"No, no, NO!" Sherlock frantically tapped at the keyboard, his eyes flickering between it and the computer screen, but much to his annoyance yet another Marc Banks proved to be a red herring.
His search had thrown up nearly fifty 'Marc Banks', another twenty 'Marcus Banks', and hundreds with the more regular spelling of 'Mark'.
Now he sat drumming his fingers on the desk in frustration. Even with the remote link into Mycroft's databases, the work was proving frustratingly slow and each dead trail irritated and frustrated the injured man.
"Mrs Hudson!" he yelled as he glared at the computer screens in front of him. "Mrs Hudson!" impatience made his voice harsh.
It was a slightly flustered looking Mrs Hudson that came running, followed by another of Mycroft's minions.
"I need tea, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock demanded.
"Sherlock! I thought something dreadful had happened." She stood and frowned down at him. "You have a perfectly good internal phone line here, you could have phoned down to the kitchen."
The young man looked at the phone on the side table as if it was about to leap up and bite him.
"Now don't pull that face." Mrs Hudson scolded him. "I'll go and make you some tea and something to eat…"
"No, I don't want food."
"You're due to take you medication soon, and that lovely nurse of yours will want to know that you've had something to eat." She put a hand on his arm, and softening her voice, continued "And I'll be happier knowing that you're not going to pass out at the computer again."
He shot her a look, but the dismissive reply that had formed on his tongue refused to be said. She was looking down at him with a mixture of concern and sadness, the reason for which was quite unknown and alien to him, but it stopped his no doubt cruel remark none the less. Biting his bottom lip, his eyes dropped, and flickered from side to side as his mind rapidly formed – then discarded – several responses. As the silence stretched he finally made a decision.
"Mrs Hudson, right now I'd love a cup of tea, and if you have some," he smiled winningly up at her, "I'd also love a slice of your wonderful fruit cake."
Waiting only long enough to see her answering smile as she hurried off to prepare the meal, Sherlock turned his back on his landlady and returned to the knotty problem of Marc Banks.
As he stretched out his hand towards the keyboard an e-email alert flashed up on the screen. Seeing that it originated from John's new contact address he opened it immediately, and read the contents with dawning horror.
O*O*O
Ellen frowned as H set up a laptop on the desk, and as he looked up at her she raised a querying eyebrow.
"I'll keep BBC News 24 running on this," he plugged in a mobile internet dongle as he spoke, "nothing important. I like a bit of background noise, it's as good as anything else, and better than the radio."
"Right." Pulling out her mobile she frowned down at it for a second. "John should have checked in by now."
"Give it a while," H advised. "Traffic at this time of day, they've probably got caught in the start of the rush hour." Tapping a couple of keys, H brought the screen to life, and the familiar sight and sound of the BBC newsroom lit up his corner of the room.
"Coffee's ready." Wheeling across from the other side of the room with his coffee mug clipped into a holder on his chair, Jamie moved round to watch H's slow two-finger typing. "Blimey, fingers of fire mate!" he teased
"Yeah, watch it, or I'll steal the spokes out of your wheels!" the older man replied with a mock glare.
Ellen crossed the room to collect the other two mugs of coffee, handing one to H before plopping down into faded office chair behind his desk and eyeing the computer specialist critically.
"How come the army didn't supply you with a fancy electric wheelchair? I thought they're supposed to ensure you have everything you need to get on with your life."
"Oh they tried Ellen, but I'm happy with this. It does exactly what I want it to do." He flexed his arms. "Keeps me fit, and I don't have to worry about battery failure or power cuts."
"Not very fast."
"I ain't racin'." he grinned, lifting his mug from its holder and taking a hefty swig of his coffee.
"No good for chasing the bad guys." Ellen observed
"Nor for running away from them – looks like I'm screwed!"
"Quiet!" H's voice cut through the banter as he drew their attention to the breaking news.
'We are just receiving news of an explosion in a house in Lowndes Square, Knightsbridge. The emergency services have been called to the scene. As yet we don't know if anyone was in the building at the time of the blast. We'll keep you updated as reports come in.'
The voice of the newsreader droned on, but the three people in the room were no longer listening. Jamie wheeled across to his computer, fingers skimming across the keyboard, trying to find a live street view to piggyback onto.
Ellen pulled her phone out once more, her thumb hovering over the key pad. Her eyes flicked to H, seeing him watching her closely.
"Don't know." She said somewhat distractedly. "I want to know they're safe, don't want to put them at risk though."
"Shall I text Georgie and Jim? Get them back here?"
"Thanks H, that'd be good. Let's get them briefed at least; we can decide what we need to do when that's done"
"Bollocks!"
"Jamie?"
"Sorry Ellen. Can't get a live feed to the incident." Pushing himself away from his desk in disgust, he turned his chair to face his companions, a frown creasing his usually cheerful face. "What do you need me to do?"
"E-mail John's flatmate. Chances are he hasn't heard the news yet."
O*O*O
The blue unmarked police car screeched to a halt at the edge of the taped off cordon, Greg was out and running before the wheels had stopped rolling. Flashing his warrant card he ducked under the tape and headed towards the senior fire officer.
"Greg, what brings you here? Not your usual sort of shout is it?" Sub Officer O'Neill shook the police officer's hand, waving vaguely with the other in the direction of the blast damaged frontage.
"The call came in that we'd had a possible bomb incident at the home of a top civil servant Chas, and if that top civil servant was home at the time, then that puts it firmly into my jurisdiction." Greg looked harassed. His conversation with John rushed back into his mind.
"Right," O'Neill nodded. "Well, bomb squad are in checking for other devices, apart from that, we're here in case the small fire that it caused re-ignites."
Both men looked up as the army Bomb Disposal officers walked out of the building. After checking in with their team, the senior officer approached, rubbing a weary hand across his face. Greg introduced himself, and waited for the man's report – by the look on his face it wasn't going to be good.
"The house is clear, there are no more devices – we've swept through from top to bottom. You've got two bodies in the kitchen; neither was killed by the explosion." Major Macauley advised him.
"Shit" Greg looked over his shoulder and motioned for Sally to join him. As she approached he said "Donovan, get a forensic team up here, ready to go in as soon as the building's declared safe. Looks like a double murder."
"We're just waiting for a structural engineer to come out and assess the building," Chas said as the Detective Sergeant walked back to the car, "but given the only real damage was the small fire where the bomb had been placed, and the blown out windows and frames, I'd say the place is fairly secure. By the time your team gets here we'll have had that confirmed."
The army officer stared grimly at Lestrade.
"If you're prepared to go in before the all clear, there's something in there I think you should see."
Tired hazel eyes flickered over the other man's face, and then with a jerk of his head towards the house he indicated that Macauley should lead the way.
Crunching across broken glass from a mirror in the hallway, the bomb expert explained how they estimated the size of the bomb by the damage caused, and how damage in the hall would have been caused by the shockwave, air forced out of the doorway and down towards the kitchen.
"We found the two of them Lestrade, just sitting at the kitchen table."
"And you say the blast didn't kill them. Could the shockwave have done it?"
"Impossible. Their necks have been snapped – there wouldn't have been enough force behind the air that rushed through here. They were killed and posed like this." He moved aside, revealing the macabre set up.
"What kind of sick fuck…?" Greg stared sadly down at the elderly couple.
"There was someone else here." Pulling a flashlight out of his pocket, he shone it on the floor near the back door. There was a large area of blood spatter, and at either side it had been disturbed, leaving partial prints of two distinctly different types of footwear, and there was a smeared partial handprint on the leading edge.
"At least two people then," crouching down Greg took a closer look. "And heading out the back door by the looks of things."
He stepped carefully around the congealing red fluid, his eyes scanning the floor for any other signs, but apart from a couple of smudgy blood stains there was nothing. The back door however was wide open, and he took a hesitant step through, alert to the possibility of the perpetrators lying in wait for him.
"I don't think the bomber was in when it blew." The Major stepped out into the early evening air.
"What, you think while some bastard was murdering the old couple, someone else had put some kind of time-bomb in the lounge?"
The bomb disposal officer laughed; a harsh and mirthless sound.
"That's for you to work out, Detective Inspector." He turned to go back in, but paused on the threshold. "I can tell you though we haven't found a timing mechanism, so unless the Fire Investigation Team find anything I'd say the device was set off manually." And with that he disappeared back inside.
Greg followed a little slower, his mind turning over all the possibilities.
"Sir," Sally Donovan's voice pulled him from his reverie as he stepped back out into the street. "The forensics team are on their way – ETA about ten minutes. The electoral records for the area show the resident of the property to be Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother."
"I'd suspected as much." He muttered, staring down at the floor, wondering if the older Holmes brother was aware of the deaths of his staff.
As Sally moved away, Greg's phone chirped with a text alert. He looked down at the message and grimaced.
"Donovan!" he called after her.
She turned and walked back, a questioning look on her face.
"Sir?"
"I need you stay here. When forensics get here, I want them to pay particular attention to the blood stain on the kitchen floor. I don't believe it belongs to either of our victims, so we need to see if we can get a DNA match."
"But where are you going?"
"I'm following up a hunch." He held out his hand for the car keys. "Arrange for a couple of officers to remain here once we've finished here – you can grab a lift back with Anderson."
For a long moment after the car pulled away Sally stared up the road after it, then shaking her head she turned back to seek out the leading fire officer.
O*O*O
Responding to H's texts, Dunn and Wainwright made it back to the ops centre in record time, and listened in dismay to Ellen's briefing.
"Are we sure this is the same address?" Jim's expression gave away the fact that he was really just clutching at straws.
"Too much of a coincidence if it's not." Jamie murmured as he sat staring at his computer screen.
"Do you want one of us to go out and do a quick reccy?"
"No Georgie, if the guys have been caught in the blast there will be nothing you can do to help by being out there, and if they haven't, and the only reason they've not been in touch is because they're laying low, knowing Pat and Dan you wouldn't be able to find them if they don't want to be found." Ellen ran her fingers through her spikey hair, huffing out an exasperated breath and turning to look back at the information she'd added to the timeline on the whiteboard.
"Anything yet from the flatmate?" she moved to stand behind Jamie's wheelchair.
"Not since he acknowledged receipt of my e-mail." He glanced up at her over his shoulder. "You and John are close, yes?"
"We've been friends for a long time."
"And you trust him to be able to look after himself, right? So trust your instincts Ellen, go with 'no news is good news' until you hear otherwise."
For the first time since the news broke the tension in the room relaxed, and the former Military Intelligence officer actually laughed.
"You know, for a youngster you have quite an old head on those shoulders!"
"I learned the…" he paused mid-sentence, then "The flatmate's got back to me."
All eyes turned expectantly towards him.
"Shit. He's confirmed the address is his brother's house." Jamie's fingers flew rapidly over the keys once more, then hovered as he stared expectantly at the screen.
"For Christ's sake! There must be something we can do." Georgie Dunn, never the most patient of men unless he was working, pushed himself away from the wall where he had been leaning, fretting over the situation.
"Simmer down," Jim advised "we'll act when we have something to act on, until then we wait."
"And what if they don't come back?"
"Then," Ellen said calmly "we carry on, gather all the information we can, and we strike back!"
A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting this - it didn't want to be written...
