Three days later, the situation got more complicated.
I was monitoring JFK arrivals as part of my standard intelligence routine — tracking the movements of significant players, noting patterns that might affect my operations. When the name "Holmes" appeared on the customs manifest, I nearly missed it. The first name wasn't Sherlock.
It was Mycroft.
"Mycroft Holmes?" Vex appeared beside me as I studied the arrival information. "The brother?"
"The older brother. The one who works in British intelligence. The one who's been watching over Sherlock from a distance for his entire adult life." I pulled up additional records — flight manifests, hotel reservations, the digital footprint that even the most careful travelers left behind. "He's staying at the Carlyle. Business trip, officially. But Mycroft doesn't do anything officially unless he has an unofficial reason underneath."
"What's the unofficial reason?"
"I don't know. But I intend to find out."
---
Vex conducted the surveillance. She was better at following people than I was — smaller, quieter, able to pass through security that would stop a human observer. I waited in a coffee shop near the Carlyle while she monitored Mycroft's movements.
Her report came three hours later.
"He made twelve phone calls in the first two hours," she said, curling up beside my laptop in the corner booth. "All encrypted, all to British numbers. But I observed him making notes afterward. He wrote down three phrases: 'Moriarty resurgence,' 'consulting detective,' and 'unknown asset.'"
"Unknown asset."
"That's you, presumably. Or someone connected to you." Vex studied my expression. "He's not here about Sherlock. He's here about you."
I processed this. Mycroft Holmes was many things — bureaucrat, spymaster, overprotective brother — but above all, he was careful. He wouldn't travel to New York without a significant reason. If that reason was investigating the "Moriarty" who'd been helping Sherlock...
"He's running parallel to Sherlock's investigation," I said. "Sherlock is focused on understanding what I am. Mycroft is focused on understanding whether I'm a threat."
"Different motivations."
"But convergent goals. And Mycroft has resources Sherlock doesn't — government databases, intelligence networks, the entire apparatus of British state security." I closed my laptop. "If he digs deep enough, he might find things even Sherlock missed."
"What could he find? Your background is manufactured. There's nothing before three months ago."
"Nothing in the United States. But Mycroft operates internationally. If he decides Cash Dalton is a cover identity, he might start looking for the person underneath." I paused. "The person who doesn't exist."
"That could be a problem."
"That could be a significant problem."
---
I spent the next two days tracking Mycroft's investigation.
He was thorough — I'd expected that — but he was also subtle. Unlike Sherlock, who investigated by confronting and provoking, Mycroft investigated by observing and waiting. He reviewed records without leaving traces. He interviewed contacts without revealing his agenda. He built profiles without alerting the subjects.
I was one of those subjects now. And I couldn't let him see me watching.
Vex became my primary intelligence source. She followed Mycroft to meetings with NYPD officials, federal contacts, representatives of agencies I didn't recognize. Each meeting revealed a piece of his agenda.
"He's asking about the Moriarty name specifically," Vex reported after the third day. "Not Jamie — your use of the name. He wants to know who authorized it, who you're connected to, what your relationship is with the original organization."
"He thinks I'm one of Jamie's assets."
"That's one of his theories. The other is that you're an independent operator who's trying to position yourself as competition."
"Neither of which is true. But either of which could get me killed if he acts on them."
I sat in my room at Mrs. Petrova's, processing the implications. Mycroft Holmes was a player at levels I couldn't match — international intelligence, government resources, the kind of power that could make people disappear without consequences. If he decided I was a threat to Sherlock...
"I need to get ahead of this," I said.
"How?"
"By making sure he sees what I want him to see. If he's going to investigate me anyway, I might as well control what he finds."
---
The opportunity came on the fourth day.
Mycroft's surveillance pattern had become predictable — morning meetings at government buildings, afternoon observations of Sherlock's activities, evening reviews of the intelligence he'd gathered. I positioned myself to be observed during one of his afternoon sessions.
Not confrontation. That would be too obvious. Just... presence. A reminder that the "unknown asset" he was investigating was aware of being investigated.
I walked past the Carlyle at 3 PM, timing my route to coincide with when Mycroft typically returned from his afternoon rounds. I didn't look up at his window. I didn't acknowledge that I knew he was there.
But I walked slowly enough that he could see my face clearly.
I walked slowly enough that he would know I knew.
Vex, watching from across the street, confirmed his reaction: a pause at the window, a long look at my departing figure, a phone call that began immediately after I rounded the corner.
"He's calling British intelligence," she said when she rejoined me. "Something about accelerating his timeline."
"Good."
"Good? He's escalating."
"Escalating on my terms. He was going to act eventually — better that he acts when I'm prepared than when I'm not." I turned toward the subway. "Now we wait and see what kind of person Mycroft Holmes really is."
---
The answer came the next morning.
A phone call. Unknown number. British accent.
"Mr. Dalton. This is Mycroft Holmes. I believe we should meet."
I let the silence stretch for a moment. Mycroft would be reading my response time, analyzing my voice, cataloguing every detail I gave him.
"I'm familiar with your work, Mr. Holmes. What would you like to discuss?"
"My brother. Your relationship with him. And the peculiar circumstances of your existence." His voice was pleasant but carried an undertone of steel. "I have questions. You, I suspect, have answers that will interest me."
"And if I decline this meeting?"
"Then I continue my investigation through other channels. Channels that may be less comfortable for you." A pause. "I'm not threatening, Mr. Dalton. I'm offering an opportunity for clarification. You've been helping Sherlock. I'd like to understand why."
I thought about my options. Refusing would make me look suspicious. Accepting put me in direct contact with someone who had the resources to unravel everything I'd built.
But Mycroft Holmes was also Sherlock's brother. He was protective, yes. Suspicious, certainly. But underneath the intelligence apparatus and the government power, he was someone who loved his brother and wanted to keep him safe.
That was something I could work with.
"Tomorrow. Noon. The park by Bethesda Fountain." Public space. Neutral ground. Room to escape if necessary.
"Acceptable. I look forward to our conversation, Mr. Dalton."
He hung up.
I stood in my room, phone still in hand, processing what I'd just agreed to. Sherlock's confrontation had been about understanding what I was. Mycroft's confrontation would be about determining whether I was a threat.
The stakes were different. The consequences of failure were more severe.
But I'd survived Jamie Moriarty twice. I'd navigated Sherlock's investigation. I'd maintained independence in a world full of people trying to control me.
One more Holmes wasn't going to break me.
"This is dangerous," Vex observed.
"Everything is dangerous. The question is whether the danger is manageable." I set down my phone. "Mycroft wants to protect Sherlock. So do I. If I can make him see that, we might have an ally instead of an enemy."
"And if you can't?"
"Then I have twenty-four hours to prepare for the worst."
The pressure was mounting. Sherlock knew about my foreknowledge. Joan had accepted my impossibility. Jamie was preparing the Irene reveal. And now Mycroft Holmes was investigating whether I should be allowed to continue existing.
One Holmes was complicated. Two was exponential.
But I hadn't survived this long by backing down from complications.
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