For the One and Only time

Part 1

ONE WEEK EARLIER

The message arrived during the most unconventional situation possible.

While Sherlock was undercover in the Tibetan mountains, Mycroft made a spectacular appearance that nearly blew his disguise.

"You look terribly gaunt and under nourished, brother dear." Mycroft remarked as the tall detective and his brother were directed into a barely furnished room. The obedient monk, hidden behind the shadows of a scarlet kasaya, retreated swiftly.

"Spare me the formalities." Sherlock stood in a stream of grey sunlight, his slim figure accentuated by the drape of the cloth.

"As a matter of fact your time here is over. Your appearance is greatly demanded by an individual residing in the heart of London who will not stop at anything to kill before you show up in the grandeur of his schemes. I, being a member of the British government, would very much prefer my citizens to remain below the radar of a murdering psychopath. Unfortunately, part of that plan requires the prising of another psycho's nose from minuscule matters in Tibetan monasteries and to put him where the British public needs him to be!" Mycroft's whispers echoed around the concrete walls and with an effort he swallowed back his outburst.

"A high functioning sociopath Mycroft. Besides, Tibetan matters are hardly insignificant. I am in fact on the trail of one of the most accomplished drug smugglers of our age, residing precisely here in this temple." Sherlock turned, the hollow of his brow bone casted a shadow over his eyes. 

Subconsciously, Mycroft noted the alarming similarities between his brother and a human skull.

"I presume that will be the monk eavesdropping at our door, one can hardly miss the felinity of her fingernails." He replied with a hint of annoyance. "She will be dealt with later, but you must return to England at once."

"You don't have any authority over me." The detective hissed through gritted teeth.

"Oh but I don't have to," Mycroft smirked. "Do you believe I would travel 6 hours to a Tibetan temple just to convey the wish of an anonymous killer without the smallest idea of their identity? Has that mind of yours deteriorated so quickly without the fogs of London to sharpen your senses?"

The detective glared venomously at his brother.

"Give me the facts, or kindly go back to serve the ever so brilliant MI6." He spat. Mycroft's face darkened in effect.

"Sherlock, I don't have all the facts. It may be another branch of Moriarty's forces, but the ounce of CCTV footage we hold suggests quite a different character. It is only a guess, but I would not like to bias your judgement from evidence that may not speak. London needs you." He took quite some visible effort to acknowledge his brother's importance.

"I am not a child Mycroft. Lay your suspicions, or leave." Sherlock's tone dropped to the same temperature as frost. Mycroft sighed, and muttered the single most unexpected idea even the consulting detective could not anticipate.

~~~

The rotating glass doors of New Scotland Yard administered the detective into its busy grand foyer at 1 o'clock precisely. As the distant clangings of Big Ben faded away, the tall figure in his dark coat walked briskly towards the office of D.I Lestrade, blending into the office background.

The inspector's mouth was shocked into a capital 'O' as Sherlock walked in and flung himself into the chair opposite his.

"Yes hello Detective inspector to state the obvious I'm not dead. I see you have developed a recent habit of visiting the massage parlour, certain cases haven't been in your favour lately I presume. Formalities aside, I need a briefing on the recent death of Eddard Abney – one of the London homeless - immediately. I will also need -"