John groaned, stretching. He clapped a hand to his neck, wincing. He'd definitely slept on it incorrectly again.
"Morning." Sarah said, walking into the room with a cup of coffee.
"Oh, morn... Augh." he winced. "Morning."
"See? I told you you should've slept on the lilo."
"No, no, no, I'm fine. I slept fine. It's very kind of you to let me stay." He said handing her the TV remote.
"Yeah, well, maybe next time I'll let you kip at the end of my bed." She gave him an impish smile as she turned the television on.
"And what about the time after that?" John asked quietly. Sarah winked at him, and sat on the arm of the couch, before starting to watch the morning news.
"Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century. The last time a painting of this magnitude showed up, it fetched over twenty million pounds."
"So, d'you want some breakfast?"
"I'd love some."
"Yeah, well you can make it yourself, because I'm gonna have a shower." She said, standing up and kissing John on the cheek. He smiled at her, before starting on his shirt buttons.
"This one is anticipated to do even better. We go back now to our main story. There's been a massive explosion in central London." John's head shot up, and immeditaly, he regretted it, and he held his neck, trying not to curse as he listened to the report. "As of yet, there have been no reports of any casualties, and the police here are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement." John saw the words "Baker Street", and automatically stood.
"Sarah, Sorry, I have to run!"
~_~_~
"Excuse me, can I get through? Excuse me!" John said, fighting through the crowd. "Excuse me, I live here!" He said, as he fought to the front. He showed one of the police officers his driver's liscence, and they let him under the yellow tape.
The building next to Speedy's Cafe was decimated. The whole front was in smithereens, and the second floor rooms were completely exposed to the air. All of the windows on Baker Street had been boarded up, as the glass panes had been blown out by the explosion.
"Sherlock! Clara!" He called upstairs, before running up to the second floor. Clara, now dressed in a neat black tweed suit jacket and skirt, as well as a red blouse, with her hair neatly parted and straight, was sitting in a chair next to Sherlock, and was glaring distastefully at the person in John's seat. Sherlock, dressed in black and purple, was doing the same, except for the fact that he was adjusting his violin strings. Clara looked up and smiled at him when he came in.
"Oh, John." Clara said. "Here, take my seat."
"No, no." John said, but Clara was already out of the chair and sitting, cross legged, on the arm of Sherlock's. He glanced up.
"John."
"I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?" He asked, and then suddenly noticed Mycroft Holmes sitting in his chair.
"Hmm? What?"
"I believe he means the explosion, Sherlock." Clara said, gesturing to the boarded up windows and the fallen items on the floor.
"Oh, yeah, we're fine. Gas leak, apparently." He looked back at his brother.
"I can't."
"You can't?"
"He can't." Clara said, clearly wishing to be out of the situation as soon as possible. "He's helping me with my case-"
"Don't lie to me, Clara. It doesn't become you. The case was declared cold a week ago."
"The stuff we've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time." Sherlock replied. John looked confused.
"Wait, Clara, you two know each other?"
"Unfortunately, I do." Clara said scathingly. "We've danced together in political games before, haven't we Mycroft? I had no idea that these two were related, they look nothing alike." She gestured between the two brothers, looking kindly at Sherlock and with clear disapproval (and dislike) at Mycroft.
"Yes, that's true. Mycroft looks more like mummy. I'm the better looking one." Sherlock replied. Clara smirked, and silently
agreed. John put a hand to his head, clearly annoyed by the three geniuses sitting in the room.
"Spare me your usual trivia. This is of national importance, you two." Sherlock, clearly annoyed, plucked several violin strings.
"How's the diet?"
"Fine." Clara let out a sharp breath through her nose.
"Look, Mycroft, I'm not loaning you Herbert, he has enough to do with looking after my daughters."
"Herbert? The butler?" John asked, looking very confused. Clara sighed.
"Look, this cannot leave the room, but Herbert is a former contract killer who is very loyal to me. Long story short, he's been a bodyguard to me and the children for some time now. The only one I actually trust, anyway." She looked darkly at Mycroft. "And with what's happened in the past six months, I need him around at all times."
"Perhaps you can get through to them, John." Mycroft said as he rubbed his temples. "I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent. And she's stubborn and relies on her pride to carry her through the day."
"If you're so invested, why don't you investigate it?" Clara asked, venom seeping into her voice.
"Oh dear god, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so ..." He stopped when all of them looked up at him, interested. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" Sherlock went back to tuning his violin. "Besides, a case like this, it requires... legwork." He grimaced.
"Oh, you might want to do some legwork, dear Mycroft, if you want the pounds to come off. I've lost about ten since I started up with this lot. There's an awful lot of running involved." Sherlock plucked one of the strings, finding that it was ridiculously out of tune. His lip curled.
"How's Sarah, John? And the lilo?"
"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa." Mycroft corrected, looking at his watch.
"Oh yes, of course." John looked like he wanted to say something, but Clara pursed her lips and shook her head once.
"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became ... pals. And especially since this lovely lady joined the parade." Clara glared at him.
"Bite me, Mycroft." Sherlock smirked, before trying to cover it.
"What's he like to live with? Hellish, I'd imagine." Mycroft said, not bothering to reply to Clara, although it was apparent that he had heard her. Apparently it just wasn't worth it to get into it with the one woman in the city who could make stock values plummet without batting an eyelash.
"I'm never bored." John said, trying to smooth over the tension.
"Good! That's good, isn't it?" His smile was so condecending that Clara almost stood up and slapped it off of him, but Sherlock placed a hand on her knee as if to say "it's not worth the jail time" and she settled down again on the arm of his chair. Mycroft handed John a file folder.
"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."
"Jumped in front of a train?" John asked.
"Seems the logical assumption."
"But?"
""But"?" Mycroft replied. The corners of John's mouth perked up.
"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident, would you?" Sherlock, who had just started applying rosin oil to his bowstring, smirked. Clara stifled a laugh. John wasn't stupid, no matter how Mycroft thought. And she wasn't stupid either.
"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system - the Bruce-Partington Program, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick." Mycroft replied.
"That wasn't very clever." Sherlock's smile grew.
"It's not the only copy."
"Ah."
"But it is secret. And missing."
"Top secret?" John asked, seeming to get a bit excited. Clara rolled her eyes. Mycroft was playing him, just like he'd played her long ago.
"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you. Clara, I brought Herbert to you, you owe me."
"And you stole over two million dollars from the British Royal Oil Comapny." She seethed. "I don't owe you a damn thing."
"You cannot trace that back to me."
"Perhaps, but do you know what I had to do in order to protect your name and stop myself from being put in prison for embezzeling? You've caused me enough trouble as it is, Mycroft. If anything, you owe me." Sherlock's smile grew into a grin.
"I'll make you, Clara."
"Oh, I'd like to see you try to force either of us." Sherlock said, after a long breath through his nose. "After all, she can't call Mummy, and I'm her favourite."
"Think it over." Mycroft said, staring down at both of them. Clara blew her bangs out of her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Sherlock raised his violin to his chin.
"Goodbye, John." Mycroft said, shaking John's hand. Clara managed to calm herself down enough that she wasn't about to kill him. "See you very soon." Mycroft nodded to Clara. "Good day."
"Rot in hell."
"Lovely. Sherlock-" His little brother picked up the bow for his violin and started playing an irritating series of notes. Clara hummed along, hoping that Mycroft would leave quicker. It succeeded; he was out of the door very quickly.
"Ahh, peace at last." Clara said, relaxing her posture.
"So, why do you hate him so much?" John said. Clara snorted.
"He tricked me into giving him two million dollars to fund a bill to give my company fewer restrictions in the middle east. Turns out that it was actually ransom money in a prisoner exchange with Iran."
"And why was that bad?"
"Because the prisoners were North Korean agents. Mycroft just wanted their information. That was back in '06."
"And don't forget the dinner party." Sherlock said. Clara's face twisted into a deeper scowl.
"Ah, yes of course. He said some very disrespectful things to me at a gala in Bristol a year or so ago. He called me a goldfish, of all things."
"So you two don't get along."
"We used to." Clara replied. "But now I couldn't really care less for him."
"And Sherlock, you're not... upset about this? About her antagonism towards your brother?"
"On the contrary, I find it rather endearing." Sherlock said. Clara went slightly pink.
"So, why'd you lie?" Sherlock looked back over at John. "You've got nothing on - not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding last night. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Oh! Oh, I see." Clara nodded. "Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."
"I'll never understand the psychology of it." Clara added. Suddenly, a phone began to ring. Clara reached into one pocket, and then another pocket, and then another pocket, and then shrugged. None of the phones ringing were hers. Sherlock set down his bow and reached into his pocket, answering it.
"Sherlock Holmes." His eyes widened with the anticipation of a chase. "Of course. How could I refuse?" he hung up, leaving his violin on the seat as he stood. "That was Lestrade; I've been summoned. Coming?" He looked at John.
"If you want me to."
"Of course. I'd be lost without my blogger. Clara, grab your shoes. You're coming, too."
"No choice?"
"Well, you could choose to fight me on this, but that went so well last time-"
"Fine, whatever." Clara said, grabbing her shoes from around the corner and slipping them on. "No one ever asks me!"
"That's because we know you'll agree, dear."
~_~_~
"You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones." Lestrade said. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Obviously."
"You'll love this, then. That explosion..." Sherlock glared at Donovan, and Donovan glared at Clara. They'd had their disagreements, to be sure.
"Gas leak, yes?"
"No."
"No?" Sherlock repeated, sounding very surprised and suspicious.
"Made to look like one. Techs just confirmed it." they entered Lestrade's office. There was nothing on his desk, except for a single, white envelope.
"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box - a very strong box - and inside it was this." He picked up the envelope. Clara saw that it was adressed to Sherlock.
"You haven't opened it?"
"It's addressed to you, isn't it?"
"You're afraid to be blown up." Clara said.
"We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped." Lestrade said, countering Clara. Sherlock picked up the envelope.
"How reassuring." The sarcasm and tension in the room was palpable. He carried the envelope over to the other side of the room, to examine it under a lamp.
"Nice stationery... Bohemian." Sherlock said.
"What?"
"It's from the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?"
"None." Sherlock looked really closely at the handwriting.
"She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold - iridium nib."
"She?" John asked.
"Obviously." Clara said, as she too looked at it closely. Sherlock glanced her, eyebrow quirking. "Clues in the handwriting. I, uh, took several handwriting analysis courses at Uni." Sherlock removed a letter opener from Lestrade's desk, and gently ripped it open. What slipped out of it made John stare.
"But that's - that's the phone, the pink phone!"
"What, from a 'Study in Pink'?"
"Well, obviously it's not the same phone, but it's supposed to look like..." He stopped for a minute. "Wait, a Study in Pink? You read his blog?"
"Course I read his blog! We all do." He squinted at sherlock, disbelief flooding his features. "D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" Donovan sniggered loudly, causing Clara to turn around and glare as if she was about to make Sally's stock market purchases worth a whole lot less. John blushed, internally swearing to himself to watch his grammar mistakes next entry.
"It isn't the same phone." Sherlock said. "This one's brand new. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, though, which means your blog has a far wider readership." John scratched his elbow, looking very awkward. Sherlock turned the pink phone on, and then opened the messages.
"You have one new message." Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeep. Five Greenwich pips.
"Is that it?" John asked.
"No. That's not it." Sherlock replied. A picture of a unfinished fireplace, with peeling wallpaper all around appeared on the screen.
"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade said, looking thouroughly bemused.
"It's a warning." Sherlock said quietly.
"A warning?" Clara asked, thinking back to her family seal, carved into the floor of Ryan's bedroom.
"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us that it's going to happen again." He set his teeth, before striding out at a hefty pace. "I've seen this place before."
"Hang on. What's gonna happen again?" Clara asked, sounding a little smaller.
"Boom!" Lestrade grabbed his coat, following the three out of New Scotland Yard. Clara felt her blood run cold. The was a pit in her stomach; something just wasn't right.
~_~_~
"You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat?" Mrs Hudson asked, unlocking the door to 221C. Clara glanced at the keyhole, and then glanced at Sherlock, who was glancing at the keyhole, and then Sherlock glanced at her, who was glancing at him, who was glancing at the keyhole.
"The door's been opened recently." Sherlock said, glancing at how pale Clara was before he opened the padlock holding the door shut.
"No, can't be. That's the only key." Mrs Hudson replied. Sherlock continued to look at Clara.
"Are you okay?" She gave him a swift shake of her head, and he pursd his lips. Sherlock opened the flat with Mrs, Hudson's keys.
"I can't get anyone interested in this flat. I think it's because it's damp, but that's the curse of basements." Sherlock had the door open, and they all went inside, except for Mrs. Hudson, who kept talking. "I had this place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls... " The door slammed. The reached the botom of the stairs rather quickly.
The room looked a lot like it did in the photograph; it was dimly lit, with peeling wall paper, several mirrors, an unfinished fireplace, and hardwood floors. The one difference was that in the middle of the room, there was a pair of shoes.
"Shoes..." John said, as if it werent obvious enough. Clara bit her tongue until Sherlock started moving towards them. She placed a warning hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
"He's a bomber, remember." Her voice was filled with caution. He nodded, and got down on the floor by them. His nose was only about a centimeter from them when the pink phone went off. He stood, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out. He placed it on speaker.
"Hello?"
"H-hello... s-sexy." A woman said over the phone, clearly very stressed.
"Who's this?" Sherlock asked.
"Ah...I've... I've... sent you a... a little puzzle... just to say... hi." Clara realized that the woman on the phone was sobbing.
"Who's talking, and why are you crying?" Sherlock asked, looking almost concerned. Clara's face twisted into one of fear. The woman gave another sob.
"I-I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing... and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out."
"Oh my god." Clara said.
"The curtain rises." Sherlock murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, what did you mean?" Clara pressed. Sherlock glanced back at her. The fear in her eyes was palpable.
"I've been been expecting this for some time." Sherlock replied.
"Holy hell." Clara said, beginning to shake. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating. The speech patterns that the woman had repeated were so similar to ones she had heard long ago, but she couldn't quite place them. She shuddered. She could always place things.
"And there's little... Clara. It's been so... so long, darling." The woman sobbed. "Have you missed me, my dear?"
"Who are you? Sherlock demanded into the phone.
"Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock ... or I'm going ... to be ... so naughty."
"I think I'm going to be sick." Clara gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth as the call ended.