"It's been a week," Nicky whispered, glancing over John's shoulder and into 221B. The sight before her was…disturbing, to say the least.
"Yeah, at this point you don't want to come in here," John muttered, doing his best to block the inside of his flat. There were fresh bullets in the walls, an unknown substance oozing across the table, jam splattered across the floor (or at least Nicky hoped that that was jam), two bloody harpoons, and jars and platters of what looked to be human intestines and various other body parts displayed at random.
"Sherlock?"
"Sherlock," John nodded solemnly.
"Shut. UP!" a hysteric voice screamed from the kitchen.
"Vatican cameo," John muttered.
"Huh?" Nicky demanded, frowning with confusion as she watched her cousin duck to the floor. She glanced up back into 221B only to be met with a faceful of questionable brown gel.
Nicky blinked once, her mouth dropped open in shock as the gel dripped down her face and down onto her jacket.
"I told you to duck."
"You muttered 'Vatican cameo'," Nicky growled, shooting him a glare before raising a hand to her cheek and rubbing some of the gunk away. She glanced down at her hand in disgust.
"What did he just throw at me?"
"I'll explain later. Come on, let's go before he figures out where I hid my gun."
Nicky blanched.
"Yeah, leaving sounds good. I'm sure that Mrs. Hudson will let me clean up in her apartment," she muttered, following John's lead as he headed down the stairs to the beloved landlady.
"Hello dears. What's all the hullabaloo, John?" Mrs. Hudson asked, sticking her head out of her front door. "Nicky dear, what happened to you?"
"Sherlock," the cousins spoke flatly at the same time. Mrs. Hudson shook her head and sighed.
"Well come on in then for a bit. It looks as though you need to clean up before you even think of going anywhere Nicky."
"You know, I'd have to say I agree with that," Nicky mumbled as some of the gook slid further along her face, dripping down to her shoes.
"Oh come on in then, the both of you. You to the sink Nicky, and John I have a few biscuits if you're hungry."
"You're a gem Mrs. Hudson."
"Yes, yes, all right then. What on Earth did you get into Nicky?"
"Sherlock threw this at me for talking too loud with John in the foyer. I'm really not sure just what it is though," Nicky mused as she took the offered washcloth from Mrs. Hudson and began to wipe her face. "Hey John, medically speaking do you think it's safe to have this stuff in my mouth?"
"I'll call Poison Control for you. Rinse your mouth out in the meantime," John advised, pulling out his mobile.
"Oh great, thanks," Nicky said absentmindedly. A moment later she blinked and turned to look at John and Mrs. Hudson in surprise.
"Does that sort of thing normally happen to people who spend a lot of time around Sherlock? You just stop worrying about all this insane stuff like whether or not you may be poisoned or just what exactly is in the jar in the refrigerator next to the milk?"
"You never stop worrying about it, but you tend to question it less," John admitted, shooting Nicky a glance as he waited for Poison Control to pick up. "It makes life right awkward sometimes, but there you have it. Yes, hello? Hi, this is Dr. John Watson, just a quick question, you see my cousin swallowed some…"
"I'm sure you'll be all right dear," Mrs. Hudson smiled reassuringly at Nicky as John wandered out of the room. Nicky wiped the last bit of the goop from her face and leaned against the kitchen counter with a sigh.
"It's not me I'm worried about," she muttered. "All those people…I've been watching the news lately and even the reporters are starting to notice that something's wrong."
"Always the last to know," Mrs. Hudson shook her head sadly. "Although that one from Channel Eleven is quite good. Always so funny and entertaining."
"Right," Nicky smiled tiredly. "I'm sure she's great."
"Everything's all right," John spoke as he reentered the room. "Nothing to worry about, although if you notice you start glowing at night go straight to the hospital."
"What!?"
"I'm only joking. Don't worry Nicky, you're fine," John promised with a kind smile. "Do you still feel like getting some lunch?"
"After that joke I'm not sure," Nicky muttered, glaring at her older cousin.
"Rephrase: please be my excuse for not being stuck in the same room as my insane flatmate?"
"I don't know…"
"I'll pay with Mycroft's money."
"And suddenly I'm starving. Where do you want to eat?"
"That's what I thought you'd say. Care to join us Mrs. Hudson?"
"No, no, go along dears. Although if you're going to that place off Market Street bring me back some chips, all right?"
"Sure thing Mrs. Hudson," Nicky smiled before pulling the landlady into a hug. "See you later."
"Silly girl," Mrs. Hudson chuckled as Nicky and John left, already chatting about John's work at the hospital.
"So that's what Mrs. Hudson needed the steel brush for," Nicky smiled, nodding her head with understanding. "It all makes sense now!"
"Yeah, after the last time we both agreed that it was always better to have extra on hand," John shook his head, chuckling at the memory. "You know, it's funny now, but then it was a right nightmare!"
"I can imagine," Nicky cringed. "All of those car parts and oil and grime everywhere? Mrs. Hudson must have thrown a fit! I wouldn't want to be either of the Holmes brothers then," Nicky snickered.
"Sherlock didn't play his violin in the middle of the night once that week and Mycroft sent us fresh Maharaja Chai Oolong tea leaves straight from India. It was lovely," John sighed longingly.
"I can imagine," Nicky chuckled. They both sighed, sitting back in their chairs, enjoying a moment of silence. The cousins were sitting in the middle of the Thee Nuns Pub, alternating between talking about their work and yelling at the TV in the corner showing an ongoing soccer match.
"I still can't believe you call that soccer," John's face wrinkled with disgust. "It's football."
"No John, I told you. Football is totally different than soccer," Nicky shook her head empathetically.
"We're not going to get anywhere arguing about this. Americans," John sighed disparagingly.
"Brits," Nicky scoffed. They grinned at each other, chuckling good-naturedly. Their laughter faded though when the sports channel was changed abruptly to a news station. Breaking news: three more bodies found in an alley on the south side of London. Cause of death unknown.
John paled and Nicky shoved the remainder of her sandwich aside.
"Suddenly my appetite's gone," she muttered, biting down hard on her lip.
"Yeah," John agreed quietly, pushing aside his own fish and chips. "Hard to be hungry when…"
"Yeah," Nicky nodded.
"Although, it's not our fault. It's not Sherlock's fault either," John spoke up, his voice sounding slightly steadier.
"I know that, but still…I guess I feel guilty. We have a few pieces in front of us, so why can't we put together the puzzle yet?"
"We just need a little more. Giver Sherlock time and he'll work it out."
"Those reporters don't seem to think we have enough time," Nicky muttered. The broadcast was still going on, supposed experts debating the case and the others similar to it. One reporter was explaining that attempts had been made to get a statement from New Scotland Yard, but all they had received was 'No comment'.
"Those reporters are idiots. To paraphrase Sherlock, they sensationalize even more than I supposedly do with my blog," John snorted.
"And yet the death count rises."
"It's not your fault Nicky."
"Moriarty contacted me. Maybe…maybe there was something he said while we talked! Something I missed! If I had just given you the phone, or gotten it to Sherlock sooner…"
"It wouldn't have done any good. Moriarty wanted to talk to you. Not me, and definitely not Sherlock. He clammed up pretty fast when he knew that Sherlock was on the way."
"But why? Why didn't he want to talk to Sherlock? I thought Sherlock was the one he liked…er, is obsessed with?"
"Because they're similar in how easily they become bored. The only difference is that when Sherlock's bored he shoots the wall and when Moriarty's bored he convinces someone else to start shooting people."
"Most people would just play a Sudoku or waste time on Pinterest."
"Most people don't have an IQ that would make Stephen Hawking feel stupid," John parried.
"Fair point. Is Moriarty really that brilliant?"
"Criminally insane is how I would describe it. Sherlock may be a sociopath, but he's not a psychopath. Moriarty on the other hand…"
"Is a psychopath?"
"More like a sadistic psychopath who may also have a multiple personality disorder," John corrected. "Plus a few other disorders that I can't even begin to figure out. Thank God I studied to be a basic practitioner instead of a psychiatrist. Ergh," John shuddered theatrically, prompting a small laugh from Nicky that quickly turned sad.
"So I should be even more worried about the fact that this guy has my number?"
John's expression crumpled, realizing too late the effects of his words.
"I'm not going to lie to you Nicky, the idea that Moriarty knows about you is not an idea that I like. The man drugged me and strapped a bomb to my chest, and that was just when he was trying to mess with Sherlock. But he doesn't seem to really be focusing on Sherlock this time and that makes me nervous. I don't want him turning his attention on you."
"So that's why you haven't wanted me to come by this last week?" Nicky spoke slowly, her voice soft as realization and fear swept over her.
"Because I didn't want to make it seem like you were really fitting in with us. It's one thing for us to meet on occasion for lunch or something, or for you to even give Mrs. Hudson a call. But you, me, and Sherlock working together? Even if it's just you following us around and taking notes like you did that first night…that's putting you too much out in the open for my taste."
"Oh."
"Listen Nicky, it's not that I want you to hear anything from him, but…have you heard anything from Moriarty? Anything at all?"
"You mean another message?"
"Yeah. Have you?"
"I…oh no," Nicky whispered, snatching for her purse.
"What is it? What's wrong?" John sat up straighter.
"The last three days I've been in class. I keep my cell off then because it's just a distraction and there are all the overseas service fees. Crap, John, what if he called while I had my phone off?" Nicky demanded, her motions becoming slightly frantic.
"Nicky calm down," John ordered, reaching across the table and taking the cell phone from her. "It's not your fault and everything's going to be fine. Here we go," John muttered as the device at last turned on.
"You've missed a call."
"Who does it show it's from?"
"It's an unlisted number. Do you recognize it?" John asked, holding the phone so that Nicky could clearly see the screen.
"Yeah. I do. Play the message."
Not having to ask why, John tapped the touch screen then held the phone to his ear. Nicky stared down at the tabletop, clenching her hands anxiously as around them people in the restaurant came and went, completely unaware and uncaring to what was happening around them.
The message finished and John frowned, setting the phone down on the table.
"What was it?"
"A song…just some bit of melody. I recognized it but…I have no idea what it was," John admitted.
"Maybe I will," Nicky muttered, picking up the phone and replaying the message. There were no words spoken, nothing to indicate who the caller was except for the familiarity of the number. Just a few notes played on what sounded like an electronic keyboard. Nicky hummed along with the song absentmindedly, her eyes closed and her brow puckering with concentration.
"Ring Around The Rosy!" Nicky gasped as the song ended, her eyes flying open. "The nursery rhyme!"
"Nursery rhyme? You mean the one about the bubonic plague?" John frowned.
"Well I don't know about that," Nicky admitted, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "But yeah, the kids' song. Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posy, ashes, ashes, we all fall down," she sang quietly.
"Bubonic plague," John nodded firmly. "It's a bit of old medical history. The song is describing the afflictions, the supposed treatment, how they handled the bodies, and the high number of deaths that London experienced from 1664 to 1666."
"John?" Nicky said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"Think about what you just said."
John remained silent as realization slowly dawned on him.
"I'm calling Sherlock."