Definitely too clever for my own good, this time, Sherlock thought ruefully. It had been entertaining to plant the camera in Mycroft's CCTV control rooms, spy on those spying on him. Especially the buttoned-up youth at the end who was surreptitiously unbuttoning himself at every arrival of Sherlock onscreen.
Mycroft's files showed Sid Paget as the most promising of his new recruits. Sherlock never wanted anyone sharing his bed on a long-term basis; they might want to share his cocaine too. But it had been satisfying to lure Paget away from Mycroft's employ.
Sid was responsive – out of bed as well as in it - open to the suggestion of a career move into medical photography. It was staggering how beautiful Sid could make a colony of Staphylococcus look, or how poignant a bloodied Sherlock, carefully videoed for three hours solid.
But then there'd been fresh underlings of Mycroft's to subvert. A mistake, perhaps, asking Sid to edit a tape of Sherlock with another man. He'd foreseen and discounted the risk of Sid putting up some of their sex tapes on the web. But not this footage. This was graphic, appalling, humiliating. Though among the illiterate, jeering comments on YouTube, there was the occasional hint of sympathy:
Dunno what you lot thinks so funny. It's bloody painful having boils on your backside.