Author Notes: Where the hell are all the zombie AU's?! Either way, I hope you enjoy the roller coaster of emotions.
Extra Note: I call the undead "sick". The words "zombies, undead, walkers, and dead" are little played to death. This series also takes place before Reichenbach so there is no Mary or anything in Season 3
Warning: *Shouts from the rooftops* THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY! I can not stress this enough. Angst up to your ears, Character death as far as the eye can see, Swearing, cannibalism, attempted rape, violence, undead monsters, Sadness, some happiness (But who are we kidding really?), Rated M for violence, character death, and swearing.
Characters Involved: Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson,Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Phillip Anderson, Molly Hooper, Anthea, DI Dimmock, and some minor/major OCs to act as allies and enemies
Disclaimer: This awesome cast of characters does not belong to me in any way shape or form. They go to their respected creators. Yadda yadda yadda Sherlock isn't mine yadda yadda yadda. These quotes/Lyrics used as chapter titles and the like do not belong to me either. I don't own anything.
Prologue: Ask not for whom the bell tolls
Molly was the last one inside. She tumbled into the room crashing directly into Donovan. Sherlock ran past them toward the still open doorway. "Close them." he said.
Lestrade was there first, tossing himself against the thick doors and slamming them shut with a heavy rattle. John leveraged himself against them just as the sick masses on the other side attacked. He readjusted his feet quickly trying to stop the creaking doors from giving way. His body shook with every strike against the other side. The sick acted as one unstoppable wall of death against the door.
Lestrade grunted as his feet slide over the slick carpet. "I can't hold it." He pushed harder. But what were two men against the assault of twenty?
Donovan's eyes darted around. She ran for a nearby desk. It was thick and solid probably enough to hold them. If not, then enough to buy them all time. And they were seriously running out of time.
Sherlock was two steps ahead of her, already grabbing another desk form the other side of the room. Molly dragged the other side of Donovan's desk and the two pushed it against the door. The four of them pushed for dear life as they waited for Anderson and Sherlock to bring the other desk along. The desk slide into place next to the other and the six held on tight. The desk held together against the pummeling. Everyone took a step back waiting for any sign of a breach. Groans and moans continued from the other side as strong fists beat against the doors. After several minutes of silent agony, the infected stopped, believing their meal was gone.
John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He sink to the ground in the middle of the room. "Fuck." he said holding himself as he tried to regain his composure.
The adrenaline still pumped through everyone's veins but as the seconds turned to minutes, the situation finally dawned on them.
Sherlock looked around at the smashed and beaten computers. In all the adrenaline, he hadn't noticed where they'd been running. He cursed himself for letting it pass by without his observation. They were in an open plan office. The discarded coffee pot and overturned desks told him that much. They tried to ignore the scent wafting through the air from the floors and windows. The familiar scent of London had been consumed by the stifling smell of decay. Sherlock began to look around. Passing over the bodies (unmoving much to his relief), he found a clipboard with the debris. "Johnson Brother's Attorney." he read aloud. He looked around at the others.
Molly shook in her blood spattered lab coat. Anderson held the shaking woman. Lestrade looked into the next office searching for something, anything out of the normal.
John looked out the window. "How could this happen?" he said to the streets below. Sherlock looked out after him. Below them, the sick and infected masses moved mindlessly. Sherlock had just been asking himself that fateful question and for once, he had no idea.