1. An explosive meeting
John felt strange using the key to enter his old apartment. It had been five months since he had moved out, and this was his first time back. He had tried to give Mrs Hudson the key when he had moved out, but she had insisted that he keep it.
"You know Sherlock." She had said, "If he gets into one of his moods, you'll be needing that key."
So far he had not needed it. Sherlock and he had worked on a few cases together but after the wedding Sherlock had stopped calling him for help. John had come today at Lestrade's request to get a certain item of evidence from Sherlock's apartment.
"I'd do another drug raid," Greg had said, "But I don't think Sherlock would make it past one, if you know what I mean. It's just that since you've gone, he's started experimenting again, and smoking. If you could just drop by and get him to give us the notebook, we can sort this out without any fuss."
"I'll see what I can do." John had said then, but now standing outside, 221B John was nervous. He hesitated with his door on the handle. He knocked as he opened the door.
"Hello! Hello Sherlock! It's John." He said entering.
Sherlock was obviously still on the case. The living room was a mess, and he never cleaned while he was on a case. "It interferes with my thinking time." He would say.
John cautiously stepped over stacks of files and an assortment of different sized left boots strewn carelessly on the floor as he looked for Sherlock. He found the book that Lestrade had asked for on the mantle and slipped it into his pocket.
Unable to see Sherlock in the kitchen or bathroom, he opened the door to Sherlock's room. The smell of smoke overcame him.
"What the hell is all this?" John said turning to see Sherlock sitting against the headboard of his bed smoking a hookah. He turned toward John and breathed out a huge cloud of smoke.
"Oh John. I didn't hear you come in." Sherlock said taking another large sip, the water bubbling loudly.
John picked up the hookah and looked in it. "What exactly do you have in this?" He asked, "It doesn't smell like tobacco."
Sherlock breathed another cloud out into the room making John cough.
"Pull up a chair John." Sherlock said, " I have enough to share."
John took the tube from Sherlock's hand and carried the hookah to the kitchen to dispose of it.
"Hey!" Sherlock said, "I wasn't done with that yet!"
Sherlock swayed into the kitchen in time to see John emptying the water out in the sink.
"And why are you here anyway?" Sherlock asked, "I thought that you were on your honeymoon."
"That was months ago." John said, "You've started smoking. You know how bad for you it is."
"Smoking helps me think," Sherlock said, "It's a difficult case, and I'm going to need that book you have in your pocket. I'm not done with it yet."
"Lestrade asked me to get it." John said. "It's evidence."
"Exactly why I need to study it." Sherlock said, "And why did Lestrade feel the need to contact you to get it? You're not my keeper anymore. You have your own life, remember?"
John put the hookah away in the cabinet. He walked over to Sherlock who was leaning drowsily against a chair, and helped him sit down. As he sat John's hands touched Sherlock's waist and ran up to his chest. Sherlock gave him a dirty look.
"When was the last time you ate?" John asked, " I can feel your ribs."
Sherlock pushed John's hands away. "You know I never eat on a case. Digesting slows me down. You don't seem to have missed any meals though. You've gained ten pounds since I last saw you."
"No I haven't." John objected.
"Yes you have. Mary must be a good cook." He said, "That or you've been eating out."
Sherlock leaned his head on the table. John bent over and looked into his eyes.
"Oh Sherlock, you're a bit out of it. Let's lie you down shall we." He helped Sherlock up and walked him back into the living room, "No not in your room. That smells like an opium den. On the couch."
John lowered Sherlock down on the couch and then he took out a small flashlight shining the light in Sherlock's face.
"Too bright!" Sherlock said raising a hand to shield his eyes.
"You've got to take more care of yourself," John said, "You're on the verge of collapse."
"Oh don't worry John," Sherlock said, "The brain is working as good as ever, and that's all that I care about."
"But it is your body that supports the brain." John said.
"Oh my body...I think that you've lost the right to talk about my body, John. You gave all that up, remember. Go ahead and take the book. I've already memorized the relevant passages." Sherlock said drowsily waving him away.
John took the Union Jack pillow and placed it under Sherlock's head pulling his chair over to sit beside him. He dusted the seat with his hand then he pulled the book out of his pocket to take a look.
It was an accounts book. Full of numbers and some kind of shorthand that John couldn't read. "What is this?" John asked.
"A bomber's diary" Sherlock said, "Jacob Carothers. Killed last Tuesday, but not before he made one of the biggest bombs of his career. The amounts and prices of the materials are all there, but what is it for? Why did they kill him for it? Did he try to stop him? It's something big but when and where.? I try to figure it out but the solution eludes me."
"And so you turn to opium?" John chided.
"It lubricates the mind. Helps the thoughts flow more freely." Sherlock replied.
"It's also highly addictive not to mention illegal. Where did you get it?"
"Trivia John trivia. What is it you wanted? Why are you still here? You have what you came for."
"Can't I visit an old friend?" John asked.
Sherlock snorted, "So we are 'old friends' now are we? Perhaps we should go out to the club for a snifter of brandy and a game of billiards. Boring. I must figure out what they mean to blow up. It's got to be in London. But where?"
"Well Guy Fawkes day is coming up, maybe it's the House of Lords." John said jokingly.
Sherlock sat up, "What did you say?"
"I just said that it's almost Guy Fawkes day."
"After that!"
"The House of Lords"
"Of course! Give me that book John!" Sherlock turned the pages and pointed at some of the shorthand scribbles, "Do you see that John? Do you see it?"
"I can't read shorthand." John replied.
"It says undercroft. UNDERCROFT!"
"Yes...and."
"Don't you see? Didn't you study this in school? My God I am alone!" Sherlock yelled.
"I'm sorry," John said, "But my school days are a bit hazy."
Sherlock slammed the book closed and covered his eyes sighing in frustration. "In 1604 Guy Fawkes and a group of conspirators placed gunpowder in an undercroft under the house of Lords. It's the gunpowder plot all over again. John give me your phone, I have to call Lestrade!"
John fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. "I suggest that you change clothes before you go. You reek of drugs."
"I change my mind." Sherlock said, "I'm glad you've come. I always think faster when you're around."
Less that thirty minutes later John and Sherlock arrived at a parking garage very near the parliament building followed by a host of police cars.
Sherlock rushed into the garage. "There, through that door." He said running ahead.
John could see a man step out with a gun. "Watch out!" He yelled at Sherlock pushing him behind a column just in time to avoid a gun shot. The police came forward in riot gear, but a small bomb hitting a police car caused them to fall back.
John hadn't expected when he turned the key into Sherlock's apartment just over an hour before that he would soon be having a face-off with a group of bombers carrying ten cases of high-grade plastic explosives outside of the parliament building, but knowing Sherlock, maybe he should have.
They crouched back to back behind a pillar avoiding gunfire. "This is like old-times" John said.," You and me backside to backside trying to avoid getting killed."
"Actually I don't remember trying this position before." Sherlock said, "But I'd be willing to experiment."
John laughed. " I don't suppose we could..." but before he could finish his sentence one of the conspirators rushed out tossing an object their way before jumping from the window of the parking garage to the street below.
Time slowed for John as he saw the box shaped object coming directly at him. Suddenly Sherlock pulled John back by his coat and tossed him behind a concrete barrier. Seconds later an explosion tore through the building surrounding John with light and ear crushing sound. John shook his head. The air was full of choking dust. The roof creaked. He coughed. The pillars around him had been cracked by the explosion. The concrete barrier had saved John. He looked at his hands and saw only minor cuts and abrasions. He looked around, but he was alone behind the barrier. "Sherlock!" he cried.
John rose and searched through the chaos of the dust filled building jumping over chunks of concrete and rebar. The sound of car alarms blaring reminded John of the battlefield. He crouched and ran.
He found him. Sherlock had been tossed to the base of the ramp. His back awash with cuts the side of his face so bloody that John flashed back to that scene at Bart's hospital when he had thought that Sherlock had died. He almost fainted, but this Sherlock had a pulse.
"Get me an ambulance!" John yelled, " And a medical kit right now! Sherlock's been hurt!" John removed his coat and then his shirt which he wadded up to press against Sherlock's throat which was leaking a worrying amount of blood.
"Sherlock! Sherlock!" John called but he did not answer. Perhaps it was better that he was unconscious. Sherlock's image became fuzzy as water filled John's eyes.
"Sherlock. Don't die. Damn you don't die on me now!"