Mycroft sighed, shifting through the reports of Sherlock's latest movements. He'd been meeting with the drug dealers again (and Mycroft made a mental note to cut off that avenue soon), despite the extensive rehab stay and the range of cases that Mycroft sent him to keep him busy. Even the deal with the MET superintendent (merely a spot of blackmail. If he didn't want to get caught out then he shouldn't have been so obvious in the first place) was starting to have less and less effect, as Sherlock got more exacting in the cases he wanted.
Sherlock had even come in the other day, just to accuse him of filtering through only the boring (non-life-threatening) ones, so he could tell Mummy that he was keeping him safe (and although he was correct, Mycroft was hardly going to admit to it. Mummy had insisted, because Sherlock was still, no matter what anyone said, the baby of the family).
Mycroft was not amused. Security should have caught Sherlock breaking in to his office (and causing such a scene with all his yelling and dramatics, especially when he'd had to be dragged out of the room. His 'co-workers' were still smirking suspiciously at him), and this type of mistake would have consequences for everyone ( a spot more training would be required for those employees, maybe in Afghanistan?). At least it was only Sherlock, and not a more precarious person.
As it was, he had managed to completely mess up the notes to three separate top-secret projects, and Mycroft was now stuck at his office, at four in the morning, sorting through the notes that had to be handed on in a couple of hours. And then he had a full day of meetings, which he had planned on being well-rested for (he had already been up the previous night as well, worried about how Sherlock was doing. It turned out he needn't have bothered). Now all he could do was hope that he didn't start a war in his tired state.
Perhaps he should look for a playmate for Sherlock, since he was too busy these days to play 'nemesis' with his brother. Someone on the opposite end of the morality spectrum, of course (it wouldn't do to have Sherlock be a complete psychopath). So, a criminal, but any one person couldn't handle it all (well, unless they were him. But the whole point of this exercise was so that he wouldn't have to deal with Sherlock's petty problems). An organisation then, spider-webbed across the whole of London (because he didn't want Sherlock to go gallivanting across the whole continent. He still shuddered at the memory of The Incident In Algeria).
And like every good organisation, it needed a front-man, someone to sell the concept. The face of the project, as it were, with a name that would inspire fear, and awe... someone like his old math teacher, Professor Moriarty. Engaging and charismatic, he could always get his students to pay attention at all times (and Mycroft may have picked up some of his own mannerisms from his teacher, but they were effective, and already proven to work).
Mycroft blinked at his wandering thoughts. What was he thinking - a criminal organisation, totally dedicated to one Sherlock Holmes? It sounded ridiculous. He put it out of his mind, and got back to work.
[But somewhere in the back of his thoughts, the idea lurked, and when he met a down-on-his-luck actor, on whom he had acquired some incriminating evidence (and also after a long, trying day with Sherlock barging into his office no less than three times, two for imaginary offences), he decided to test it out. After all, what could it hurt to try?]