In his office deep in the labyrinth of one of the British Government buildings, Mycroft was currently facing a crisis that he hadn't anticipated. As he spoke to several people on the phone, he turned to his P.A. and said:
"We'll have to shut down all the farms and cut down all communications until the system is restored." He then turned back his attention to his phone and asked "Do we have an estimate of the damage? How much files has he been able to get into?" If anyone but Anthea had been there, this person would have assumed that the answer was not that high. However, the assistant knew enough of her boss not to be mistaken by the quiet demeanour and to focus on the little straining at the corner of his eyes. She prepared herself for the whiplash of the news when Mycroft personal phone suddenly rang. Mycroft ended his conversation on the secured phone of his office and turned to dismiss Anthea. The P.A. quickly disappeared from sight, quite happy to escape the scathing remarks that her boss was sure to make, if only to her.
"Brother dear, I know it might be difficult for you to understand, but I have other things to do but listen to your whining." Unctuously said Mycroft.
"I need more information. Give me access to your database." Demanded Sherlock.
The tone of voice was emotionless and to the point. Sherlock was interested and committed to the case, no one could mistake this hound-like behaviour. But Mycroft had really other things to do. He didn't have time for this.
"No, won't do, brother. Unless you've forgotten, less than 48 hours ago, you were in departure for a suicide mission. A simple video is not going to erase everything. You're on a leash and it doesn't allow you to meddle with the MI6 database."
"Mycroft, we both know YOU are my leash. Now stop being a prick and give me the information!" shouted Sherlock in the phone.
Mycroft pulled away his phone from his ears at the words of his brother and shook his head. Really like a hound with a trail. Mycroft could almost hear the pacing and gesticulating of the consulting detective.
"Sherlock, language. Mummy would be rather disappointed at this."
On the other end of the line, he could feel a change. Indeed, when Sherlock talked again, his voice was calmer and the focus had changed.
"What's happening Mycroft? Not your habit to stall me like this." He inquired, his voice dripping with curiosity and calculation.
"I'm always stalling you Sherlock" replied Mycroft, trying to needle his brother away from this new path of questioning.
"But only when you don't want me meddling in one of your little plots. This is not. You're hiding something. Something related to the case." Kept on Sherlock.
"Must I understand that the files that you retrieved from Miss Hooper's apartment are not that comprehensive? You're slipping Sherlock. Or are you distracted? You seem awfully intent on collecting goldfishes recently. Not happy that one might get away?" diverted Mycroft.
"Don't see what you're talking about" Mycroft could practically hear Sherlock's tensing. Good the diversion had worked. But it also worried him. It seemed that his brother just couldn't avoid acquiring new pets as he went. How could he prevent the Redbeard episode all over again? But that would be a matter for another time, for once, as his service to the British Government currently required all of his energy.
"As fun as it is to be updated about your last dabbles in sentiment, Sherlock, my time is limited right now. Go back to work and let me know when you find something. Goodbye" With those last words, Mycroft ended the call.
In his apartment, Sherlock looked at the phone and resisted throwing it at the wall. For a few seconds, he pondered the opportunity of going to his gun and shoot at the yellow smiley that still graced the wallpaper. But doing so would only fuel Mycroft's assumptions as well as result in higher rent and Mrs. Hudson's recriminations. He needed to focus on the case. He went to the bathroom and retrieved a new nicotine patch. It would be just at home with the other two that were already patched to his right arm and would calm him down from his frustration with his older brother.
As he settled in the couch and waited for the supplement of nicotine to course through his veins, he retreated to his mind palace. He reviewed once more the information on Moriarty's web. He was missing something, he knew it. Something that was at the heart of the case. Something that was hidden. It had to be hidden or he would have discovered it. But how could anything be that well hidden? Nothing could be. That was it. It wasn't something that was in the files, it was that wasn't. The information had to have been systematically removed. And the leak that had allowed for the location of the government emergency broadcasting aerials couldn't be that smart. The data was too unrelated, having access to both almost impossible. There was no connection between that sort information and what might have been collected by Mycroft's agents. Well, except for the filing of the information in MI6 vaults. Right there! Filing information. Mycroft refusing to give him MI6's files… Access to Emergency broadcasting aerials… Streamlined data on Moriarty's web… All suggesting of hacking.
Sherlock opened his eyes, took his phone and texted his brother:
Forget about finding the leak. There is none. You've been hacked.
A few seconds later, the phone rang. Sherlock, already having it in his hands, didn't move from his resting place in the sofa and took the call.
"Hacking doesn't exclude a leak, Sherlock." abruptly said Mycroft.
"At least, you don't deny it." stated Sherlock, bored. "A hacker that can go through not only MI6 firewalls but yours as well, doesn't need a leak."
"My firewalls? What makes you say that my firewalls have been breached?"
"Don't play coy. You sent me to retrieve the files on Moriarty's web. Cloned files from your computer. You certainly have some spyware planted on my mine and compared your files with the copy I made. From your recent unavailability, I understand that there were some missing data from yours, even if most of it had already been compromised before I even got to them – as I couldn't find anything on my new adversary. So, balance of probability, we're facing a hacker, not a leak."
"And this is why you have more utility at home than in some unheard place in Eastern Europe, brother." finally conceded Mycroft.
"Oh encouragement, now? You'd better go and chat up your little assistant. She must have laced your tea with Xanax."
"Certainly. Goodbye, brother dear."