Chapter 16

Knightphoenix2 - you keep adding to the plot bunnies and helping them breed...hence another longer chapter courtesy of some questions you raised. Lol. Thanks.

Day 14

"Molly..."

"Fine. First time was when I was sixteen. It was stupid and a dare."

"Sixteen?"

"Yes. Not my proudest moment, Sherlock. My turn. Truth or dare."

They were sitting inside in front of the fireplace, the rain a drumbeat on the roof. It had been raining for the last three days. Sherlock had returned from another challenge run earlier, shivering, and wet. Oliver hadn't cared about the weather. After three months here at the bothy, Molly wasn't even remotely surprised. She had helped him get dry. Hung his clothes in front of the fireplace and he was currently cocooned in two blankets. A vivid red handprint was on his cheek visible even through his beard, his lip split. Oliver had not been happy with the result. Had Goon 3 take it out on Sherlock. So here they were sitting, playing truth and dare to pass the time and try and not think about cold and hunger and Oliver.

"Fine. Truth."

"Okay. First time you got drunk."

"Really Molly Hooper. How banal."

"My turn. My question."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How drunk?"

Molly's eyes widened and she giggled. "Just drunk, Sherlock."

He huffed. "14."

"What. Seriously?"

"Yes. My parents were away on a line dancing tour. I was home from boarding school. I was bored. It was an experiment."

"Okay, how much did you drink?"

"No. My turn, Molly. Truth or dare."

She gave a wicked smile. "Dare."

"Really. That's not…" he glares at her.

"Didn't think I'd do that, did you? The great Sherlock Holmes stumped?"

"No."

"You so are. Off you go then. Dare."

"Okay. Uhm. 5 push ups."

"Really." Molly laughed. "You're really terrible at this, you know."

"Am not. This is stupid."

"No. I'm having fun." Molly moved from the mattress. Went down on her knees and did five push ups. "My turn."

"I don't want to play anymore." Sherlock pouts. "This is stupid."

"Come on, Sherlock."

"No."

Molly sniggers. "I win then."

Sherlock looks at her. "There's no winning or losing."

"You forfeit. I won."

"Fine. Truth."

Molly studies him, finger on her lips. "Favourite colour?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"My turn. My question, Sherlock. Out with it."

"Am I five?"

"Come on. For me."

"Fine. Deep blue."

Molly woke with a start, Sherlock's voice in her head so real she thought he was back. But his side was empty and cold. She hugged herself as she pulled her legs up. The dream had been a good memory for once. She sighed. Picked up her phone but there were no messages from Sherlock. Day 3 today, she thought. Yesterday had been a bust. They still haven't found the mystery hacker. There were still about 100 files to go. Then they should be up to date.

She got up, got ready and found Mycroft seated in Sherlock's chair when she entered the living room.

"Molly," he greeted. Focusing back on the file on his lap.

"Any news?" she asked. Turned to the kitchen and switched the kettle on. Mycroft looked tired. She wondered if he'd slept last night.

"No good news, I'm afraid. Greg has widened his search to the outer boroughs of the wider London area." Mycroft said as he got up and followed her to the kitchen. He stood by the table, his eyes focused on her. "You?"

"Nothing so far." she said simply. Turned her back and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. "Tea?"

"No thank you. I should be going. I have a meeting I need to attend. There will be a car outside to drive you and John to Barts when you're ready."

Molly turned to the older man, her mug in her hand as she scrutinised him. "Why are you really here, Mycroft?"

He looked embarrassed. Didn't meet her gaze. "About yesterday, some things I said could be construed in a way as being accusatory."

Realisation came to Molly. Oliver's actions had not only affected her and Sherlock directly. It had also affected everyone else close to them. Mycroft. John. Greg. Mrs Hudson. Sherlock's parents. The four and half months that they were missing must've been equally as hard on those on the outside, who had no idea where they were or even if they were alive. Empathy flooded her system. She put the cup down and not even debating her actions, took a step into Mycroft's personal space and gave him a hug. He stiffened, clearly unsure how to deal with the physical touch. Molly didn't take offence. She stepped back, looked up at him and said, "Thank you."

He blinked. Harrumphed but she could see he was secretly pleased. She turned away from him, busied herself with making tea so he could have a chance to recalibrate.

"John and I should get through the rest of the files today."

"Yes. It would be good if we can find this hacker. I'm sure my brother would appreciate the effort if he was here."

Molly sighed. Turned around and took a sip of her tea. "Yes. Once he's back, we're going to have a very long conversation on his actions this past week. I had really thought he had moved past this perceived notion that doing things alone protects."

"For a very long time, my brother had no choice in that matter," Mycroft stated softly. "His drug habit and his …difficulty in social matters made it especially hard on him. Greg and then John and you, Molly were the first people that really accepted him for who he was. Who made him a little more comfortable in his own skin. A lifetime habit is hard to break, even with what he had learned over the last 8 months. I sincerely hope that this time alone while looking for this man would bring my brother this elusive insight."

Molly scrunched her nose. "When do we start getting worried?" she asked. "I mean, uhm…how long do you think before Sherlock will contact one of us."

Mycroft's lips thinned. "Let's give it another day."

"Okay."

Mycroft met her gaze fully. "I know Sherlock wasn't well when he left the hospital. But he can look after himself, Molly. He has the homeless network. There are people he knows; however unsavoury they may seem to us. Let's give him this time and we do what we can from ours. Does that sound like a plan?"

"Yeah. Okay. I, uhm, should probably get ready."

Mycroft took that as his cue to leave. She felt a sense of hope well up inside her. Things really have changed, she thought. Even Mycroft had mellowed. And had actually apologised in his own way for his words yesterday.

Who knows, maybe Sherlock will come to his senses and let them know where he was.


Alex glanced at the video screen. Sherlock was still passed out on the bed. This morning had been unfortunate. But it was important that the man learned his place if they were going to have any partnership going forward. He very much wanted Sherlock's intellect and ability to solve puzzles. But he was aware of the increased risk it brought of Mycroft Holmes' scrutiny.

See where that got Oliver, he thought. Dead and buried.

He took out his second phone. Checked for messages but there were none. Remembered the conversation he had had with the unknown client.

"Mycroft Holmes is becoming a problem."

"He is well protected," Alex said. Turned and watched his current target make his way to his car. He put the pliers in a bag. Closed it.

"Cost is not an issue."

"Very well. I need a few weeks."

"Moriarty had some suggestions."

He gave a wicked smile. "Really?"

"We want his brother to work out the plan. We believe you have used him successfully for disappearing some individuals?"

It took his breath away. The audacity of the man on the other side. "I'm not sure that he'd do this one."

"That is not your concern. Provide the file you'll receive to Oliver. I'm confident he'll find a way to get Sherlock Holmes to comply."

"Fine. When?"

"That is fluid. Once you have the plan, how long would you need?"

"A day's warning."

"We'll let you know."

Mycroft Holmes was on borrowed time. But he was contemplating now that he had Sherlock, to ignore the client and get rid of Mycroft once and for all. Pave the way open for his own plans. This way there would be no interference from the other man.

He hefted the phone in his hand. Considering his options. Decided in the end to give it another week. By then he should have things in place with the younger Holmes and have some control over him.

And then he'd follow through. Wondered what it would do if Sherlock realised that his plan was the reason his brother died. He'd be able to provide the proof in his own handwriting. He wouldn't be able to dispute it then. Maybe that would be the last straw that would push him over the edge and right into his hands.

He exited his car. Opened the boot and got his bag out and hefted it onto his right shoulder. Inside there was at least a pint of Sherlock's blood, drawn this morning. He made his way onto the old houseboat that had been Sherlock's bolt hole not so long ago.

He took his time, setting the scene. Made sure that any trace of him was wiped clean. Left splotches of blood over the blankets, smears of it on the floor. Stepped his way out of the cabin. Pulled on the glove he'd prepared earlier with Sherlock and grabbed hold of the railing, leaving a bloody handprint. He was done, pulling the glove off when his phone rang.

He was annoyed immediately but answered it when he saw the number.

"Is this Alex Masterton?"

"Yes."

"DI Dylan McMullen. We spoke two days ago, if you remember around Sue Cropper?"

"Oh yes. What a terrible thing to have happened."

"Yes, well. I'm in London this afternoon. Was wondering if we could meet up and have the formal interview."

"Of course. No problem. Anything I could do to help."

"Would 3 pm be good for you? At New Scotland Yard?"

"Okay. I'll move a few things around. I'll meet you then."

"Thank you. Until 3."

He closed the connection. Going to Scotland Yard wasn't ideal but it would be fine. He gave a secret smile when he switched to his video of the room to find that Sherlock still hadn't moved.

Who knows. Maybe he'll see Molly Hooper again.


"Lord Cavendish, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Mycroft asked as he shook the hand of the man that had entered his private office at Diogenes.

"Just wanted to have a quiet word with you, Mycroft," the older man said. Seated himself across from Mycroft. Leaned back in his chair.

"Ah," Mycroft seated himself.

"It pertains to Lord Marsden." Cavendish stated bluntly. "Don't you think your exile was a bit harsh?"

Mycroft scrutinised the man in front of him. Narrowed his eyes. "He did try to extract information by means of blackmail."

"Yes, well, lesson learned. As you're well aware, he was under some duress."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Exactly how?"

Cavendish met his gaze with a steady one of his own. "Moriarty had blackmailed him. As he did you by extension, Mycroft."

"What exactly are you saying, Lord Cavendish?" he asked.

"Don't you think his exile is long enough? He clearly can do a lot more good back here than staying under house arrest."

"He's not under house arrest," Mycroft said. "Why exactly are you intervening?"

"He's an old family friend. He made a mistake, Mycroft. Surely there should be some leeway given under the circumstances. You…"

"He compromised the security of his office and this nation by his actions."

"Can't the same be said of you?"

Mycroft was silent. It gave the other man a further boldness. "Your little brother is a security concern, Mycroft. Every time he's in trouble, you step in. Regardless of what it would do for your own reputation."

"I've never concerned myself with my reputation, Lord Cavendish."

"That much is evident. Beware of your station, Mycroft. It can easily be argued that you're compromised."

Mycroft gave a half smile. "Others have tried," he said. "…and yet, I'm still here."

Lord Cavendish rose. Pulled his jacket close. "Please consider my words, Mycroft. Your little brother is currently …missing …again? Vulnerable."

"Is that a threat?"

"Oh, heavens no. How vulgar. I would never stoop so low. But I would like you to give another consideration on the matter of Lord Marsden."

With that, he turned and left. Mycroft stood, his fingers tapping on his leg as he considered the meeting. He closed the door and locked it. Pulled his phone out.

"We need to talk."


"Molly?"

She looked up from the file she was busy looking at. "Yeah?"

"I think I got one."

She got up, made her way over to John. Looked over his shoulder as she looked at the detail.

25-year-old female. High alcohol levels. Drowned and fished from the Thames by one of the patrol boats. Died 4 months ago. Jane Doe.

"Okay. That looks viable."

John nodded. Added the file to the small little pile that they had set apart. There were four that they've found so far.

"What are we going to do with these ones?" John asked as he pulled another closer.

"Mycroft."

"Ah. That makes sense…" he got interrupted by Molly's phone. She frowned, looked at the number and answered. He heard half the conversation, his concern for her ratcheting up when she logged off.

"What's that about?"

"I met this pathologist from Edinburgh at the conference. Sue Cropper. She was murdered a few days ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. Thanks. I need to go for a formal interview this afternoon. Not really something I needed on top of everything else."

"If it's okay, I'll go with you."

Molly smiled. "Yeah. That might be good. Thanks John."


"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked, grabbing his jacket and umbrella. Opened the door to his office and beckoned Anthea closer. He terminated the connection, dropping the phone into his jacket pocket.

"I need a car. I'll be unavailable the rest of the morning. Please reschedule my meeting with the prime minister."

She nodded; her fingers already busy on her phone. He made his way out the building, his car already pulled out in front. Seated, he gave the driver an address in Rotherhithe. Sat back and tried not to let his anxiety show. The trip was at least quick, no more than thirty minutes.

Lestrade was waiting for him when he exited the car. His face dark with concern.

"A member of the public noticed the bloody handprint on the railing. Called it in. SOCO has been here already. They only thought to call me when they found the note."

"Let me see," Mycroft said softly. Lestrade handed a baggy over, the note already sealed inside and date and time marked.

Tell Molly I'm sorry.

That was all that was written, blood smeared over half the page. "Okay. Show me." He followed the DI onto the boat. The door was open wide, handprint dust shimmering in the light. He had to dip his head to enter. The inside was muted in shadow, the lights off.

"Sorry, no power. We had portable lights set up but the SOCO guys took it with them. I can get a torch."

"No. This is fine." He took a good look around. At the blood smeared on the floor where Sherlock had dragged himself. A handprint against a wall. "There was a pile of blankets here," Lestrade said, pointing to the mattress on the floor. "That's obviously been bagged and tagged. Evidence." Mycroft nodded. Took his time scrutinising the scene.

Sherlock had made it this far. Had clearly been recovering here in this place. Evidence that his brother had slept here is obvious for anyone to see. The bathroom was used, fingerprints on the small mirror and toilet handle. All belonging to Sherlock.

"Any sign of the attacker?"

"No. He was thorough. From what we can see, Sherlock fought him off. Was left grievously injured. Had tried to escape and had gone overboard in his effort. River police are combing the shore downriver for him. It's not looking good, Mycroft."

"Okay."

"No cameras unfortunately. This part of the quays mostly housing and boats moored."

"Anyone noticed any parked cars or anything suspicious?"

"Sorry, no. Most people are at work, Mycroft. We'll have to wait until at least five before we can do any more interviews."

"The member of public who phoned it in?"

"Just an old homeless guy. He didn't have much to add. We gave him a hot drink and some food and sent him on his way. Won't be surprised if he's one of Sherlock's. Was amazed really that he stayed after he phoned it in."

"How?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where did he get a phone, Greg?"

"Oh, right. It was a throwaway. Guess Sherlock gave it to him."

Mycroft sniffed; his brow furrowed. Stepped out of the dingy room onto the deck. "I would like to have a chat with this man."

"It's not like they have an address, Mycroft. Not sure how we're going to find him."

Mycroft stared out over the water. Lestrade was standing next to him, fidgeting. "I'll try my best, okay." Mycroft gave a short nod.

"Don't tell Molly or John."

"What? No, Mycroft. Surely they have a right to know."

"No. Not yet. Not a word, Lestrade. I'll have that conversation when the time is right."

"You bastard."

"Not the first time. There are more at stake here than this," he said, indicating the boat and the canal. Turned and left without another word.

Back in his car, his phone in his hand as he contemplated his next actions. Closed his eyes when he realised there was only one way this would go. He dialled a number.

"It's me. Have him transferred to MI6 immediately. One hour."

Closed the connection and wondered whether he was going to have a chat with Molly and John now or later. He weighed all his options, laying the facts bare until he felt he could make a considered decision. Decided in the end that it was better to keep them in the dark until he knew more. If his brother had in fact been injured and hurt enough to jump into the Thames, then he would like to know that for a fact before putting that trauma on his friends.


It was midday when Sherlock finally stirred. His body protesting, familiar aches and pains from his time with Oliver. He remembered this morning and groaned. He had woken up early, still cuffed to the bed to find Alex standing over him. He had released him, had allowed him to use the facilities before he had indicated to Sherlock to take the seat across from him at the table. He had casually laid out materials usually used to draw blood, setting them out carefully. He remembered the conversation that followed clearly.

"What is this?"

Alex looked surprised. "Surely it's fairly obvious."

"Why would you need my blood?"

"Oh, please. You're a lot more intelligent than that."

"Mycroft will never believe it unless there is a body."

"Are you volunteering?"

"No."

"Are we going to be having problems, Mr Holmes?"

"You're not Oliver. Stop trying to be. My name is Sherlock."

"Yes well, his conditioning is still intact, won't you say. Why wouldn't I use it to my advantage."

"I disagree"

"Really. We'll have to explore that then. But that is for later. For now, if you'd stay put in hospital, I would've been inclined to let things be. But leaving gave me a good indication of what you were planning."

"I wasn't really thinking."

"Yeah. That much is evident now. The problem I have is that your brother is continuing to meddle where he shouldn't. I had thought that your overdose would distract him. But going on your own seemed to have focused your brother back onto the hacker. That won't do."

"What do you want me to do about it? If you let me go, I can distract him."

"No, I think the horse has bolted. He's gotten Molly involved and she's a lot more competent than the fools he's been using. You are going to help me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't, Molly Hooper will die."

"She's protected."

"Really. You're sure?"

And there he had the crux of it. He had no idea how much access Alex had to Molly. How easy it would be for him to get a hold of her, pull her into this little game they were playing. He had protested. Had retaliated, which had not worked out well for him. In the end, Alex had gotten what he wanted and he, Sherlock, had a few more bruises to add on top of yesterdays. He was really going to have to rethink how he was going to deal with Alex. Physical resistance was not going to work for the time being. He was still too weak from the overdose and the pint of blood that was taken on top of his anaemia had not gone well for him. He had slept most of the morning away, too tired, and sore for much else.

Sherlock took his time getting up. Drank another Ensure to try and replace the fluids he had lost. Felt a little better after downing the bottle. Took a moment to look out the window, but no convenient walkers or loiters were visible.

In the end he went back to bed. Didn't fight the fatigue. Fell asleep again. His transport clearly needed the rest.


There was already an older man in the waiting room when they got to New Scotland Yard. He stood when they entered, a smile centred on his face as he saw them.

"Oh, hey Molly." He looked genuinely pleased to see her.

"Alex. Hi."

"Are you here for the interview?"

"Uh. Yes." Molly said. She was standing just in front of John. Turned halfway to the other man in the small waiting area. "Uhm. Alex… …This is John. He's a friend."

"Oh, hi. No Sherlock? I would really love to meet him."

Molly looked uncertain, something John didn't like. "He is out of town at the moment," he lied, eyeing the other man.

"Oh. Sorry. Didn't mean to intrude. This business around Sue is just horrible. I can't imagine who would do something like that?"

"How long will you be in London for?" John asked politely as he stepped casually next to Molly. Placed a soft hand on her wrist briefly in support. She glanced at him in appreciation.

"Not sure yet. My cousin isn't well."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. Not your fault. As I've told Molly, he's going through withdrawal. Never a pleasant experience."

"You must be close then?"

"Family aye."

"Yes."

Alex took his seat again, indicating for Molly and John to sit. "You doing okay Molly?" he asked quietly.

"Uh, yes. Thanks Alex."

"Busy at work?"

"About the same, I guess," Molly said. "Let me know if you need the number of a good detox centre. I've got some experience with some of them…" she trailed off. "Had a friend that needed some help a few years ago." John looked at her sharply. Could guess who this friend was. Molly was vague but he suddenly wondered if Alex knew about Sherlock and his previous drug use.

"Thanks Molly. Really appreciate it. I might take you up on your offer." Alex shifted sideways on his seat, leaning in toward Molly and ignoring John. "Uh, Molly," he started a little uncertain. He looked embarrassed. "I don't know a lot of people in London. Was hoping we could go for coffee sometime again in the near future. It's not always easy dealing with my cousin. Just being able to talk to someone is nice."

Molly looked towards John. Clearly uncomfortable. "Not to intrude, mate," he said, "but she's engaged, right."

Alex leaned back, hands up. "Yeah. No problems from me. I know that. Just coffee, I promise. Molly is about the only person I really know in London. If Sherlock is not available, you're more than welcome to tag along."

"Molly Hooper?"

John and Molly looked up, a man standing in the doorway. "DI McMullen?" Molly asked.

"Yes."

Molly got up and followed the man out of the waiting room. John focused on Alex.

"What do you want with Molly, really?"

Alex focused on John. Smiled disarmingly. "Just coffee, I promise. I have no interest in her whatsoever."

"It sure doesn't look like it."

"Sorry you feel that way. Isn't it up to her?"

John frowned. Shifted on his seat. "Now is not a good time, mate," he said dangerously soft. "Stay away from her."

Alex sat back. Blue eyes met him without flinching. "Ah. The loyal friend. I appreciate that Molly has got good friends. Very well. I'll stay away from her, if that is what she wants."

John didn't break his gaze. His right hand clenched unconsciously. "How did you meet Molly?"

"Didn't she tell you?"

"I'm assuming you met at the pathology conference?"

"Yes. That's where we met Sue. We took the same electives. Got on really well."

"Why aren't you still at the conference then?"

"What is this? Interrogation 101?"

"Just looking out for my friend."

Alex smiled. "This is starting to border on rudeness, don't you think?"

"Oh, you don't know about being rude. You haven't met Sherlock yet."

"Where is he?"

"Like I said, out of town."

Alex nodded. Pouted. "Okay, John. I think I've extended every bit of courtesy to you. Please do the same. I will iterate again; I have no intentions with Molly Hooper. I'm interested only as far as friendship goes. She is fascinating and smart and I like her company. I would love to meet her fiancée. He sounds like a very intelligent man. Is that acceptable?"

John didn't answer him. There was something about Alex he didn't trust at all. Something about the man that put him off. But in the end, he couldn't decide for Molly.

But he sure as hell won't leave her alone with him if he could help it.

And he knew that when Sherlock is back, his friend would make sure that Alex quietly disappears out of Molly Hooper's life.

"If that is what she wants," John said.


Mycroft entered the familiar hallway. It almost felt full circle that he'd come. A déjà vu of sorts. He remembers walking down this same hallway 8 months ago, hoping to interview Moriarty. Which had turned out to be nothing more than a lower-level operative. But at least today he knew it would be the real man. Not a pretender.

He nodded at the guard who stood at the door and entered the interrogation room. Jim Moriarty was seated in a chair, chains secured to the floor that was around his wrists and ankles.

"Mycroft," the man greeted him, a half-smile on his face. "Hi." The greeting had a lilt to it, an amusement that seemed to filter through. "Did you miss me? I have to say, this is a record for you. Not even a week."

The older Holmes seated himself across from the Irishman, crossed his legs and studied him.

"Did you find his body yet?" the criminal consultant asked casually after a few minutes. Matched Mycroft's gaze without flinching.

"Who's?" Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh dear. That's a no then. This is a turn-up isn't it." He giggled. "Poor Sherlock."

"How do you get your information?"

"You should know by now that anyone is for sale. Pesky things like debt. Family. Sentiment."

"Then you are aware that we have most of your European holdings dismantled. There is not much left of your organisation, Jim."

Moriarty shrugged. Looked disinterested as he studied his nails. "Time for a rebuild. New beginnings as they say. Come back stronger and any other cliché you want to think of." Moriarty grinned. "Thanks for getting rid of the flotsam."

"Tell me about the man that Sherlock is hunting."

"Hunting? Really, Mycroft. Words have power, you know, if you believe in that sort of thing. Sherlock is hunting no-one my dear. A ghost. A ghost for a ghost. Oh, that's funny." Moriarty got a contemplative look. "Your brother is dead. Accept it."

Mycroft gave a small smile. Rose and gave Jim a deliberate scan. "Thanks for the confirmation," he said as he turned and left. Ignored the screams coming from the other man. They echoed down the corridor as he walked away briskly.

Jim Moriarty has just confirmed one very important detail. His brother was alive. And he was in the hands of a man that was seen as a ghost.

And hunting ghosts was what he did best.


"It's done," Anthea said. Walked briskly next to Mycroft as they made their way down the hall.

"Someone has been feeding Jim Moriarty titbits," he said. "He indicated that this person might be compromised. Find all agents assigned to his detail that have debt. Check for behaviour that is outside their normal routine. Missing family members, the usual warning markers. Have it done quietly."

She nodded. Was already typing away on her phone. "About Lord Cavendish…" she asked.

"Yes?"

"A full biography will be delivered to your home. It seems he and Lord Marsden apparently belong to some secret society. There's nothing much except the rumour, of course. Not even a name. Might I suggest Irene…"

He nodded. Two agents ahead of him opened the door. Indicated it was safe and he went to his car. Seated himself and watched as Anthea was driven away in another car.

Irene might be more successful in this little matter of Lord Cavendish and his apparent family friend. He was intrigued on why the man would be willing to step out in such an obvious manner and would indicate that he was aware of Sherlock and where his little brother might be. The setup with the boat is an obvious warning. He got that. But it might also be more than that. A way to remove the focus from Sherlock. If everyone thought he was dead…well, that could complicate matters.

He leaned back. Tented his fingers as he contemplated what was unfolding. Brought in Irene's earlier warning and observations. Thought about Oliver and what he knew of the man. Thought about his connections to Jim Moriarty and the mystery assassin for hire.

He wasn't entirely sure yet where Lord Marsden and Cavendish fit in yet. But they were hovering on the edges. Just out of sight. Irritatingly so.

Jim who doesn't like getting his hands dirty. Who had for some reason focused his attention on his little brother and his demise for whatever reason. A remake, if you will. Of himself.

Who knew Oliver. Very well, it seems. And has utilised Oliver's unique skills in setting up Sherlock to be rebirthed into something new.

A specialist…

Suddenly, it was as if a light had come on. He gasped as the idea took hold. It was so obvious, really. Even his brother would see it in the end.

Oh Sherlock, he thought. You have no idea about the end game, brother mine.

And what it is you're playing for.