The Great Game [Reader Insert]

A Bad Plan is Better Than No Plan, Right?

     You'd convinced Sherlock to work on Mycroft's case, finally. You sent him after John, who was investigating back at where Westie's body was found. John would probably ask why Sherlock appeared out of nowhere, and Sherlock would probably say something like "I've been following you since the start. You didn't think I'd ignore a case like this just to spite my brother, did you?" Yeah, that sounded like something he would do.

     You told Mycroft that Sherlock had hopped on the case, and he took it casually, but you could tell he was excited and relieved. Mycroft's relationship with his brother was adorable sometimes.

     And you sat in Aunt Hudson's living room, thinking. The Greenwich Pips were a countdown. You'd only had four. When would the last test happen?

    You sighed. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for another call from the bomber, either on the pink phone- which was in Sherlock's custody- or on your phone, the one that Mycroft gave you.

     You'd just entered your mind library when a text alert sounded from your flip phone. You sighed and looked around for it, before realizing it was in your coat.

     You fished it out of an inner pocket of your trench coat and saw that it was a text from Sherlock.

     We have the Bruce-Partington Plans. You and Mycroft have gotten so close; I'd love to let you have the honor of giving it to him yourself.

     -SH

     You shook your head, annoyed, but then an idea popped into your head. 

     Something to put this case at rest.

     So, you threw your coat back on and walked upstairs to Sherlock and John's flat. John wasn't there, but Sherlock was sitting in his designated chair, watching crap telly and yelling at the screen. "No, no no! Of course he isn't the boy's father; look at the turn-ups on his jeans!"

     "Sherlock."

     Sherlock looked up at you blankly. "Hm? Oh. Oh, yes." He picked up a little flash drive from the armrest and threw it to you. 

     You caught it without blinking. "Thanks," you said. He was back to shouting at the screen, so you walked out of his room and went back to your own.

     Once back in your room, to pulled out your laptop from under the bed and switched it on. You searched up Sherlock's blog. You needed to get in contact with the bomber... Moriarty.

     You knew that Sherlock's blog was the only way to contact Moriarty. It was the only one the bomber had ever responded to, at least.

     But you couldn't just leave a comment on Sherlock's blog. Sherlock would get a notification, read it, and see what you were up to.

     So instead, you logged into it under his name (password protected, but come on, against you, it wasn't really much protection at all, was it?). 

     You typed, Bruce-Partington Plans found. The Pool. Midnight.

     -(Your initials)

     You posted the message.

     Of course, it was certain that Sherlock would see the message eventually. But it wouldn't notify him, so he'd have no reason to check his blog unless he wanted to write on it. So you had to leave it up for a length of time and then delete the post. Easy enough. So you left it up for about two minutes, and deleted it. 

     You had a plan. Was it a good plan? 

     Well, it was a plan.

     A bad plan is better than no plan at all, right?