It was night in Serbia, and there was a man with long curly hair running desperately through the forest. Above him, the helicopter was circling around, shining a searchlight into the close, dark shapes of trees while the pilots carefully watched their infrared camera, waiting for glimpses of the man and, when they saw him, radioing instructions in Serbian to the armed ground crew. There was much shouting and running and chasing the man through the woods, but the man kept going, this time doggedly fleeing instead of pursuing his enemies.

Minutes passed before some of the soldiers found a way to block the man's path. One of them sent a burst of automatic gunfire towards the man's feet, and the man had no choice but to stop. The soldiers surrounded the man and aimed their rifles at him. He slumped to the ground, exhausted and breathing hard.

...

A soldier wearing a thick coat and a furry hat was guarding the entrance to the Room. Every soldier in the bunker knows you don't want to be put in the Room. You aren't the same when - if you come back out. The soldier had earphones in his ears playing loud music. Behind the closed door, the man, now a prisoner, cried out as he was struck yet again. Hearing the noise, the soldier took out one of his ear buds and looked round to the door as the prisoner was struck again and groaned. The soldier put his ear bud back in and turned away.

Inside the room, a tall man shouted repeatedly in Serbian at the prisoner, his shirt torn to shreds and abandoned in the corner, his arms chained to opposite walls of the small room, forcing him to stay upright. The man had slumped forward as far as he can, apparently exhausted by the repeated blows and unable to support his own weight. In a dark corner of the room another soldier, well wrapped against the cold and with a furry hat on his head, sat with his feet up on a small table and watched while the torturer paced across the room.

"You broke in here for a reason," the man said in Serbian, and his back tensed when he got no response, muscles bulging.

He picked up a large metal pipe from a nearby table and walked towards the prisoner again, whose face is hidden by the long straggly hair that fell across it.

"Just tell us why and you can sleep," the torturer offers. "Remember sleep?"

He drew back the pipe over his shoulder and prepared to strike the prisoner, but the man quietly whispered something. The torturer paused, lowering the pipe and leaning forward.

"What?" He reached down and pulled the man's head back by the hair, leaning closer as the prisoner continued to whisper. The soldier in the corner spoke.

"Well? What did he say?"

Straightening up and releasing the prisoner's head, the torturer looked down at the bedraggled man in confusion and disbelief.

"He said... that I used to work in the navy, where I... where I had an unhappy love affair."

"What?" The soldier's voice was incredulous, and the torturer grabbed the man's hair again, pulling the prisoner's quickly moving mouth to his ear. The prisoner continued to whisper, and the torturer relayed his words to the other man.

"That the electricity isn't working in my bathroom; and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour!" He reached down and pulled up the prisoner's head by the hair again. "And?"

The prisoner replied briefly and the man released his head.

"The coffin maker!"

Once again he bent to the prisoner, lifting his head with a fist in his hair. "And?" he says, his voice desperate for more information. "And?"

The prisoner continued whispering, his mouth moving even faster. Then the torturer dropped his head and relayed the words to the soldier.

"If I go home now, I'll catch them at it! I knew it!" His voice echoed in triumph around the room as he stalked across it, slamming the door open. There was a cry of surprise and a stream of curse words as he hit the guard in the back with the door. "I knew there was something going on!"

"So, my friend," the uniformed soldier said, standing and strolling towards the prisoner, now slumped in his chains, his back covered in blood and wounds from his beating. "Now it's just you and me." He smiles as he looks down at him. "You have no idea the trouble it took to find you."

The soldier grabbed a handful of the prisoner's hair and pulled his head up a little. Leaning close to the man's ear, he spoke in English instead of Serbian.

"Now listen to me," he whispered. "There's an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear." He released the prisoner's head and straightened up.

"Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes," Mycroft said.

Under the long hair draped across his face, Sherlock smiled.