Chapter Eight: Ingress

John's arse was now completely numb despite him getting up every few minutes to stretch his legs. It had helped the first few times but now it seemed that the cold had seeped into his bones. He watched Sherlock watching the crowd and just managed to stop himself asking how much longer they had to stay. He knew they only had the one lead; they were there for as long as it took.

The sky had cleared somewhat, and even in the centre of the capital, with its notorious light pollution, stars could be seen between the patches of cloud. They shone from the sky like brightly gleaming exotic matter clustered in the atmosphere. The colourfully lit fountain behind them turned Sherlock's pale face first blue and then purple as he stood stiffly to make another sweep of the crowd. So far nobody fitting the description in the note had been seen.

The doctor's mind wondered and as had become usual when he let it, his thoughts and attention returned to Sherlock. John watched absently as the detective's breath steamed in front of his pale face. He found himself almost hypnotized as each steady cloud of breath billowed like the sails of a ship. John suddenly noted that the ships had stopped and that Sherlock's breath had been held for a few moments. The detective's teeth were gritted and he was focussed completely on the middle of the square. John followed his eye line, and it didn't take him long to see what had caught his attention. For sure enough, there in the middle of the square standing not too far from them at all, was a woman with dark brown hair and a back pack.

"It must be her Sherlock!" John hissed, "What do we do?"

Sherlock didn't answer, just kept his eyes locked on the woman, his glove covered fingers drumming out a rhythm on the cold stone between them. As they watched, she took out her phone from her pocket and tapped the screen, her face suddenly becoming illuminated in bright swirling colours. All but a few of the crowd of tourists had dissipated, obviously being effected by the cold and clever enough not to hang around too long. Sherlock and John weren't so close that they'd be noticed, but were certainly the only ones close enough to hear the sounds coming from the woman's phone. Over the icy breeze, although they had to strain, both men clearly heard a computer generated female voice with an American accent resonating from the small device.

"Acquiring Position. - - - Lock On Established. - - - Downloading Latest Intel Package."

She pulled an earpiece from her pocket and hooked it into place instantly making any further sounds inaudible to the two unnoticed men to her right. The brunette's face was pensive and all her attention was focused on the small screen in her hand. It glowed bright green and she began to tap quickly, occasionally glancing up at Nelson's Column or at the group of skater kids up by the road. Sherlock began to mutter under his breath. He was clearly as clueless as John as to what exactly they were witnessing.

"What intel package? Why here?" Sherlock scowled and his eyes flickered over the square then up to the statue and rested once again on the woman. John shrugged his stiff shoulders and peered closer.

"Wait Sherlock, what's that?" A tiny red light could be seen just at the woman's side and John had thought it was a laser sight until he'd noted that it was perfectly still. The light must be coming from her then. As he and the detective strained to see better, they saw that the light was coming from inside the backpack where she hadn't bothered to close the zips all the way. A black cable trailed out from the gap and connected with the device in her hand.

"Sherlock . . .Sherlock is that what I think it is?" John was breathing hard and leaning right over gripping the detective's shoulder and hissing in his ear.

"I can't tell from here!" Sherlock was getting more and more frustrated.

"Should we approach her? Th-The note said 'look for' didn't it? Does that mean say hi or just . . . just observe?"

"I don't know!" Sherlock growled back at him and John took the hint to shut up. They both continued to watch in silence until the green reflected on the woman's face suddenly turned blue and her pensive expression was replaced with a relieved smile. She exhaled audibly and Sherlock frowned, shaking his head and muttering about having to get closer. Suddenly the screen began to flash and she tapped at it before starting to speak into the hands free set.

"Hi, where are you? . . . .There's no-one around here, I just took Nelson! . . . . . No more resistance as yet, at this end at least . . . . . I'm going to recharge and deploy and I've got a quick job to do then I'll join you there, Viva le Resistance. Bye"

"Deploy? Deploy? She said deploy!" John was certain now - the wire attached to her phone was connected to a bomb which she was planning on setting off . . . soon. Sherlock was frowning and gripping John's wrist in an attempt to keep him quiet.

"I don't know yet, why would she be here? Why deploy a bomb here?"

John was stumped by Sherlock's question but he didn't have time to ponder for long. Suddenly the woman was off and moving up towards the stairs behind them. Sherlock practically leapt off the cold stone to stop John running after her. "Not here, we can't approach her out in public, we'll have to be discreet!" The woman tugged her earpiece out and the American accent could clearly be heard again.

"Target Acquired – 240 meters."

She jogged up the steps then turned round at the top to look out over the square. Sherlock whipped them round and began strolling slowly in the other direction but when he hazarded a glance back up at her, she was gone. He swore angrily under his breath.

"She can't have gone far!" John was sprinting up the steps after her with Sherlock close behind. She was just in view at the corner of the National Gallery. When she saw them coming she turned and ran. The detective raced forward and followed her round the side of the building and when John reached them, panting heavily, he saw that Sherlock had caught her. Her dark hair had fallen across her face but he could see her furious expression. She twisted and fought against Sherlock's grip on her wrists but he held on tight.

"What the fuck are you doing? GET OFF ME!" she shrieked angrily.

"Tell us what you're planning!" Sherlock hissed back at her. She let out a hollow laugh and dropped her weight and jerked her fists away from the consulting detective. She fell unceremoniously to the ground and stopped there staring up at them with determined resolution.

"Where are you planting the bomb?" John demanded using his most authoritative military growl. "Why are you here, who are you working for?"

The angry laugh that had been about to follow died on her lips and she stared at them with a confusion that rivalled their own.

"You're not Enlightened? I thought you were Enlightened!"

Sherlock caught John's eye then they both stared down at her. Great, some crazy cult was the last thing they needed.

"What are you talking about? Tell us about the bomb!" John dropped down so that he squatted next to her.

"There is no bomb you fucking idiots!" she glowered. "I'm not working for anyone!" She laughed again but this time she didn't seem angry, she seemed almost scared. "It's a game, just a game!" She went to reach into her pocket but John was too quick for her.

Before he'd even reached a conscious decision to move, his hand had shot out and wrenched the phone out of her grip.

"-Hey! -" she started. But the wire had been pulled out and a whirring beeping sound was coming from the glowing device. She must have set it off. John stared horror struck at the screen in his hand and made a split second decision.

"Sherlock! Run!" John launched himself at the woman, knocking her onto her front. He threw himself face down over her and her bomb filled back pack, making sure that he would take the worst of the blast. He didn't hear the woman's indignant protests because his heart was hammering so loud in his ears. Despite the adrenaline, he was completely calm. His army training had kicked in even after all this time. There was no point in panicking, getting the job done was all that mattered. At least he would have saved Sherlock . . . . Sherlock? Sherlock hadn't run away. He hadn't gone anywhere. John could see the toes of the other man's leather dress shoes out of the corner of his eye. Why wasn't he getting the hell out of there? John lifted his head.

Sherlock was towering over him, looking down in mild amusement. "Stand up John. There is no bomb." He helped John shakily to his feet. "It's a game John. She's telling the truth." The computerized voice sounded again,

"Downloading latest intel package . . . Welcome back! XM reserves 32%"

John looked at the screen, at the GPS map of Trafalgar Square and the surrounding area, and the glowing green and blue patches and the energy bar at the top with a level indicator in the corner sitting at level 8. He felt cold realization settling in his gut.

"What's in the backpack?" John demanded, but he knew this wasn't going anywhere. Sherlock had begun to pace back and forth behind him and he knew they'd hit a dead end.

"Battery pack!" she threw at him, "Now who the fuck do you think you are?"

"If you've got nothing to hide, why did you run?" John knew the answer before he'd finished the question.

"Because two idiot creeps were following me!" She had lost her angry tone and John could see that she was trembling slightly. Shit. Sherlock was already marching off back towards the square.

"Sorry. So so sorry," he said awkwardly, offering a hand to help her up. She refused it and scrambled up by herself. She levelled a look of pure disdain at John before snatching back her phone, straightening her coat and marching back round to the gallery entrance.

"Hurry up John!" Sherlock called back at him, "We've probably missed her by now!"

John swallowed, trying to ignore the part of himself he'd just left open for the world to see. He'd been ready, so ready to just . . . he suppressed these thoughts quickly. He jogged to the detective's side and they both peered out over the square, at the traffic that surrounded it and the brightly lit fountains. The place was now deserted. How could they have mucked up so spectacularly? Sherlock's face was drawn, his hands set on the stone barrier before him. He slammed a clenched fists down suddenly and snarled at John.

"Something's not right, I've missed something!" He pulled at his dark curls in frustration.

"You can't be everywhere at once. It's not your fault. We couldn't have known it was a game." John tried to comfort him.

Sherlock turned to glare at him but he stopped short suddenly, eyes wide. He raised his hands slowly to gesture and let out a shuddering gasp.

"It WAS a game, it IS a game. She was telling the truth! But not all of the truth! I knew there was more to it than that." He turned suddenly towards the entrance to the National Gallery where they'd last seen the woman seat herself on the steps. She wasn't there any more though. No, now she was at the far end of the building and approaching a sleek black car. Its back left passenger door was pushed open to receive her. Both men ran, hearts pounding in their ears, towards the woman and the car, but they were too late.

"Wait!" Sherlock shouted out. But when they arrived at the curb the car had already pulled away and was speeding up St Martin's Place. "Damn!"

John was panting hard, bent over with his hands resting on his knees. He shook his head trying to catch up with the detective's racing thoughts as they stood on the dark corner.

"What's . . . who, was that?" John managed to straighten slightly and coughed out the words.

"Mycroft's car." Sherlock breathed. "Why use Mycroft's car? They must know that we know . . . it was too much to hope that they'd stay trained on Baker Street. If using Mycroft's car is some sort of a warning to back off, a nod to the fact that they know that we know, then who was that girl? If she had information for us then we missed it. Or did we?" He was frowning away in the direction the car had gone. Then his whole body became stiff and he stood stock still. He stared straight ahead, eyes glazed. His hands were held up before him and his fingertips were twitching slightly. John knew there was no point in trying to interrupt Sherlock when he was desperately trawling through his mind palace, but now? Really? Passers-by were giving them strange looks and John was losing patience.

"Sherlock! We need to move? We're getting in the way." A group of loud drunk men in their twenties were jostling their way past and John had to literally drag Sherlock back out of the way before one of them was knocked out into the traffic. The detective moved suddenly, his hands coming up to rest at the back of his head. He stretched and grinned down at his doctor who was frustratedly awaiting ingress of the explanation.

"Well?" John asked "What is it?"

Sherlock rocked back on his heels. "The door was pushed open before the woman reached the car, someone was in the back waiting for her. Someone with rather delicate feminine hands, at least the one hand that was visible in the light from the street lamps. A brunette, judging by her skin tone and choice of jewellery and chosen nail polish colour."

John stared at Sherlock in disbelief. "You can tell all that from a split second's view of a hand? In the dark? From 40 feet?" He couldn't help shaking his head. He'd been surprised and impressed with Sherlock's amazing abilities pretty much constantly in the time that they'd known each other, but this took the biscuit. This took the custard crème.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "It's called close trained eidetic memory. It helps when there's adrenaline. It means I can go back and see details I missed the first time. Doesn't always work, but this time . . . this time," He grinned again and took a half skip-step in the direction the car had gone.

"What did you see the second time round? Who is it?" John could feel his heart still beating loudly in his chest even though his lungs had stopped burning and he was breathing normally again.

"Let's just say, her other hand was still clamped tightly onto her blackberry." Sherlock turned away from the wide eyed doctor and started to walk back down in the direction of Charing Cross tube station. "Come on John! We're in."