— I just can't believe it! Him sitting in his chair again. Oh, isn't it wonderful, Mr Holmes?
— I can barely contain myself.
— Oh, he really can, you know.
— Keep me informed.
— Of what?
— Absolutely no idea.
— What are you doing here?
— As ever, I'm concerned about you.
— Yes, I've been hearing about your "concern".
— Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?
— Oddly enough... No.
— We have more in common than you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy.
— I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft.
— No. No, wait... Mummy? Who's Mummy?
— Mother. Our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft.
— Appointment in Samarra.
— I'm sorry?
— The merchant who can't outrun Death. You always hated that story as a child. Less keen on predestination back then.
— I'm not sure I like it now.
— You wrote your own version, as I remember. Appointment in Sumatra. The merchant goes to a different city, and is perfectly fine.
— Good night, Mycroft.
— Then he becomes a pirate, for some reason.
— There is, in this facility, a prisoner whose intellectual abilities are of occasional use to the British government.
— What, for, like, really difficult sums, long division, that sort of thing?
— She predicted the exact dates of the last three terrorists attacks on the British mainland after an hour on Twitter. That sort of thing.