Masquerade
On the return journey in the carriage, Mycroft remained silent the entire time. The passing London street scenes outside the window left no reflection in his gray eyes.
Driving into the thick fog of London, he returned to his kingdom, the heart of his empire. But now, this city, which he could control at will, only left him feeling weary.
He rubbed his temples, forcing himself to stay focused: "Did the letters from the past two days mention anything important?"
"Polish general election..." Anthea looked down at the confidential letter in her hand: "Franco-Dutch colonial disputes... cabinet reshuffle... unusual activity on Baker Street—"
Mycroft interrupted her: "Sherlock?" He frowned: "Give me that secret message."
Anthea quickly pulled out a letter from the stack of documents that was titled "Baker Street Monitoring - Urgent" and handed it over.
Mycroft's gaze swept over the text. His gray eyes initially held their usual scrutiny, then a hint of annoyance flickered across them.
"What happened, sir?"
He didn't answer, but instead handed the opened report directly to Anthea.
The above briefly records the recent unusual activity at 221B Baker Street: Sherlock received an urgent commission from Dartmoor, commissioned by a young gentleman named Henry Baskerville.
The report mentions the Baskerville family's centuries-old cursed legend of a giant hound, and Henry's recent, near-hallucinatory experience of terror. He claims to have seen a gigantic hound radiating hellish energy with burning eyes on the streets of London.
“The Baskervilles…” Anthea recalled as she looked around, “It was an ancient family, a desolate swamp…”
“An old story about hereditary insanity or a meticulously planned murder,” Mycroft concluded. “It’s not surprising that Sherlock would be drawn to this. With parts of his memory forcibly removed, he desperately needs these external stimuli to numb his brain.”
“Does intervention need to be done, sir? The Dartmoor region is complicated, the Baskerville Estate has close ties with local mining interests, and…” Anthea paused, “it’s just too remote, and our surveillance network has very low coverage.”
Mycroft looked out the car window, and the London fog seemed to have transformed into the perpetual haze of Dartmoor.
“No,” he rejected the suggestion: “Direct intervention would only provoke him to rebel more.”
“But we will not stand idly by. Send an encrypted order to the Dartmoor garrison commander, urging them to provide assistance if necessary to ensure the safety of Sherlock and John, but without letting them know.”
"Understood. What are the trigger conditions for the command?"
“Any danger, even the possibility of danger. Tell them: Sherlock must be unharmed.”
Mycroft turned his gaze from the car window: "At the same time, I need detailed files on all members of the Baskerville family, going back three generations. This includes their financial transactions, records of their mental state, and their connections to any local industrial or invention projects, especially those involving biological experiments or steam-powered modification projects."
In this era of burgeoning industrial revolution, it's not impossible for some ambitious and irrational individuals to use technology to create panic or eliminate obstacles. This aligns more with Mycroft's understanding of reality than an ancient curse.
“Also,” Mycroft added, “get ready, Anthea. I need to make my own trip to that…foggy countryside before Sherlock does.”
"You're going in person?" Anthea was slightly surprised; her superiors were usually more accustomed to strategizing from their offices in the manor or Whitehall. A rare human emotion flickered in her usually calm eyes—concern: "It's quite dangerous, that legendary demon hound from hell..."
“If it really exists, I don’t believe it’s a visitor from hell; it’s more likely a man-made creation.” Mycroft pulled down the carriage curtain. “Besides, my brother is determined to play the role of exorcising evil, so someone has to make sure he’s not the first to be torn apart by the fangs hidden in the mist.”
———
After burning the letters, Rose had already begun quietly preparing her plans to escape the manor and London.
She understood the difficulty of the plan because her opponent was Mycroft, the man who controlled everything, understood people's hearts, calculated precisely, and could even predict international situations.
At first, she was almost in despair.
For several days and nights in a row, she sat listlessly in her bedroom, repeatedly rehearsing and rejecting solutions. Every seemingly feasible plan was destined to fail. How could such clumsy methods possibly fool Mycroft?
A profound sense of powerlessness nearly extinguished her fighting spirit. She walked to the window, looking down at the path Mycroft occasionally strolled along in the garden below, and a thought uncontrollably surfaced: perhaps surrendering was the only painless way out…
No!
If even she gives up, then Eaton's death, Sherlock's oblivion, and her life being stolen will all truly disappear without a trace.
She had to make him lose this once. She had staked her entire life on this one time.
She forced herself to stop trying to compromise and to stop dwelling on those memories.
This time, she didn't look for complicated schemes, but instead pondered the simplest question: When exactly does Mycroft Holmes make a mistake?
She searched and searched, but couldn't find any opening. Could someone like Mycroft really make mistakes? She also began to hate herself for not having the extraordinary talent of the Holmes family; why was she just an ordinary person?
Wait, mediocre?
A chilling sensation, a mixture of ecstasy and icy coldness, instantly spread throughout her body.
Yes, mediocrity is her greatest misfortune, but it is also her only chance.
Arrogance, however, was an inherent trait of his genius, and his only flaw.
Mycroft was arrogant, not in a superficial sense of contempt, but in a deep-seated, absolute confidence in his own intelligence and control. He was accustomed to looking down, accustomed to incorporating everyone, including her, into his vast computational model.
He might be wary of Sherlock's paranoia and Eurus's destructive power, but he would never subconsciously assign the same "threat level" to Rose, someone he had known for over a decade and understood thoroughly.
Compared to the three real Sherlock Holmes siblings, her intelligence and talent could be considered mediocre. However, she could take advantage of this.
Faced with the meticulous Mycroft, this was her only chance. She would exploit his arrogance, and the inertia it created.
A plan had already taken shape in her mind.
All that's missing is the right opportunity, the perfect opportunity.
———
Mycroft returned to the manor. He did not go directly to see Rose, but instead had the butler inform her that they would dine together that evening.
Rose knew she had to go, because her top priority was to keep Mycroft calm and not let him become suspicious.
She answered the housekeeper decisively: "Okay."
She arrived fifteen minutes early that evening, while Mycroft had already arrived. He seemed thinner than usual, probably due to the fatigue of his journey.
The silverware on the table gleamed, and it was already filled with all kinds of delicacies, far exceeding what the two of them needed. These were all her favorite foods, except for the two cakes closest to him.
Rose sat down opposite him: "Long time no see, brother. I heard you just got back to London. Who did you make disappear this time?"
Instead of being annoyed, Mycroft chuckled softly, a hint of genuine pleasure in his gray eyes. He elegantly picked up his fork: "It seems that even the most lavish dinner can't mask the tension in some people's words."
“Brother,” Rose smiled, “let’s make up.”
Mycroft raised an eyebrow: "Why all of a sudden—?"
"Because I've realized that resisting you is futile. Since the outcome is the same anyway, it's better not to resist; it'll save us both trouble, won't it?"
Mycroft remained noncommittal, clearly not believing her change of heart. But he still smiled and said, "Okay."
"Are you still very busy lately?" Rose tried to keep her tone as casual as a normal sibling greeting.
“I wish I could stay home every day,” Mycroft said, eating cake. “In fact, the cabinet has been in complete disarray while I’ve been away. And I’m leaving London in a few days.”
Rose was taken aback: "Where to?"
"Datmur".
"How could someone like you go to a place like that?"
Mycroft laughed again: "What kind of person am I in your eyes?"
A string of adjectives flashed through Rose's mind. But she had absolutely no idea how to put them into words. The air froze.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft broke the silence. He answered her question: “He’s obsessed with a very dangerous case, and our coverage of the crime scene isn’t enough to reassure him about taking the risk. I have to go.”
Upon hearing this, Rose slowly lowered her eyelashes, focusing on the food on her plate, afraid that he might see the fleeting gleam of joy and hope in her eyes. She had been worried about not finding a chance for him to leave the manor, and fate had presented her with this golden opportunity.
Sherlock, even though you have forgotten me, you still offer me salvation in an invisible way. A surge of emotion, a mixture of sorrow and gratitude, almost brought tears to my eyes.
“Don’t you like the food?” Mycroft noticed Rose’s head was down and turned to the butler. “Have the kitchen make some more.”
“No need,” Rose quickly looked up, even leaning forward and smiling as she forked the Dandy cake from Mycroft’s plate. “I’d rather try this.”
"It seems a bit too sweet for you."
"It's not just sweet, it's awful." She took a bite and put down her fork, the metal clattering against the porcelain plate. "It's nowhere near as good as the dessert shop on the corner, or rather, it's worlds apart."
“Excellent information. I’ll buy that shop tomorrow and have the chef come to my home to make it just for you.”
"Great, brother, you've been as generous as ever for the past ten years." Rose looked at him. "Besides spending money, what are your plans for tomorrow?"
Mycroft put down his knife and fork and picked up his napkin. "That's all. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Let's go see a musical together. After all, you'll be leaving me for a while again."
"It's simple if you don't want to part ways. Would you like to come to Montreal with me?"
Rose's heart skipped a beat. Of course, she didn't want to go; Mycroft was testing her again. But she laughed heartily, "Sure. It'll be good to get out and about; the manor is driving me crazy."
Mycroft glanced at her again. Then he smiled and said, "It's a shame it's too dangerous there. If you want to go out, I'll take you on a trip when I get back."
How about Rome?
"Any city is fine."
"Then tomorrow?"
Let's go see a musical together.
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