinds."
"And no-one in or out?"
"We've been here forty minutes, and we've seen no-one at all! These are all yuppie types H, they were probably well on the way to their cosy rabbit hutch offices before we got here."
He paused, and H could hear talking in the background, then another voice spoke.
"Is John there?"
"Sorry Dan, he's still out with Ellen. What's up?"
Danny scratched his chin, his eye meeting Pat's, and that man nodded in agreement.
"It's nothing concrete mate, just a feeling that something isn't right." He cleared his throat, pressing ahead. "I thought I saw the flicker of a television, but the angle I'm looking from it's far from clear. For all I know it might be her prized collection of guppies in a well-lit tank!"
H snorted. "But your instinct says not?"
"Bloody right. It feels all wrong – I want to go in."
Pat nodded, muttering about using discretion.
"Yes, tell Pat I heard that – and I know what John said. Just make sure your cover story will stand up to scrutiny."
"We'll let you know what we find."
As Danny shut down the call, H updated the younger man, expressing the hope that they were doing the right thing.
"Should we let John know?"
"Not sure where he's gone." A frown creased H's brow. "Maybe you should just e-mail Sherlock, keep him in the loop."
Jamie swung back to his screen and swiftly typed out a message, sending it to the younger Holmes brother before switching back to the CCTV footage.
It wasn't long before Ellen and John returned, deep in conversation about what they had learned from Malcolm, but both picked up immediately on the tension in the ops centre.
"What's happened?" John asked, his eyes flicking between the two men in the room.
"I was just about to write it up on the board." H indicated the marker in his hand, and as he wrote he explained the situation.
John and Ellen listened carefully, the former nodding approval when he heard they had kept Sherlock informed, and when they were finished John sent them both out for a breath of fresh air and a change of scenery.
"What next then?" Ellen asked once they were alone.
"Next we need to…" the doctor was interrupted by the sound of an e-mail alert from the computer, and almost immediately afterwards Ellen's text alert sounded too. Sharing a look, they opened up their messages.
"Shit! Sherlock says Julia Speers hasn't logged in at her computer today."
Ellen pulled a face.
"Jim's message says much the same, only he adds that against protocol she hasn't phoned in sick either. Apparently all staff have to advise their immediate superior by 10am."
"Let Danny know the antagonist may still be on site." John pulled out his own phone. "I'll tell Pat. We don't want them walking blindly into trouble."
With a snort Ellen grinned.
"But you'll let them walk in with their eyes wide open."
"Absolutely – they're grown men El; I don't imagine I could stop them if I tried." As he spoke he sent his text, and then returned to his flatmate's e-mail.
Sitting in front of the computer, he stared at the keyboard and came to a decision. Picking up his phone he dialled Sherlock's number.
xXx
Pat stayed in the stairwell as Danny decided on the open approach, knocking on the door of Speers' penthouse flat. When no answer was forthcoming he tried again, this time ringing the doorbell, leaning on it for longer than was considered polite.
And then, when neither of these methods produced a response, he stepped slightly to one side, not offering a gunman the chance to get a body-shot through the door, and lifted the letterbox, peering at an angle to see if there was movement from inside.
All was still, but the sound of the television could be heard, faint yet clear, and as the ex-soldier chanced a step closer he could see post laying on the hall floor. He gave a soft whistle, and Pat emerged from his hiding place.
"Something's wrong here, let them know we're going in." Danny pulled a set of skeleton keys from his pocket.
With ease of practice, he had the door open and the two men slid into the flat, alert to the possibility of an ambush. Pat moved towards the sitting room, Danny took the opposite side of the hallway. He was about to enter the bedroom, when Pat waved him over.
Standing in the doorway, the two men looked at the scene before them – the television quietly chattering in the corner, and the naked and eviscerated body formerly known as Senior HR Officer Julia Speers lying, dead eyes wide and staring, her blood soaking into the thick pile of the carpet.
xXx
Carefully putting his phone to one side, Sherlock stared down at the names that he had written on the notepad at his side.
Rutger Baumann
Broder Jaeger
Mark Taverner
Tapping his finger gently on the kitchen table, he picked up another slice of toast and bit into it, not seeing the pleased smile on his landlady's face as she turned to pour him another cup of coffee.
Scraping his chair back suddenly, he snatched up the pad, and toast still in hand swept out of the room and back up to his office.
"Running up and down these stairs after you will be the death of me!" the old lady muttered, stirring two generous sugars into the mug and heading towards the stairs after him.
Sherlock barely acknowledged her presence as his fingers flew over the computer keyboard, his eyes rapidly reading the information scrolling across his screen.
After a couple of false starts, following information that essentially led to legitimate arms dealerships, he ran into a brick wall. Every line of enquiry led to a dead end, a blank.
Sitting back in his chair he picked up his mobile, a feral smile on his lips as he dialled John's number.
"John, I know who we're looking for."