Epilogue
The dark-haired man looked out over the rooftops of Baker Street. It was his favourite time of night- or, rather morning, as the clock would have it. The hum of London was quieter, but still there. The city was like him- wakeful, watchful, never truly switched off. He was up on the roof, testing the new Mind Palace, using new techniques to find old data. It would take some time to get used to the new accessibility. And to ensure that others were not alarmed at what changes were occurring in his demeanour.
The biggest change was in his sensory processing. For the first time in his life, the data coming in was no longer threatening to overwhelm his ability to process it. I can cope. That took the edge off, reduced anxiety, calmed the nervousness that he hadn't realised was building. Ever since the confrontation with Moriarty at the pool, things had been getting slowly but surely more difficult for him to deal with. But like a computer user who doesn't want to face the fact that the hardware bought years ago was getting increasingly cranky and error-prone, he'd tried to ignore it. I was in denial.
Now he didn't need to deny anything, least of all the fact that he felt better than he had for years. He was still exploring what the new Mind Palace improvements meant, but, so far, he was delighted. One of the unexpected consequences was that it changed the way people reacted to him. Doctor Cohen was the most surprised (or was it a case of easiest fooled?); he could manage now all the behavioural mannerisms that once alarmed the psychiatrist. No more melt downs, panic attacks, anxiety or stimming that he'd allowed to creep into his manner. He didn't even need the hours of time-outs on the sofa, trying to limit the data coming in and process what had slipped in through improperly working filters. Nothing fundamental had really changed, but he felt in control – of his emotions, his mental processes, his physical health. He felt ready.
That thought inevitably brought another- Moriarty. The accessibility of data in his newly re-built memory now was truly amazing. He was seeing links that he had never noticed before. The something big coming that his brother was hiding from him, for example. He knew without even having to calculate it that this was now definitely linked to Moriarty. He knew that his brother was keeping him out of that confrontation. Over the past months, Sherlock had been willing to concede privately that he was not ready for a re-match with the Irishman. He was wary of his own vulnerability, his need to recover physical fitness and to try to sort out what was going wrong in his mental processes, too. He was overly-conscious of the implied threat to John. So, he had willingly kept a low profile, letting his brother pursue his own agenda.
No longer. Mycroft had not realised that Sherlock's secret contact with Irene revealed a trail that led back to Moriarty. Now that Irene was presumably safe, playing 'dead', it was time either to crack the phone wide open or destroy it and move on. He also now knew that the computer issues he had just stumbled on were linked to Moriarty, somehow. No one else either had the reach, the motive or, more important, the audacity to try a crime on such a massive scale. Even if he didn't have all the data yet to confirm that fact, his brother's behaviour validated the working hypothesis. Three weeks ago, Mycroft had thanked him for the tip-off, and then shut down all possibility of Sherlock being involved. You're being a big fat idiot, Myc. The "deal" that John had brokered to get him out of rehab was now totally dead in the water. There was no "sharing" of data going on, just a brotherly brick wall. Sherlock had kept his side of the bargain, but clearly his brother did not intend to. Right, then I will stop playing fair, too.
He knew John would be distressed at his decision. He would argue that Sherlock was better off out of the battle. If Mycroft didn't want them involved, then it was necessary to respect that. He could hear the doctor's caution. (Why go poking a hornet's nest, Sherlock? It's just too risky.) John was still a bit leery of the most recent changes in his behaviour, as if he didn't trust that they were real. But Sherlock knew better. And it actually suited him to keep John in the dark. It was the best way to protect him from Moriarty, in the long run.
Sherlock looked south. From the roof of 221, he could see traffic lighting up the roundabout of Marble Arch, then the void to the right- the dark shadow of Hyde Park. He was not high enough to be able to see the absence of light that marked the path of the Thames snaking through the rest of the London skyline at night. But he knew exactly where it was anyway. It was odd. One benefit of the new Mind Palace was an automatic upgrade in his navigation map of London. He now found it easier to calculate relative distances and altitudes with ease.
A flashing blue light passing on the Marylebone Road alerted him to a police car on its way to something in a hurry. Perhaps a Homicide Assessment Team? The new Police Commissioner had decreed that the expense of a Murder Enquiry warranted more caution; an initial assessment was now needed before rating any suspicious death as worthy of further investigation as murder. That limited the number of cases directed toward Lestrade and his team- and therefore to Sherlock. But the advantages were that when he did show up there would be fewer suicides, accidental deaths or other boring cases not worthy of his attention. On the other side of the equation, however, was the risk that a clever criminal- and anyone contacting a certain consulting criminal would fall into that category- could fool the new HAT teams into thinking it wasn't worth throwing resources at. He would need to keep an eye on the HOLMES2 database to see if Moriarty would try to slip something under the radar.
Game on, Moriarty. I am ready.
oOo
The dark-eyed man looked out over the London skyline. His penthouse suite at the Carlton Tower Hotel in Knightsbridge gave him a lovely view over Belgravia. He was looking for a particular street – South Eaton Place. Directly south of him was Cadogan Gardens, and he sharpened the focus of the binoculars to spot the rectangle of Eaton Square to his left- all those trees in the darkness were the give-away. Now, find the southwest corner and track south. He sought the particular townhouse and then brought to mind its occupant. He had not managed to get eyes into the premises, so he had to imagine the three piece suited man in a wing back chair, the book-lined study, the fireplace and the swirl of a fine brandy in a cut-glass balloon. Or would it be a finger or two of fine single malt whisky? He must try to find out from his spies at the Diogenes Club, send a bottle next Christmas. Looking forward to happy holidays? Love and kisses to you and your brother, JM.
Jim was feeling particularly pleased with himself. Despite rumours about going amok, the consulting detective had solved his little puzzle in record time and Hanson, his mole in the Homicide and Serious Crime Command, said that Sherlock's pet DI had given them all a lecture on how to spot computer crime in the future. And the icing on the cake of today came when Sir Thomas Weston confirmed that Mycroft Holmes had put in a budget request to establish an interagency working party to investigate the disruption of a Trojan horse programme inserted into the new neuromorphic programming language. Hook, line and sinker. The next round was starting.
"Sebaaastian." His exaggerated drawl drew the sniper out onto the balcony. "How close would your target need to be to get a kill shot from up here?"
"Depends on how fast he was walking at this time of night." The blond man pointed to a pedestrian coming up Sloane Street, caught in the street lights. "And if he was approaching or retreating, as well as whether you wanted a head shot. But, that man there is dead, if you say the word." The rain coated figure was at least a thousand meters away.
"Ooh, you do like to get me excited. But, not tonight dear, no need to give him a headache." Jim smirked as he put the binoculars down to pick up his champagne again. "Did you make any progress with that rumour I gave you this afternoon?"
Moran gave a predatory grin. "Oh, yes. Your spies got a hole in one. The Woman and her maid are in the south of France. I can pick them off anytime you'd like."
He put the glass down on the balcony railing. "Oh, it's not murder I'm after, Tiger. I just want you to kidnap the red-haired wench that gets Irenee's knickers in a twist. Once we've got her in safe custody back here in old Blighty, I'll send the Woman a ransom note. I want that MOD code, and I'm tired of waiting. With that and the little auction I've got in play, well…" He cracked his knuckles in anticipation. "Round Three is definitely about to start- and I have just the one-two punch to take out both the Holmes boys this time around."
Moran matched the Irishman's smile. At last.
Author's note:
Well, that's the end of De-Frag. As with all of my stories, there is no real "end"- just a pointer towards the next story, because our boys are not yet ready to hang up their detective boots and head for Sussex to keep bees and retire.
For those of you familiar with my previous stories and with canon, you will have spotted that the Irishman is back, and playing around with computer codes. The Reichenbach Falls beckon. But before that, we have the little issue of Irene's return to deal with. So, now onto Level Up. I will start posting in about two weeks or so. It's the next instalment of the series started with Collateral Damage, then Side Lined, followed by Crossfire. If you haven't read those, then please do- and please review!
In the interval, I may stop in again at Periodic Tales and also Got My Eye on You. I have a couple of one shots for the ExFiles, too. One more new story to appear in the autumn will be The Shooting Party, because it is integral to my final story in the series, tentatively called Fallen Angel. I have a lot of writing to do before the New Year and the return of Sherlock in series 3 (BBC hasn't confirmed it for certain, but highly likely on 1 January), when, quite likely, everything I have written will become AU, and I will have to start again.
At the end of September, I will have been writing here for one year. As ever, tell me what you liked and what you didn't like about the story and the writing, what you want to see more of, and what less. Feedback is the fuel that keeps me here in the fandom.