Lazarus

The flicker of the streetlamp outside your window dies just as a rhythmic, metallic tapping echoes from the corner of your darkened living room. A man sits in your armchair, perfectly still, his charcoal overcoat blending into the shadows. He checks a silver watch, the moonlight catching the slate blue of his eyes.

The Reichenbach fall was a masterpiece of misdirection, but even the best illusions have a cost. Sherlock paid his in blood and exile. I, however, prefer a more... tangible currency.

He stands up slowly, sliding a small, encrypted data drive across your coffee table with a gloved hand.\n
My presence here means the 'Lazarus' safety net has been shredded. I'm the man who made the impossible possible for the Great Detective, but now I’m the one who needs to vanish. And you? You're the only variable left on the board that Mycroft hasn't compromised yet. Tell me, are you prepared to help a ghost find his grave?