'London Eye. Bomb in one of the capsules. Not enough to do any significant damage, but enough to severely injure eleven people and stop the London Eye for eight hours. Everyone got off but there was another bomb in the same capsule. No one got hurt but the capsule collapsed onto the ground. Happened as soon as I showed up. Capsule number 33. SH'
'Fun fact. London Eye only has 32 capsules, but they skipped number 13, so you can actually go into number 33, even though there are not 33 capsules. SH'
Sherlock, in his flat, was thinking about what had happened at Big Ben. It hadn't made any sense, and he was the King of making sense of things. There was a dead man on the pavement, head blown off. A dead man on the pavement who Sherlock completely disregarded. Yes, someone killed him, but he was just a distraction. A man whose job was to run a twitter account for a local deli. Unimportant.
The first thing Sherlock did when he got to Big Ben was dismiss the man and run up the steps. It was all just a rouse. But what was he distracting me from? Mrs. Hudson walked into his flat and disrupted his thoughts.
"I thought you might want some tea dear, after what's happened." She put the tea on the table beside him. She looked at Sherlock and studied him, as Sherlock studied her.
"Mrs. Hudson," he asked, "Why are you bringing me tea to my flat at 11 pm?"
"Well, I was watching the telly, looking at the news, and it was talking about Big Ben, which reminded me of you. The kettle was already boiling because I can't go to bed without a good cuppa, so I thought I would bring you some."
Sherlock ran out of the flat, down the stairs, and into Mrs. Hudson's flat. Mrs. Hudson yelled after him, asking him what he was doing and where he was going, but she should have known he was going to look at the news. Big Ben was being shown, the clock face illuminated with lights. Instead of listening to what the news reporters had to say (which was probably nothing as Sherlock hadn't given Lestrade any information, which means Lestrade couldn't give out any information) Sherlock looked at the clock face. Some of the lights of were out. He immediately called Lestrade.
"Are you at Big Ben?"
"Yes, why? Is everything okay?" Lestrade sounded afraid, fearing what he did not know.
"Run up the clock tower and see how many lights are out." Sherlock hung up the phone as Mrs. Hudson finally made her way into her living room.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" She took a stance in case Sherlock acted erratically. He has been acting like he's been on drugs the past few days.
"Solving a case, Mrs. Hudson." He ran out of 221 B Baker Street, hailed a cab, and made his way to Big Ben.
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Lestrade greeted him, panting from running up and down so many stairs, and reported his findings. "There are 28 light bulbs in total, only 15 lights are working."
Sherlock looked disappointed. "That's not what I asked you."
"15 lights working, 13 not working." Sherlock nodded, his way of saying thanks. "Why do you need this? How does it help the case?"
Sherlock laughed at Lestrade's ignorance, to which Lestrade furrowed his brows. "The 13th letter of the alphabet is M."
"Sherlock, it can't be Moriarty. He's dead. You know that."
"Yes, but--" Lestrade's phone went off. A call. He answered it. He looked concerned. Where are we off to now? Sherlock thought. He started to walk to Lestrade's car before Lestrade grabbed his shoulder to stop him.
"Go home, Sherlock. Get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a big day."
Sherlock looked into his friend's eyes, unable to read what he had just heard over the phone. The gaze was removed when Lestrade looked at his surroundings. The corners of Sherlock's vision seemed funny, cloudy. He could not think straight. He hailed a cab and went back to 221 B, falling asleep on the staircase up to his flat. Mrs. Hudson, being unable to move him, brought him a blanket and put a cup of tea a few steps above him.
Lestrade went to his house, brought out a glass and a bottle of whisky. He poured some whisky into his glass and then started to drink from the bottle. Drinking to forget, to lessen his fears; he doesn't want a drink, he needs one. He is traumatized from the phone call. A robotic voice.
"Do not tell Sherlock. Do not respond. Just listen." A pause. He could hear what sounded like newscasters in the background. "Tomorrow. Another bomb. Or two. We'll see how I'm feeling. Tell Sherlock to get some sleep. He's gonna need it as he won't be able to get any after what's going to happen tomorrow. 135 metres high, 25 kilometres in all directions. Not the bomb, those will be small. Not anything significant. See you tomorrow." The voice laughed, the filter making it sound robotic. Then the voice started to sing. "Yoooouu won't see meeee." Hung up. Dial tone.
Subconsciously, without even realizing, Lestrade finished the whole bottle of whiskey. He then grabbed the glass and drank that, too. In his drunken state, although very tired, he made sure to check his front door before crashing on his bed.
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The next day, Lestrade walked in to work. Everyone looked uneasy. Nonetheless, he made his way to his desk with a coffee in hand. When he got to his desk he started to feel uneasy. Everyone else felt uneasy because of yesterday's events, but he felt uneasy as he was afraid of what event would happen today. He checked his memos, where another note had been added. "51.5033° N, 0.1195° W" Lestrade looked it up on Google; The London Eye. He quickly texted Sherlock and then notified London Yard.
Bomb squads, helicopters, everything and everyone went to the London Eye. The ferris wheel started to evacuate people calmly (they were not notified of the severity of the situation, just that they had to get everyone off.) The tourists and some locals waiting in line were starting to leave, upset that the London Eye was being closed off for the day, and for an unknown reason.
Everyone was almost off the ferris wheel, people walking around, and the helicopter and police officers on the ground announced to evacuate the area. As people started leaving quickly, Lestrade saw Sherlock. He started to call him over when a bomb went off, completely disabling the ferris wheel. People started to scream, running as far away and as fast as they could. There were still 3 capsules full of people that had to be evacuated. The bomb squad started looking for a culprit, but they couldn't find anyone. There were too many people, running and screaming, for them to make out a clear figure. About a minute later, once most people had left the London Eye area, another bomb went off, making a capsule fall to the ground. Thank God no one had been in it.
Lestrade started shouting orders, bomb squad being ready for anything, helicopter floating in the air unaware of what to do. With everyone running around him, Sherlock stood still, looking into the three capsules that were still not evacuated. Sherlock knew well enough that people want to see their own destruction, see the scared faces; what Sherlock did not know was that there was a man on board one of the capsules that was a better actor than him.
Yes, the bomber was inside the capsule, pretending to be afraid, and would later be helped out of a capsule with help of the fire department that were on their way. Not only would he get away, he would be helped by the very people that are trying to catch him.
Sherlock walked over to the fallen capsule, number 33. He checked inside, dodging glass shards, and found a note. "Fun fact. London Eye has only 32 capsules, but they skipped number 13, so you can actually go into number 33, even though there are not 33 capsules." 13; M; Moriarty. But Moriarty is dead. So who is going through all this trouble to recreate Moriarty's genius work? Who could be more genius than Moriarty.
John ran up to Sherlock with his cell phone, panting, Rosamund on his chest. "It's Emma."
Sherlock took the phone. "Hello?"
"No one," Emma simply stated, "No one is more genius than Moriarty."
"So you came to the same conclusion then." Sherlock looked over at Rosie and smiled at her. She shouldn't be amid all this chaos.
"So then you also don't know who is doing this."
The phone call cut out, and Sherlock returned the phone to John. "Get her out of here."
John nodded, and started walking away, before turning back to Sherlock. "Something big is going down here, Sherlock. Be careful." A pause. "If not for yourself, for Rosie."
Sherlock nodded. "I will, John. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. Eat something please. If not for yourself, for Rosie."
John, who knew too well about his depression causing him a lack of appetite, nodded. "I will, Sherlock." He waked away and hailed a cab, and Sherlock looked back at the note in his hand, wondering what event will happen next.