"Well, absolutely no one should have been able to empty that bank account other than myself and Helen." Mr. Harcourt, the client, said.
Sherlock stood up from his chair. "Why didn't you assume it was your wife?"
"Because I've always had total faith in her." Mr. Harcourt said.
"No, it's because you emptied it." Sherlock said. "Weight loss, hair dye, Botox, affair."
"Lawyer." Evelyn says holding out a business card towards Mrs. Harcourt.
----------------
"And your pen-pal's emails just stopped, did they?" Sherlock asked.
The woman who'd come in a few minutes before began to cry. Sherlock let go of her hand, and walked over to where Eve sat, jotting down a few notes.
"Stepfather posing as online boyfriend." He said. "Breaks it off, breaks her heart, she swears off relationships, stays at home and he still has her wage coming in."
Evelyn put down her pen, enraged.
"Mr. Windibank, you have been a total―"
--------------
"This one has us all baffled." Lestrade said, tearing crime scene tape from a doorway.
For their latest crime, Sherlock felt the need to leave the flat and delve into the Yard's unsolvable cases.
"I don't doubt it." Sherlock said.
The three investigators descended into a moldy basement. A skeleton sat behind an ornate wooden desk, dressed in a suit. Lestrade flicked on two CSI lights, and Eve and Sherlock got to work.
The body smelled of cedar and new mothballs, and Evelyn could detect races of fire damage. Sherlock pulled out his phone, researching.
The floor rumbled, shaking dust loose.
"Trains?" Lestrade asked.
"Trains." Sherlock confirmed.
Eve examined the bones more closely.
"Male, 40 to 50." She said. "But the skeleton can't be more than six months old."
Sherlock opened a hidden compartment in the desk and pulled out a book. He blew dust from the cover, revealing the title: How I Did It by Jack the Ripper.
"It's impossible!" Lestrade exclaimed.
"The corpse is six months old. It's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years, in a case facing southeast, judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire damage sale a week ago." Sherlock explained.
"So the whole thing was a fake?" Lestrade asked.
"Yes." Evelyn agreed.
"Looked so promising." Lestrade complained.
Sherlock was already on his way out the door, reading a text from another client. Eve gave Lestrade a smile and followed her detective out of the door.
--------------
Evelyn pressed the doorbell of a flat in Surrey. Instead of a bell, it blared "mind the gap, mind the gap." A heavyset man in his mid-thirties, Howard Shilcott, opened the door. Sherlock held out the Chullo he and Mycroft had deduced earlier that morning.
"Oh, thanks for hanging onto it." Howard said.
"No problem." Sherlock said. "So, what's this all about, Mr. Shilcott?"
"My girlfriend's a big fan of yours." Howard said as they followed him into an office coated in train paraphernalia.
Sherlock chuckled. "Girlfriend?"
Eve slapped his shoulder, shushing him.
"Sorry, do go on." Sherlock said.
"I like trains." Howard said.
"Yes."
"I work on the Tube, on the District Line, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared." Howard sat down at his desk, pulling a video up on his computer. "I was just whizzing through, and, uh, I found something a bit bizarre."
Sherlock and Evelyn shared a look before moving to stand behind Howard.
"Now, this was a week ago." Howard pressed play. "The last train on the Friday night, Westminster Station. Now, this man gets into the last car."
"Car?" Eve asked.
"They're cars, not carriages." Howard corrected. "It's the legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, trying not to laugh.
"He said he liked trains." Sherlock said lowly.
"And the next stop, St. James's Park Station. And..."
The train doors open, but no one gets off. In fact, there's no one to be seen inside the car at all. Sherlock and Eve both leaned in to look closer.
"I thought you'd like it." Howard said. "He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger, and the car is empty at St. James's Park Station. Explain that, Mr. Holmes."
"There's something else." Howard went on, "The driver of that train hasn't been to work since. According to his flatmate, he's on holiday. Came into some money."
"Bought off?" Sherlock suggested.
"Most likely." Evelyn agreed. "If the driver was in on it, the passenger must have gotten off."
"There's nowhere he could go." Howard insisted. "It's a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There's no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels. Nothing on any map. Nothing. The train never stops, and the man vanishes. Good, innit?"
Sherlock watched the security footage of the man getting in the car. "I know that face."
He entered his mind palace, searching for answers. Eve knew he might be there for a while, so she continued asking Howard questions ― about the case, his life, and trains.
By the time Sherlock opened his eyes, Howard was off working on a train set, and Evelyn had made some deductions of her own.
"The trip from Westminster to St. James's Park normally takes five minutes. That journey took ten." She said.
"We're going to need maps, lot's of maps. Older maps, all the maps." Sherlock said, heading out of the flat and down the stairs to the street.
Eve followed. "Definitely."
"Fancy some chips?" Sherlock asked.
"Excuse me?" Evelyn asked.
"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road, the owner always gives me extra portions." Sherlock explained.
"Did you clear him of murder?" Eve asked.
"No, I helped him put up some shelves." Sherlock replied.
"Sherlock?" Evelyn asked. "You don't eat during cases."
"No?" Sherlock said, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
"No." Eve said, standing across from him in the foyer.
"No, and you don't either." He said, stepping up to her and buttoning her coat.
"True." She breathed.
"So," He pulled her collar up, brushing her jaw in the process. "Fancy some chips?"
"Sure." She managed.
"Good." Sherlock said, smiling softly.
He stepped back, leading her out onto the street, where snow began to fall. Despite the cold, they decided to walk to Marylebone Road.
"Where did you go?" Evelyn asked eventually.
"Hm?"
"While you were away, where did you go?" She clarified.
"Moriarty's network was vast." Sherlock said. "I disassembled branches in Germany, India, Switzerland, and a number of other places."
"Did...was, erm...were you alright?" Eve asked.
"It was dangerous at times, yes." Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around his torso, where the bruises from his time in Serbia were still fresh.
"I wish―" Evelyn began. "Well, you're back now, that's what matters." Eve said.
Sherlock glanced at her as they walked. Her hands were shoved deep into her pockets and her shoulders were hunched up defensively against the cold and her own emotions. He knew there was something bothering her.
Evelyn didn't finish whatever it was she was going to say. Sherlock had no idea how to make her feel better. He knew it was his fault, and it left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sherlock wasn't used to guilt. Part of him was angry, didn't she understand that he had no choice? The other part of him knew that if she had died...well, he wouldn't have let that happen.
They reached the fish shop and he bought her a large helping of fish and chips. It was too cold to stay and eat, so he hailed them a cab and she brought the golden treat back to Baker Street.
Eve insisted on sharing the fish and chips with Sherlock, and they'd just tucked in at the kitchen table when a commotion erupted from downstairs.
"I think someone's got John. John Watson?" Mary's voice said.
Sherlock's eyes met Evelyn's and they both leapt to their feet. Mary came up the stairs, and Eve and Sherlock met her in the doorway.
"What's happened?" Evelyn asked.
"Someone sent me this." Mary pulled out her mobile phone. "At first I thought it was just a Bible things, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip code."
She pulled up a long text.
"First word, then every third." Sherlock said.
"'Save John Watson'" Eve decoded, before rushing down the stairs.
Sherlock and Mary followed. They stood on the dark street as rain began to drizzle.
"Where are we going?" Mary asked.
"St. James the Less." Sherlock called over his shoulder. "It's a church. Twenty minutes by car. Did you drive here?"
"Yes." Mary said.
"We don't have enough time." Evelyn said.
"What are we waiting for?" Mary exclaimed.
"This." Sherlock stepped into the street as a motorcycle approached. He ordered the two passengers to relinquish the bike and the helmets.
"Mary, take your car." Eve said, getting on the bike behind Sherlock. "We'll save him."
Sherlock sped off, winding down streets, and speeding around corners. Evelyn held Mary's phone as another message came in.
Getting warmer, Mr. Holmes. You have ten minutes.
"That are they going to do to him?" Eve asked worriedly.
"I don't know."
Eight minutes and counting...
Police blocked the street ahead of them. Sherlock turned to the left and rode down a pedestrian walkway, cutting their time by at least three minutes. They rattled down two sets of steps.
Better hurry, things are heating up around here.
Evelyn tightened her grip around Sherlock's waist as they wove between traffic.
Stay of execution. You have two minutes.
"Sherlock, they're going to kill him." Eve said.
Getting warmer...heating up...oh my god. She thought.
"It's bonfire night, we have to―" She shouted.
What a shame Mr. Holmes. John's quite a Guy!
The pulled alongside the church as a man lit the Guy Fawkes bonfire. The crowd cheered as the flame rose. Evelyn's heart pounded as she jumped off the bike. They abandoned the motorcycle and pushed through the screaming crowd to reach the burning pile.
"John!" Sherlock bellowed, grabbing pieces of wood and ripping them away from the pyre.
Eve braved the heat with her detective, pulling hot debris away until they saw him. Sherlock and Evelyn grabbed their friend, dragging him away from the fire. He lay on the ground, delirious but alive. They knelt above him.
"John? John?"
"John, say something." Eve looked him over for burns and injuries.
"John!" Mary's voice came over the crowd.
She ran to them, falling on the ground next her fiancée, crying. John coughed, reaching towards her weakly.
Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief, dropping her head on Sherlock's shoulder. He squeezed Eve's hand, watching Mary and John reunite.
--------------
Evelyn and Sherlock were making breakfast when unexpected visitors arrived at Baker Street. Sherlock left the pan on the stove at the sight of them, immediately trying to get them to leave.
"Good morning, love." The older woman said.
"Hello, son." The man said.
Eve's face broke out in an enormous grin as she watched the interaction from the kitchen doorway.
"Sherlock, are these your parents?" She asked.
Sherlock suppressed a frown. "Yes. It's not a big deal, they were just leaving―"
"No they were not!" Evelyn said. "You are not kicking your parents out on my watch."
She walked over to them, offering a handshake.
"Hello, I'm Eve. It's lovely to meet you." She said.
"Oh! You're her!" Sherlock's mother pulled Evelyn into a hug.
Sherlock's father shook her hand with both of his, smiling. "We've heard a lot about you."
"You have?" Eve raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.
All of a sudden, he regained interest in the breakfast making process.
"Yes, well Mycroft can't tell us about his life, and we don't particularly like to hear about the murders Sherlock solves."
"I see." Evelyn said. "Would you like to join us for breakfast? Sherlock and I were just making some egg sandwiches."
"Sherlock is cooking?" His father asked.
"Well, yes." Eve said. "Eggs are the only thing I trust him with, but he makes them very well."
"You are a wonder!" Sherlock's mother exclaimed.
Evelyn laughed. "Thank you. I don't know that I'd go that far, but thank you."
Eve led Mr. and Mrs. Holmes into the kitchen and sat them at the table. She poured them all steaming cups of tea and asked a lot of questions.
"What were Sherlock and Mycroft like as children?"
"Has Sherlock always loved mysteries?"
"How did you two meet?"
Sherlock frowned into his sandwich as his parents told stories and asked Evelyn questions as well. They all eventually moved to the sitting room with Sherlock's parents on the couch, Eve at the desk nearby, listening, and Sherlock pouting in his chair.
"We always knew Mycroft would be a leader."
"Sherlock was our sweet little pirate. He was always so observational and astute, but he loved to play more than his brother."
"How long did you live in the States?"
"What drew you to forensics and investigating?"
"We met in London, not too far from here, actually. She was getting in and elevator as I was getting out. I saw her and...well, I thought she was unlike anyone I'd ever met."
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure there's some London activity you two are just dying to go do or see or eat."
"Oh, that reminds me, the funniest thing happened the other day." His father said. "I couldn't find my lotto ticket, and your mum and I were thinking about how much we needed our consulting detective to help us."
"I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?' He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you dear?" His mother said.
"Afraid so." Sherlock's father agreed.
"Oh, keys, small changes, sweeties. Especially his glasses."
"Glasses." Sherlock's father said at the same time.
"Blooming things. I said, 'Why don't you get a chain, wear 'em round your neck?' and he says, 'What? Like Larry Grayson?'"
"Larry Grayson." Sherlock's parents spoke at once again.
Sherlock stood up, impatient. "So did you find it, your lottery ticket?"
Sherlock stepped on top of the coffee table, looking at his case board.
"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see St. Paul's, the Tower, but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament. Some big debate going on." Sherlock's mother said.
The door opened, revealing John.
"John!" Sherlock and Evelyn said at the same time.
"Sorry, you're busy." John said.
"No, no, no, they were just leaving." Sherlock said, ushering his parents up and towards the door.
"Oh, no, were we?" Sherlock's mother protested.
"Yes." Sherlock insisted, leading them to the door by the arm.
"No, if you've got a case..." John protested.
"No, not a case, no, no, no." Sherlock said.
"Well, we're here 'till Saturday, remember." Sherlock's mother said as he herded her out the door.
"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out."
"Yes, well, give us a ring." She continued. "It was wonderful to meet you, Eve dear!"
"Very nice, yes, good. Get out."
Sherlock's mother stopped the door being shut in her face with the toe of her shoe.
"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock." She whispered. "All that time, people thinking the worst of you. We're just so pleased it's all over."
"Ring up more often, won't you?" Sherlock's father asked. "She worries."
"Mmmhmmm." Sherlock tried to close the door again.
"Promise?" Sherlock's mother said.
"Promise." Sherlock said before finally shutting the door and leaning back against it.
"Sorry about that." He said.
"No, it's fine." John said. "Clients?"
"Just his parents." Evelyn said with a cheeky smile.
Sherlock gave her a look.
"Your parents?" John asked.
"In town for a few days." Sherlock explained.
"Your parents?" John repeated.
"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of Les Mis . Tried to talk me into doing it."
John looked out the window. "Those were your parents?"
"Yes."
"Well," John chuckled. "That is not what I..."
Eve began to giggle as well. "It's really not what either of us..."
"What?" Sherlock asked, confused.
"I mean they're just so...ordinary." John said.
"It's a cross I have to bear." Sherlock said.
Evelyn and John chuckled for a moment until John became serious.
"Did they know too?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock feigned innocence.
"That you've spent the last two years playing hide and seek?"
Sherlock fiddled with some paper on his desk. "Maybe."
"Ah, so that's why they weren't at the funeral!" John said.
"Sorry, sorry again!" Sherlock exclaimed.
Eve grabbed the cuff of his sleeve, brushing his wrist. He looked at her, calming down.
"Sorry." He said.
John looked at them, taking a deep breath.
"So, no more moustache?" Evelyn observed.
"Yeah. Wasn't working for me." John said.
"I'm glad." Sherlock said.
"You didn't like it?" He asked.
"No, I prefer my doctors clean-shaven." Sherlock said.
John sat down in his chair. "That's not a sentence you hear every day."
"Are you feeling alright?" Eve asked.
"Yeah, not bad. Bit smoked." John said.
"Right." Sherlock said.
"Last night, who did that?" John asked. "And why did they target me?"
"I don't know." Sherlock said.
"Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to so with this terrorist thing you talked about?"
Sherlock moved back to the case board. "I don't know. I can't see the pattern, it's too nebulous." He said. "Why would an agent give his life to tell us something so incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."
"Give his life?" John asked.
"According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London, that's all we know." He turned to the case board. "These are my rats, John."
"Rats?"
"His markers." Evelyn said. "Criminals, agents, low-lifes. People who could get arrested or deported suddenly."
"If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up." Sherlock said. "Five of them are behaving perfectly normally but the sixth..."
"I know him, don't I?" John said, pointing to a photo of the man from the underground security feed.
"Lord Moran, Peer of the Realm. Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the Establishment."
"Yes."
"Since 1996, he's been working for North Korea." Eve said.
"What?" John said.
"He's the big rat. Rat number one." Sherlock said. "He's just done something very suspicious indeed."
They pulled up the security footage and showed him Moran's disappearance between Westminster and St. James's Park.
"There's something, something, something I'm missing." Sherlock said.
"Any idea who they are, this underground network?" John asked.
"Underground network." Evelyn repeated to herself, replaying the footage.
"Our rat's just come out of his den." Sherlock said.
"Sherlock," Eve said. "It's not an underground network, it's an Underground network!"
"Right." John said. "What?"
Sherlock nodded, moving over to the desk. "Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face."
He replayed the security footage.
"Seven cars leave Westminster and only six arrive at St. James's Park." Evelyn pointed out.
"Ah, but that's...I mean, it's impossible." John said.
"Moran didn't disappear. The entire Tube compartment did." Sherlock said. "The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."
"Detached it where?" John asked. "You said there was nothing between those stations."
"Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth. That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere." Sherlock said.
"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?" John wondered.
"It vanishes between St. James's Park and Westminster." Sherlock said. "Lord Moran vanishes, John is kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks party..."
"Oh my God." Eve said. "Sherlock, it's the fifth of November."
Sherlock turned to the case board. "Lord Moran, he's a Peer of the Realm, normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill. But he won't be there, not tonight. Not the fifth of November."
"'Remember, remember.'" John said.
"'Gunpowder, treason and plot!'" Sherlock finished.
"We need to call Howard Chilcott." Evelyn said.
Howard spoke over video chat. "There's nothing down there, Mr. Holmes. I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations."
Sherlock searched the maps strewn across the kitchen table. "There has to be. Check again."
"This whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff." John said. "Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand."
"It's none of those, we've accounted for those." Sherlock said.
"St. Margaret Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street..." Eve suggested, cross-referencing an old map.
"Hang on, hang on, Sumatra Road." Howard said. "You mentioned Sumatra Road, Ms. Hudson. There is something! I knew it rang a bell. Yes. There was a station down there."
"Well, why wasn't it on the maps?" John asked.
"Because it was closed before it ever opened." Howard explained. "They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface."
Howard pointed to it on a map.
"It's right under the Palace of Westminster." Eleanor breathed.
"So what's down there? A bomb?" John asked.
Sherlock and Eve both made for the door, grabbing coats and gloves on the way.
"Oh." John said, scrambling to follow.
Evelyn hailed a separate cab. "You take John to Westminster. I'll go to MI6 and call you a back-up team." She said.
"What? No, I need-" Sherlock protested.
"You have John." She said. "I have to go deal with a certain rat."
Sherlock smiled briefly as she got into her taxi and he and John got into the other.
Eve reached her office, and picked up her phone, dialing the secure line to her team.
"Red five, this is Agent Hudson, I need bomb squad at 51.4995 degrees North, 0.1248 degrees West. There is an abandoned Underground tunnel set to explode right beneath Parliament. I need a response team there now."
"Copy that, ma'am."
Evelyn hung up the phone, grabbed a gun, and headed downstairs to meet several other agents. They rode together to one of London's fancier hotels, and got into position.
Lord Moran exited his room, looking down the hallway on his way to elevator. He pressed the button several times, getting anxious. The door wouldn't open, and he began pressing repeatedly, panicking.
Eve cocked the gun, holding it to the back of his head. The other agents came around corners and through doors, pointing their guns at the traitor. Lord Moran dropped his case, and put his hands up.
--------------
Mary, John, Sherlock, Evelyn, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson all gathered in 221B to celebrate the averted attack and John and Mary's engagement. Sherlock excused himself briefly to answer a distress call from Mycroft. Evidently Les Mis was going to kill him. Outside, reporters and camera crews milled about, waiting to hear the story of how Sherlock solved the latest case.
"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"Well we thought May." Mary said.
Sherlock opened a bottle of champagne, pouring a glass for everyone.
"Ah, a spring wedding." Mrs. Hudson said.
"Yeah, well once we've actually got engaged." Mary quipped.
"Yeah." John said.
"We were interrupted last time." She sent Sherlock a look.
Eve chuckled, and Sherlock smiled.
"Well, I can't wait." Lestrade said.
"You will be there, Sherlock?" Mary asked.
"Weddings, not really my thing." He said, but winked.
Just then, Molly arrived with her own fiancée, Tom.
"Hello." She greeted. "This is Tom. Tom, this is everyone."
"Hi." He said.
"Hi." Lestrade said, trying not to laugh.
"It's really nice to see you again." Tom said to John and Mary. "And nice to meet some of you." He said, looking to Sherlock and Lestrade.
Sherlock sized Tom up, and then looked at Evelyn. Sherlock shook Tom's hand. Eve could see the laughter in his eyes as he headed for the stairs.
"Ready?" Sherlock said to her and John.
"Ready."
The three of them headed downstairs to talk to the press. In the entryway, Sherlock and Evelyn put on their coats.
"So you're responsible that?" Sherlock asked her, chuckling.
"Not a word." She grumbled.
"Best not." John agreed. "But I'm still waiting."
"Hmm?" Sherlock asked.
"Why did they try and kill me?" John asked. "If they knew you were onto them, why come after me? Put me in the bonfire?"
"I don't know. I don't like not knowing." Sherlock admitted. "Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat. I don't know who was behind all this, but I will find out, I promise you."
"Don't pretend you're not enjoying this." John warned.
"Hmm?"
"Being back. Being a hero again." John said.
"Don't be stupid." Sherlock protested.
"You'd have to be an idiot not to see it." John said. "You love it."
"Love what?"
"Being Sherlock Holmes." Eve said.
"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean." Sherlock said, turning towards the door.
"Sherlock, you are going to tell me how you did it?" John asked. "How you jumped off that building and survived?"
"You know my methods, John. I am known to be indestructible." Sherlock said.
"No, but seriously. When you were dead, we went to your grave." John said.
Evelyn crossed her arms, remembering that day.
"I should hope so." Sherlock said.
"I made a little speech." John continued. "I actually spoke to you."
Sherlock turned around. "I know. I was there."
"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead." John said.
"I heard you." Sherlock said. "I heard both of you."
His piercing blue eyes met Eve's gaze. Her pulse raced and she felt as if her heart had just dropped into her shoes.
"Anyway," Sherlock said, turning back to the door. "Time to go and be Sherlock Holmes."
He grabbed a deerstalker cap and pulled it on, opening the door and greeting the crowd. Evelyn followed, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
"I love you. I should say that I loved you, but I can't. I love you, Sherlock Holmes...You changed me. You showed me things, you made me feel things, you made me think. God, you made me angry. I hated you some days, but hate is not the opposite of love. Indifference is. I could never be indifferent to you."
"I heard both of you."
Shit.
He knows.