Sherlock had known his presence in London would be found out by Mycroft sooner rather than later. Mycroft had supposedly thought him dead but would still see him on the CCTV. To be honest Sherlock couldn't be bothered to go to the extent of hiding from CCTV. He'd got a haircut, his hair was now a length between consulting detective Sherlock's and arena Sherlock's, he'd also dyed it a lighter brown colour instead of his normal black. He was currently dressed in jeans, converses, a charcoal t-shirt and a leather jacket on top; he also wore sunglasses, hopefully this would be enough to not be recognised as the deceased Hunger Games champion.
He had been in London for 36 hours when a black car had pulled up beside him. The door had swung open.
"Not dead then?" it was Anthea sat inside; head angled towards him, her eyes looked up at him for a moment before returning to the Blackberry in her hand. Of course Mycroft wouldn't lower himself to coming to fetch his brother himself that would make it look like he cared.
Sherlock watched her for a moment before climbing into the car; once the door had shut he removed his sunglasses.
"Where are we going then? I doubt it'll be Diogenes, I'm sure he'll want to lecture me on how socially unacceptable it is for one to fake ones death"
Anthea ignored him
"Well it's won't be his office, as there are others there, again he wouldn't want to embarrass himself by being heard yelling at me. So his house then. Middle of nowhere, nice and big and then he has the upper hand as well."
Still he received no answer. But he was satisfied that he was right.

It was a Friday which meant John was going shopping. He loathed Tesco's, partly due to the chip and pin machines partly just because it was Tesco's. He was walking down the street, a black car sped past him pulling up by someone about 15 metres down the street.
John could swear it was Mycroft's kidnapping car. After a moment a stranger reluctantly stepped into the vehicle. John couldn't stop a small smile crossing his face.

Mycroft's house was ridiculous. Sherlock had told his older brother that the second the man had bought it. It was huge in every dimension and seeing that Mycroft was always at work it was completely unnecessary.
On stepping out of the car Sherlock placed his sunglasses back on his nose and strode over to the house. He opened the door, Mycroft had brought him hear so pleasantries such as knocking weren't necessary in Sherlock's mind.
"This way" Anthea stalked in behind him and started walking down a corridor
Sherlock followed her. After two right turns and one left they reached a huge mahogany door, it's surface polished to perfection, very recently. Sherlock could smell the trace of a citrus wood polish in the air.
The door was opened by Anthea soundlessly.
"Got him sir" she called in before giving Sherlock a look that told him he should enter the room. He raised an eyebrow at her; it arched over the darkened lense of his sunglasses then crossed the threshold into his brother's territory.
Sherlock felt the corner of his mouth quirk up at the sight of Mycroft Holmes. He was sat at his desk in a three piece suit, the jacket of which was hung on the wall. He had his fingers interlocked, resting on his desk out in front of him. His eyes were like steel. Watching Sherlock's every move. Like a lion watching its prey.
Sherlock's swiftly removed his sunglasses again, hooking them over the neck of his t-shirt.
"So you believed my act then?" Sherlock decided to break the ice
Mycroft took a deep breath in. Eyes remaining on his scrawny little brother. Scrawny really was the best word. Sherlock had lost weight without John forcing him to eat every day or so. His jeans were frayed around the heel of his shoes, this was an often used disguise then. Sherlock's hair was scruffy and unbrushed, he hadn't shaved for a few days and there were faint grey shadows beneath Sherlock's stormy blue eyes.
"Do you know what your death did to Doctor Watson?"
Sherlock sighed moving his gaze to the window for a moment before back at Mycroft
"It was a necessary precaution"
"Necessary?" Mycroft's tone was flat
"What was it you once told me? People act better when they don't know they are being watched"
"Sherlock that very line implies that you are manipulating John"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his brother.
"Why are you back in London then? If you went as far as faking your death I doubt this is a social call" Mycroft knew he would get no more from Sherlock on the subject of John Watson
"Someone who used to be part of the Moriarty Empire has moved in very close to DI Lestrade I'm just here to take him down"
"I assume it was you that helped him on that case the other day. And Sherlock we both know I am perfectly capable of removing an assassin"
"Don't over glorify yourself Mycroft. Blakely has been there for 9 days now. If you planned to remove him he'd be gone by now"
"Perhaps"
"If that's all I need to go now. I have business to attend to Mycroft"
"Of course. One last thing brother dear. Do you plan to reveal yourself to John?"
"If I did don't you think I would've gone to him before you?" with that Sherlock left the room.
He reluctantly accepted the car ride from Anthea purely because Mycroft lived in the middle of nowhere and Sherlock had no intentions of wasting his time by walking such a journey.
Sherlock knew exactly where he planned to go but told Anthea to drop him at a location far enough away that his choice wouldn't be deducible.
When the car disappeared around the corner Sherlock was about to head off when he noticed a strip of fluttering police tape out the corner of his eye. He turned to face the crime scene, he quickly pulled on his sunglasses protecting his identity before walking over to stand barely a metre away from the tape that told him to move away.
His eyes found the Forensics team dressed in pale blue. Anderson was obviously in charge, he went back and forth missing all important details. Sally stood at the other side of the crime scene guarding the tape at that side. DI Lestrade was there in charge of it all. He looked tired, fed up and clueless.

Lestrade watched Anderson wonder back and forth, like everyone else he was clueless. Lestrade gave a loud sigh dragging his hands down his face. Why were so many crime scenes impossible to gleam information from since Sherlock's passing?
Lestrade looked up, there was a surprising lack of public on lookers today. On Donovan's side about 5 people stood on their toes trying to catch glimpses of what was happening. On Jones' side there was just one man. He was tall, wore jeans and a leather jacket and had short-ish brown hair with sunglasses hiding his a portion of his face. Despite the dark sunglasses, Lestrade could swear the man was looking right at him. Then a thought crossed his mind, was that his secret helper from the other day?
No. That was ridiculous, just a journalist or curious member of the public. Lestrade broke his gaze turning away to walk back over to the bodies.

Sherlock lingered at the crime scene longer than he should've. He was typing into his phone and failed to see Lestrade leaving the crime scene, he looked up to see the grey haired detective walking along the pavement on the opposite side of the road.
"Anything interesting?" Sherlock called across to him, masking his voice but moving his tone up an octave and using a slight American accent. Lestrade looked surprised to see him talking to him. Sherlock mentally cursed himself that was too risky.
"Sorry mate that's classified information. There'll be a press conference tomorrow"
"No worries mate" Sherlock called back "Just curious. I'm with the NYPD over in America. Just on my holiday seems like i can never escape death though."
"Yeah"
Screw it Sherlock thought It'll be a long time before I get a chance to annoy him again
"Yup. I saw the paramedics taking one of the bodies, by the dried mud on her boots I'd say she's been camping recently, and there's a missing person's report about two hours from her. Find the campsite find the real crime scene. They obvious weren't killed here. Good evening, Detective inspector"
With that Sherlock turned off walking down the first corner he came tom of course he could've identified the correct camp site but that would be going a little bit too far, he couldn't repress a smirk as he walked away, dare he admit it? Yes, he had missed Lestrade.

A/N: A huge thank-you to Silver Cat 777 for becoming my beta :)