Holmes turned his sharp gaze toward his brother, who remained rooted like a gargoyle by the heavy oak door. "Mycroft, you didn't summon me here merely to solve a locked-room puzzle. You are the 'British Government' in all but name. Tell me, what is the true price of this stolen parchment?"
Mycroft exhaled a cloud of grey smoke from his cigar, his expression grim. "The document is the Treaty of Vienna (1897 Revision). For months, the Great Powers—Britain, France, and Prussia—have sat on a powder keg. This treaty was the only thing preventing a triple-alliance that would effectively isolate the British Empire and trigger a continental war by the spring."
"The Count was the sole architect of the peace," Mycroft continued, pacing the small room as much as his bulk would allow. "He carried the only signed copy. Without it, the hawks in Berlin and St. Petersburg will claim Britain has acted in bad faith. If that document is not recovered within twenty-four hours, the mobilization orders will be signed. Millions of lives, Sherlock, depend on what was inside that leather dispatch box."
"And the signatories?" Holmes asked.
"Anarchists would want it destroyed to trigger chaos. Foreign intelligence would want it for leverage. But there is a third party," Mycroft’s voice dropped to a whisper. "The theft was too perfect, Sherlock. It lacks the clumsiness of a political assassin. This was the work of someone who views the fate of nations as a mere game of chess."
Holmes’s eyes flashed. "A master thief with a taste for high-stakes theater. We are not just looking for a murderer, Watson—we are looking for a ghost who holds the match to a global conflagration."
./221b-baker-street-hub Head to 221B Baker Street