A/N: Hi guys! I'll be posting this in short 200-word-ish chapters. Hope you enjoy!
October 2011. Series of text messages between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
This is all your fault. -SH
Thanks for waking me up. What's my fault? -JW
The zombie apocalypse, of course. -SH
Of course. -JW
What? -JW
BANG!
Through the hole in Smith's head, Jim could see the door.
He'd been lied to.
Having the preoccupation with death that he did, he'd seen a fair few zombie movies. According to them, you just shot the zombie in the head and-
BANG!
-it was all over.
Smith was now missing one of his eyes and half his nose, and yet he was still standing.
Jim pouted.
It wasn't fair.
And he'd be zombie meat before Moran even left the blasted flat.
Sherlock picked up on the third ring.
'It is the "Everyday Value" that you like, isn't it? You don't strike me as a "no added sugar" man.'
'What?'
John seemed to be saying that a lot these days.
'The jam, John. "Everyday Value"? I figured you wouldn't like the one in the squeezy tube."
'...'
'John?'
'...I'm still here. I- Christ, Sherlock, forget about the sodding jam. I've just seen the news. Some kind of "zombie virus"… I thought it was all a prank, but it's on BBC1 and everything...'
'Fascinating, isn't it?'
John resisted the urge to roll his eyes and go back to bed.
'How is it my fault?'
'What?'
'The text, you said it was my-'
'Well, if you hadn't insisted on being "ill"-'
'Don't put "ill" in quotation marks-'
'...Sherlock?'
There was no reply.
'Sherlock?'
Nothing. Not even the sound of breathing.
'Sherlock!'