Don't Underestimate the Doctor
The room was small, only eight by ten feet long, completely soundproof, and poorly illuminated by a single dim bulb. The door was bolted shut from the outside, and a time bomb sat at one end, ready to blow.
Greg, Sally, Anderson, Sherlock and John stood with their backs against the cold steel door, each thinking about how they could get out in one piece. Greg had gotten an anonymous tip that a murder had been committed in a warehouse on the docks; he had called in Sherlock to help, since it had seemed to be a bad one. They had just arrived when they heard a loud bang and all of them had rushed into the room, only to find the bomb and a note.
Before they could get out, the door slammed shut behind them, trapping them in. The note lay on the floor before them. Anderson carefully picked it up in his gloved hands and read out loud, "Dear Mr. Holmes, do not approach the bomb. Should you get any closer than two feet, it will blow up. You have thirty minutes to figure out a way to disarm it, or die."
"We can't touch it, we can't even get within two feet of it to examine it without it blowing up in our faces, and the countdown is now at twenty-five minutes." Sherlock assumed his thinking pose, "Yet there must be a way for us to disarm it."
"If there's a way to disarm it, I'm sure you'll think of it, Freak." Sally sneered at Sherlock, who shrugged, not really listening to her.
"Shut it, Sally! Now is not the time to antagonize Sherlock," Greg snapped at his partner before turning to watch the detective concentrate on the problem at hand. "Is there any chance of disarming it, Sherlock, or are we going to be nothing but smears here in just a few?"
"We won't be smears, Greg," John's voice seemed disjointed. "We'll be nothing but ash when that thing blows. I've seen what happens when an IED blows at close range; I've heard the screams of the survivors."
Everyone turned to look at the doctor/soldier, who was sitting with his head in between his knees against the wall. A shudder ran down his spine, and he seemed incredibly fragile for someone who had dealt with so much.
"John?" Greg felt a pang of concern for the blonde man. Now was definitely not the time to have him flash back to the war; there was no telling what might happen if he did. "You all right?"
It was a long moment before John responded. "Am I all right?" He stood up shakily and faced the group of friends he'd made over the past two years, his blue eyes haunted. "I've seen more men die than you ever have, Greg; I've held helpless children torn apart by bombs and gunfire; I've bathed in rivers of dead men's blood, trying to save just one man; I've killed men in the blink of an eye and watched as their blood stained the burning sand beneath them; I've promised the dying that I'd make sure they made it home; I've reassured thousands that they'd be just fine, while I watched their lifeblood pouring out of them like a crimson tide; I've seen my own blood running out of my leg like there was no end to it; and you have the nerve to ask me if I'm all right?"
His voice rose considerably; even Sherlock flinched as he got louder, and then, as quickly as his rage had come, he was once again the calm, collected doctor. His eyes settled back to a cold blue, almost deathly, and he ran a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. "My apologies, I didn't mean to lose my temper like that." John looked away from the shocked expressions. "I've been having a rough few nights... my lack of sleep is getting to me."
Everyone, Sherlock included, felt somewhat surprised that the usually peaceful doctor had exploded like that.
"More like a rough week," Sherlock muttered under his breath, remembering how the past week had been nothing but nightmare after nightmare for John, who was clearly still suffering. In a louder voice he added, "You could have told me you know, I would have done something to help."
John just shook his head sadly, "I have to face these demons on my own."
Anderson decided it was time to butt in. "I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but we do have a very real problem: we're down to ten minutes on the timer."
As one, they all turned to face the bomb again, remembering the situation they were in. "What are we going to do? Any ideas, Freak?" Sally crossed her arms, frowning.
"None, I'm not a bomb expert." Sherlock threw up his hands in exasperation. "I've never made a study of how to disarm bombs from more than two feet away."
"I know how." Once again, all eyes swung back to John, who was staring thoughtfully at the bomb.
Eyebrows raised, Greg asked how John could possibly know how to disarm a bomb like this one.
"It's not easy, you have to be exact where you hit, or else it'll blow; and you have to hit all three spots within four seconds."
"What are you going to hit it with?" Anderson raised an eyebrow, thinking that John must be nuts.
"Three bullets, now get behind me and lay down on your stomachs, cover your heads with you hands please." John waited for everyone to get behind him before he pulled out his old service pistol.
The three shots rang out so quickly that they melded to sound like one; and just like that, the bomb was disabled. The three gaping bullet holes in the bomb were in a perfect line, each one had hit its intended target dead-on.
Greg Lestrade swore right then and there never to doubt the doctor again, not when the man could shoot so well. Even Sherlock seemed surprised by how good a shot John was; it was almost unnatural that someone could shoot that fast and still be that precise.
"Remind me never to p*** you off John," Sally swallowed nervously. "I had no idea you were such a good shot."
"I had to be to survive in the war." came the blunt, cold reply, as John put his gun back in his pocket, facing away from them.
The sound of protesting metal alerted the group to the door being opened, and multiple cops rushed into the room. "Are you all right, sir?" One of them came straight to Greg, who nodded, still staring after John, who had left the instant the door was open far enough for him to make it through.
"Fine, we're all fine." Greg thought to himself: never underestimate the doctor, it could be bad for your health.
A/N: I know there is some ooc'ness in this but in order to create the story I had to step out of character for a moment, my apologies. Thank you to the reviewers who've left me good advice,
^_^ KB