I. 28 October, 2013.
Three days after the eruption of mount Etna, Heavy rains across Europe due to storm St. Jude. Damp and dismal, especially in this squalid Serbian prison.
II. Now I remember why I hate fieldwork so much: The noise, the squalor, the smell. The man beside me must not have bathed for a week. No wonder he has an adulterous wife. Look, another puddle. Can they not invest in proper roofing? The guard points when I ask how to find the "Security Room". Honestly, as if anything in this base is secure. I hardly needed the expertly forged papers revealing me to be an noted interrogator. I could probably have walked up to the gate and claimed to be soviet era fighter pilot and got in just as easily. They are hardly discerning. The Baron has a lot to learn about ruling the world. I could certainly give him lessons. He should keep cleaner barracks for one.
A clean well-fed soldier is an efficient soldier. Case in point, John Watson. I have been through his service records from the very beginning. And before then, to his school records. He played rugby as a youth. He studied medicine. John Watson has very clean habits, and despite Sherlock's constant chiding about the patterns of his jumpers, he has a very pleasing style and appearance in my opinion. Many a time I've noticed it, when we sat together over lunch discussing Sherlock. The way that the blue stripes of his shirt complemented the deep blue of his eyes.
But there is no blue to be seen today, only the blacks and browns, and greys of this hellish prison. It was easy enough to get into it. The difficulty will be in getting out again once Sherlock is found. As far as I know, neither of us knows how to fly a helicopter. Besides that, the easiest way out to get out, would be to send a message for a recovery team. Then they could dispose of the Baron's men at the same time. Agnes, or Anthea as she prefers to be called in a covert situation, will have set up an office for me by now. She has probably found me a desk and a portrait of the queen for the wall. Anthea is nothing if not efficient. But now, I must assess the communications and find the exits to this place.
III. Front gate two guards and one guard station in sight of the main gate. Not the best. Side gate. Two guards, Laundry service in at 4 pm twice weekly. Back gate for food deliveries. Weekly for the prison and barracks. Every morning for the castle at the top of the hill. How very much like a vampire story. The bloody baron in the castle with a prison at the base to house his victims. Food trucks are searched on the way in and out. Two guards stationed at the back gate, but it is isolated. Not visible from the barracks. Possible weak point.
IV.
Mycroft entered the security room to find the guards on their feet."What is it? What's going on?" he asked.
"An intruder was in the castle."
"An intruder?"
"Yes, the Baron's room has been completely ransacked. He won't admit to anything being stolen but the main house is in an uproar. We are to search the grounds."
"Do they think that he's still here?"
"Look! The back gate! Use the alarm!"
"What?"
"Someone has disabled the guard and is getting out."
Mycroft looked at the screen and caught sight of a tall, long-haired man with a familiar gait sliding under the chain that sealed the back gate.
Mycroft reached out his foot and covertly disconnected the speaker system's power cable.
"Hit the alarm!"
"I did. It won't work."
"Why not?"
"It must be problem with the speakers," Mycroft said, "check the roof. There is a usually a switch box there."
"Right." the guard said rushing out, the other man following behind.
Mycroft closed the door and locked it. When they asked, he would explain that it was a standard security measure when the base was under attack. Sherlock had found a motorcycle now, and was riding away. Some guards had caught sight of him, but they were hampered by the locked gate. No one apparently had the key. Sherlock would have certainly disposed of one of them. The other was in the drawer on the desk in front of Mycroft. He put his feet up and sat back. Yes, the Baron certainly had a lot to learn about ruling the world, or catching a Holmes.