Sherlock had gone for his chips anyway. He didn't usually eat on a case but somehow he felt lighter now that he knew Molly was happy at last. He'd grimaced however when the shop owner questioned him on his appearance alone- the owner was very fond of Marie and wanted to know where she was. Sherlock had just replied lightly that she was out of town at the moment, but that she should be back soon.

"Well, don't let her stay gone too long. She's a keeper, that one! Next time be sure to bring her with you and I'll be sure to include extra for her, too." The owner had replied.

Sherlock stood in 221B now, eating his chips thoughtfully. He missed Marie, more than he cared to really admit, and it seemed like everything was set on reminding him of her. Even his mind was against him, the brunette running around his mind palace in an annoyingly endearing way, although it was extremely distracting.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as he heard Mary Morstan's voice at the front door, saying urgently: "Oh, Mrs Hudson. Sorry, I-I think someone's got John. John Watson?"

Sherlock turned immediately, his attention caught.

"Hang on! Who are you?" Mrs. Hudson called and Sherlock stepped out of his flat as Mary replied: "Oh, I'm his fiancée."

"Mary?" Sherlock called as he saw the woman appear around the corner of the stairs. He took in her frantic expression and asked quickly: "What's wrong?"

Mary joined him at the top of the stairs, pulling out her phone as she informed him: "Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing," she explained as she scrolled through to pull up the text she'd received, "you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip-code."

Sherlock glanced at the woman sharply, examining her once again briefly. But he pushed it aside as Mary showed him the text and he read: 'Save souls now! John or James Watson? Saint or Sinner? James or John? The more is Less?'

"First word, then every third." He muttered and then read the code aloud: "Save ... John ... Watson." He paused.

"Now!" He ordered, dropping the chips and dashing down the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Mary questioned, running after him.

Sherlock replied quickly: "St James the Less. It's a church. Twenty minutes by car."

As he stepped out into the streets, he questioned urgently: "Did you drive here?"

"Er, yes." Mary confirmed but Sherlock's mind was racing and he concluded: "It's too slow. It's too slow."

He looked around quickly, pacing the street a little and Mary asked desperately: "Sherlock, what are we waiting for?"

Sherlock paused as he saw what he wanted.

"This." He replied shortly as he stepped into the middle of the road, raising a hand to stop a motorbike.


Sherlock sped down the streets, Mary hanging on tightly behind him as they headed for the church. Sherlock's mind was going at several miles an hour as he mentally calculated the quickest route to St. James the Less. Ten minutes.

Mary received another text, which she quickly showed to him. Sherlock glanced at it, but it wasn't giving him any new information. It just read: 'Getting warmer Mr Holmes. You have about ten minutes.'

Sherlock raced, knowing that he needed to get there faster than ten minutes then. Mary shouted: "What does it mean? What are they going to do to him?"

"I don't know." Sherlock replied sharply, focusing on driving and moving as quickly as possible.

Mary then received another text: '8 minutes and counting…'

Sherlock just raced on, but as he turned a corner he snapped: "Damn!"

He quickly pressed the brakes, skidding to a stop before the police blockade on the road. Sherlock quickly glanced around, looking for an alternative now that the road was blocked. He glanced to the left and saw a pedestrian road, leading down to the underground and which would take them to St. James' in eight minutes.

The tires squealed as he turned them, heading down the steps.

"Oi! Oi! You can't go down there!" The policeman shouted after him, but Sherlock ignored it, focusing on getting to John as fast as he could without injuring John's fiancée.

As they sped up out of the underground and back onto a car road, Mary showed him another text as they were getting closer. 'Better hurry, things are hotting up here…'

Sherlock swerved quickly around the other cars on the road, never breaking his speed. Mary's phone beeped again and Sherlock read: 'Stay of execution. You've got two more minutes.'

Sherlock glanced up- their current path would take three minutes. He glanced to the side to see another tunnel path through the underground, which would make the journey to St. James' one minute. He quickly swerved onto it.

They finally made it to St. James and Sherlock sped around the nearby park, scanning the crowd of people gathered for Guy Fawkes. He couldn't see anything out of place, and no sign of John. Mary's phone beeped and Sherlock read: 'What a shame Mr Holmes. John is quite a Guy!'

"What does it mean?" Mary shouted and Sherlock glanced from the message to the pyre that was just being lit.

"Oh, my God!" He cried as the flames caught and the crowd began to cheer, celebrating Guys Fawkes. Sherlock swerved them into the park as fast as he could.

"Help!" A shriek came from inside the pyre and a child began to scream in terror.

Sherlock ordered as he pulled up: "Jump off!"

He and Mary jumped off the bike, running through the crowd, shouting: "Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!"

Sherlock shoved through the last of the people, shouting: "John!"

Mary was right behind him, screaming: "John! Get up, John!"

Sherlock began to fling aside wood, ignoring the flames as he worked to get an opening to the underside of the pyre.

"John!" Mary screamed and John's voice shrieked from inside: "Help!"

Sherlock yelled: "John? John!"

He pulled aside more wood and finally spotted his friend inside. He reached in, pulling the man out just as the flames licked closer, pulling them both to safety as the crowd watched, frozen with horror.

"John!" Mary breathed, bending over the dazed man as Sherlock called desperately: "John! John?"

John groaned, as he passed out a little. But other than a bloodied head, probably from when he was captured, he was fine and both Sherlock and Mary breathed sighs of relief as they peered down at the blond man.


"...Which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing."

Sherlock sat in his armchair with his eyes closed, drumming his fingers irritably as he listened to the elderly woman's chatter.

"I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?' He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so." The old man sitting next to his wife agreed and Sherlock lifted his hands, steepling them before his pursed mouth in irritation.

The old woman continued obliviously: "Oh, keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his-"

"Glasses." The elderly couple said at the same time.

"Blooming things. I said, 'Why don't you get a chain – wear 'em round your neck?' And he says, 'What, like-"

"'Larry Grayson'?" The pair said at the same time, again.

Sherlock finally couldn't take it anymore as he slammed his hands down on the armrests, pushing himself up and walking over as he demanded: "So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?"

He stepped onto the coffee table and onto the couch, shoving the old couple to each side of the seat as he stood between them to examine the wall with the data on the terrorist case. The old woman replied, startled: "Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament."

Sherlock glanced down at the woman with a confused frown and the woman shrugged as she said: "Some big debate going on."

The door to the flat clicked open and John walked in. He stopped abruptly as he took in the strange scene before him but Sherlock looked delighted.

"John!" He greeted and John apologized: "Sorry, you're busy."

Sherlock quickly denied: "Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving."

He stepped down, pulling the old woman up and she asked in confusion as she was placed on her feet: "Oh, were we?"

"Yes." Sherlock emphasized.

"No, no," John interjected quickly, "if you've got a case..."

Sherlock interrupted as he said emphatically: "No, not a case, no-no-no. Go. 'Bye."

He pushed the couple non too gently towards the door. The old woman called out, turning back to the detective as she nagged: "Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember."

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out." Sherlock said flatly, following the couple as they walked over to the door. John moved out of the way and into the flat nervously, unsure of whether he should intrude or not.

"Well, give us a ring." The old woman continued and Sherlock snapped as he all but shoved them out the door: "Very nice, yes, good. Get out."

He made to slam the door shut but the old woman shoved her foot in-between the doorframe, stopping him. He glanced down at her foot in shock before his attention was drawn back to the woman as she said softly: "I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you."

Sherlock glanced back awkwardly at John who was pacing nervously before the windows. The old woman went on: "We're just so pleased it's all over."

Sherlock tried to slam the door shut again, but the old woman's foot was still stuck there.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" The old man added, and Sherlock hummed carelessly: "Mm-hm."

The old man chided: "She worries."

The old woman looked up at the young man, her eyes pleading as she asked: "Promise?"

Sherlock glanced back at John once more before he leaned in and whispered quietly: "Promise."

The old woman beamed, reaching up to caress the detective's face and Sherlock groaned: "Oh, for God's..."

He finally slammed the door on the old couple, leaning back on the door with a deep sigh.

"Sorry about that." He muttered to John who looked over in surprise, saying quickly: "No, it's fine."

He paused awkwardly before he asked: "Clients?"

Sherlock shrugged as he replied: "Just my parents."

He walked back into the room as John asked in surprise: "Your parents?"

Sherlock nodded, explaining: "In town for a few days."

"Your parents?" John repeated in disbelief, but Sherlock continued over him: "Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of "Les Mis." Tried to talk me into doing it."

Sherlock gave a grim smile, clearly exasperated by the mere thought of it. John, however, was more focused on another detail.

"Those were your parents?" He repeated, turning to the window to watch the elderly couple leave.

Sherlock was confused as he replied: "Yes."

John stared out the window as he said: "Well." He snorted a little, and he turned back to Sherlock as he began: "That is not what I..."

He trailed off and Sherlock raised a brow, confused.

"What?" He asked and John continued, struggling to phrase his words: "I-I mean they're just so..."

He trailed off again and Sherlock's eyes narrowed, cocking his head slightly as he tried to understand where John was going with this.

"Ordinary." John finished at last, smiling a little at the end to show he didn't mean anything insulting.

Sherlock suppressed a smile at that, choosing to reply simply: "It's a cross I have to bear."

John chuckled at that, turning back into the room, but it died down as he thought of something else. He turned back to Sherlock.

"Did they know, too?" John asked and Sherlock feigned ignorance.

"Hmm?" He asked as he avoided John's eyes and John elaborated, looking at Sherlock evenly: "That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek."

Sherlock fidgeted, avoiding meeting John's eyes as he muttered: "Maybe."

"Ah! So that's why they weren't at the funeral." John cried, turning back to the room as he understood.

Sherlock finally looked up as he said in exasperation: "Sorry. Sorry again."

"Mm." John hummed as he walked around casually.

Sherlock paused, lowering his eyes again as he murmured sincerely: "Sorry."

John looked over at the man, before he too lowered his gaze.

"So, you've shaved it off, then?" Sherlock commented and John looked up in confusion, before he understood and he replied shortly: "Yeah. Wasn't working for me."

"Mm, I'm glad." Sherlock murmured and John quipped: "What, you didn't like it?"

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back as he replied with a smirk: "No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."

John paused, staring at his friend as the man grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That's not a sentence you hear every day." John commented as he sat down in his armchair.

Sherlock watched him, his face becoming serious and he asked with concern: "How are you feeling?"

John replied shortly: "Yeah, not bad. Bit ... smoked."

"Right." Sherlock said, looking over at him sympathetically.

There was a pause and then John's face turned sober, too as he looked at his friend seriously: "Last night, who did that? And why did they target me?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, his eyes flitting over to the wall thoughtfully.

"Is it someone trying to get to you through me?" John questioned. "Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know. I can't see the pattern." Sherlock murmured as he turned back to the wall fully, muttering as he thought aloud: "It's too nebulous. Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"'Give his life'?" John repeated in shock and Sherlock explained: "According to Mycroft. What I don't understand is why Marie would then relay that cryptic message without further instruction."

"Marie?" John repeated, surprised and Sherlock nodded.

"Apparently that's where she's been the last few months." He told John. "From what we've been told, there's an underground network planning an attack on London – that's all we know."

Sherlock frowned in thought before he turned back to the wall, explaining: "These are my rats, John."

"Rats?" John questioned, leaning back in his seat as he listened intently.

Sherlock elaborated: "My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth..."

John frowned, recognizing the man in the picture Sherlock had indicated.

"I know him, don't I?" John asked and Sherlock nodded, explaining: "Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment."

"Yes." John nodded, recognizing the man, and Sherlock informed him: "He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

"What?" John asked in astonishment and Sherlock said darkly: "He's the big rat, rat number one. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed."


John watched the security footage with a frown. "Yeah, that's ... odd." John murmured as he stared at the screen.

"There's nowhere he could have got off?" John checked and Sherlock muttered: "Not according to the maps."

John hummed in thought while Sherlock muttered anxiously: "There's something – something, something I'm missing, something staring me in the face."

Sherlock turned back to the wall full of data. His phone beeped with a message and Sherlock pulled it out as John murmured: "Any idea who they are, this underground network?"

Sherlock checked the message to see it was pictures from one of his homeless network, showing Moran coming out of the underground. John continued obliviously: "Intelligence must have a-a list of the most obvious ones."

"Our rat's just come out of his den." Sherlock murmured while John rambled: "You said Marie didn't send more information? Any way we can contact her, see if she's made any progress?"

Those words sparked something in Sherlock's mind and suddenly the whole thing became clear. John continued, unaware as he rambled thoughtfully: "Maybe Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again, maybe they're gonna make an appearance…"

He was interrupted as Sherlock cried: "Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! I've been an idiot – a blind idiot!"

"What?" John asked confused but Sherlock ignored him as he paced, muttering excitedly: "Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant!"

John turned to watch his friend as he demanded: "What are you on about?"

Sherlock murmured as he continued: "Mycroft's intelligence isn't nebulous at all. It's specific, incredibly specific. That's why Marie didn't expand on it- she thought it was obvious."

"What do you mean?" John interrupted, exasperated.

Sherlock turned to him as he explained triumphantly: "Not an underground network, John. It's an Underground network!"

Sherlock returned to pacing in thought while John replied slowly: "Right... What?" He asked, still not understanding.

Sherlock came back to him, clicking on the security footage, playing it again as he explained: "Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face."

He pointed at the Westminster footage. "Look, seven carriages leave Westminster."

John hummed in agreement, but Sherlock wasn't done. He explained as the footage played the St. James station: "But only six carriages arrive at St James's Park."

John stared as he realized Sherlock was right.

"Ah… but that's…I mean, it's-it's impossible." John said in shock.

Sherlock murmured: "Moran didn't disappear. The entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."

John stared at his friend, asking incredulously: "Detached it where? You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps," Sherlock corrected, "but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth."

Sherlock pointed at the footage, saying emphatically: "That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere."

"But why, though?" John asked sceptically. "Why detach it in the first place?"

Sherlock began to mutter, thinking aloud: "It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You're kidnapped," he vaguely pointed at John, "and nearly burned to death at a fireworks party..."

Sherlock stopped, realizing what he'd just said. He turned sharply, asking urgently: "What's the date, John, today's date?"

"Hmm?" John asked, turning to check on the computer. He read: "November the..."

His face went slack as he realized what Sherlock was getting at.

"My God." He breathed.

Sherlock looked at his wall, staring at the picture of Moran as he murmured: "Lord Moran, he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill."

John glanced over as Sherlock walked over to the picture. Sherlock's lips curled as he murmured darkly: "But he won't be there. Not tonight. Not the fifth of November."

"'Remember, remember'." John murmured.

"'Gunpowder treason and plot'." Sherlock finished quietly.


Schilcott said over the webcam: "There's nothing down there, Mr Holmes, I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations."

All three men were bent over different maps of London and its underground network, searching frantically.

"There has to be." Sherlock snapped. "Check again."

Schilcott moved to another map on the screen while John muttered: "Look, this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff. Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand..."

Sherlock interrupted: "No, it's none of those. We've accounted for those."

He began to read off the nearest streets between the two stations: "St Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street…"

"Hang on, hang on." Schilcott interrupted and Sherlock looked up immediately as Schilcott said: "Sumatra Road. You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock focused completely on the other man as Schilcott said triumphantly: "There is something. I knew it rang a bell." Schilcott reached for another map as he explained: "There was a station down there."

"Well, why isn't it on the maps?" John asked with a frown.

"'Cause it was closed before it ever opened." Schilcott replied.

"What?" John asked in confusion and Schilcott explained as he showed them on the map: "They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface."

Sherlock straightened and he breathed: "It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster."

John asked in confusion: "So what's down there, a bomb?"

Sherlock didn't reply, striding out and John's face dropped in horror. "Oh..." He got up and followed the detective out quickly, the two heading towards the London underground.

*A/N Sorry, not much on Marie in this chapter, but it's coming! Thanks to all my readers for being so patient!