Chapter Two: Preparations


I'd love it if you guys give me feedback while writing. The chapters are going to get longer as the story progresses, but right now I'm just handling the back drop and building up to the good stuff. For some reason I thought it best to follow this story through Sherlock's eyes instead of John's so let me know if he's too out of character, honestly I've never written from his perspective before.


Sherlock decided it was best not to tell John about the strange conversation that he had with Mycroft. He rationalized that whatever it was, he would be able to deal with it when Mycroft sent the supplies. After all, he was used to Mycroft dealing in international conflicts that he never saw the end of. As much as the younger Holmes hated to admit, Mycroft was vastly more intelligent than he was. The man managed to bring lesser nations to their knees and no one was aware of who was behind it. Mycroft played everything from behind the scenes with such finesse that he earned a salary that would make an oil sheik blush. And if Sherlock had stopped what he was doing every time Mycroft told him that there was some sort of conflict, he would get nothing done.

Mycroft was the perfect older brother wasn't he? Powerful and successful. He had forfeited his inheritance to Sherlock after he got his last promotion and didn't bother informing the younger Holmes brother about it. The text message that a rather astronomical amount of money had been deposited into his already comfortable bank account came as a shock. His initial thought was that either mummy or daddy died and that he was getting his half of their fortune, but a text from Mycroft had explained the wonderful new job that he had come into and that he felt like Sherlock needed the money more than he did. Naturally, the younger man's pride had been a bit wounded when he received the text, Sherlock hadn't spoken to Mycroft for several months after that, especially about Mycroft's new high security job.

Not even a week after the odd conversation, Sherlock found himself sitting on the sofa working on a new piece on his violin when came in with a rather distressed look on her face. John was the first to notice, he set aside his laptop and jumped to his feet, alerting the taller man to her presence.

"Sherlock, dear, your brother's men are here to see you," her voice was considerably higher than usual. She was certainly frightened.

"Send them up then," Sherlock told her with a wave of his hand. He wouldn't bother going downstairs unless he absolutely had to. Sherlock, sat the violin and it's bow aside and stood to greet the newest lackies that Mycroft employed.

There was a great deal of commotion coming from the stairwell, they were obviously carrying something very large, a box then? Wooden on the outside, either containing metal objects or adorned with metal. The latches were loose. would not be happy about the scuffing that was happening on her walls. Jostling of wood on wood, right, two boxes then. One significantly smaller than the other.

Three men wearing black suits finally reached the top of the stairs, large wooden boxes in tow, just as Sherlock had deduced. They carried them into the sitting room and set them down. The bottom box was larger than the coffee table and made quite a noise when it hit the carpet. The smaller box seemed to have much lighter contents.

"Sherlock Holmes?" The tallest man asked, taking the clipboard he had been holding under his arm in hand.

Sherlock nodded and the man handed the clipboard to him. His eyes glanced over the document, it was stamped with Mycroft's seal of approval. Yes, he promised not to resell the contents, to share the knowledge of these contents, and to return them to the government upon request, etc. He signed the document with his signature and handed back to the suited man. Without a word the three men turned on their heels and left.

John coughed from the corner and gave Sherlock a look. His look was met with a shrug of Sherlock's shoulders and a wave of his hand. He knew that John was more confused than he was thanks to his omission of the exchange he had the other day.

"Sherlock, what is all of this?" John asked as he approached the boxes.

"Honestly I couldn't tell you, John. A gift from Mycroft of some sort, and one that undoubtedly required calling on some government favors judging from the papers that I just had to sign," Sherlock explained patiently.

He motioned for John to go ahead and open the boxes, noticing the anticipation practically dripping off of John's posture and his twitching fingers. Honestly, John could be too easy to read sometimes, couldn't he? The blonde knelt down and placed the smaller box next to the larger one before flipping the latches on the bigger box. He cautiously lifted the heavy lid back and let it hit the back of the container. John moved aside some styrofoam beads and his eyes went wide as Sherlock craned his neck for a better look.

"What is it John?" Sherlock asked a bit impatient, he could not see whatever it was that John could see from where he was standing, all he could see were those stupid pieces of foam that were bound to get all over the rug.

John reached further into the crate and pulled out a large semi-automatic rifle, his eyes glued to it's midnight body, there was an alarming spark in John's eyes that Sherlock took note of before he knelt down beside John. He looked into the crate and noticed that there were at least five different firearms inside. He dug around and determined that there was a shotgun, two handguns, another rifle, and a sniper rifle. Underneath all of that, was a large collection of ammo for each of the guns. Sherlock's mind reeled, Mycroft said that he was sending medical supplies and food, not weapons. He tried to assess the crisis that Mycroft was expecting but was thrown out of his thought when he heard John opening up the second box.

This box, did not contain food, but it did contain plenty of medical supplies and vials of things that Sherlock would need to inspect sooner rather than later, because they did not look anything like medicine.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell is all of this?" John asked, his gaze on the crate full of weapons. His face was full of curiosity, not the worry that Sherlock would have expected from anyone else other than John Watson.

"Well, Mycroft mentioned that there was a viral outbreak in Africa, but he didn't specify what, and that it might spread. I've done a bit of digging and all flights to and from the continent have been canceled for the past three weeks, but Mycroft must think that the situation is dire to have sent all of this," Sherlock explained.

John's eyes narrowed. "A viral outbreak? Was he more specific? That, mixed with the small armory he sent us, sounds like a zombie outbreak if I didn't know better," he said.

Sherlock shook his head. "Yes, my brother can be a little vague but that's nothing to be worried about. He'll give us details as we need them. If we need them. Mycroft has always been a little hasty, and honestly John? A zombie outbreak?"

The shorter man shook his head. "My point is, this stuff is extreme. Like end of the world extreme. Don't you think this is a little strange?"

Sherlock shrugged and made his way over to the sofa. "Strange indeed, John," he said. "However, strange means nothing to me unless I know why it's strange. Knowing Mycroft, I'll know what's going on sooner than later, please stop fretting."

John looked at Sherlock for a good minute before standing up and brushing his hands on his pants. "Fine," he said. "I'll take the guns up to my room and put the medicine in the bathroom." With that, John was off and Sherlock slipped into the depths of his mind palace.