The train arrived shortly thereafter, and they headed to their private berth... Sherlock scanning the crowd for anyone John seemed to pay special attention to. He didn't notice any unusual responses. John opened and closed the door per his usual, and sat. He leaned his head against the glass of the window and closed his eyes.

Sherlock waited until the gentle motion of the train lulled John to sleep before calling Mycroft.

"Yes?"

Sherlock might have been annoyed at his brother's inability to say a simple hello if he hadn't frequently used the same greeting himself. This time the lack of exchange of pleasantries seemed appropriate.

"I need you to inform Mrs Hudson that..."

"Oh. He found you. Good. We knew he was a few steps behind, but the business in Kandahar took longer than expected, so I was fairly confident he would catch up. Would have hurt his pride to tip him off. And yes, you are entitled to one of your little fits owing to my not telling you he was on your trail, but, ultimately, it was far more fitting for he to be the Stanley to your Livingston. What is it? Something's... he did find you, yes?"

"No. I found him. To inform Mrs Hudson that neither John nor myself will be seeing any visitors, so to please politely, or impolitely, decline all offers... though I suspect there will be few, with me still dead and John... slightly less so. Yourself excepted. I willhave a great deal to discuss with you when I am back in Baker Street again."

"Sherlock, do you mean to say he..."

"Good day, Mycroft."

"Sher..."

Yes, whoever invents a way to slam a mobile will make a fortune.