Sherlock's phone rung, the noise shattering the tense atmosphere.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock, have you heard the news?" Mycroft's voice remained calm despite the knowledge that his nemesis was once more at large.

"I have and my question is, what do you intend to do about him?"

"We are trying to identify where he's broadcasting from, because although he's unlikely to still be there his followers are not nearly as clever as he is, they'll lead us to him eventually." There was a pause, as if the elder Holmes brother was psyching himself up to ask for his brother's help, but Sherlock's expectation was misplaced.

"Would John's band of helpers be able to help with the surveillance?"

Hearing his name John turned his head towards his flatmate, who in turn switched his phone to speaker so that the doctor could respond.

"We have one trapped in a house, others engaged in looking for Lestrade or watching for gang movements. Did you trace that registration number?"

"Dimmock."

"Shit!" John dragged a worried hand down his face. "We need to go. Mycroft, you let us know when you need the kids, I'll get some help to you."

He turned away, letting Sherlock finish the call and reaching for his jacket. He was halfway down the stairs when Sherlock caught up, pulling on his Belstaff.