I've recently been watched BBC's Sherlock Holmes, and I think their amazing. Though I can't believe they left them off on such a cliffhanger! So this is my take on what happens after Sherlock explodes the bomb, assuming he does of course.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, or any of the other characters.

Detective inspector Lestrade idly flicked through the channels on his TV. It was about one in the morning, and despite knowing he should get some sleep, he still sat, changing channel every time he got board of the previous one, which was often. His life had been busy, and he had been spending most nights at the office. It had been a busy time. He sighed. Anything could happen, the way events had been going recently. He flipped to the news channel, promising himself that he would go to bed after he had seen if anything new had cropped up. He watched a reporter explaining how the recently found Vermeer painting was a fake. Lestrade didn't often watch the news that had anything to do with his cases, so watched with mild interest as a scenario was explained. Not the true scenario however. No mention of Sherlock Holmes. The police wouldn't want his involvement to be known. Lestrade was about to turn the TV off, when a new headline caught his eye. He put the remote down, and watched.

"And now, our new piece news. said the reporter. There has been another explosion. At 12.14 AM this morning, a pool in London exploded. Lestrade frowned, was this connected to the other bombings? He thought it likely. The police are already on the scene, and have so far have pulled one man from the rubble. This is very similar to the gas explosion on Baker Street, and the one on the edge of London." The TV screen flicked from a sombre faced news reader, to a building, collapsed, on fire, smoke filling the air. An ambulance, lights blaring, several police cars, and men running everywhere, some crowded round a stretcher, while others trying to quench the flames. Lestrade watched mournfully. Another explosion. He really would need to talk to Sherlock. He had promised to inform him of any new developments, and now he had gone off alone, and caused another explosion. The camera focused it's lens on the stretcher, though it was impossible to see the man lying there. "Police have confirmed that there is another person trapped under the rubble, and they are currently trying to rescue them." Lestrade leaned forward slightly, studying the scene. It certainly looked like another bomb. Presumably somebody had been killed, because Sherlock had failed to solve a puzzle. Though what anybody would be doing at a swimming pool at midnight, he didn't know. Several more police cars had arrived on the scene, and a crowd of citizens were beginning to crowd round, most wearing dressing gowns. Suddenly, a group of firemen emerged from a particularly smoking section of the building, carrying somebody on a stretcher. The camera turned away from the building, to a reporter, and Sergeant Sally Donovan. Lestrade was pleased to see that she was on the scene. Hopefully things wouldn't get so out of control. He was concerned to see her face creased in fear, and sadness. Putting this to the fact another building had exploded, Lestrade listened.

"...this a gas leak again? asked the reporter. "We believe not, certain evidence has come up to make us believe that this was a bomb attack." she said, glancing anxiously at the first stretcher, and then at the second. "And do you have any suspicions as to who it was?" asked the reporter. "Not currently, though we believe this maybe related the explosion on Baker Street." Sally turned away, and hurried to the stretcher, asking some urgent questions, her hands twisted together. The cameraman followed her. The lights from the ambulance cast a strange light upon the scene. A scene that D.I Lestrade had least expected. Two stretchers were set side by side, medics and police crowded round them. On the nearest, lay a tall, pale man with a mop of dark curly hair. His long coat was charred and smoking, his pale face covered in blood and newly forming bruises. Lestrade recognised him instantly. It was Sherlock Holmes. On the other stretcher, the more recent one, lay Sherlock's flatmate, Dr. Watson. He looked just as bad, if not worse. Blood coating his jumper, and his light brown hair matted with blood and dust. Lestrade barely let the scene sink in, before jumping to his feet, grabbing his coat, and running through the door. No wonder Sally had looked so anxious. Something had gone seriously wrong for Sherlock, perhaps fatally. Though what he and John had been doing at the pool, was a mystery. He flagged a taxi, and jumped in. He needed to get there as quickly as possible. If even Sherlock had been attacked by this bomber, then things were way out of control. Nobody should be able to get even close to killing Sherlock Holmes.

Alright, end of chapter one. I hope it was alright! I'll get the next one up by the weekend. Hopefully it'll be a little longer. Please review! (=