Face the Odds

Chapter 8: Six Thatchers

"Have you heard of that thing," Craig questioned, "in Germany?"

Sherlock blinked, before he pointed out: "You're going to have to be more specific, Craig."

"'Ostalgie'." Craig explained, saying the word like it tasted bad in his mouth, even as he continued to type and search on his many computers. "People who miss the old days under the Communists. People are weird, aren't they?"

"Mm." Sherlock hummed noncommittally, his eyes narrowing slightly at the irony of the situation, before he refocused as Craig said: "According to this, there's quite a market for Cold War memorabilia: Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin."

He smiled as he said sarcastically: "Time's a great leveller, innit? Thatcher's like, I dunno, Napoleon now."

"Yes, fascinating, irrelevant." Sherlock said impatiently, leaning over Craig to stare at the screens himself. "Where exactly did they come from?"

"I've got into the records of the suppliers..." Craig replied as he finally traced back all the data. "Gelder & Co.? Seems they're from Georgia."

"Where exactly?" Sherlock questioned, and Craig answered: "Uh, Tbilisi. Batch of... six."

Sherlock straightened up, thinking quickly, while Craig read off: "One to Welsborough; one to Hassan; one to Doctor Barnicot. Two to Miss Orrie Harker-"

Sherlock's phone started to ring, and he quickly reached for it in his coat pocket while Craig finished off: "- One to a Mr Jack Sandeford of Reading."

Sherlock swiftly answered his phone, asking: "Lestrade, another one?"

"Yeah." The DI replied, sounding tired, and Sherlock questioned instantly: "Harker or Sandeford?"

There was a pause from Lestrade's side, clearly from surprise, before the DI replied with a sigh: "Harker. And it's murder this time."

"Hm, that perks things up a bit." Sherlock retorted, glancing once more at the records on Cragi's screen and noting the two that had been sent to Miss Harker's address before he turned and walked out.

**********

221B Baker Street

Marie smiled as Sheryl crawled – or rather 'wiggled', as Sherlock called it - across the floor towards her, and she exclaimed enthusiastically: "Well done, ma Chérie."

The sound of the front door opening downstairs made her pause for a split-second before her smile returned to her face as she scooped up her happy daughter into her arms. Marie carried the baby across the living room as she heard the soft tread coming up the stairs, and she'd just set Sheryl in the collapsible play den with her brother when a knock sounded on the flat door.

"Come in," Marie called as she turned to face the door, "Mycroft."

The door swung open to reveal the aloof, though slightly irritated, Holmes brother, and Mycroft greeted politely but coolly: "Marie."

"Would you like to sit down?" Marie asked, equally coldly, as she walked towards the kitchen. "Unless you'd like to say hello to your niece and nephew?"

"Oh, yes." Mycroft said a tad sarcastically as he glanced at the twins, who were staring up at the stranger curiously with bright intelligent eyes.

His gaze softened for a brief moment, so quick it was only a flash across his face, before he turned away and settled in John's armchair while Marie brought the teapot off the stove.

"I'm afraid we don't have biscuits." Marie said casually as she carried in two cups of tea, and Mycroft replied smugly: "That's quite all right - I don't take any."