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Chapter 2 - The Great Game

"Sherlock! Kate!" John calls the next morning.

Sherlock plucks the strings of his violin he holds to his chest while he glares petulantly towards the chair across from his own as John comes into the living room. I lean with my back against the wall right next to the fireplace, my arms folded over my chest.

"John." Sherlock says, looking up at him.

Mycroft-the reason for Sherlock's annoyance, who is sitting in the chair across from Sherlock's, looks up at John.

"I saw it on the telly-are you two okay?" John asks both Sherlock and I.

"Hmm? What?" Sherlock asks, and looks around at the mess of scattered paperwork and broken glass as if he has forgotten about it-which he most likely has. "Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently." He turns to his attention back to Mycroft, who stares at him pointedly as Sherlock plucks the strings of his violin again.

"I can't." Sherlock says to Mycroft.

" 'Can't'?" Mycroft repeats.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time."

"Nevermind your usual trivia. This is of national importance."

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asks, changing the subject while sulkily flicking his fingers across the strings.

"Fine." Mycroft says, he looks over at John. "Perhaps you can get through to him, John," He looks at me. "Kate."

"What?" John and I ask simultaneously. John looks over at Mycroft, now nearer to the windows to look at the damage.

"I'm afraid my brother can be very transigent." Mycroft says.

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock asks.

"No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time-not with the Korean elections so..." He trails off as John turns to Mycroft in surprise, I look round at him, and Sherlock raises his head from the violin. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" He smiles humorlessly as if telling us to forget what he just said. "Besides, a case like this-it requires..." He grimaces in distate. "Legwork."

Sherlock mis-plucks one of the violin strings, an irritated look on his face. He turns to John, who is rubbing the back of his neck with his hand absently.

"How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?" Sherlock asks.

"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa." Mycroft says, looking at his pocketwatch and not even looking at John.

Sherlock looks John up and down briefly.

"Oh yes, of course." Sherlock says.

"How...?" John says incredulously, then trails off. "Oh, nevermind." He sits down on the coffee table, and Mycroft smiles at him.

"What's he like to live with?" He looks back and forth between John and I. "Hellish, I imagine."

"We're never bored." John replies.

"Good! That's good, isn't it?" Mycroft says, smiling condescendingly.

Sherlock glares at his brother again, Mycroft stands as Sherlock picks up his bow and whips one end of it through the air in front of him. Mycroft picks up a folder from the table beside him, steps forward, and offers the folder to Sherlock, who just looks back at him stubbornly.

Mycroft grimaces, then turns and offers the folder to John instead.

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends."

John takes the folder, looking startled.

"A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in." Mycoft continues.

"Jumped in front of a train?" John suggests.

"Seems like the logical assumption."

"But...?" John asks, quirking a brief smile.

" 'But'?" Mycroft repeats.

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident." I speak up.

"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system-the Bruce Partington Program, it's called." He looks over at Sherlock as John begins flicking through the folder. "The plans for it were in a memory stick."

John quietly sniggers. "That wasn't very clever."

Sherlock, smiles, agreeing with him.

"It's not the only copy." Mycoft says.

"Oh."

"But it is secret. And missing."

"Top secret?"

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." Mycroft turns to Sherlock. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

He breathes in sharply through his nose, and Sherlock raises the violin to his shoulder, ready to play. He calmly looks at Mycroft.

"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock replies.

"Think it over." Mycroft says, leaning down a little as an attempt to seem more threatening.

Sherlock stares back at his brother, unimpressed. Mycroft turns and walks over to John, offering his hand. John politely shakes his hand.

"Good-bye, John." Mycroft smiles at him a bit creepily. "See you very soon."

With that, he walks over to me and shakes my hand, saying good-bye as he does so.

Mycroft heads back towards the chair to pick up his coat, and Sherlock starts to repeatedly play a sequence consisting of short, irritating notes. John frowns across to Sherlock, but Sherlock keeps on playing until Mycroft has left the room and is on the stairs. Sherlock grimaces in the direction of Mycroft's back, finishes playing, and lowers the violin, still looking annoyed. John sits back down on the coffee table and waits until Mycroft has reached the groundfloor and is out of earshot.

"Why'd you lie?" He looks at Sherlock. Sherlock looks across to John as the front door slams shut. "You've got nothing on-not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Sherlock replies, shrugging.

"Oh!" John nods. "Oh, I see."

Sherlock's eyes drift in the direction of John but he doesn't actually look at him.

"Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere." John says.

Sherlock turns, opens his mouth to deny everything, but before he can speak his phone rings. He irritably whips his bow down again, puts it on the seat beside him, and takes his phone out of his jacket pocket.

"Sherlock Holmes." He says, then his expression intesifies. "Of course, how could I refuse?" He stands up, switches off his phone, puts the violin on the seat, and heads towards the door. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?" He says to us.

"If you want us to." I answer.

"Of course." Sherlock picks up his coat and turns back to us. "I'd be lost without my blogger and groupie."

" 'Groupie'?" I repeat. "How the devil am I your groupie?"

He smirks. "Similar coats."

I roll my eyes. "Not that again."

"Did I miss something?" John asks.

"He teases me for having a similar coat to his." I answer.

"Ah," John nods. "Of course he would."