Mycroft's face and profile was all over the internet.

It even mentioned his preference to black umbrella.

A faint smile had appeared on Sherlock's face while looking at the screen as he imagined his brother's expression upon seeing the exposure: momentarily appalled at the content—especially his fitness issues, then lots of eyebrows rising at the challenge, and then immediate blank expression that would signify a revenge was on the way.

"You'd be very livid and nobody would hear the end of this." Sherlock whispered to himself with glinting eyes, "Certainly not whoever's behind this profile breach, right Mycroft?"

Then his mind worked—Mycroft's next step of course was to contact him—that was how brother Mycroft rolled. If things get personal—send little brother on the go. He never did do leg exercise.

But the smile disappeared on Sherlock's face instantly as he pictured his brother who was out there—being auctioned to different terrorists' leaders it seemed.

"This is ugly, Sherlock." John whispered beside him. "The stakes—"

"Immense damage." Sherlock turned to Mycroft's subordinates as he clicked a page after another to see the same content, "Now the best question we can ask is 'who'. Who posted these online? How did they acquire it?"

"Insiders job." The doctor supplied seriously. "Or hacked?"

"When do you plan to remove these sites?" Sherlock suddenly snapped to the MI6 Agent called Carruthers. "Even kids playing Warcraft can find these!"

"A team of I.T experts are on it as we speak and have taken down seventeen before you came."

"Not enough." Sherlock clicked on the touch screen and stopped when he saw a number of Mycroft's photos taken in different angle with a number of important people. "And I thought he was always thorough. How many sites left?"

"The number could go on for ages with still other unsearched sites." Carruthers met Sherlock's sharp gaze, "Terrorism has existed this way for many years to publicly reveal and recruit their people."

"Ah with the obvious, no wonder the world's a mess." Sherlock's lips thinned. "They put him up in all terrorist sites to call attention, but questionable traces as to where they might do any transaction. Not even a caller I.D for customers. I'd complain."

"It might go internally." Anthea shook her head, "Ransom was never their option or they would've contacted us. No, this is exclusive for radicals' networks."

"Again, with the obvious. Where is he now?" Sherlock looked at her who quickly turned to her folder.

"Northern Ireland is our spot. Right at Belfast." She confirmed. "Our agents reported there has been no more signal from Mr. Holmes' CCT except in that location for the last eight hours. We have been in contact with PSNI and they've confirmed extremists groups' suspicious actions in the past weeks near the border. The possibility suggests he's been kept there and hasn't been moved since the local authorities were already alerted. But then they are always on maximum alert since it's Northern Ireland."

"Belfast." Sherlock repeated with eyes flickering as he understood with his mind palace. "Hardly a place to waltz in with all the internal troubles left and right. Perfect place. When can you get me there—?"

"Pardon?" Agent Carruthers blinked and frowned. "You—?"

"Get there, yes." Sherlock's impatience was already getting the best of him. "Why else do you think I'm here?" he shot Anthea a look who purse her lips and raised her eyes at the MI6 Agent who frowned deeply at the detective.

"We informed you of this fact to assure you we got everything under controlnot to encourage you to take any actions—"

"That's funny," Sherlock went on sarcastically, "I thought you guys were desperate."

Agent Carruthers glowered. "We have people to work—MI9 if you would—to secure the safety recovery of Mr. Holmes. We don't need a civilian to do professional work." Without much discretion, he turned to the female secretary. "I told you it is unnecessary to inform the relatives with this secret."

"He isn't just a relative." Anthea said pointedly to Carruthers, "He is Sherlock Holmes."

The Agent glanced back at the detective with a little more reverie who looked back at him.

"Still— this operation requires the most skilled and talented persons—" he began again—

"You're looking at one with both ends." Sherlock said as he raised an eyebrow, making John smile to himself. "This operation is delicately important to me as it is to your government so why don't we stop the idle chat and let me do what I need to do."

"I will not take responsibility over what you need to do." Carruthers' eyes glinted after a pause, "But it is my priority to see this job done without any harm to the nation. Mr. Mycroft Holmes is essential to that. I will not have this operation fail because of a mistake in judgement."

"Consider it done." Sherlock shrugged as the doctor blinked beside him.

"Was that an approval?" he queried with a frown on his face.

"As subtle as we get." Sherlock replied as he and Carruthers continued to measure each other's gaze until the door of the room banged open and in came a man in a grey suit with short, white hair and watery blue eyes; his features made him look like an overgrown white camel with already thin lips and deep frown.

"What is this—what has been going on?" he declared in a loud voice that made Sherlock and John stare at him while the other two office workers stood in their fullest height, "Carruthers!" he barked as he pointed towards the door, "is this Mycroft Holmes business still not concluded?"

"Mr. Undersecretary." Agent Carruthers gave a slight nod towards the barking old man and waited till he was a step away from each other and only a chair dividing them in between. "I'm afraid not."

"The state is alarmed—do you know the Defence Secretary has been concerned ever since the information leakage of Mycroft Holmes? What have you people been doing?"

"My question exactly." Sherlock piped with a look at Carruthers who threw him a dirty look.

"The procedure is underway, Mr. Undersecretary." Agent Carruthers assured him, "and the Right Honourable has given his orders for the MI6 to conduct the operation— the media is also under control—websites after websites have already been taken down—"

"That's not what I heard—the media's taking a pointed interest at this rumoured government official taken captive by terrorists! Everyone's asking 'Who is Mycroft Holmes'! The UN has sent a word, the EU! CIA! DOD! Even personal phone calls from different country presidents! Everyone wants to know what's going on and to be updated! You know why? Because their afraid about the secret intelligence only Mycroft Holmes know. Do you have any idea how many nations have already raised their severe status alarm?" he shook his head as his hands found the back of the chair and pressed it. "Holmes has been very elusive but now that he is exposed I suppose that's where the Prime Minister will stop giving him special credits. He's already been compromised. And to think he's really members of these organizations and people. No wonder the lot feared him."

He stopped as he realised he was doing to himself and raised his eyes to Carruthers again.

"These ruffians have realised by now one central weakness of the British Government. We can't let them have the upper hand for too long. If only Mycroft Holmes had remained dead we won't be—"

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock felt an amount of electricity surge through his body and found himself stepping close to the man with expression unreadable. John immediately took Sherlock's arm to stop him as he could feel the intensity of his friend's next action.

The Undersecretary looked at Sherlock and gave a short pause.

"I know you." He said after a while, "You're the infamous brother. Assessing the damage your brother caused this country?"

"In case you hadn't noticed two weeks had already passed since my brother disappeared and your country's flag is still up and the Queen safe so don't you think that much guaranteed where my brother's loyalty stands?"

"Well, we can still wait another week and see what happens. These terrorist have variety to choose from to make people talk."

Sherlock's face paled in hot fury and he took a violent step forward—

"Sherlock." John tugged on his friend's arm but there was a deep frown on his face too as he stared at the other man. The Undersecretary looked from the doctor to the detective and sighed impatiently.

"Your brother has just become the greatest threat to the nation—he's not even a politician but look at all the ruckus he's making. And they said he was the best asset this government ever had when all he did was hover his nosy nose where it didn't belong."

"Oh, he's no politician alright—he knows better. He wouldn't stoop so low." Sherlock jerked his arms away from John's reach and for a moment the doctor thought a brawl would take place—but the detective kept his ground with eyes glinting.

"Are you insinuating—?" the Undersecretary's face turned red-

"Yes, I am. And I suppose you'd feel troubled." Sherlock went on, eyes travelling down the man's clothes, "You've been busy with parties and wines just a little while added with a woman on your arms that wasn't exactly your wife—oh no—a man? Even gave you a ring—zultanite?" He paused, feeling satisfied with the effect he was making as the man stared at him in mild horror. "Better not let your wife know then. She's a judge, isn't she? She'd be relentless." He smiled wickedly as the man blinked uncertainly and stood with hands on his side.

"W-what is this man doing here?" he shot the question at the MI6 agent but Sherlock's eyes flashed in answer—

"To make sure my brother's alive no thanks to you."

"Kick him out—! You're just a civilian so go home! This is about national security! Carruthers!" he turned distractedly at the agent, "Get this piece out of here and report to me—or to the Defence Secretary. End this."

With a dirty look at Sherlock, the Undersecretary turned on his heels and disappeared by the door.

"You are Mycroft Holmes' brothers through and through." Carruthers turned to the detective with knowing eyes, "But you're nicer. Your brother's classic."

"He wished him dead." Sherlock's jaw tightened with eyes towards the doorway where the statesman disappeared. "I knew all politicians were a disappointment. I didn't think they were downright revolting."

"Mr. Holmes always knows how to put them in their right places." Anthea answered as she sat down on her chair and the men looked at her way, "Mr. Undersecretary of Defence was never that verbose around your brother. I suppose it's the wine."

"Still," Agent Carruthers took his phone out and started dialling a number, "this provocation from terrorist cells will really alarm the Secretaries of the States and Presidents now that it has been revealed Mr. Holmes has liaisons to all intelligence departments—"

"Again with the obvious—"

"Only Mr. Holmes can control these politicians the way he does—"

"What makes you think I'll let my brother work with you guys again after all that's been said and done?"

"That's not really for you to decide, is it?" Agent Carruthers and Sherlock exchange the most inexplicable challenging looks that John couldn't quite understand. Till the Agent nodded at them and with a final glance at the secretary, walked out of the room, leaving Anthea to look at the detective and the doctor.

"We have so much to do. I'll arrange the car—"

"No need." Sherlock was already on his heels towards the doorway with John sprinting after him, "I need a different transportation from you. And intelligence as much as you can provide. At least something useful. I'll expect it after dinner."

John gave Anthea a glance and a slight nod before following his best friend out of the room.

"Care to explain?" the doctor called as they crossed the long walkway surrounding the vicinity. "About all that—Sherlock?"

"Explaining is a waste of time, John—talking wastes time." The detective didn't bother looking back as he took his phone and started typing. "We don't have time. Belfast is approximately 322 miles. 9 hours and 34 minutes far by land travel and 0.57 by air. We know what to choose. With a little cooperation from reliable networks breaking in shouldn't be a problem too; it's still part of U.K after all I've got it all mapped out—"

"Mapped out— how? You better stop talking to yourself now I have other things I need to know before we jump in the wagon to save your brother—"

"'We'?"

"Not open for discussion, we are both going." When there was no response, the doctor pressed on, "But how did you know?"

"You know better than to ask that—"

"No— don't give me that crap and stop the gloating look." He doubled his speed to catch up with the detective till they were shoulder to shoulder. "How did you know your brother's alive? I know you, Sherlock— you knew these guys were about to tell you something and you giving that vibe meant you knew beforehand. Was it the body? Was it something—?"

"Big Ben."

"Big—what?"

Sherlock suddenly rounded to his friend and shot his phone under John's face. The doctor frowned as he read the message with that eminent initial M and within seconds was frowning even heavier as he tried to understand—

"Hey, wait—? What's that mean?"

"Obviously Big Ben's not who I think he is. But not here. They're watching us." Sherlock noted with some hint of importance as he surveyed the city cameras around. John glanced up too.

"What do you think they'll find?" he murmured without much mind for an answer.

"My brother." Sherlock said through gritted teeth as he raised his hand and called for a cab. John watched the detective before giving another look back at the Parliament where they left Mycroft's secretary, Agent Carruthers and that overbearing Mr. Undersecretary John wished he had knocked out for just being an overall unhelpful scum.

Thus found themselves in a cab heading straight to 221B Baker Street. With much tried patience, the doctor called Mary's phone and waited until they reached the old flat. He could read Sherlock Holmes even with that blank look on his face the doctor had gone so used to that he could read every etch it made.

Mind palace was on the work.


When their room door was locked, John watched his friend walked around the room restively. Mrs. Hudson had lit the fireside as she usually does when it was time to warm the place, sweet old land lady. And now as the fire once again danced between them did John squared his jaw and began.

"What's this Big Ben about?" he shot the question in one go as he stood his ground with a heavy frown on his face. "Are you telling me Mycroft's the Big Ben? And he texted you? No wait—Mycroft texted you and they picked up the signal! How is that even possible?"

"It's Mycroft. That made it possible." Sherlock dived to the newspapers on his desk and started throwing it around, in search of something. "He got in my networks and I didn't even notice— no wait, I did. I just wasn't able to lure him out. He must be so happy telling me those information behind his desk—stupid brother."

"But how? Didn't you meet that old man in the Big Ben before?"

"Definitely not my brother but paid to be his physical appearance. I checked this morning."

From his memory, the detective remembered going up early that day and tracking the old man hiding inside the Big Ben. There was no question when he saw the old man already preparing his morning meal when he climbed up the clock tower. It was the same man he paid to be part of his networks long before.

"You're not Big Ben." Sherlock started as the man looked up at him and blinked innocently.

"I've been mistaken for worst." The old man shrugged.

John followed Sherlock with his eyes till the detective turned to him.

"It's not that I didn't notice—the old man was inside Big Ben—too near the House of Parliaments to not notice anything important. That's the sole reason why I recruited him—"

"Right—enough with the self defence." John shook his head, "Mycroft's just too good. Which reminds me—what exactly does Mycroft do? I get it—he has a very top notch job in the government with access to the Queen's family and even passes to the highest military base—but what exactly is he?"

"That's exactly who he is."

"But that cabinet secretary was right—Mycroft's not even a politician so why—?"

"Mycroft is not—and will not accept any honour or title. You read his profile—like everybody else has done." Sherlock answered monotonously without even turning, "Mycroft's job is not as simple as one politician thinks—they never do think. It is inadequate and very boring life—a politician. Mycroft is a very complex man, John. You wouldn't understand."

"Well, try me." John stepped toward the detective, "We can talk about him, right? All these years and I didn't even realise I'm arguing with a U.N private secretary or CIA or SIS executive—or MOD—"

"I told you he was partly CIA—"

"SIS Executive, Sherlock?"

"He's Mycroft—what better position do you think he'll fall in? A folder passer?"

"British Secret Service I understand—but council of the European Union?!" his voice nearly cracked.

"Didn't think you'd be interested."

John sighed. "I'm really not. I just can't believe your brother actually juggles all these and still have the time to hang out at Diogenes Club or talk to me or drop by just to bully you."

"Ah, now... that opens possibility, doesn't it? The Diogenes Club? Did you believe for a second it was an innocent club? Remember Mycroft's one of the founding members? I had my suspicions. Shouldn't be surprise—this is Mycroft." The detective dropped himself on his chair with eyes still wide, "He requires a different set of entertainment to exercise his mental powers and found government manipulation absolutely a playground. No—John, Mycroft's position is simply as is—he is the British government."

"And look where he is." The doctor sat on his chair with eyes still at the detective. "The most wanted man of all the world's terrorists."

"Indispensible." Sherlock closed his fists as they rested on either side of his chair.

He fell silent as if again—getting swallowed by his mind.

"They are doing something about the media, right?" the doctor frowned as he saw his friend think away. "If it's already been seen by half the terrorists in the world—"

"Across the globe." The detective's eyes travelled to the flames. "This government people and personnel won't function as tidy and neat out of public without my brother."

"I can see that." John watched Sherlock seriously, before shaking his head. "So what are we doing about it? Don't tell me you really plan to sit this one out like what that cabinet secretary said? Because if you do, Sherlock I'll murder you for lying."

"Murder me." Sherlock's eyes twinkled as the next second they heard a beep of a car. Both looking outside the window, the two then saw a black sedan parked outside 221B.

And then Sherlock nearly shot himself out away from the window and to his room. Mrs. Hudson came knocking by the doorway.

"John there's—"

"Yes," the doctor nodded as he took his mobile and dialled his wife's number. "Our ride?"

"No—the telly, dear. Something about Sherlock's brother?"

John turned the television on and found a male reporter with a frowning face, heavily leaning on the anchor's table saying—

"Plenty of reports have been made by concerned citizens who have seen a certain man's profile posted on the internet sites—even reaching instagram and twitter—a profile of that one important British official named Mycroft Holmes claimed to be taken by terrorists. (A photo of Mycroft was online) It is still unclear who the man is and his position in the government though there were reports saying he was working with CIA and even EU. The government representatives neither confirmed nor denied such existence but assured the public that the forces of National Defence are doing their job in ensuring the safety of its citizens and advised the country not to be alarmed by such false alarm..."

"I thought Mycroft's with the police?" Mrs. Hudson blinked at John, "Or somebody that shadowy?"

John smiled and then Mary came in from the doorway and the couple had a little moment of catching up when Sherlock's door opened. The detective came out wearing his dark coat and that ever apathetic expression that by now John had decided to be untrue.

"The question remains—who is Mycroft Holmes?" ended the reporter on the telly.

"What do we do with the media, Sherlock?" John asked the moment the detective stopped in front of the mirror near the fireside, "You know they won't stop—they always dig and find something. They even twist it but the facts can't be as twisted as it is already. Even international news is reporting this—if this keeps up—"

"Not my problem." Sherlock said as he turned to face the doctor with a completely passive look, "Mycroft will have to deal with that when he comes back—I've got other work to do." He smiled at Mary who nodded her head and handed him a folder which she had been carrying.

"Background from Northern Ireland inaccessible even to the MI6." She said as Sherlock approached her. "That's all I could find and there's plenty. And very extreme. There have been a number of reports that terrorists from ISIL has been hunting down around the area and a possible window to enter England. I suppose your brother knows that, he just doesn't tell."

"Ah, well. He's my brother of full mystery." He thanked her.

"Be careful." She turned to her husband pointedly, then to Sherlock.

"You're going to Northern Ireland?" Mrs. Hudson blinked at the trio who all looked back at her with secret glances till the detective walked out towards the door and found himself face to face with D.I Lestrade who came swinging by with large steps of feet from the stairs—

"Hey—what's going on? I've heard the most ridiculous news about your brother—I thought he's not supposed to go public?"

"Galahad! So happy to see you alive!" Sherlock greeted as he tapped the inspector on the shoulder and walked pass him after, "See you later!"

"Wha—what's that about?" Greg blinked as John tapped him on the shoulder too and strode after the detective down the stairs, "Hey—where are you guys going?" he shouted after them.

"You had better stay." John heard Mary say as he climbed down the stairs. "They're in a hurry."

"I'm in a hurry. His brother's name is all stampeding tabloid magazines and then a warning issued from the higher up we're in severe status alert! That's not supposed to happen— his exposure I mean— where are they going anyway?"

Mary pressed a smile.

"To save England."

0.57 was on the work.


Unravel


~To be continued~

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