Sherlock raises an eyebrow, inspecting the man opposite him. The color draining right from his face at the revelation that Mycroft is here intrigues him--he had to know, the gods aren't delivering these objects for people who aren't here.

Oh.

Oh.

He rushed over here the way he did because he hoped it wasn't true, hoped the photos were for Sherlock. Oh, that's very interesting.

"He is indeed. He called me, over the network, when I arrived. I assume the network is not accessible to anyone outside the city. Why are you afraid of him?" he asks, abruptly shifting the focus of the conversation.