Alright. :) Fellow Fringies, here it is. If you are familiar with the Fringe universe, this will take place somewhere after 3/14 "6B" and before 3/16 "Os". If you are not familiar with Fringe, don't worry. The story in the Fringe characters is not vital to the Sherlock plot. But just so you know… the characters are: Dr Walter Bishop, his son Peter Bishop, Agent Olivia Dunham, Agent Astrid Farnsworth, and Agent Phillip Broyles. If you are not a Fringe person and I've overdone it a bit or not explained anything thoroughly enough... please, let me know!
Ten: Dr Walter Bishop
Harvard University. Boston, Massachusetts, USA.
"Astro! Where is the dimethyl iodine?"
Astrid Farnsworth looked up from her paperwork as Walter came dashing into the lab, a pair of welding goggles sitting askew on the top of his head and the front of his lab coat charred with soot. He was holding a beaker of violet liquid in one hand and a piece of red liquorice in the other.
"Walter, what are you doing?!" Astrid exclaimed. "What happened to your coat?" She squinted harder at his face. "And your eyebrows?"
"What'd he do to his eyebrows now?" Astrid looked towards the door as Peter and Olivia entered, faces pink from the cold. Peter walked over to Walter and spun the scientist around, clicking his tongue as he took in Walter's singed eyebrows and the sooty coat. Peter removed the vial of liquid from Walter's hand and slotted it in a rack on the table.
"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't blow anything up for at least two weeks, Walter," Peter admonished.
Walter frowned. "Don't be silly, Peter, I didn't make anything explode."
"Then what happened?" Astrid asked.
"Well whatever it was," Olivia called from the back room, "we're going to need to get another toaster."
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Walter, what did you stick in the toaster this time?"
Walter pursed his lips tightly in a gesture of indignation, but it didn't stop the look of fleeting guilt that also crossed his face. He muttered something under his breath before biting off a chunk of the red candy in his hand.
"What was that?" Peter pushed.
"I said, there was no way I could have known that those fibre optic cables were so easily flammable," Walter grumbled. "They really should make clearer labels for things like that."
At that moment, Olivia stepped into the lab from the back office, snapping her phone shut as she did.
"We're about to have company," she announced to the group.
"Company?" Peter asked.
"Excellent!" Walter cried. "I'll make some custard. Asterisk, I'll need a can of condensed milk and the Bunsen burner. Who's coming, Olivia? Do they like custard?"
A new voice echoed in the lab. "No custard, thank you. But I'd love a cup of tea, if you happen to have any."
In the doorway, Agent Broyles stood with two other men in dark suits. Broyles nodded his head towards Olivia, who returned the gesture. Broyles led the two men down to the main floor of the lab and began the introductions.
"I've had an old friend in the British government call me for a favour," Broyles said. He indicated the two men to his left. "These are Agents Carroway and Ferguson."
Olivia shook their hands, asking, "MI-5?"
Carroway shook his head. "Not exactly."
Olivia's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she took the information in stride. After all, she worked for Fringe Division… that wasn't something that necessarily got announced either. "What can we do for you?" she asked.
"Dr Bishop's presence has been requested for an urgent matter in London," Broyles said.
"A fringe case?" Peter asked.
"Not exactly," Carroway said again with a small smile. "The case itself is relatively… simple. I assume that you've heard something about the recent car bombings that took place in central London?"
Olivia nodded. "Yes, I heard. Five car bombs, all at different locations in the city, all detonated at the same time. I was sorry to hear of it."
Carroway nodded. "What you didn't hear was what happened after and consequently what happened the next day." Carroway gave the lab a perfunctory glance. "Is there somewhere we might be able to sit down?"
Ten minutes later, all seven people were gathered around the large table in the office and staring at a projection on the wall. The projection showed the photos from the first victims, their flesh missing and their skeletons yellowed and waxy. Carroway mutely ran through the rest of the macabre slide show, which featured more photographs of the toxin's victims and several photos of the doctors and scientists in their biohazard suits working around them. When the pictures flashed to the canister full of red powder, Carroway spoke again.
"Hours after the initial bombings, our pathologists indicated that the bodies were being stripped of their organic material, as if something was causing the tissue to disintegrate… like rust in fast-forward motion. The toxin that was identified was linked to an old military project… an experiment with biochemical warfare that was shut down in 2009. Four weeks ago, a warehouse was burgled and several of the raw materials from Project Rust—as it was called—were stolen. We were able to discover a link to a scientist named Dr Elliott Hammond… we suspect that Hammond was building these biochemical weapons as an act of retaliation for shutting down the project."
"Why retaliation?" Peter asked. Olivia nodded in concurrence.
"Dr Hammond was romantically involved with the project leader, the late Dr Levi Schaffer," Carroway said. "The MOD shut down the project because…well, honestly, they lost faith in Schaffer and his mission. Schaffer died soon after from an embolism in his brain and Hammond was distraught, to say the very least. One of his former associates claimed that Hammond had said that he'd 'make them see reason' and that their work was too important to be stopped."
"You think he's making good on that promise," Walter stated coolly, a deep frown creasing his face.
Carroway nodded. "We do. When we attempted to apprehend Dr Hammond for questioning, he ran…ran right into the path of an oncoming vehicle. He was struck down and he's been in a coma ever since. He won't wake again and the doctors are hesitant to say that he'll even live past the end of this week."
Olivia felt a shiver crawl down her spine and she repressed the urge to physically wriggle in her seat. This was all sounding extremely familiar… much like the case they'd just wrapped up a few weeks ago with the powder that disintegrated bone. "What do you need from us?" she asked.
Ferguson stood next to Carroway and answered. "Two hours after Hammond was injured, the same toxin was released into a lift, killing all five of its living occupants. We believe that the perpetrators were conducting tests…experiments…on the delivery methods for the toxin. As such, we have reason to believe that Hammond had accomplices and that they will carry out their mission even without him. We think they're going to strike soon…in full retaliation using both dispersal methods for the powder. Hundreds could die… and we have nothing to go on because Hammond is in a coma."
Carroway took a slim folder from his case and slid it to Walter, who accepted it with a puzzled expression. "Dr Bishop, my employer knows about the work you did on a recent case involving a toxin much like the one we are facing in London. You were able to use one of the Cortexiphan subjects to read the mind of your suspect, who was also in a coma. We think you might be able to do the same thing for us, so that we might identify Hammond's accomplices or pieces to his plan."
Walter frowned up at the agent. "How do you know about the Cortexiphan trials? Who are you?"
Broyles leaned over into Walter's vision. "Agent Carroway's employer is… rather influential in the British government, Dr Bishop. There isn't much that he doesn't know or isn't capable of finding out."
Walter opened his mouth to respond, but Olivia interjected. "Regardless of how your employer knows about the Cortexiphan trials or even that we solved our last case using a former Cortexiphan subject… we can't possibly do it again. There's no way Simon would agree to that. Put him on a plane and fly him to London? Impossible."
"Plus," Peter added, "it barely worked. We were able to prise one relevant word out of Downey's consciousness and it was almost sheer luck that we recognised it."
"Regardless," Carroway insisted. "We want to try." The agent looked back to Walter again, who was staring off into space with a hard look on his face. Astrid gently touched his arm and Walter started out of his reverie, looking back to Carroway again.
"Agent Dunham is correct," Walter said. "There is no way that we could take Simon to London. The tax on his mental faculties could very well kill him this time."
"Dr Bishop," Carroway said, "what if I told you I had a willing volunteer waiting for you in London, ready to take a dose of Cortexiphan and speak to Hammond himself?"
The silence that followed Carroway's statement was absolutely resounding. Olivia looked immediately to Broyles, who was apparently new to this information as well. Astrid's mouth was hanging open slightly in astonishment. Peter and Walter were frowning at Carroway.
"What did you just say?" Peter asked.
London, England. Earlier...
"No, Sherlock, absolutely not!" John exclaimed over the sounds of a Bach partita being drawn from Sherlock's violin strings.
Sherlock lowered his bow and fixed the doctor with a frown. "John, it is the only possible solution. We must know what Hammond knows and the only way to do that is to read his mind. The only way to read his mind is to take this Cortexiphan and allow it to enhance my mental capacity."
"Sherlock," John growled. "Cortexiphan… it's a drug from an almost forty-year old government experiment, and an American government experiment at that. How could you possibly know how you're going to react to it?"
"That's why we're bringing the man who invented it to London, John," Sherlock explained. "Dr Bishop will be able to synthesise and deliver the correct dosage of Cortexiphan. I believe the man might very well be mad… but all the best people are, don't you think?"
John sighed heavily and sank into his armchair. "How do you know it's going to work?"
"I don't."
"So you're going to risk your life on a completely insane theory—'''
"John," Sherlock interrupted. "I risk my life on an almost weekly basis…and for crimes less than this." Sherlock put his violin down and went to kneel in front of his partner. "Don't you see, John? This toxin could wipe out half of London in one go if they do it correctly. We have to do something to prevent that from happening."
"I know that, Sherlock," John said. "And believe me, I'm thrilled to hear that your interest in this case is going beyond the puzzle. But regardless of that, I will never be okay with you taking untested, mind-altering drugs that could potentially kill you or alter your brain chemistry permanently."
"Nothing's going to happen—'''
"But you don't know that," John insisted. "You read about the Cortexiphan subject that they used on that case in Boston. His telepathic ability was so strong that he had to isolate himself from society to prevent his own collapse. It made him physically ill to be around people. What if it affects you like that?"
"Simon Phillips had been given Cortexiphan as a child," Sherlock said. "Children have fewer inhibitions on their psyches and would naturally respond in a more enhanced way than an adult." Sherlock reached up a hand and stroked John's cheek in a gentle motion. John leaned into the motion and sighed.
"I have to do this, John," Sherlock said. "With or without your blessing, I'm going to do it. Dr Bishop created Cortexiphan and I am going to use his knowledge to solve this case. But I need you with me."
"You need me," John whispered.
Sherlock smiled. "I'd be lost without my blogger."