July 1912

This was the only way. Mycroft kept telling himself that, even as he wished there was something – anything – else he could do. But when the Foreign Minister and the Premier had asked him his advice on the subject, he only had one name to give them.

"That was a dirty trick, sending the Foreign Minister and the Premier to summon me," Sherlock Holmes said as he entered Mycroft's offices. "You know I am retired."

Mycroft sighed, "I didn't send them; it was their idea. You did say you would be willing to take on detective work if your country needed you, Sherlock. I would not ask it of you if there was any other way."

Sherlock waited expectantly, and Mycroft sighed, "I do hope you meant it. I really cannot see any other way."

"I did mean it," Sherlock answered. "I have been following the news abroad myself. Naturally, if there is anything I can do to assist the Crown, I will."

"That is what I wanted to hear." Mycroft took a large file and put it in front of his brother. "We have received word through our intelligence agencies that the German intelligence agencies are allying themselves with certain factions of Irish rebels, both in Ireland and in America."

Sherlock's keen eyes brightened as he looked over the file, "That makes sense, the Irish no doubt believe that Germany will grant them independence should they win the upcoming war."

"Precisely. Our intelligence networks are doing all they can to discern Germany's intelligence and military capability, but I have no one who is capable of working in America. In short, I need a long-term , undercover operative to learn what is going on across the Atlantic. Naturally, they will be freer in their dealings with radical groups there, so far from the watchful eyes of the other European governments."

"You want me to infiltrate the German spy organization?" Sherlock asked.

"That would be ideal, but as the Irish question falls under our jurisdiction, I think it would be better if you were to infiltrate one of the rebel groups. Besides, I did not think your German was quite up to the standard it would need to be." Both brothers were fluent in French, but while Mycroft had kept up with his German, Sherlock had not used his since university.

Sherlock nodded, "It will be easier to put on a false American accent. Or even an Irish one, if need be?" He looked at his older brother quizzically.

"American, I think. Many of the rebel groups originate there. The descendants of the Irish in America have great feeling toward the mother country." Mycroft held no judgment in his voice for the rebellious Irish organizations. He was the perfect civil servant; utterly apolitical, interested only in finishing the job at hand. Even when he hated what he had to do, as now.

"And how long will this assignment last?"

Mycroft looked sorrowfully at his brother. "I do not know, Sherlock. There is no science to predicting when war will break out. The only certainty is that it will. It may happen next week, or a year from now. I would prepare for a long assignment. A few years, would be my guess."

Sherlock's face fell, but he rallied and nodded briskly. "That would be my guess as well. It will take time to falsify documents and establish myself as a trustworthy individual to these groups I will have to infiltrate."

Mycroft slid another file across the desk. "I have already provided you with a false identity. You shall be known as Altamont, of Chicago. We believe that is the base of the organizations you will be dealing with."

Sherlock took the file and studied it intently, "I see. And what is my target?"

"I take it you have heard of a man named Von Bork?"

"Indeed I have. He is only the best spy the Germans have on their books."

"He is the center of a vast organization of informants, but most of his information comes through the Irish rebel groups. We need you to feed him false information about British military matters, and to pass along to us anything you find about the German military, treaties with other powers, intelligence operatives…anything at all that will be useful to us." Mycroft looked at his brother seriously, "Sherlock, you must leave everything of yourself behind. Von Bork is no fool. He has been in this country for two years, and is in contact with people around the world. Nothing happens in political circles without him knowing of it. It will be a difficult assignment."

Sherlock laughed, "That is putting it mildly, Mycroft! I do not think I have seen such a hazardous case since Professor Moriarty himself." He sobered quickly. "I will have to have Stackhurst watch my bees."

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How typical of his brother that on the eve of the most dangerous assignment he had ever faced, one on which the fate of nations rested, he was more concerned about his bees.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

Sherlock handed his brother a note, written quickly. "I may be able to fool Stackhurst by telling him I am taking a grand tour of Europe, but Watson knows me too well. He knows I would never leave my cottage for long, and will grow suspicious. Once word got out that I was gone for any length of time, tongues would begin to loosen. That is the last thing we want. Please give him this note."

Mycroft took the note, "I hope this says nothing incriminating. You know all intelligence operations take place in utmost secrecy."

Sherlock stood up, "Do you really think I am unaware of that? You can see it is not sealed; you may read it to make sure. I simply will not go without giving Watson some warning. I have done that to him once already, and I refuse to do it again. Surely I can give him that, at least?" His expression was tinged with fear; Mycroft realized that between their advancing ages and the danger of the assignment, there was a real chance that they may never see each other again.

"Of course, Sherlock, forgive me. I will give this to him," Mycroft looked at his brother; realized the same was true for them, that they may never see each other again. "Take care of yourself, Sherlock. I expect you back here to give me your report when the assignment is done."

Sherlock smiled, adopting an American accent in preparation for his role, "You can count on it."

Once he was gone, Mycroft unfolded the note and read it. Just to be sure.

My dear Watson,

I regret that I have not seen as much of you as of late, I know your practice keeps you busy, as my bees do.

I regret even more that it will be some time before we see each other again. I cannot explain why, but rest assured if you do not hear from me, it is not because of a loss of regard on my part. It is only that I have certain things that need to be finished – nothing terribly important, but they do need to be done.

I will be certain to call on you as soon as they are complete. Until then, take care of yourself, old friend. I look forward to meeting you again.

Yours,

Sherlock Holmes

Mycroft folded the note and shook his head sadly, reaching for his snuff box. He knew that not wanting to put Sherlock in any more danger was not a legitimate reason to refuse to send him, but he wished it were.