Deep within a slum in downtown Moscow, a tall lanky figure rested against brick wall. He was beaten and wounded. He drearily looked up to the star filled night sky and watched as his breath visibly escaped from him and vanished into the atmosphere. Suddenly his phone chimed.

"Status update – MH"

"Bershov terminated, off to Prague next. - SH" After a thoughtful pause, he sent another text. "John?" was all it said.

"I don't know – MH"

"You don't know?! Surely you can come up with a better lie than that. - SH"

"He's alive. Your focus must be on your mission. - MH"

"He's the reason for the mission, if you recall. - SH"

"I'll send you the details of the next target – MH"

"Mycroft, answer me! - SH"

He never received a response. After a few minutes, he just sighed heavily and reached into his coat pocket in search of his cigarettes. 'John would be most displeased were he to discover these. I better make sure I break the habit before I return.' he idly thought to himself. He then picked himself up and hobbled to his hotel to prepare for the next leg of his journey.