Mists of London Chapter Three

[nevermoreraven]

Writing Mycroft is surprisingly fun.  As well as his Blackberry-wielding name-changing assistant.

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: Teen
DISCLAIMER: If Mycroft in this version of Sherlock existed, I would be more likely to assume he'd own me than the other way around (he is the British Government...)

Mycroft shook his head, staring at the pile of papers before him.  He still enjoyed pulling the strings to achieve various ends, all to the betterment of Britain of course, but he had to admit that life was considerably duller without his brother around.

A knock at the door interrupted his spiral of depressing thoughts.  He'd been having far too many of those of late.  But it was rather ridiculous to assume that anyone who'd had Sherlock as a major force in their lives would be able to return to a daily routine easily.

It's Callista, tapping on her Blackberry as usual.  "You need to see this, sir," she states quietly, and for once reluctantly relinquishes her prized mobile, plunking it down on his desk.

He didn't think he was capable of astonishment these days.  But then, his brother had always had the ability to knock him speechless, even if he didn't admit it.

He examined the picture more carefully, blinked tears out of his eyes.  The resemblance was astonishing.  Except for one slight difference.

This person was a woman.

"Where was this taken?" He didn't bother looking up, memorizing every feature.  There was no point in asking when.  The information would have been delivered to him as soon as Callista had received it.  And most likely the picture had been sent shortly after being taken.  His operatives were all aware of the necessity of speed with this sort of thing.

His assistant's fingers twitched, as if missing their normal occupation, but she answered without hesitation, "The café near the Peckham Rye station."

Reluctantly, after another glance, he returned her mobile.  Instantly she returned to texting.  "Oh, and it appears that she's now harassing the police.  She broke a man's nose and kneecap and is probably going to be held for questioning."

He stood, shaking his head.  "That sounds like my brother.  Inform the driver that we will be going to Scotland Yard, but that we will be picking up another passenger first."

She nodded, fingers skimming over the keys.  "Already done.  Dr. John Watson, sir?"

He swept out, feeling that such a question did not need an answer.