John
The news that day had not been the best wake up call. I took the stairs up to the flat two at a time, the headlines flashing in my mind like neon-lit signs. The street outside was littered with debris, and from the street, I could see that the windows had been blown in. It figured that the one night I had a row with Sherlock would be the night he got himself blown up.
The staccato plucking of a violin drifted down the stairs to meet me, and I could hear two male voices mumbling. One was definitely Sherlock's.
"Sorry, far too busy. Couldn't possibly," I heard Sherlock say as I made it to the doorway. His brother, Mycroft, sat across from him with a generally displeased expression.
"Yes, I've seen that your...business has been booming thanks to your blogger," Mycroft said, sparing me a glance. Great. Let's bring up the bloody blog again.
"Sherlock, are you alright?" I asked, looking towards the windows covered in plywood.
He continued plucking the violin and barely looked at me. "Fine. Just a gas leak, apparently. Mycroft, if this case is so important, why don't you look into it?" The mental image of Mycroft off on a case in Sherlock's duster and scarf was partially amusing, but mostly just wrong.
"I couldn't possibly leave the office, not with elections and..." he trailed off, and he and Sherlock shared an uncomfortable silence. "Well, you don't need to know about all of that. Look, I'll just leave this file with you." He stood, holding out a manilla folder towards Sherlock. Sherlock simply stared at him, motionless. Almost huffing at him, Mycroft approached me, handing me the folder and shooting me a look that said, you are the reasonable one and I am sorry you must look after this child. I gave a brief smile and placed it on the desk. As Mycroft left, Sherlock played the most ghastly thing on his violin. It sounded like a small child throwing a fit, and as Mycroft walked out of sight, Sherlock pushed the bow along the strings in the direction of the door. With his facial expression, I believed that he'd quite possibly used a musical instrument to tell Mycroft to bugger off. Sighing, I took a seat on the sofa.
"Why'd you lie? You don't have one thing on."
"Why shouldn't I?"
The pouty way he said this and his facial expression made it clear. "Ah. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."
Sherlock's phone began to ring, and he quickly picked up. The conversation was extremely brief, and he hung up, practically hopping out of his seat. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Come on."
"Me?"
"Of course. I'd be lost without my blogger."
A few minutes later, we found ourselves in Lestrade's office. I watched Sherlock open an envelope that, strangely enough, had been addressed to him. In female handwriting, even. Inside was a phone that greatly resembled... "That...That's the phone."
"That's the phone from A Study in Pink," Lestrade said.
Sherlock mumbled something in response, launching into a list of deductions and suddenly veered off. "Someone went through a lot of trouble to make it look like- A Study in Pink?! You read his blog?!" Oh no.
"Well yeah- hey, do you really not know that the earth goes 'round the sun?" Oh god, I thought, screaming internally. Sherlock glared at me shortly, then opened a message that had been left on the phone for him. Five pips, and a photo of some place that apparently Sherlock knew. Of course he bloody did.
"It's a warning," he said suddenly.
"A warning?" Lestrade asked.
"It's gonna happen again," Sherlock said, pocketing the phone and turning to leave. I hurried after him.
"Hang on, what's gonna happen again?" I asked, becoming slightly worried. Without turning to look at me, Sherlock simply said, "Boom!"
Mary
I'd been sitting in this car for at least two hours. Everything below my waist had gone spectacularly numb, and the weight of the explosive vest hadn't helped. I had no idea what time it was. I sat in the driver's seat of a car I'd never seen before with no keys in sight and a pager in my hand. Not a single person had bothered to even look in this car as they passed by. I was practically invisible.
A shrill ring made me jump. I looked around the car as best I could, but didn't see a phone anywhere. A small beam of light came from the glove compartment, and upon opening it, I found a phone. The moment I had it in hand, the ringing stopped. It had been from a blocked number, so I couldn't call it back for answers. My finger hovered over the nine when the pager went off. I picked it up.
I wouldn't do that if I were you...
I noticed a glimmer of light out of the corner of my eye and looked down to find a laser sight on one of the explosives strapped to me. I yelped, dropping the phone. The pager went off again.
No no no. Pick that back up. I've got a job for you.
I let out a frightened sob. Tears began to flow freely down my face. Obediently, I dialed the number given to me by the pager.
"..."
"..."
"Sherlock Holmes speaking."
I watched the words travel across the screen in slow succession. "Hello sexy."
"...Who's this?"
"I..I sent you a little puzzle just to say hi." I struggled not to vomit, scream, or burst into hysterical sobbing.
"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying, I'm typing. And this..." I hesitated, anger making me bite my cheek before continuing, "stupid bitch is reading it out."
I could hear him mumbling something and talking away from the speaker. The pager didn't stop.
"12 hours to solve my puzzle, Sherlock, or this songbird..." I felt my breath leave me, and suddenly couldn't find the air to speak. I took a few deep breaths, and continued. "Dies. And what a shame that would be."
Hang up now, the pager instructed, and sit quietly like a good girl. I did as instructed, tossing the phone aside and gripping the steering wheel in a desperate attempt not to vomit. My breathing sped up to where I felt like I was close to hyperventilating. Nausea made my stomach lurch. I remembered that name, Sherlock Holmes. I prayed silently, tears dripping onto the steering wheel. Please, God. Please don't let my life be in the hands of that man. Please.