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I don't own Sherlock.

Chapter 7: Structural Integrity

John examined the large crack that had appeared in the wall, Mrs. Turner fretting behind him.

"I just don't know what could have shaken the house so badly," Mrs. Turner said, wringing her hands. "If it was an earthquake they would have reported it on the news. And no one else on the street has felt any sort of tremors."

John shook his head, feeling a little bad for misleading his landlady, but unsure how to even attempt explaining the truth. "I really don't know what to say. I will tell you that it does seem to be the same crack that's formed in the living room of 221B. It seems to travel diagonally down the wall, maybe the whole length of the building." John shifted the torchlight around, trying to see in it from another angle. The problem was he was a doctor, not a carpenter. He didn't know the first thing about building or repairing a house. He'd had a certain amount of demolitions training in the army, a very small amount, but that didn't make him and expert in destruction either. "Nope, I can't tell if it's structurally damaging or not. We're going to have to call an expert."

"Oh," Mrs. Turner held the ladder while John turned off his torch and climbed down. "Well thank you, John, for taking a look at least. I'll just have to phone someone to come check, I guess."

"If you're worrying about the structure, perhaps you should go stay with your sister for the time being until you get the professional to take a look. I can stay and watch after the building for you," John offered.

John wouldn't mind if Mrs. Turner left for a few days or even a week or two. The incidents with the other 221B were becoming more violent as demonstrated by the newly formed crack on the wall and the toppled furniture in John's flat. Mrs. Turner even felt the last major incident which caused the crack. She hadn't noticed any disorientation, or the wrongness that John experienced being directly at the epicenter, but she definitely noticed the shaking.

Using the system of notes they had set up, John asked Sherlock if there had been any structural damage done to Sherlock's 221B. There hadn't been. Which meant either the shaking was stronger on this side of the rift, or, more likely, the structural integrity of John's 221 Baker Street was less trustworthy. Either way, John would feel better about the entire situation if his elderly landlady were out of harm's way.

Seeing her hesitate, John gave his most charming smile. "I think it would be for the best. We could pack up the fragile things in your flat just to make sure nothing falls and breaks while you're away if the tremors come again. I'll make sure nothing too bad happens to the building and you can check up on it whenever you like. At least you won't have to worry about being shaken out of your bed in the dead of night."

"But will you really be alright here alone? That bookcase almost fell on you. What if something came down on you and you were trapped?" Mrs. Turner took the torch and followed while John folded up the ladder and carried it to a side room in 221C and the temporary storage filling the basement flat.

"I'll be fine, Mrs. Turner," John laughed. It was sweet how she fretted over him, it reminded him of his grandmother. "I've survived war zones, I don't think a few shaking walls are going to hurt me." Actually, if the incidents got much worse between the disorientation and the shaking, it could very well become dangerous. John would just have to make sure he stayed away from the large pieces of furniture. He'd barely been able to move out of the way of the bookcase as it toppled over in the latest incident.

Toppling furniture aside, if the shaking got stronger and if the structure of the building was already compromised, part of the building could very well collapse and that could kill him just as easily as an insurgent bullet. John didn't mind though. The phenomenon had him feeling more alive than he had been in months. Even now, his psychosomatic limp was practically gone since the incident from earlier in the day. The pain would come back. It always did, but that initial shot of adrenaline when the world was shaking and wrong seemed to do wonders for his leg. "The fright, won't do any favors for your heart though, or your bad knee. I'll look after the place while you're away."

"Alright," Mrs. Turner agreed, locking 221C. "I've been meaning to visit my sister anyway. I may as well do it now. I'll call someone to check the crack and everything, pack, then leave in the morning."

John nodded, relieved. "Let me know when you want some help putting away anything fragile, my evening is free for the taking."

"I knew you would be a good neighbor," Mrs. Turner smiled, sending him back up the stairs with a pat to the arm. "Give me ten minutes to make the call then come down when you can." She disappeared back into 221A, still looking worried, but no longer fretting.

John limped back into his own flat careful not to disturb the messages lying around. They were a nuisance and entirely Sherlock's idea, but John had to admit it did increase the chances for a message getting through with every incident, even the mildest ones. They still hadn't managed to discover the exact cause of the phenomena. John didn't really even have a name for what was happening. All he really knew was it was happening several times a day and each time it grew more intense, they were starting to last longer, as well. The sooner he could get Mrs. Turner out of the building to stay with her sister the better.

John was just filling the kettle for a quick cup of tea while Mrs. Turner made her call when he recognized the off-kilter feeling of wrongness creeping up his spine. Dropping the kettle in the sink, John ran for the door. If the pattern held, he only had a few moments before the shaking began and a moment after that before very air wavered and tore. His legs didn't bother him at all as he pounded down the stairs and called for his landlady, drawing Mrs. Turner out of her flat.

"John! What's wrong?" she asked, hand on the railing before pulling back with a gasp as the hand rail started to shake.

"It's happening again, Mrs. Turner!" John said, stopping halfway down the stairs when he saw her. "You should get out of the building, go across the street to Mrs. Hudson's house." He turned back up the stairs.

"But, John," Mrs. Turner called, grabbing hold of the rail again. The sound of rattling china and furniture grew stronger with each passing moment. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me!" John called down already on the landing. He could feel the stairs shaking beneath his feet. This was definitely the strongest one yet. "Just need to take care of something I'll be right down!" He watched as she hesitated, then nodded and hurried out the door.

John bounded up the last few steps into 221B. The floor heaved beneath him. Simply entering the room the disorientation washed over him with force. John staggered. He caught himself on the red chair as he searched for the wavering space he knew was there somewhere. Books toppled off the shelves and several dishes fell and shattered on the kitchen floor. The kitchen chairs rattling across the floor almost drowned out all other sounds and John barely heard his name being yelled from across the room.

"John!" Sherlock called, pulling John's attention the windows.

There, perhaps a meter away, was Sherlock. He must have been practicing his violin again. The bow was still clutched in his hand even though he no longer had the violin. John could see him more clearly than ever before, the waving tearing space between them stretching wide and thin enough to resemble a large window. It ran almost completely across the living room from one wall to the other.

"Sherlock!" John replied. He staggered forward a few steps before the heaving floor forced him to stop again. "This is the strongest it's ever been for my side. Is it the same for you?"

Sherlock looked like he was struggling to remain on his feet. Much of the room was out of view from John's perspective. The windows looked cracked in several places, but John couldn't tell if those were his windows or Sherlock's. The music stand on the other side toppled over and spilled music across the floor and through the portal into John's flat. An animal's head came crashing down followed shortly by a bookcase falling over in a clatter.

"I think the answer to that is obvious!" Sherlock yelled as he dodged out of the way of the shelf.

Something dropped on John's head, cracking into multiple pieces and sending a shock of pain though him. He shook his head and the world spun around him, tilting in crazy angles as the disorientation increase. Minor concussion, at least, John thought vaguely as he clutched the chair attempting to stay upright. Dust showered down on him. He looked up ears ringing and head pounding from the blow and found a chunks of the ceiling falling around him as new cracks splintered along the ceiling. A thunderous ripping noise echoed from the walls as something inside them tore loose. John cursed as the crack he'd been inspecting not half an hour ago split farther, running up the side of the wall like lightning traveling heavenward.

John cursed again as the windows shattered and still the shaking only increased knocking him to the ground as keeping any sense of balance became impossible. The reality of his situation hit him as hard as that moment when he'd been shot. This room was going to collapse, and it was going to take him with it.

TBC…

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