Author's Note: For this story, I'm going to use the same type of point of view as in A Song of Ice and Fire. Each section will have a character's name at the beginning, and that section of the story will be from that character's point of view. Rating is for violence and all sorts of bad language. No sex will be portrayed, though.

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If Necessary Alone

Chapter 1: The Sun's Zooming In

John

"John. John, wake up; we've had another Carrington event."

"What? What time is it, Sherlock? Who's Carrington?" Some light was coming in John's bedroom window, so it must've been fairly early in the morning.

"It's about half past five. Carrington was an astronomer. He recorded a very large solar flare in 1859 which affected most of Earth, and caused so much induced current in the telegraph system that telegrams could be sent for several hours without being hooked up to a power source. It also caused auroras as far south as Hawaii."

"But you don't know anything about astronomy. And what do you mean, there's been another one?" John sat up and rubbed his face. His flatmate was fully dressed and leaning over the foot of John's bed. The dim light coming in from outside seemed a little strange, but what did auroras and telegrams have to do with him? What was going on?

"The power is out, our phones have stopped working, and our laptops have stopped working. I was alerted to the situation when I smelled my laptop battery burning. In view of the lack of seismic disturbances, it is clearly a natural event rather than a nuclear EMP attack. It will be about four hours until the riots start, so we have to get Mrs Hudson to Dr Collins's house. Come on. Pack up your gun, all your ammunition, and any medical supplies you have. We might be gone for quite some time." Sherlock whirled around and flounced out of the room and down the stairs.

John hopped out of bed and began to dress. He wasn't quite sure what was going on yet, but he was a military man, and was used to moving fast at a moment's notice. John didn't doubt that his detective flatmate had some method of estimating when riots would start, and John was certainly in favor of keeping Mrs Hudson safe, but why were they all three leaving Baker Street? Wouldn't it just be better for their elderly landlady to stay where she was? John's sister Harry lived at the outskirts of Greater London. John felt a little nervous for her safety. He wondered if Sherlock also had an estimate of how far the riots would spread.

John dragged his camouflage backpack out from under his bed, brushed it off, and started emptying out his dresser. He picked up his phone. It was completely black and wouldn't turn on even for a second. He set it off to the side on top of his desk, along with his iPod and his chargers. Were all his electronics really permanently broken? His watch had stopped at 0340 hours. His medic's bag didn't have too many electrical devices in it, just the thermometer, but he still had his old alcohol thermometer from school for some reason. He quickly sorted the essentials from the non-essentials.

John was certainly used to being woken up at all hours by Sherlock in order to hunt down clues or criminals, but that morning seemed different. When John tagged along on Sherlock's escapades, they were rarely away from home for more than a few hours, not to mention days. John wondered who this Dr Collins was supposed to be. Apparently he lived less than a four-hour walk from Baker Street, and was presumably not a criminal, or at least, not an especially dangerous criminal if Sherlock and John would be bringing Mrs Hudson to him.

John shouldered his pack and looked around the room. He was dressed, he had now packed clothes for all weather conditions, and he had his medical kit and his gun and all his ammo. He felt slightly alarmed leaving his phone behind, but he had lived without it before. He hadn't even had a mobile phone until he got out of the Army. John wondered how long they would be gone. He loved this flat. He loved the City. He couldn't picture Tower Bridge and Piccadilly Circus unlit that night or any night. He took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.

John came into the kitchen. Sherlock was muttering softly to himself and pulling bottles out from under the kitchen sink and putting them into a black backpack. John set down his own pack, opened it up again and started emptying out the tea cabinet into his pack. "Why are you doing that?" Sherlock said, pausing to stare at him.

"Well, if the power is out forever, we can't tell India to ship us a few more boatloads of tea, can we?"

Sherlock looked a little surprised. "Maybe we should rob Twinings on our way out of town, then. Hmm." He looked thoughtful as he wedged a bottle of bleach down into the black backpack.

John felt a little more awake now, and the implications of the Carrington event were starting to sink in. John supposed it would possible to build sailing ships, sail them to India, trade for tea and sail back, but that might take some time. He wondered if the Suez Canal needed electricity to work. Probably. "How far does this Carrington event extend?"

"I'd say all of England and Wales, and at least parts of France, Ireland, and Scotland."

John puffed out a breath. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to Dr Collins's house. I already informed you of this."

"Well, who's Dr Collins, then?"

"He's the assistant chair of medical physics at St Bart's. He'll have one of the few houses in London with the lights still on. He can also rig us up a car that will run."

"Ah. That would be useful. Won't Mycroft still have the lights on?"

"Not at his personal residence. And he'll be so busy after this that he'll barely be home for weeks, at least. I've left him a message if he comes by, though." He waved his hand towards the windows. On the wall between the front windows of the sitting room, Sherlock had chalked 'fleche.'

"'Fleche'? Well, I don't see how your brother could fail to understand that."

"Of course he'll understand it. We're going to head towards Coventry to intercept Lestrade. But my hope is that Moriarty might not understand it when he inspects our flat."

John took a deep breath and let it out. "How does 'fleche' signify Coventry, and why would Mycroft understand it when Moriarty wouldn't?"

"Mycroft and I once discussed how hideous the fleche on top of the new Coventry Cathedral was. A 'fleche' is also a move in fencing, and Moriarty knows I am a fencer. Additionally, it is French for 'arrow', so that might mislead him as well. Both Mycroft and Moriarty would know that the intelligent part of the Met is up at Coventry for a conference, but Moriarty would assume I would stay in London out of curiosity, and Mycroft would know I would assist Lestrade and his underlings in returning to London, so that I can get back to solving cases as soon as possible. And don't ask me to demonstrate a fleche; there's not enough room in here."

"Right. Good. When is Moriarty coming here?"

"Oh, not till nightfall, probably. He's going to wait until something nearby is on fire. It's more dramatic that way."

"Right, okay."

At that moment, Mrs Hudson came into the kitchen. "Hello, John. Sherlock, I'm packed, but I'm not sure how far I can carry my bag."

"That's alright, Mrs Hudson, John will carry it."

Lestrade

"Sir? Sir?" Lestrade awoke to a knocking at the door of his hotel room. It sounded like Donovan.

"Donovan? What time is it? Did I miss my alarm?" Lestrade sat up and turned sideways in bed, and set his feet on the floor. He thought his alarm had been properly set the night before; he always checked it before he went to sleep.

"I'm not sure, sir," she called through the door. "The power is out, and everyone's phones are off."

Lestrade felt his way over to the door and undid the security chain. He opened the door. "What's happened now, Donovan?" He flipped the lightswitch to the 'on' position and nothing happened. Lestrade squinted at the switch. He flipped it a couple more times, but that didn't make the lights turn on, either.

Donovan came in. "I'm not sure what's going on, sir. The power is out as far as we can see. No one's phones work, mobile or landline. No one's electronics work, and no one's cars will start."

"The cars won't start?"

"No, not at all. Anderson was going to go see about getting breakfast, and his car wouldn't start at all, wouldn't even make a noise when he turned the key. We talked the desk clerk into trying her car. Same situation."

Lestrade walked back to his nightstand and picked up his phone. It was completely black and wouldn't respond at all. "You don't know what time it is, then?"

"No, sir. I usually get up at five to go running, and I usually wake up before the alarm goes off, but my phone was already broken when I woke up this morning."

Lestrade ran his hand through his hair. "You don't have a torch?"

"They're both broken," Donovan said. "The batteries exploded."

Lestrade closed his eyes. "Right, I'll get dressed and meet you at your room. You're two down that way?"

"Yes, sir. 204."

"Go round up Anderson and we'll meet there in a couple minutes."

"Right, sir." Donovan looked uncertain as she went out into the hall and closed the door behind her.

Lestrade felt around until he got to the side of the curtains. He fumbled around until he figured out which way the dratted things opened. The early morning light didn't help much, but he could at least see his bag and his yesterday's suit in the closet. It was the strangest thing. He didn't think it was likely that anyone would've disconnected the battery on both the desk clerk's car and Anderson's car. Lestrade sat down to put on his socks. And with the cars not working and the power going out, this seemed to be a very unlikely coincidence. The International Police Peace Conference didn't seem to have attracted many protesters at all, but sabotage was certainly a possibility.

Lestrade was buttoning his shirt when an unsettling possibility started to develop in his mind. In one of the anti-terrorism classes he had attended, nuclear weapons were discussed. One of the effects of a nuclear bomb going off was an electromagnetic pulse that could knock out electronics. He didn't think a dirty bomb could do that, and surely if there had been a nuclear blast he would've felt it? Would someone have nuked London? Would they feel the effects at Coventry? He made sure his room key was in his pocket, and he headed over to Donovan's room.

Donovan answered the door. It was a little lighter in her room than it had been in Lestrade's. Anderson was sitting on the bed, fully dressed, eating some type of energy bar. It didn't look terribly appetizing.

"Would you like a bar, sir? I'm afraid there's no hot water for tea," Donovan said.

"And putting the tea bags in cold water isn't quite the thing," Anderson added.

"No, thank you," Lestrade said as he and Donovan took the two chairs in the room. "Donovan, do you remember that anti-terrorism class when they talked about nuclear weapons? Do you remember what they said about electromagnetic pulses?"

Donovan took a breath and looked down. She looked unsettled. "I believe they said all nuclear weapons give off EMP pulses, but the greatest effect would be from setting off the weapon while it was still in the air, as opposed to on the ground. But sir, wouldn't we have felt a nuclear explosion if it was anywhere near here?"

"I would've thought so, but this can't be coincidence. I think we should round up the other conference attendees and see what they know. The Glaswegians are across the hall from me, so I'll start with them. Donovan, you start this side of the hall, and Anderson, you start from the far end of the hall on my side, working towards me. Ask them all to meet down in the conference room in- er, as soon as they can."

Lestrade thought back to just after Christmas, when he had told his cheating wife that he hoped she'd die in a fire. He really hadn't meant it. He wondered if everyone in London had gone out that way. He didn't have time to concentrate on that now; he had things to do. Lestrade stood, ran his hand through his hair, and went out into the hall.

John

"I first took notice of Dr Collins when I passed him in a hallway at St Bart's," Sherlock said to John and Mrs Hudson as they walked. "He smelled like ethylene glycol, which is unusual for doctors. I was hoping he was a poisoner, but he had only been maintaining the backup generators at his house. Pity.

"Dr Collins is a fairly bright man, and he would've been the chair of medical physics rather than the assistant chair if he hadn't persisted in telling everyone to be prepared for the Russians to 'nuke' us. I thought he might be a useful person to know, and he wanted a few hundred kilos of potassium permanganate for his water treatment system and was unable to obtain it legally, so I introduced him to one of my contacts."

"Why couldn't he get it legally? Does he have a criminal record?" John asked.

"Oh, no. It's difficult for anyone to buy it. It's good for bombs."

"Sherlock! You've sold questionable characters bomb-making materials?"

"Not on that occasion, no."

Sherlock stopped in the intersection, right in the middle of the street. "Mrs Hudson, John, one moment." The other two stopped walking and faced him. "Dr Collins's house is down this street, where you can see those lines painted on the road. He won't kill us on sight because I did him a favour, but please don't speak, and do exactly what he and his associates tell you to do. No sudden moves. Follow me."

Dr Collins's house was in a typical residential neighborhood. The houses were all three or four stories, many of them brick. Several of the houses had trees in front of them, and all were bare except for a cherry at the corner that was just starting to bloom. It was a modern, straight street, with room for a car to park on each side, and more than enough room for one lane each way. A yellow half-circle was painted onto the asphalt in the street. It was centered around the doorway of one building, and the edge of the circle reached almost to the cars parked on the far side of the street from that house.

Sherlock, John and Mrs Hudson walked more slowly down the middle of the street. It hadn't been obvious from the intersection, but there were electric lights on in the house. As they neared the painted lines, a high voice shouted, "Dad!" Sherlock kept walking, but slowed even further, with John and Mrs Hudson following.

A public address system came online. "Stop where you are. Do not cross the yellow half-circle. Go stand in the white squares, one of you in each square. Do not leave the squares until you are told otherwise." John and Mrs Hudson looked to Sherlock, but Sherlock was already walking calmly and briskly towards the squares. John and Mrs Hudson hurried to catch up. The squares painted on the road were arrayed around the outside of the yellow line, away from the house, and the squares were far enough apart that anyone standing in them would be unable to reach his neighbour without leaving his own square.

The three of them faced the house. The announcer hadn't said anything about putting their hands in the air, so they didn't, although Mrs Hudson did have her hands up by her face. The front door of the house made a loud clank and then opened. Four people dressed in black came out. They were wearing balaclavas and each had an AK-47. There were an adult man, a woman, and two either very young men or older teenagers. "Eddie, stand further that way, don't bunch up, just like in the drill," the man said. One of the teenagers edged further away, but still remained on the side of the yellow line towards the house.

The man looked over John, Sherlock, and Mrs Hudson. He spent the most time considering John. Most people didn't think of John as very threatening; most people barely even saw him next to Sherlock. It was something to consider. The man turned his eyes to Sherlock. "Sherlock Holmes! I told you this would happen." He sounded rather pleased to have been proven right.

Sherlock looked a little irritated. "Yes, Dr Collins, you were right. An electromagnetic pulse has knocked out London. I give it about two and a half hours until the riots start. I have come to ask you for a favour."

"What favour?"

"I would like you to make me a device to start cars in exchange for jewelry."

"What kind of jewelry?"

"Four pair of modern gold cufflinks, a Georgian silver gorget, a Louis XV snuffbox, a Faberge picture frame, an early 1940s red Fiesta ware saucer-"

"I would like to see the saucer."

It was a very strange bargain that Sherlock and Dr Collins made, as far as John could see. Sherlock gave Dr Collins an old saucer and two pairs of cufflinks, and Dr Collins gave Sherlock a compressed air tank, a creme brulee torch, and some sort of fitting that was supposed to attach the tank to a car engine. Collins seemed to be rather an odd character. He was straight out of one of those programmes on the telly about survivalists or preppers or whatever they called themselves. Collins was heavily armed, and he appeared to be prepared to kill his fellow Londoners, but he had apparently only asked for what he thought fair in exchange for his technology.

After the bargain was struck, Collins and his party retreated into the house, and John, Sherlock, and Mrs Hudson had more than an hour to sit there, in full view of the house until Collins finished assembling everything. It was a long wait, sitting out in the street until Dr Collins came back out, and John didn't feel entirely comfortable that Dr Collins had looked him over so closely. It struck John as very odd that he hadn't seen any of the neighbours looking out their windows or walking down the street. He wondered if it they could still be asleep, or if Dr Collins had in some way caused them to stay indoors, either out of fear, or because of some bargain.

When Sherlock had got his car starting device, and the three of them were safely outside of the sight lines of the house, Sherlock told them they could speak again.

"Why would Collins want an old saucer?" asked John

"It's glazed with uranium oxide and will set off a Geiger counter. Physicists are mad for them. Some of the other colors of old Fiesta ware are radioactive, too, but they're not as popular as the red. I recall seeing a Volkswagen van back this way. It should be suitable for our purposes."

The three of them walked a short while until they reached a dark blue van. Sherlock walked right up to the driver's door and started picking the lock. "Sherlock!" John hissed, "Are you just stealing a car?"

Sherlock gave him a level look. "We'll bring it back after we get Lestrade. It's not doing the owner any good as it is. And the owner's such a drunk that everyone will be safer if he doesn't have a car. Look how he parked his vehicle! He's still lying on the floor of his hallway. And if you're just going to stand there, try to hold your neck as though Mrs Hudson were your mother."

John gritted his teeth. "And what way is that?"

"Tilt your chin down. Further. A little further. Lean your head left. Back a little. Yep."

John stood like that while Sherlock pulled the plastic casing off from underneath the steering wheel and pulled some wires loose. This was mad. Sherlock crawled through the middle of the van and opened the tailgate. He opened up the engine compartment and set the compressed air tank on one of the rear seats. "Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said, "please get in the car. John, you take the driver's seat."

Sherlock handed John an odd-looking car key and told him not to turn it until instructed. Sherlock returned to the engine compartment and started fiddling around with the creme brulee torch. "John, turn the key to the on position and release the parking brake."

There was a strange, growling bang, and then the engine turned over and started to run. Sherlock shut the tailgate and came around and got in. He flopped himself across the back seat as though it was the sofa at Baker Street.

"Coventry, then?" said John.

"Coventry."