Chapter 8: Dear Mr Holmes,
Mycroft Holmes was a very busy man. His brother, who incidentally was alive and refusing to contact him, had often pointed out that his busyness was to be entirely attributed to the fact that Mycroft Holmes was the British Government. But, of course, the man himself would deny it completely. No, he merely occupied a minor position in that most (or least, depending upon which newspaper one was in the habit of purchasing) venerated of institutions.
In short, whichever way one was to look at it, Mycroft Holmes was a very busy man. A very busy man who did not wish to be dealing with something ordinarily so inconsequential as a Hacker.
But here he was, having his Friday evening brandy spoilt by a letter which was currently writing itself on his personal computer. Needless to say, the civil servant was not amused as he carelessly gulped the inch of brandy back and informed his P.A. that he wanted this damned Hacker found.
Until such a miraculous thing did occur, he knew that he would have to read through the wonderful message that 'Medusa' was leaving him with, this time. It read thus:
"Dear Mr Holmes,
"It has no doubt come to your attention, as it has mine, that someone is particularly partial to your brother remaining a social pariah, even in death. I don't care to speculate on your thoughts on this matter, but I must say that I find myself more than a bit irked. Especially as someone has been killed in the process of rectifying your blubber-brained actions"
'Blubber-brained'? Interesting…When they were both young, that had been Sherlock's private epithet for him. No one knew about 'Blubber-brain'. Not even Mummy.
"You and I both know that it was ultimately, albeit indirectly, your act of betrayal which killed Sherlock Holmes, so when I when I refer to you and your actions as 'blubber-brained' do please try to spare me your spluttering indignance; I'm quite sure that the entertainment factor would soon wear thin.
"Forgive me; I digress: as you must know, Emily Strange, reporter for 'The News of London' was shot dead in her flat in the wee hours of this morning. I am forwarding to you the video of the event. I do hope you're not squeamish. I ask that you ensure that the body is transferred to St. Bartholomew's Hospital's Morgue where it can be dealt with properly by head Pathologist Molly Hooper; I am aware that she is the country's leading Pathologist and I refuse to have Emily Strange's case scuppered by a lackwit with a scalpel-fetish.
"Finally, as I'm sure you've guessed by Dr. John Watson's post on his blog, along with my reply, Sherlock Holmes is alive. Do not try to contact him, because he is a bit put out with me informing you of his vitality, and would probably get a mite worse were you to ruin everything in your incompetent stumbling around.
"Lots of love,
"'Medusa'
"Xx"
Mycroft Holmes calmly blinked at his computer screen, which had finally ceased spewing up words, and called his P.A. (whose name, now, was apparently Angela).
"Angela," he greeted pleasantly, his voice perfectly even, "I should very much like to see the name and location of this Hacker on my desk within the next fifteen minutes. If that event does not occur, I fear that mass redundancy levels in the public sector may extend to our department. And you know I'd hate for that to happen" he added dangerously, before hanging up.
Mycroft Holmes was a very busy man occupying a minor position in the British Government, and he did not appreciate being called 'incompetent' by anyone, particularly some anonymous little upstart hiding behind a computer.
Although, to tell the truth, he did rather doubt that they'd find 'Medusa' as she'd covered her tracks perfectly in every aspect of her dealings in cyberspace. If he didn't know better, he'd be inclined to say that she was a genius well worthy of the title. And if, as she implied, she was with his recaltricant younger brother, she certainly would be a force to be reckoned with.
So it was that, whilst he waited for Angela to call back, apologising profusely for not having discovered a blasted thing about 'Medusa', he made some quiet arrangements about having a certain Emily Strange transferred into Miss Hooper's care.
Pouring himself another brandy, Mycroft reflected that he was rather glad that his brother was coming back to London. The two years he'd been gone had been far too long, and far too boring.
Author's Note: The plot's going to be picking up, now guys! I'm actually really glad, to be honest. I can't wait for everyone to get together – it's gonna be good, I can tell.
The Soundtrack for this is: I Know Where You Sleep by Emilie Autumn (I'm sorry, I just have a thing for her music)
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