Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Final Problem- Four

"Mycroft, your hiding something." John prodded on. "Heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid, but I can give you a map reference for Hell." John frowns. Sherlock looks to his brother sharply. Mycroft draws in a breath. "That's where our sister has been since early childhood. She hasn't left, not for a single day." Sherlock looks across to John, who returns his gaze. "Whoever you both met, it can't have been her."

A loud crash disrupts the conversation, followed by the thump of something falling to the floor. John turns in his chair to look, then all three of them stand up and look towards the kitchen. Beyond all the equipment on the table and a clothes airer with various bits of paperwork clipped to it, the top part of the window has been smashed in.

From the floor behind the table, an adult woman's voice can be heard softly singing. It's slightly tinny and so presumably coming from a small speaker. "I that am lost. Oh, who will find me. Deep down below. The old beech tree?" As Mycroft's face fills with horror, a small drone rises up from the floor and hovers sideways across the room. "Help succour me now. The East Wind's blowing. Sixteen by six, brother. And under we go."

The drone begins to fly forward across the kitchen table, the wind from its four rotors blowing papers and other stuff off the table. As it heads towards the living room, Mycroft speaks urgently: "Keep back! Keep as still as you can!"

"What is it?" John asks whilst backing towards the dining table. "My soul seeks. The shade of my willow's bloom..."

"It's a drone." Sherlock states the obvious. "Yeah, I can see that." He glances towards Mycroft as the drone continues into the room, the singing voice still coming from it, though the words can't be heard over the concerned conversation. There's a large silver-green grenade-shaped object on top of the drone. "What's it carrying?"

"What's that silver thing on top of it, Mycroft?"

"It's a DX-707." The drone hovers in mid-air between the three men. "I've authorised the purchase of quite a number of these." The drone begins to lower towards the floor. "Colloquially it is known as 'the patience grenade.'"

The drone lands on the floor and its rotors shut down. "Patience?" The grenade buzzes and the top pops up a little, showing a bright red light emanating from inside the device. It repeatedly beeps quietly. "The motion sensor has activated. If any of us move, the grenade will detonate."

"How powerful?" Sherlock spoke quietly. "It will certainly destroy this flat and kill anyone in it. Assuming walls of reasonable strength, your neighbours should be safe, but as it's landed on the floor, I am moved to wonder if the café below is open."

"It's Sunday morning, so it's closed."

"What about Mrs Hudson and Bones?" The sound of the vacuum cleaner can faintly be heard. "Going by her usual routine, I estimate she has another two minutes left."

"She keeps the vacuum cleaner at the back of the flat."

"So?"

"So, safer there when she's putting it away?" Mycroft turns his head towards him. "Look, we have to move eventually. We should do it when she's safest." John determined. "When the vacuum stops, we give her eight seconds to get to the back of the flat. She's fast when she's cleaning. Then we move."

He looks at Mycroft. "What's the trigger response time?" Mycroft looks at him blankly. "Once we're mobile, how long before detonation?"

"We have a maximum of three seconds to vacate the blast radius." John closes his eyes and sags slightly. "John and I will take the windows; You take the stairs. Help get Mrs Hudson and Bones out too."

"Me?"

"You're closer."

"You're faster."

"Speed differential won't be as critical as the distance. She and Bones are family and if you don't you'll have Michelle to answer to."

"Yes, agreed." He sighs unhappily. "She's further away. She's moving to the back." John deduces. "I estimate we have a minute left. Is a phone call possible?"

"Phone call?" Mycroft parrots. "John has a daughter and wife." He glances towards him without moving his head. "He may wish to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry, Doctor Watson. Any movement will set off the grenade." John bares his teeth, sighing silently. "I hope you understand."

"Oscar Wilde." John states. "What?"

"He said, 'The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.' It's from 'The Importance of Being Earnest.' We did it in school." Sherlock quirks a lopsided grin. "So did we. Now I recall. I was Lady Bracknell." John smiles a little. "Yeah. You were great." Sherlock praises. "You really think so?"

"Yes, I really do."

"Well, that's good to know. I've always wondered." The vacuum cleaner shuts down. Sherlock gives it a few seconds, then glances to John and then to Mycroft. "Good luck, boys." He pauses for another moment, then starts to count more loudly. "Three, two, one, go!"

The three men turn and in slow motion they race for their exit points, Mycroft heading out of the door, John running for the right-hand window and Sherlock leaping up onto the back of his chair on his way to the left-hand window.

Behind them the device explodes and flames sweep across the room in all directions, enveloping everything in their path. John and Sherlock hurl themselves through the glass and plummet towards the road below and a massive fireball roars out of the windows behind them. Black smoke rises...