Chapter 1: An Explosion

I really do despise your poorly disguised attempts at monitoring me. Turn your security cameras away from my general direction, or I will be forced to take measures—SH

Sherlock pressed the send button of his phone and awaited the reply. As he wandered through the streets of London, he had a vague suspicion that the security cameras along the streets had all been pointing towards his general vicinity. It was only when he walked into the center of the open Business Square was his paranoia confirmed. Cameras from all 360 degrees around him were indeed pointed in his direction; even the automatic rotating cams were paused to face him. Of course, he knew exactly what this was; only the British government could effectively paralyze the security systems of four corporate buildings for one target.

Right on cue, Sherlock's phone gave a singular buzz. Don't be so fussy, brother. Better security cameras than secret agents, correct?—MH

Sherlock smirked, taking another look around. The cameras had yet to change positions; Mycroft had no intention of releasing his oversight this time, meaning he would have to run to escape his brother's eyes. At least it gave Sherlock a game to play while John was visiting Harry for the day. It would relieve his boredom for about…an hour or so, but even that wouldn't be enough. It was never really that hard for him to evade his brother's security systems, and this time the security was meant to be more bothersome than usual.

It was no surprise that Mycroft had once again elevated his monitoring status. It was the general practice whenever John left Sherlock alone for more than two days. Mycroft would hear of John's days away from the flat, and suddenly there would be ten extra hidden cameras in the 221B Baker Street flat. Of course, Sherlock took great pleasure in performing more acid-based experiments or human dissections on those days, just to make his older brother squirm.

Your agents are just as obvious as your security cameras. I repeat: turn the cameras away or I will be forced to take measures—SH

Pray tell, what measures would those be?—MH

I will break into your offices and force those cameras off myself—SH

I highly doubt you could—MH

No you don't. And anything of interest I find in those offices will be mine. Like files on the experiments taking place in the Baskerville facilities; I have not forgotten about those—SH

Sherlock gave another smirk as all ten cameras slowly (and almost reluctantly) twisted away from his figure. Dropping his phone back into his pocket, he took a moment to observe his environment. It was a sunny summer day, the blue sky brightening the white-gray concrete square. Four corporate buildings surrounded him, each enclosing one side of the square with its high walls of dark tinted glass. Food vendors were parked along the edges, where business men and women in their dark suits sat on granite benches and enjoyed the light breeze and clean air while on their lunch break. It was a relatively simple environment: within two minutes, Sherlock found six cheating women, four gambling-addicted men, five binge alcoholics, a pyromaniac, and only two people of superior intellect (both of whom stood observing the same scene with a much weaker version analysis of the people around them; Sherlock always recognized those with better skills of observation).

With nothing else to do in the Business Square, Sherlock began to make his way towards one of the exits. Once again, he was bored. Although he had won against Mycroft, part of him wished his older brother had pursued the game; it would have been fun to break into Mycroft's office, if not just to annoy him. So much so that at that moment, Sherlock decided that would be exactly what he would do. He collected his thoughts, strategizing which office to break into first and the most creative way to do it. Just when things were beginning to get interesting, something managed to break into his thoughts.

An explosion.

Sherlock's mind immediately processed the moment in three stages: there was the deep initial boom of a detonation, followed by the deafening whoosh of the explosion itself, and the sound of concrete cracking and glass shattering. A strong force flew from the source of the boom, knocking Sherlock and many others down to the ground. The business men and women within the square itself were screaming, running away from the deep gray smoke that filled the air in panic. The smell of smoke and dirt and dust filled Sherlock's lungs as he simply remained there on the ground watching the pandemonium around him. Rubble was beginning to rain down on him, and the sounds of concrete crumbling permeated the ringing air. As he stood up, he mentally calculated the time before the north concrete building would collapse on itself. He gave it four minutes.

Suddenly, he felt the smoke and dust next to him shift in the air; a feminine figure rushed past him, long dark hair flying behind her as she ran directly towards the north building. The blast of the explosion had slowed his reaction time momentarily as he watched her figure fade into a shadow in the dust. Mind racing, his body reacted immediately with one thought: who runs directly into an explosion?

He caught up with her within twenty seconds, grabbing her wrist and jerking her to a stop. As she turned towards him in surprise, Sherlock saw her with perfect clarity: her small face was framed by that dark hair; a teal skirt sat along her thin waist, and a loose white t-shirt hung against her thin shoulders, caked in dust. Dark wide eyes stared at him with fear and urgency. At first glance, she had to be only nineteen. She was panting heavily, pausing only once or twice to cough the dust out of her esophagus.

"What are you doing?" she yelled out against the ringing sounds of the explosion. "You need to get out of here! Let me go!" She tried to pull her wrist away, but Sherlock's grip held firm.

"Who are you?" Sherlock roared, pulling her closer as she tried once more to escape his grasp. He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers. "Answer me!"

Realizing she wouldn't be able to fight off the man holding her back, she looked at him desperately. "That doesn't matter now," she hollered. "Let me go, please! You need to get out of here. It's too dangerous."

"What have you done?" he yelled at her, tightening his grip on her small wrist. Her eyes grew in horror; so she did play a role in this explosion. "What did you do?" he repeated with irritation and intrigue.

"I—"she started, but there was another boom and another shockwave, as if a second explosion went off. More dust flew in the air, and her long hair flew about around her. "It wasn't supposed to go like this," she cried out, screaming to be heard over the growing sounds of concrete falling. "Nobody was supposed to get hurt. I have to get in there; there are innocent people in there, please, I have to help them."

"Just tell me who you are!" Sherlock parleyed. When she stared at him dumbly, he screamed "Who are you!?"

She looked over her shoulder, coughing once more to get the dust out of her mouth. Sherlock himself was starting to feel the effects of the smoke himself, but he held her twisting wrist firmly. Something wasn't right here; this girl was entirely out of place. Sherlock could see that her desperation to get into the building was one of extreme passion. Her eyes beseeched him to let her go. Her mouth was parted slightly, still panting as the adrenaline pumped through her veins.

She looked him over, debating whether or not she could trust the tall dark figure who had grabbed her so suddenly. His sharp eyes pierced into her own, giving her a chill. The dark mass of hair on his head was caked in the white dust, as were the shoulders of his dark shirt. There was nothing kind about him, and there was nothing threatening either; it was a more curiosity and interest than a general concern for her wellbeing. But that was the least of her concerns in the moment. Sherlock watched as her eyes made the decision to trust.

"Alice Claireborne."

With that, Sherlock released her wrist. There was a pause as they both stared at each other momentarily; a mutual curiosity at the strange nature of their encounter under such unusual circumstances. She nodded at him once, saying a clear "thank you" before turning around and continuing on through the smoke, running straight into the source of the explosion and shoving all the other businessmen and women out of her way. He followed her with his eyes until the shadow of her figure disappeared just as quickly as it came.

He turned around, seeing no point in following the girl into the collapsing building. He coughed, taking in the scene around him. The sound of falling objects around him grew louder and louder; larger chunks of concrete were beginning to hit the ground. One rolled directly beside him, narrowly missing his lean frame. He sensed another one bounce behind him, stepping to the side to avoid it.

The moment he stepped to the side, though, a large force ran into him from behind. Before he knew what hit him, he was on the ground, the dust above him whirling around. Under his head was the solid concrete, now jabbing into his skin. He heard the steps of a large businessman quickly running away from him, yelling something of an apology as he left for safer ground.

He tried to push himself off the ground, but his body refused to cooperate. Every attempt he made to lift his torso was followed by a floundering of the arms and legs, both of which were simply weak to move. A deep ache was permeating through his throbbing skull; he wouldn't be conscious for very much longer. His vision was starting to get fuzzy, and part of him knew it wasn't just because of the smoke flying around. Sensing his physical limitations, Sherlock took one last look at the explosion around him, finding a cave-like crook under one of the fallen chunks of concrete. He rolled himself under it, coughing as the bits of dust and dirt flew into his mouth and eyes.

Giving off a deep groan, he held a hand up to his head, feeling the sticky blood that had already seeped out of a cut; a mild gash, but a wound nonetheless. It was what was happening under the bruise that worried him. There was another thud around him as more concrete covered the open side of his makeshift cave. He was enveloped in darkness, only a small bit of gray light able to seep in. Coughing more heavily, the whirling in Sherlock's throbbing head became worse, and the dizziness was becoming more and more overwhelming. He realized he could very well die there, under all the dust and concrete, which was a rather anticlimactic way to die considering he had already faked his own suicide once before. "Sorry John," he muttered between the hacking, trying to think of a way to convey to his only friend that this 'death' was not meant to be an ironic joke.

There was a singular buzzing in his pocket, and Sherlock pulled out his phone. The light of his phone's screen blinded him momentarily, and he gave his eyes a second to adjust before reading the message.

Where are you? Reply immediately if alive—MH

Sherlock gave a groan, cutting his answer down to shorter phrases. It was becoming harder to maintain control of his consciousness, and he knew he had very little time before his body would give up on him. As much as he hated to depend on his brother, this was not the time to be proud.

Location unknown; under concrete. Currently alive. Unable to move. Hurry up—SH

Under all the rubble and cracked concrete and scraps of metal and shattered pieces of glass, Sherlock Holmes lost consciousness, falling into total darkness and utter silence.