Chapter 12
October
Lestrade looked at the evidence when Anderson brought it to him. Sherlock was right. Simba's paws matched exactly the grooves that had been carved into the furniture and walls of Michael Westen's flat. He duly signed and noted his own observations before passing it back. Mycroft's analyst was still busy dissecting the camera link from the cellar. He had taken over the desk in his office, coffee cups surrounded the laptop he was currently typing on. He left him to it, closing the door behind him when he entered the bullpen. There was a commotion at one end of the office and he made his way over to find a highly irate solicitor gesturing while holding a file in his hand.
"What seems to be the issue?" He asked, eyeing the irate man and dismissing the poor sap the man had been haranguing.
"I want access to Tony Oxley. You seem to have misplaced him."
Lestrade held out his hand. Waited until the man finally realised what he wanted and handed over the file to him. He took his time reading the contents, pulling out a chair at a nearby table and slowly made his way through the five-page legal document. The man in front of him huffed in frustration but at least had the wisdom to keep quiet.
Thirty minutes later; he had stretched it out as much as he could and he leaned back in his chair.
"This looks in order."
"About damn time. Where is my client, Detective Inspector?"
He looked up with innocent eyes. "Who?"
"You damn well know who. Tony Oxley."
He frowned. Looked down at the document again in his hand. Inside he was smirking. "Mr Oxley isn't currently in our custody." He said succinctly. Handed the file back. "He was released this morning to his own cognizance. I can provide you with the paperwork if you want."
The man blustered. Looked at the file in his hand. "No…that's not true. You can't…"
"Anything else I can help you with? We at the Met aim to please the public."
He watched the man leave, swearing and loud. He pulled his phone out and texted one sentence and sent it on its way.
They send a solicitor. I told him that Oxley was released this morning to his own cognizance. GL
Noted M
Smirked when he read the reply from Mycroft. What was done this morning wasn't entirely legal, having Mycroft's agents come and silently take Oxley in custody per Mycroft's order citing national security.
But he had seen the wall of trophies. The photos. And had watched a man he admires and considered a friend react to that damn video and had gotten a glimpse of what Sherlock had gone through with Oliver. Not that he had to imagine too much. He still had nightmares of the cellar at the estate when they had found the files and he had read the first page.
He remembers the first time he had visited Sherlock and Molly in the hospital after their rescue. In all his years as a policeman he had seen his fair share of the depravity of what humans could do to others. He had thought himself fairly immune by now. It had still taken his breath away when he had seen them. Their bodies starved; scars and bruises that littered Sherlock's skin, a road map to his ordeal. Molly's quiet. She watched everything with a wariness that was disconcerting. And Sherlock…he was muted. Oh, he had been rude, pretending everything was fine. But it wasn't the same and he had been prone to long silences with eyes that drifted more often than not inwards. And Sherlock and Molly had gravitated to each other, a protective stance that hadn't bypassed his scrutiny.
He had promised himself then that he would do everything that was within his power to make the men who had done this pay for their crimes. It looked with certainty that there was still a remnant left over from Oliver's organisation. Oxley seemed to be a part of it.
He didn't regret handing Oxley over to Mycroft. In honesty, knowing Mycroft – he almost felt sorry for the man.
For he has now worked long enough with Mycroft since this ordeal had started almost two years ago to know what the man was capable of in protecting his brother.
And to what lengths he would go to punish those that hurt Sherlock.
"What are you doing?"
The tech turned from the screen he was working on, almost guiltily closing the editing software. He stepped up and moved the mouse. Opened the program again on the last opened video.
"It's not what you think," the tech said as with a click of the mouse button he started the video. He didn't need to watch all of it to know exactly what it was.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, indicating the screen as he just as quickly paused the video.
"They sent it over yesterday via courier."
"What?"
"Uh…did I do something wrong?"
He stared at the screen paused on the two men on the couch. One was dressed like Oliver but clearly wasn't. The other man…the other man was Sherlock Holmes.
"No. What do they want?"
"Here's the instructions," the tech said, clicking on a document and opening it. He read the list of demands – because that's what they were in all honesty. It was detailed and whoever had compiled it knew what he wanted.
Just like Oliver did.
He wiped his mouth, and felt sweat start on his forehead. He had thought he was done with Oliver. Oliver wasn't someone you ever crossed. Even after his death, he had never said anything. Mycroft Holmes was equally scary. He just knew as he did back then that if he ever got on the radar of the older Holmes, he would never see daylight again. He will just disappear.
And then there was Moriarty.
Shit.
Clearly Oliver's silent partner was back in business and had decided to use their services again.
He walked away, leaving the tech to do his job. He went to a local Starbucks and sat on a couch while he sipped coffee and thought about what he wanted to do. He had already at great risk to himself passed on the video to Irene when she had come knocking. The one that Oliver had given to him raw and wanted him to edit for Mycroft. The one that was to be sent after a year had passed, where Sherlock asked his brother to stop looking for him and Molly Hooper.
There were a few of those he had done for Oliver. Some of them hadn't made sense but he had done it anyway. He had burned the lot when he had realised that Oliver's captives had been rescued and he had seen Mycroft Holmes enter the bothy. The only copies he had assumed had died with Oliver.
It seems that wasn't the case now. He had never met Oliver's silent partner. Oh, he knew he existed but that was as close as anyone got to the man. Moriarty had never been a mystery; in fact, the consulting criminal had used their services on and off over the years that he was intimately aware of what the man was capable of. Especially when he thought you crossed him.
He needed to think. In the end, he thought, it would come down to who he feared the most. Mycroft Holmes or Oliver's silent partner he had never met but only ever heard rumours about.
He looked around, making certain that he was alone. Opened a burner phone he had for such an occasion as now. He would get rid of it as soon as he finished the call. He dialled a number he knew by heart. Listened to the other side ring and then a husky voice answered.
"It's me."
"Yes."
"Is the Hunter active?"
Silence met him. The palms of his hands sweated and the phone almost slipped but still he waited. A new voice came online. He has met this man a few times. Only ever known him as Jason.
"Our arrangement just like before stands."
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He swore silently. That confirms the memory stick and the instructions then.
"My fee has doubled."
"You will do what is needed per our agreement."
"The agreement is two years old with a party that is now deceased. I will need a new agreement at a higher fixed rate."
"Hold."
He watched a couple get their lattes while he waited. Counted the minutes by the clock set against the wall above the counter. Finally, a click came over the line and then Jason was back.
"Agreed."
"Just editing or streaming as well?"
"We will let you know."
"You already sent one video to my techs without consultation."
He could hear Jason thinking. "Our partnership has been lucrative in the past. Is this going to be a problem?"
Dammit.
"No. We'll do this one on the old rate but any new material you send us will be only after the new contract is in place."
"Very well."
Jason hung up on him and he automatically pulled out the battery and sim card. Broke the sim card in two and placed the halves in his finished take away cup of coffee. He threw the cup, battery and mobile away in three separate bins as he walked back to the warehouse that currently housed the servers and the workspace for his business.
He just knew this was going to come back and bite him on the arse.
The flat was empty when he got back. The teacups washed and on the drying rack. Molly left him a note by his violin. The yellow sticky paper is obvious on his music stand.
See you later. John and I will keep ourselves busy today. Enjoy the quiet. Love you.
Sentiment flooded his transport. Molly…she understood him. Knew when he needed to disconnect. Needed time to think. He picked up the violin. Played a short ditty. Felt everything inside settle. Only then did he focus.
Oliver. Why did it always come back to Oliver?
He sat down in his chair.
What did he know?
His eyes widened. He sat back and looked at the wall with the smiley face and bullet holes. In his mind's eyes the wall was filled with interconnecting lines and people. Projects. At the centre of it: Oliver.
"I never investigated you, did I? Not really…"
His voice was loud in the empty flat. The natural high he experiences from a case suddenly flooded his system. The subject…the subject didn't matter. There was more to this. More than his and Molly's experience at the hands of Oliver. More than Alex. More than Moriarty…
Okay…that seemed …important. Some connection…how did they meet? Why would Jim Moriarty care about Oliver? Why would Oliver indulge Jim? The thread was slim. He wanted to see the connection yet it was vague. Too thin to grasp yet.
I'll burn the heart out of you…
He waved a hand, dispelling Moriarty's words. That was not important. Just his transport and hard drive still coming back to equilibrium after this morning's reaction. He could see it for what it was. Not important for now.
"Who are you to Jim Moriarty, Oliver? What made your relationship so special?" he mused out loud. "Why…"
The step creaked. He looked up, realised that time had passed. It was close to five and then his brother stepped into the room. His umbrella in his hand, coat over his arm. He had a file in his hand. Sherlock cleared his throat.
"About this morning…"
"Let's not speak of it ever again. I have a reputation to uphold, brother and sitting on the floor of a cellar will not do well for the image I wish to portray."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Getting old?"
Mycroft chuckled. "Aren't we all? Congratulations are in order, I believe. Mummy will be pleased. Apparently you're breaking the Holmes' tradition of having boys."
Sherlock reached across to the side table. Pulled out a series of photographs from an envelope and passed it to his brother.
"What is this?" Mycroft asked, nose wrinkling.
"Your niece." Sherlock said.
"Ah. She looks…functional." He said, passing the photos back. "Did you and Molly discuss names yet?"
"No. According to John, I'm allowed to have input."
"Sherlock is not a girl's name." Mycroft said, sitting down in John's seat. "Despite what you thought as a child."
"I wasn't…" Sherlock paused. Mycroft had a half smile on his face. Eyes crinkled in amusement. His brother attempting humour was rare and Sherlock took it for what it was. He relaxed. Was pleasantly surprised that he didn't feel any embarrassment anymore about this morning.
He needed his brother. His brother was there. It was that easy. He had no need to pull apart any deeper meaning behind the gesture. Giles was right. Allowing others to care was …logical. Sentiment didn't need to be destructive.
"Why are you here?" he asked, placing the photographs back in the envelope.
"This." Mycroft said, handing the file over. "These are the notes Alex had from Oliver. After this morning…I had a discussion with Giles. He advised caution but knowing you and your propensity to investigate, I thought we should combine both our skill sets in rooting out the last threads that connect Oliver to the British government."
Sherlock took the file. It was heavy, where he put it on his lap. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.
"You know the four men in the photos." He said with sudden insight.
Mycroft tented his fingers. Leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. "I'm not sure how much you were aware of what went on outside of Barts last year after Alex, Sherlock. You were sick and barely cognisant of your surroundings."
"In the course of my investigation and hunt for you, four men were revealed to have been part of Oliver's network. Lord Marsden – whom you were aware blackmailed me for the codes to a minor securities meeting. Lord Edwards, our former police commissioner. He suppressed any investigation into Oliver and his activities, which is why Oliver has never been on our radar. Lord Cavendish likewise did the same with Oliver's financial dealings and holdings. We are unsure of the role of Lord Michaels in the circle of friends they shared. They all went to school together. Kept in touch. They were part of a secret society…"
"Oooh. What a surprise," Sherlock said sarcastically. Rolled his eyes. "Do they send orange pips around to declare their intentions?"
"Yes well. Oliver was the president of the Phoenix Society. These men had diversified their portfolios, as it were. Apart from Oliver's interest in running his betting site and utilising your skill set for Alex, they also had companies that focused on import and export of high-end stolen items. That is where Brad Vines fit in. He is a card-carrying member of the Phoenix Society. And Oxley as well, by definition and his relationship with Brad. I had a very interesting conversation with the man this afternoon. It seems hunting was a way for the men to get together and talk business. A way to cement their shared goals."
"How many?" Sherlock asked. Tried to keep his feelings divorced from his intellect. But for some reason, his transport had an undercurrent of fear. He didn't understand it.
"25 that we're aware of." Mycroft grimaced. "Over five years."
Sherlock nodded. He fingered the file that catalogued his abuse over the almost five months he'd been with Oliver. Based on this morning's experience, he wasn't sure of his reaction if he was to read the file. Even if Giles thought he could. One experience was enough.
"Is Moriarty part of this club?" he asked.
Mycroft shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. Jim never liked to get his hands dirty. Do you see him traipsing across nature for a hunt in those ridiculous suits of his?"
"Leg work?"
"Yes, in that regard I think we share a commonality," Mycroft said without embarrassment.
"So how did Oliver and Moriarty meet?"
"I don't know," Mycroft said. "In the comprehensive file that Oliver had compiled he did intimate that it was on Moriarty's behest that he focused on you as a test subject. If it wasn't for Jim, I'm not so sure Oliver would've ever set his eyes on you. I think they were equals. Business partners that liked to share their latest toys. In this case…you."
"Joy. Nice to be wanted," Sherlock murmured. He focused on the feel of the folder beneath his fingertips.
"He's not going anywhere, Sherlock." Mycroft said softly. "I have extensive protocols in place. I get daily updates from the warden on visual inspection."
Sherlock raised his eyes. Met his brother's gaze. "He's a spider. A spider at the centre of a web. A web that runs worldwide, Mycroft…"
"Yes. And we've cleaned out all the major players, Sherlock. Moriarty's web is done. In tatters."
Sherlock shook his head. "I'm aware…" He paused. Fisted a hand and pressed it against his lips. Stared at the skull on his mantel while his mind was racing ahead of him, as always. He dropped his hand and refocused on his brother.
"What if they shared more than …me." He started softly. "What if there is a hidden web? One that they shared…" He closed his eyes, tried to take hold of the thought. "One they shared with the Phoenix Society…"
He thought back to the start, the hunter found posed and the smuggling network. You could smuggle more than animals. More than people. Brad Vines smuggled goods. Oliver…his online activities on the dark web…another type of entertainment. That would need customers that were more than fine with the idea of watching someone else' suffering. Who would pay to see his suffering. All of that would need a network, wouldn't it.
His eyes widened. "Oh…Brilliant." He grinned at his brother. "Oliver and Moriarty…do you not see, brother, what they did?"
"Really, Sherlock."
"Come on, don't be stupid. Think." He placed the file on the side table. Rose and started pacing. "It's as obvious as the nooose on your face…" He stopped, stared at his brother who looked up at him. Grimaced.
"There is a hidden network. One that fell outside the known players."
"Exactly." Sherlock did a full turn. "Isn't it positively brilliant? He really was clever, wasn't he. Oliver pulled the wool over the eyes of the British government and managed to set everything up. Have his own players in place and you were never aware…"
"Sherlock." Mycroft admonished.
"Fine. I need to talk to Moriarty."
"No." Mycroft said succinctly. Rose and stood in front of his brother. "That will not be helpful."
"Why?"
Mycroft's eyes drift towards where Sherlock had put the file on the side table. Focused back on his brother. "Moriarty will exploit Oliver's triggers. He will use it as an opportunity to mess with your head, brother mine. I will not allow you."
Sherlock glared at his brother. "I'm not an invalid, Mycroft."
"No, you're not. But you have to acknowledge what Oliver had done, Sherlock. Can you in complete honesty say that your PTSD will not rear its ugly head the moment Moriarty says a trigger word. Or focus on a memory that you can't control."
"I will be aware…"
"Were you aware this morning?" Mycroft stated firmly. "Sherlock, I'm trying to protect you."
Sherlock turned his back on his brother. Huffed and then walked away. His back ramrod straight. His hands behind his back, clenched in tight fists.
"I think it's time you left."
"Fine, Sherlock. Once you've calmed down and looked at it logically, you'll see that I'm right. Text me when you're ready to discuss this like adults."
Sherlock turned back to face his brother. "Myc…" He waited until Mycroft met his eyes. His coat and umbrella over his arm. "I know Moriarty the best. I'll know what questions to ask."
"Sherlock…" Mycroft said in exasperation.
"You know it's …" he sneered. "…logical. I've dealt with him at the bothy. He tried his mind games there too. I know him. You want to root out the rest of Oliver and Moriarty's secret network, then let me do what I do best."
"What's that, brother dear?"
"Making a nuisance of myself."
Mycroft didn't go home. He went back to the office after his meeting with Sherlock. His brother had returned the file and had asked him to keep it. That he didn't need to read Oliver's notes. He couldn't blame him. Even though Giles had thought that it would be helpful, he was secretly pleased that Sherlock had declined in the end.
As to their discussion…that had some merit that he wanted to investigate. He had watched as they had brought Oxley in. The man had been all bluster and anger until his agents started the interrogation. It hadn't taken long at all before he had been cooperative. Sharing what he knew without any further prompting.
Mycroft opened the file of the transcript of the interview. Scanning over the words again.
"Do you know Oliver Harbinger?"
"Yes."
"How do you know him?"
"He was the president of the Phoenix Society."
"What is the Phoenix Society?"
"It's hard to explain…"
"Do I need to bring Agent Smith back?"
"No! No…what does it matter. Oliver is dead. Why do you care…I have rights. You can't do this…"
"What is the Phoenix Society?"
"Fine. It's a club for businessmen. You know…secret handshake, deals under the table, helping your mates out…that type of thing."
"What businessmen?"
"I don't know…look I don't really…shit…I don't…fine. I just know the four Lords who died at the end of last year. They were very exclusive on how many people you're allowed to meet, okay. My boss and those men and Oliver. That's all I know. They liked to keep things tight."
"Who's your boss?"
"He'll kill me."
"Is it Brad Vine?"
"Fine…yeah. I want protection…"
"Where do you meet?"
"Hunting. We meet when we hunt, okay."
"How many men did you kill?"
"It wasn't just me…those trophies, it's not mine, okay. I just look after the house."
"The lion?"
"Simba? I have a permit."
"What were you planning on doing with the lion?"
"It was a gift from a client who got into debt. We were planning on selling the lion for a hunt."
"Who killed these men?"
"Man…didn't you just ask…bloody hell. It wasn't me, okay."
"These photos tell a different story."
"That's just…you know…everyone poses."
"Who killed these men?"
"I don't know. I can only say, everyone just kinda takes the piss okay. Shooting at the running prey."
"They have names. How many did you kill…"
And so on. Not once did Oxley actually admit to shooting anyone. It had gone round in circles until Mycroft had put a stop to it. Oxley was currently residing in a cell at MI-6. Contemplating his life and hopefully letting his imagination do the work for Mycroft's agents on what would happen if he doesn't cooperate.
The Phoenix society was the key. Oliver at the head of it. Pulling the strings and making others dance. His influence and ability to read people combined with Moriarty's organisational skills had brokered an empire that had pulled his brother into its midst.
He wiped his forehead, closing his eyes as he thought of the repercussions.
The conspiracy of the four Lords had definitely not gone down well within the inquiry. It was frankly an embarrassment. The file was closed on Oliver but he knew that there were more. Oxley had suggested as much. More than the four Lords. Oliver seemed to like making friends.
It all had started and ended with Oliver.
His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Mycroft was irritated. He had thought he'd switched it off.
"Yes, Lestrade."
"I've done as you asked. The guy is set up at NSY in my office. He says the …hold on," Mycroft could hear Lestrade speaking to someone, his voice muffled. He waited patiently. "Okay, basically whoever has setup the signal has switched off the receiver. The signal isn't transmitting anymore. Do you understand?"
"Thank you."
He closed the connection, dropping the phone on his desk. Not unexpected really.
According to John, the tv had switched on only after Sherlock had looked at the photos. And had been altered in such a way that the off switch couldn't be found nor where the unit was plugged in. Someone from tech had come back with a report saying that the tv was battery operated. Who knew…he thought.
The fact of the matter is that whoever had set it up had expected resistance and wanted to make sure that Sherlock was fully exposed to the video. They wanted to see how reactive his little brother still was to Oliver's voice…
He paused. Thought of Alex and what the assassin had attempted using Oliver's notes and focusing on Sherlock's triggers.
He went ice cold when a thought took hold.
Surely…
The still unknown male pretending to be Jason as Baker Street, taunting Sherlock about what Oliver had taught him, gauging his reaction. Sherlock sick after the weekend at Brad Vine's house. Sherlock's reaction at the cellar.
He reached for his phone again.
"It's me. Where are you?" he said.
"On my way home." Giles said. "What's wrong?"
"We need to talk. I'll meet you at your home in –" he looked at his watch. Calculated the distance and London traffic this time of night – "an hour."
He ended the call, got up and grabbed his jacket and umbrella. Grabbed the file in the end, having debated the merit of it until deciding that it was needed. His estimation was correct in the end and it was just under an hour when his car pulled up to Giles' driveway.
They settled in the man's study. It was open and airy, full of books, both nonfiction and fiction. It was an interesting contrast to the man Mycroft had known for the last 15 years. Their relationship has always been professional and courteous. If he would've described the man, and he was so inclined he would even go as far to say that Giles was a friend. He had at least some intelligence and was above reproach. Giles was part of MI-6 Psych Ops with specialisation in trauma informed treatment. He was invaluable as a psychiatrist and his experience was valued by those that met and dealt with him.
Sherlock seems to have taken to Giles and for that Mycroft was grateful. He remembered that first time when he had contacted Giles after the conversation with Lestrade in the kitchen. When he had realised that the DI was correct. That his brother and Molly would need professional help. Even though he had been under the illusion that they would have the mandatory counselling session and walk away unscathed.
He had learned a lot from his ignorance. Had learned a lot about the lingering effects of trauma exposure. Even his brother and all his intellect weren't immune to what had been done to him. And that had been a very sobering thought. That Sherlock struggled like any other human being.
He thought back to that first initial conversation.
"Mycroft."
"I'm in need of your services. Are you available for the next foreseeable future?"
"Things can be arranged. An agent?"
He took a deep breath. This was harder than he had thought it would be but it was his little brother and he suddenly felt tired. His exhaustion of the past few months caught up with him and the anxiety he had felt and suppressed, surging forward uncomfortably flooding his body with sentiment. He felt horror at the feelings and memories of watching as Sherlock was beaten and then forced to drug himself making themselves known with the clarity of high-definition playback. He leaned back in his chair, wiped his face. Tried to get rid of the fear he felt for Sherlock.
"Mycroft?" Giles' voice was suddenly soft. Empathetic. Not pressing but waiting.
"It's my brother." He managed to say in the end. "He and a colleague had been kept captive for the last four and a half months."
"Okay. Their current scenario?"
"They are still imprisoned. We have a video feed to the place where they are kept."
"Mental and physical torture?"
"Yes. They've been starved. My brother is clearly underweight…he did not look …well the last time I observed him."
A brief silence followed and then Giles said, "I'm available. Do you have an extraction date yet?"
"No. We're close. I estimate with 80% accuracy within the next two weeks. 50% accuracy within the next five days."
"Do you know how many players are involved?"
"Four. It seems they are kept isolated from anyone else. Security would need to be airtight if we cannot remove all the players."
"Might I suggest Midlands military hospital, if they're in the UK. Depending on their physical injuries, it would be secure and we can increase security easily enough. We can isolate them in one wing we've used before for such scenarios with previous extractions of agents that were under duress. Control the environment and make sure that they feel safe. That will be important when we start therapy."
"Giles, you need to understand. My brother isn't like other people…"
"I'm aware, Mycroft."
"He might not want to talk to you. He's never been inclined to see anyone nor does he hold a high regard for your field."
Giles chuckled. "Mycroft, 99% of the agents I see hold some view to the irrelevance of my profession and yet, you have seen my results. You know what I'll need if I'm to treat your brother and his colleague. History. Their current information. The link to the video feed. Photos of where they were kept once you've retrieved them. I'll set up a team at the hospital. Get everything ready."
"You'll need to include Sherlock's friend in that team, Giles. Dr John Watson is a fully licensed medical doctor who has been to war. Sherlock trusts him. He is currently in the field to help us find my brother. I'll send you the file I have on him."
"Okay. I can work with that. Let me take care of this, Mycroft. I'll contact you tomorrow. Send me what you have."
Mycroft stood by one of the bookcases, hands behind his back as he surveyed the titles. It was interesting to see a title on the taxonomy of plants to books on children psychology and dealing with autism. And then there were the reading books as diverse as classics to modern paperbacks.
"Tea?" Giles asked, settling the tray on a table. Two cups and a teapot on it. Mycroft nodded and then settled into a chair beside the table, opposite Giles. They settled, comfortable in each other's company. Mycroft took the time to settle his thoughts. Go over the facts again as he knew them. Line them up until he felt comfortable with his logic.
"As you are aware, my brother has been investigating two cases that now seem related to Oliver. The man Jason – which we still don't have an id for yet – that visited my brother and made threats had seemingly run an investment scam that had one of the victims search up my brother on behalf of Mike Stamford. This led them to a hunting club in Derby and Brad Vine. He seems to have been part of the Phoenix society – if you remember was what the four conspirators belonged too. Then there was the man we picked up yesterday, Oxley, who seemed part of Brad Vine's group."
Giles nodded. "Background information, I assume this leads to your real question?"
"Just setting the scene. I want to know…how invasive was Oliver's conditioning?"
"Mycroft, you need to understand how well-prepared Oliver was by the time he got Sherlock. He had done numerous unethical trials in preparation for his manipulations. He knew exactly which buttons to press to get your brother to comply. To be open to suggestions and to break down resistance. He programmed subliminal triggers during the time he had Sherlock and activated them whenever he wanted."
Mycroft sniffed in annoyance. "Yes, yes. I'm aware of that, Giles." He put his cup and saucer down on the tray. "How much of the 'training' has my brother retained? Is it possible that there remains a hidden trigger that has yet to reveal itself?"
Giles tilted his head. "Like a trojan virus, hidden until sprung with a word or phrase?"
"Yes."
Giles studied Mycroft. His eyes were not revealing his thoughts and Mycroft found it alarming. Wondering what the man was reading in his body language.
"It's possible. In light of your brother's response to the video, yes, it could be conceived that they were trying to gauge your brother's reaction to Oliver's voice. If they'd retained video footage, they could conceivably simulate Oliver enough to influence your brother."
"Not science fiction then? Even with someone like…Sherlock."
Giles lifted an eyebrow. "Your brother has made great strides towards diluting the intensity of his triggers. Especially the ones Oliver had programmed him to obey without question. The notes…the ones you destroyed; they didn't mention any specifics?"
"No. As we've discussed at length. Oliver had been clear on what he'd done but never on any specific phrases. Even the notes that Alex had, didn't elaborate. Alex hinted to Sherlock, as you're aware, of his relationship with Oliver. Of knowing what those triggers were. If, as it looks now, there are others involved, it would not be inconceivable that they know these phrases."
"Is that Alex's file?" Giles asked, nodding towards the file placed on his desk.
"Yes."
"I'll study it. Give me some time to think this through and then I'll have a conversation with your brother."
Mycroft nodded. Thanked Giles and left shortly after. On the trip to his home, he phoned Lady Smallwood.
"Yes?"
"Oliver's file needs to reopen. There are more players involved."
"How do you know this?"
"It came to light this morning after my brother was exposed to a video of Oliver with one of the men he'd killed. It was set off remotely and deliberately to gauge Sherlock's reaction. I think there's an imminent threat coming that has my brother as the centre. The conspiracy is bigger than the four men, Elizabeth. I fear that the repercussions are wider than we thought initially."
"There has been no chatter on the usual channels, Mycroft. Anything surrounding Oliver is quiet."
"You know that there is more to this than the current conspiracy. We need to be careful. I want the file reopened."
Silence met his statement. His car turned into his driveway; Anderson sure at the wheel. Only when his car came to a standstill did Lady Smallwood give a small sigh.
"Very well."
