Sherlock Imagines

The Hunting Game (Part 2)-Sherlock

"You have been busy, haven't you?"  Mycroft asked.

Sherlock threw the newspaper he was holding onto a nearby trolley.

"Quite the busy little bee."  Mycroft said.

"Moriarty's network-took me two years to dismantle it."  Sherlock said.

"Us!"  You corrected. "Took us, two years." 

"And you're confident you have?"  Mycroft questioned.

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle."  You explained.

"Yes, you got yourself in deep there...with Baron Maupertuis.  Quite a scheme."  Mycroft said.

"Colossal."  Sherlock said.

Mycroft closed the file in front of him, "Anyway, you're safe now."  He said.

"Hmm." 

"A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss."  Mycroft said.

"What for?"  Sherlock asked.

"For wading in."  Mycroft said. "In case you'd forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu." 

Sherlock sat up and glared at his brother but you spoke up before he said anything.

"And in case you'd forgotten, I was the one in there. And what do you mean 'wading in'?  You just sat there and watched me get beaten!"  You shouted.

Mycroft turned to you, "I got you out." 

You chuckled a bit and sat forward in your chair, "No, I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"  You asked.

"Well I couldn't risk giving myself away could I?  It would have ruined everything."  Mycroft said.

You and Sherlock then both came to a sudden realization.

"You thought it was me."  Sherlock said. "You were enjoying it." 

"Nonsense."  Mycroft said.

"Definitely enjoying it."  You added.

Mycroft leaned forward, "Listen: do you have any idea what it was like going 'under cover', smuggling my way into the ranks like that?  The noise, the people."  He said grimacing.

Mycroft sat back and Sherlock laid back down.

"I didn't know you spoke Serbian."  Sherlock said to his brother.

"I didn't.  But the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words."  He shrugged. "Took me a couple of hours." 

"Hmm-you're slipping."  Sherlock said.

"Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all." 

A woman walked in, you assumed she worked for Mycroft, with a suit on a hangar for Sherlock and a nice new set of clothes for you. You smiled and took them setting them on your lap. You left briefly and came back with the new outfit on.

"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?"  Mycroft was saying as you walked in.

Sherlock was examining himself in the mirror. "What do you think of this shirt?"  He questioned.

"Sherlock!"  Mycroft shouted exasperated.

"I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft."  Sherlock said. "Just put me back in London. I need to get to know it again, breathe it in-feel every quiver of its beating heart." 

"One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London – a big one."  The woman said.

"And what about John Watson?"  Sherlock asked.

"John?"  Mycroft questioned.

"Mmm. Have you seen him?" 

"Oh yes-we meet up every Friday for fish and chips."  Mycroft said jokingly. He gestured to the woman who hands Sherlock a folder. "I've kept a weather eye on him." 

Sherlock looks through the file and the pictures inside.

"You haven't been in touch at all-to prepare him?"  Mycroft asked.

"No."  Sherlock said and looked at one of the pictures of his friend, with a mustache. "Well, we'll have to get rid of that."  He said.

You walked over and Sherlock showed you the picture. You covered your mouth as you started to laugh at it. Whoever John Watson was, that mustache did not suit him.

"He looks ancient. I can't be seen wandering around with an old man."  Sherlock said.

He closed the file and set it on the desk. Sherlock straightened his coat.

"I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted."  He said.

"You think so?"  Mycroft questioned.

"Hmm. I'll pop into Baker Street. Who knows-jump out of a cake."  Sherlock said sarcastically.

"I'll bring it in."  You joined in.

"Becker Street?  He isn't there anymore.  Why would he be?  It's been two years. He's got on with his life."  Mycroft said.

"What life?  I've been away."  Sherlock said.

"I hate to break it to you, but actual people have lives to live."  You said patting Sherlock on the shoulder.

He looked at you and you just smiled innocently.

"Where's he going to be tonight?"  Sherlock asked.

"How should I know?"  Mycroft questioned.

"You always know."  Sherlock protested.

"He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion ... though I prefer the 2001."  Mycroft explained.

"I think maybe I'll just drop by."  Sherlock said.

"You know it is just possible that you won't be welcome."  Mycroft warned.

"No it isn't. Now, where is it?"  Sherlock asked.

"Where's what?"  Mycroft asked, acting clueless.

"You know what."  You said.

The woman walked in with a coat in her hands. Sherlock faced her and smiled at the sight of his beloved coat. He turned back around and slipped it on over his shoulders.

"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes."  She said.

"Thank you."  He said.

He popped the collar and walked out. You followed after him with a wide smirk on your face. You were eager to find out what would happen when Sherlock's best friend found out he was still alive.