The Reading of His Will- Chapter 1

I used Google translate for certain sections of foreign language dialogue at the end of this chapter. I apologize in advance for all grammar mistakes.

PRINCIPAL CAST AS OF 2012

Sherlock Holmes (32): Benedict Cumberbatch

John Watson (35): Martin Freemen

DI Greg Lestrade (43): Rupert Graves

Mycroft Holmes (39): Mark Gatiss

RECURRING AND SEMI-RECURRING CAST

Molly Hooper (29): Louise Brealey

Mrs. Hudson (69): Una Stubbs

Mike Stamford (37): David Nellist

Angelo (44): Stanley Townsend

(The Monkees)

When the world and I were young

 Just yesterday

 Life was such a simple game

 A child could play

 It was easy then to tell right from wrong

 Easy then to tell weak from strong

 When a man should stand and fight

 Or just go along

 But today there is no day or night

 Today there is no dark or light

 Today there is no black or white

 Only shades of gray

August 2012

“Zucco’s” the 4th most popular casino/hotel in Monaco.

Looking out on the atrium, observing the activity on the lower three floors and the lobby, is a man with slicked down, dark blonde hair and wearing generic jeans, sneakers, white shirt, and denim jacket. A man who booked under the pseudonym “Jeffrey Hope”.

Once he’s satisfied that everything is apparently status quo, he goes into his room to check on his associate.

“How much longer?” Jeffrey Hope asks in a New England accent.

“Would’ve been done by now if you didn’t keep interrupting.” The twenty-something, black man wearing similarly non-descript clothes answers back while rapidly typing away on his laptop. “Even with the reconnaissance we did, their security is pretty good. Too good for a casino. Am I getting involved in something nastier than my usual fare?”

“All you need to know is that twelve hours after you give me their codes and you’re in the hotel I booked for you, you’ll receive a package containing the portable hard drive and you’ll never have to worry about rotting in a prison in Cyprus ever again.”

“Fine, but would it have killed you to bring me a coffee or something?”

“You take too much sugar in your coffee and the last thing we need is you bungling the job because your fingers shook.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nearly done anyway.”

Jeffrey Hope sits down on the bed and steeples his fingers, then decides to fold his hands instead, and lets his mind drift back to the events eight months ago that started him on this path.

How he once was known as Sherlock Holmes.

How a man named Jim Moriarty was slowly becoming the most dangerous man in the entire world thru his “consulting criminal” empire. By the time they met face to face, Moriarty was responsible for more than half of all acts of evil in London and God knows how much in the world.

How Sherlock and his older brother Mycroft had planned to take Moriarty down by tricking the man to think that Mycroft would idiotically play into his own scheme. No doubt The Woman’s crimes gave Moriarty the idea that Mycroft was a gullible fool.

How Moriarty turned the tables by giving Sherlock the ultimate threat. Commit suicide or John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, three of the most important people in his life will die.

How Moriarty made, as clichéd as it sounds and definitely no pun intended, one fatal mistake in not counting Molly Hooper.

Kind, shy, brilliant Molly Hooper.

Even now all these months later, it still astounds him that she agreed to help when he was always such a rotten bastard to her.

~~You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always...

I am sorry. Forgive me.~~

Not wanting to experience the feeling of self-disgust that that memory brings, he “shoves” it away and quickly moves back to his primary train of thought.

Now the world thinks Sherlock Holmes is dead and he will stay dead until every single trace of Moriarty’s web of evil around the world is destroyed. Until his name is cleared. Until he knows beyond a doubt that John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson will be safe from Moriarty’s people.

It will probably take years, it will be extremely dangerous nearly all the time while taxing his mind, but considering what those three and Molly have done for him…

And he can’t deny deep down that the challenge is exhilarating.

If only he could have John with him, trying to rein in Sherlock’s enthusiasm but feeling the rush just the same.

~~You're a doctor. In fact, you're an army doctor.

Yes.

Any good?

Very good.

Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths.

Well, yes.

Bit of trouble too, I bet?

Of course. Yes. Enough... for a lifetime, far too much.

Want to see some more?

Oh, Hell yes.~~

Mrs. Hudson good-naturedly chastising him as they head out the door.

~~Look at you, all happy about murders. It’s not decent.~~

And Lestrade trying to act frustrated but actually hiding a smile while watching Sherlock in his element.

~~Oh, if you’re making this up…~~

“Et Voila.” Laptop Guy says in an exaggerated accent, snapping Jeffery Hope out of his memories. “The codes for the hotel’s bank accounts. You now have complete control of all of their money and…” He types a few more keys. “seven minutes before they find out, sooner once you start transferring. Now can I have a coffee?”

Jeffrey Hope gives Laptop Guy a credit card and a note. “You can get that coffee at the airport. There’s a flight to Tangiers in seventy minutes and a cab will take less than fifteen to get there at this time of night. The hotel’s address is on the note.”

“Does it have to be Tangiers? It’s so clichéd for shady characters like me to go there.” Laptop Guy jokes.

“You’ll like the seafood. Go now.” And with that, Jeffrey Hope takes the laptop and starts implementing his plans with the money, while used to be Laptop Guy just rolls his eyes and leaves.

Jeffrey Hope successfully transfers the hotel’s money, via several false accounts and shell companies, to two different accounts.

Then he calmly packs the laptop into his large duffle bag where the rest of his possessions are and makes his way to the elevator.

By the time the elevator’s reached the ground floor, the lobby is an excellent visual representation of the word “pandemonium”. Maneuvering past many angry casino customers, he quietly drops his key card at the front desk, while all the clerks and the night manager are trying to get everyone to calm down as they fret over what their computers are telling them.

[][][][][]

The Princess Grace Rose Garden

A man dressed in a proper light grey, three-piece business suit and holding onto an umbrella meanders about the way one just does.

He doesn’t care much for flowers. Oh, he understands how most people enjoy having them and wanting some more color in their lives, but personally he doesn’t think the allergies and risk of bee stings is a fair trade. Ah well, needs must.

He studies the Verkade statue of Princess Grace in the waning sunlight.

“A rare woman, she. Beautiful inside and out.” He softly says to Jeffrey Hope now standing next to him.

“I have to be in Switzerland in less than eight hours. Are we done playing admiring tourists?”

“Now, now ‘Jeffrey’.” Mycroft Holmes smirks as they make their way to the car park. “I remember a time when you watched ‘Rear Window’ with avid interest.”

 “I liked observing all the neighbors in the courtyard and seeing if what I deduced about the various actors corresponded with the characters they played.”

Mycroft gives an acknowledging nod at this, remembering a nine-year-old brother sitting much too close to the tv in order to make certain he wouldn’t miss any detail and their dear mummy gently admonishing him.

The two men approach a rented Rolls-Royce Phantom Coupé.

“Would you like to drive or shall I?” Mycroft asks.

Jeffrey Hope has already opened the door and gets inside. “I’m driving.”

“Very well.”

It is a matter of minutes for them to cross the border into France and stop at a small, abandoned gas station miles from any civilization.

“There will be a pea green Volkswagen delivered here in a few minutes. I apologize about the color but the cheaper, the better. In the glove compartment are the papers you will need, a disposable cell phone, a tablet guaranteed by my electronic geniuses to be unbreakable and unhackable no matter what or I will have their metaphorical heads, and a gun.” Mycroft Holmes informs his brother.

Sherlock hands him three envelopes he wrote earlier that day. One blue, one rather thick white, and a pale cream. “I took two-thirds of Zucco’s money for my own needs. The rest, you know what to do with it.”

“Mmm. Pity about Zucco’s being one of Moriarty’s main sources of income and money laundering facilities. I rather enjoyed my time there three years ago.” Mycroft sighs. “The things the chef could do with a lobster.”

Sherlock fights the urge to stick his finger in his mouth and make a gagging sound. “Spare me. Is everything ready?”

Mycroft checks his pocket watch. “In four days from now, London time, Mrs. Hudson will discover Sherlock Holmes’ will and testament taped onto the back of the framed bug and bat display on the mantelpiece during her weekly dusting. The Holmes family solicitor, John Hector MacFarlane will then make the necessary arrangements for the reading of said will to the right people at the right time.”

Sherlock nods before smirking, “And you’ll be there of course.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Really, Sherlock.”

Sherlock quickly sobers once he makes himself ask, to him, the most important question. “You will keep me up to date on…John and the others?”

Mycroft nods. “As often as it will be safe to contact you. Unfortunately, that will decrease the more time you spend on this mission.”

“I know.”

Mycroft sees the next question form from Sherlock’s micro-expressions and answers. “And I will have some of my best people keep them safe. As much as possible without them knowing it.”

The words “thank you” are not said, but they are given and received.

They both get out of the car and wait while taking advantage of the fresh, brisk air.

Mycroft checks his phone and sends off a few texts. Even out in the country, his phone can reach anywhere in the world in seconds. It stands to reason that being the embodiment of the British Government and once in a while, the Australian government, the Canadian Government, and the American CIA has its perks.

And then his mind forces him to acknowledge what’s going to happen any minute. His chest feels constricted for a second at the black thoughts.

For nearly his entire life, he’s always been able to keep tabs on Sherlock in one way or another. Whenever he needed to, he would find out where in the world his younger brother was in a matter of minutes.

Sherlock’s final year at university, there were times where he disappeared for hours or days and Mycroft would have no idea where.

That and The Incident that caused Sherlock to drop out terrified Mycroft far more than anything and everything Moriarty did.

Granted he had not yet formalized the unique position he has now and didn’t have all form of surveillance technology at hand, especially the kind the general public must never know about, but that was when he first believed Hell truly exists.

And now he has to delve back into Hell more or less willingly.

For Sherlock’s safety, for countless lives around the world, and especially for those three people that that Sherlock was willing to die for, he has to shut down all surveillance, all forms of communication save for a number on a disposable phone only to be used when absolutely necessary, and make himself fight the temptation to check on his little brother 24/7/52 for God knows how long.

Hell definitely exists.

Sherlock studies the stars. Being this far into the open country and with no clouds allows for a truly dazzling display.

Lestrade would have enjoyed the sight. And John would also have liked the peace the stars give in their beauty.

~~Beautiful, aren’t they?

I thought you didn-

Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate them.~~

And he forces his mind to change the subject while sneaking a glance at his texting brother.

If truth be told, Sherlock never hated Mycroft.

Those very dark years between the last year of University and when Lestrade helped him find his calling were nothing short of a nightmare. He and his brother fought a war of fighting the eternal boredom verses his liberty and it was a poisonous cycle of hated-filled words, threats, and sometimes violence over and over and over. Despite all of that, he never truly hated his older brother. At least not all the time.

Despite how it looks to outsiders, things between them have improved considerably to the point where Sherlock would almost believe in miracles. But despite that, he still resented how Mycroft was always on the peripheral. Always keeping an “eye” on him and John while they work, always wanting him to do a “job” for the government, always waiting to see if this is the day he will relapse.

But now he is going to be free of that. He’s going to be completely out of “Big Brother’s” sight and influence for not even they know how long.

And he has no idea whether to be delighted beyond words or worried sick.

Two cars drive up to the station. The pea-green Volkswagen and a generic, black Jaguar.

A man gets out of the Volkswagen and after softly talking in French to Mycroft, hands him the keys and gets into the Jaguar which drives off.

The Holmes brothers look at each other. Knowing this will be the last time in a very long while that they’ll be able to see each other in the flesh, they both slowly, meticulously study the features of the other. Committing every facet to memory. What Sherlock would describe as “updating the hard drive”.

Then Mycroft breaks the mood, one could almost call it a trance, by holding the car keys up to his brother.

Sherlock takes the keys and curtly nods before walking towards the rental.

Mycroft watches with no visible change in his expression. Like a statue.

Then with his back to his brother, Sherlock flops his head back while dramatically sighing.

Mycroft’s brow furrows.

Sherlock then quickly turns around, strides back to Mycroft, and without any forewarning which in itself is rather impressive, gives him the tightest hug he’s ever experienced since they were children.

After a second of surprise, the umbrella falls to the dirt as Mycroft’s arms wrap around his brother and squeeze just as hard.

It doesn’t last nearly as long as it feels it should, but they have to stop before it becomes too late for Sherlock’s schedule.

Mycroft pulls back and affectionately grips the side of his brother’s neck with one hand. Blinking a bit, no doubt those blasted flowers from earlier have affected his sinuses, he gives a soft smile to Sherlock. “Be careful.”

Sherlock doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t have to. His warm eyes show everything that his brother needs to see as he tightly grips Mycroft’s wrist. Anchoring them both. “I will come back. Don’t try to remind me how many years this could take or how dangerous it will be, I am going to come back.”

Mycroft lets go of Sherlock and takes a step back, even though it almost physically hurts. “I shall expect you then.” He replies in his usual smug tone as if nothing’s changed. “Perhaps by the time you return, you’ll be more inclined to work with me.”

Sherlock scoffs back as he turns and walks to the rental car. “And here I thought you were the smart one.” He calls out over his shoulder.

“I am the smart one!” Mycroft retorts back but there is no venom in it.

Sherlock just dismissively waves back before getting in the car and driving off in the direction in Switzerland.

Mycroft watches his younger brother until he is a speck in the distance. He picks up his umbrella and after gazing up at the stars for moment, as if to pray, he gets back into the Rolls-Royce and reluctantly makes the journey back to London.

[][][][][]

Meiringen, Switzerland

A pea-green Volkswagen parks near the Hotel Sauvage. A man with slicked down, dark blonde hair, wearing generic jeans, sneakers, white shirt, denim jacket, and carrying a large duffle bag gets out.

After taking in his surroundings, he enters the hotel and checks in.

Looking around the lobby, he sees the group he’s supposed to meet.

Two men and a woman trying to be nonchalant and failing because they’re trying too hard.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he approaches them and says in German, “Sorry, wenn ich so lange gedauert hat. Können Sie beschuldigen wollen mich nicht schön Monaco zu verlassen?” (Sorry if I took so long. Can you blame me not wanting to leave beautiful Monaco?)

The three people look him over in suspicion.

One of the men speak up, also in German. “Wir haben nicht richtig eingeführt. Ich bin von Bork.” (We have not been properly introduced. I am von Bork.)

The blonde haired man nods back. “Ich bin E. Scott.” (I’m E. Scott.)

The three still look suspicious.

He sighs and gives the code words. “’Früher war ich ein Klempner zu sein, aber ich habe in Schwierigkeiten und musste mein Vermögen eingefroren.’ Ist das gut genug oder ich muss sagen, noch dümmer Klempner puns?” (‘I used to be a plumber, but I got into trouble and had my assets frozen.’ Is that good enough or do I have to say even more stupid plumber puns?)

Von Bork holds up his hand. “Nein, das wäre nicht benötigt werden. Ich entschuldige mich für die Absurdität all dieser Umhang & Dolch, aber wie Sie sich vorstellen können, hat sich die Organisation seit Monaten im Umbruch gewesen, und es ist unwahrscheinlich, es wird in absehbarer Zeit zu beruhigen.” (No, that would not be needed. I apologize for the absurdity of all of this cloak & dagger, but as you can imagine, the organization has been in upheaval for months now and it’s unlikely it’s going to settle down anytime soon.)

The second man mutters. “Ich fühle mich wie wir in Sodom und Gomorra sind, und jeder zweite jemand geht uns unsere die Schulter schauen über, so dass wir in Salz drehen.” (I feel like we’re in Sodom and Gomorrah, and any second someone is going to make us look over our shoulder so we’ll turn into salt.)

“Niemand kümmert sich, was Sie denken, von Herling!” (No one cares what you think, von Herling!) The woman snaps.

“Na ja, nicht, dass diese kleine Rede ist Nieten, aber können wir uns an die Arbeit irgendwann in diesem Jahr?” (Well, not that this small talk is riveting, but can we get to business sometime this year?) E. Scott asks as he takes the seat nearest von Bork’s.

“Na sicher.” (Of course.) von Bork answers as he gets his tablet out of his briefcase.

The four of them begin their espionage planning.

Well, technically three of them begin their espionage planning while the fourth starts planning how to bring them down while getting as much information about their cohorts and other operations at the same time.