The Science Of Second Chances//Book Two

Chapter 26~ Sentiment

Teddy's P.O.V

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

I followed my brother onto the plane, unable to shake the feeling that something was very, terribly wrong.

It was dark. There was a stillness in the air that wrapped itself tight around me making it hard to breathe. There was a weird smell in the plane, something that smelt familiar but still foreign at the same time. Sherlock didn't seem to think so though.

"Sherly..." I murmured, looking around the plane. People sat in the seats but... they weren't moving. They weren't talking or snoring or doing anything at all. It was like-

"Like they were dead," I whispered just as Sherlock lent down to examine two passengers- bodies- nearest us. He pulled back, shocked at what he had just realized. I looked to my right, my eyes narrowed as I stared at the bodies. They were very Grey, though not decomposing. I sniffed then shuddered. So that was what that smell was. The smell wasn't as bad as other bodies I had been around but they still smelled horrible.

"What is this?" I said softly, unable to speak normally.

"The Coventry Conundrum," a voice said at the other end of the plane, causing both Sherlock and I to straighten up. Mycroft appeared from behind a curtain, his eyes locked on us, his voice as soft as my own.

"What do you think?" Mycroft asked as Sherlock looked around. "The flight of the dead."

"The plane blows up mid-air," Sherlock said after a moment. "Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties but nobody dies."

"Neat, don't you think?" Mycroft said, his eyes flicking from Sherlock to myself.

"Clever... but gross," I muttered, unsure about all of this. There was something in Mycroft's eyes that made me uneasy. I had seen it a few times in my life, especially as a child. It was what the ocean looked like just before the beginning of a storm.

"You've been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages- or were you just too bored to notice the pattern?" Mycroft said to Sherlock. I watched as a flicker of remembrance crossed my brother's face.

"We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight," Mycroft continued. "But that's the deceased for you- late, in every sense of the word."

"How's the plane going to fly?" Sherlock asked before immediately answering his own question. "Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It doesn't fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."

"Your MOD man," Sherlock said, but I saw the oncoming storm in Mycroft's eyes growing and I knew Sherlock was wrong.

"That's all it takes: on lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

"Hmm. You should screen your defense people more carefully."

"No, Sherlock, you don't-" I began until the storm finally took over in Mycroft's eyes, erupting in a loud, angry outburst that made me shut my mouth with a snap.

"I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I'm talking about you."

Sherlock frowned in confusion. Mycroft looked at me briefly before continuing, his voice soft once more.

"The damsel in distress," he said with a small smile. "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this wastextbook; the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle... and watch him dance."