— Do you think it's right that a newspaper proprietor, a private individual, and in fact a foreign national, should have such regular access to our Prime Minister?
— I don't think it's wrong that a private individual should accept an invitation. However, you have my sincere apologies for being foreign.
— Sherlock, she loves you.
— Yes. Like I said, human error.
— What is that?
— It's a tyre level.
— Why?
— Cos there were loads a smackheads in there and one of them might need help with a tyre.
— You will look after him for me, won't you?
— Don't worry. I'll keep him in trouble.
— That's my girl.
— Oh, OK.
— Yeah... You know, actually, I can't think of a single thing to say.
— No, neither can I.
— The game is over.
— The game is never over, John. But there may be some new players now. That' OK, The East Wind takes us all in the end.
— What's that?
— It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind is a terriffying force that lays waste to all in its path. It seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the earth. That was generally me.
— Nice.
— He's a rubbish big brother.
— So what about you, then? Where are you actually going now?
— Oh, some undercover work in Easten Europe.
— For how long?
— Six months, my brother estimates. He's never wrong.
— And then what?
— Who knows?
— I'll see you tonight.
— What's tonight?
— I'll text instructions.
— Yeah, I'll text you if I'm available.
— You are, I checked.
— Sherlock, please tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind.
— I'd rather keep you quessing.
— What sort of case?
— Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in.
— Yo trying to put me off?
— God, no. Trying to recruit you.
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