Play the Game - Sherlock fanfic (Sequel to Painting Murders)

Meet the Players - Part 1 (Sherlock 3rd person POV)

St James' park was still busy with people and tourists despite the late hour, however as Sherlock strolled through the park to access the playground, there were less and less people around. However most children didn't come out this late at night and, Sherlock was sure, the tourists and native Londoners had no interest in playing on the swings or round-a-bouts.

He opened the cold metal gate which protested on its hinges and looked around at the slowly growing shadows.

It was a strange place to meet apart from the physical significance. The centre of London, lots of traffic, lots of people. Sherlock had imagined somewhere abandoned, no people, eerie; like the swimming pool. The only thing remotely eerie here was the way the swings moved soundlessly in the cool breeze.

A taxi beeped its horn on the road somewhere and Sherlock looked at his phone to see the time. He was early.

He rolled his eyes and moved over to the swings, sitting down on one and rocking slowly on his heels, just enough movement to make thinking easy.

He could feel the weight of the USB in his pocket. A small and simple device that was currently home to the most destructive code in history, from what he could tell. In the wrong hands it was a timebomb. One simple misuse and he could only imagine the unstoppable carnage.

Sherlock paused on that thought. Both Nick and Ledger had explicitly said that the virus, the Playground couldn't be stopped, no matter how hard everyone had tried. Even Everly had said so herself. Sherlock frowned at the memory because something wasn't right about it. If she was so convinced that it couldn't be stopped then how had she stopped it from progressing when the playground came live? She had stopped it in no time at all. Sherlock had admired her at the time but now suspicion set in. The system had known that she was there. It had welcomed her. But how would it have known that? She had put it down to the fact someone was listening in through her laptop but she could have logged on anywhere in the world on any computer so how did someone know to bug just hers? Unless someone had expected her to do so. Someone knew that Everly was a player in the case. Sherlock wracked his brains desperately, zoning in on what Ledger had said in the station: "It was one of the worst virus' of its time! No one could shut it down, there was no stopping it. Codes were written and rewritten, other virus' were planted, nothing worked. It was so complex, a row of code that together equalled the next layer of code. There were too many components. Once you cut off one head, three more grew back. It was quite aptly named." – Sherlock puzzled over this. Why was this stuck in his brain? It was like a new lead was making itself known to him and he just want paying enough attention to it.

"A row of code that together equalled the next layer of code." He wondered out loud. The bottom row added together equalled the next. Programmers used things they knew well to base their codes on. And if the bottom row equalled the next, that meant that the code was based on . . .

Sherlock stopped dead, almost holding his breath. She had cracked the code.

"You going to sit here all night?"

The voice, close from behind him, shattered the almost silence in the playground and Sherlock jumped slightly.

Everly walked around the swing frame and sat on the swing next to him. She was wearing her deep purple faux leather jacket; the way it was pulling at the seams, ripped and wearing in places and the fact Sherlock never saw her wearing anything else, he knew it was her favourite. Her black jeans and purple converse trainers completed her look that drew very little attention to her. She didn't like attention. Which was why he was always surprised that, when the winter months rolled in and the temperature dropped, she insisted on wearing her bright red woollen hat that stood out like a sore thumb. She was wearing it now, her cropped dark hair barely sticking out from under the edge of it.

She rocked on the swing, looking at him carefully, the way she did when she was trying to figure something or someone out.

"How did you get here?" He asked her shortly, aware of the sharpness in his own voice.

She looked taken aback slightly then managed, "I followed you, of course. Once Lestrade had told me where you'd rushed off anyway."

"No, no you didn't."

She frowned now, annoyed, "Yes I did Sherlock."

"Did Lestrade tell you where to find me?"

"Yes, I'm not psychic."

"I never told him where I was going."

She paused, Sherlock felt her hold her breath slightly as alarm spread across her face.

"I got a message." And then suddenly, "Well what are you doing here?" She spat defensive.

Sherlock dug out the USB stick and showed her, "I was meant to be meeting someone about this, however it would seem that someone has also contacted you." He looked about then focused back on her, "Somehow you've become messed up in all this. Someone knows who you are ad they are following you as closely as they are following me. They know you're good at what you do, it's how they got in touch that time at the flat when you shut down the virus." He watched her unmoving face as he spoke, "It was a neat trick you know. You should have told me that you had found a way to shut down the virus. Pascals Triangle was the inspiration for the virus code. You should have said that you were the one that shut down the Playground all those years ago." He finished, holding up the pen drive for them both to inspect.

"So now they want you and me to see what all this is about, set up a meet so we know who all the players are. I half expect Mycroft to come clean about who Hydra is – maybe a government system? Or maybe this is better. Maybe it's Moriarty." He could feel his eyes sparkling as he got to his feet and looked around to see if anyone was coming. He checked the time on his phone. There were several missed calls from John.

"They are late." He grumbled, expecting criminal geniuses to be able to keep good time.

"Actually, I was on time."

He whirled around.

"Give me the pen drive Sherlock."