During the month of November, John continued to chip away at the persona of Rich Brook. He'd taken down Kitty Reilly and he had some good information from Angela and Mary, but there were more pieces to the puzzle. One of Kitty's sources was already dead and he needed to move fast to get to the rest before Moriarty's gang did. Next on his list was Chris Stamper, Kitty's ex-boss. By some miracle, he still worked at the Gazette and while he wouldn't allow John into his office, he did agree to meet him at a park one cold Sunday.
Chris, a portly fiftyish man, sat fidgeting on a park bench. John tried to look at him the way Sherlock would. Married at least 15 years, probably unhappily judging by the state of his ring. Manicured fingernails, trendy cologne… having an affair? Has at least one cat, definitely the missus' idea. Not entirely comfortable with this meeting, but still feels the need to be here.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Watson," Chris said.
"Afternoon! Call me John, please."
"All right, John. What can I do for you?"
"I have some questions about these articles," John said, handing him the clippings from Rich Brook's portfolio. "Kitty used these as sources for her article about Sherlock. Over the last few months, I've spoken with several of the authors and they claimed that they never wrote a word of this. I was wondering if you had any insight on the matter."
Chris shifted uncomfortably. "Kitty Reilly is a grownup. If you have questions about her work, you should address them to her."
"I tried, but she appears to have dropped off the face of the Earth. Not answering her cell, not coming to the door… and it's not just me she's avoiding, either. I sent some people to check on her and they haven't seen anyone go into or out of her flat for a few days."
Chris tried to hide the pallor spreading across his face. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. My people have always been trustworthy." John had used Sherlock's homeless network to spy on Kitty, and at each of her usual haunts it had been the same: no sign of her for days.
Chris looked over his shoulders, suddenly nervous. "You don't think she's…"
John raised an eyebrow. "She's what? Dead?"
Chris shuddered but didn't reply.
"Chris, there are bad people behind this. I can help protect you from them, but only if you cooperate."
"Give me some time to think on it. We'll talk again next week," said Chris, and he shook John's hand and walked off.
Chris tried to contemplate which would be worse: his wife finding out the real purpose of his trips to Southeast Asia or whatever Moran's men had in store for him.
Later that night, Mycroft sat by the fireplace at Holmes Manor, relaxing with a glass of brandy. He'd dismissed the staff so that he could receive status reports via text from John and Sherlock.
How was your meeting with Stamper? – MH
Not good. I can tell he'd like to talk, but something's holding him back. – JW
Stamper makes frequent trips to Vietnam, correct? –MH
Yes. I saw his vacation photos and wanted to vomit. – JW
One of his favorite haunts burned down. All records of the clientele gone. He may assist us if he knows this. – MH
He'll want proof. –JW
I'm emailing it to him. –MH
Do I want to know how you know this? –JW
Definitely not. – MH
Mycroft's pre-paid phone buzzed shortly after he sent the last text to John.
Just crossed Thor Bridge. –S
Carry on to Musgrave. – M
Seen the doctor? – S
Yes. He caught a number of fish this weekend. Girlfriend, too. –M
Dull and boring like the others, I'm sure. – S
I don't care for this one. Could be playing for the wrong team. – M
Most of his girlfriends barely qualify as primates and you think he's got one who can fool you? Paranoia! – S
I simply don't trust her. –M
If she's like the others, she'll be gone within three weeks. He's horrendously unromantic. –S
Said the virgin. –M
Sherlock didn't reply. In spite of himself, Mycroft smiled when he imagined the expression on his brother's face. It was so lovely to be one of the few people on Earth who could defeat Sherlock Holmes in a battle of wits!
A/N: Thank you to KrisEleven for beta reading this chapter!