Let's continue with the story…

For the first time since the investigation into the case began, Alex was without the doctor and the detective. In the passenger seat of a dog squad car, she began to recognise the meandering, narrowing roads of Kent, the large fields and secluded houses. The sky was beginning to pale in the early hours of the morning and the moon's silver image was fading. The stars had almost completely disappeared. The woods were colossal, so the police were relying on several of them spreading out and the three German Shepherd and two Malinois dogs following the tracks of the most recent human scent.

Lestrade had gone with Sherlock to Epping Forest, and DI Dimmock, whom Sherlock and John had worked with during their case John called 'The Blind Banker' on his blog, had gone with John to South Mimms. London was surrounded by woods and countryside – the family could be anywhere. Alex was dreading finding the family dead. Clutching her phone fiercely in her hand, she held it to her chest, hoping against hope that the boys would call and let her know that the family were found alive and well. However, she was incredulous about that idea.

The squad car turned into a large field, where Alex could see that in the middle of the field was the boundary of a gigantic wood. Sure enough, as Sherlock had deduced, a car had driven down the sandy, rocky path very recently. But the ground was dry and there hadn't been much wind, so she wasn't sure how long ago it was as she crouched to the ground to examine the tyre tracks. She looked up to the sky, closing her eyes and felt the impending notion in her heart that the family were close.

"Here! Look at the tracks!" Alex shouted to the officers as they disembarked their vehicles, pointing to the ground. Several of them ran over, although some clearly refused to take the word of a young woman not on the force.

"Exactly the same treads as the Astra!" She moved away to give forensics room to do what they needed to. Forensics or not, all Alex needed was her own eyes.

"Over here!" Cried one of the officers. "Footprints! Release the dog!"

The dog in the back of the car Alex had travelled in was released. The other dogs and their handlers were at other locations in the area. Following the officers into the darkness, Alex's heart pounded harder than it ever had. They are here, definitely!

"Mr and Mrs Collinson! Brian, Mary! Amelia!" The sounds of the names of the missing family overlapped and reverberated around the trees but the echoes quickly filtered through the leaves, absorbed by the forestry. Torches beamed everywhere, like a light display at a gig in Hyde Park. Alex could hardly see where they were going and tripped a couple of times on branches and fallen logs. Her hands darted forward as she fell and it wasn't long before her hands were grazed and cut, flaring up and sore. Many officers had ran further forward. Some to the sides, covering as much as possible. Alex stuck by the three she had been able to keep up with, but they were trained for this. Plunging through a forest in the dark, and even though the sky had become a pale blue, the sun wasn't yet up and the crowds of trees were obstructing the journey at every opportunity.

Alex screamed as her phone rang.

"Alex, found anything?" John's voice resonated with optimism yet with a touch of doubt.

"No not yet, I'm trying to keep up with the officers. They have slowed down a little, they're all spreading out. A couple of the dogs have been released. I'm sure they're here, John. We've seen footprints and we're trying to track them."

"Good, that's good. We're going to have a look around here just to be sure and Sherlock is doing the same. Each team will let the other know if they find anything. Please be sure to let Sherlock and I know as soon as it happens." John asked of Alex.

"I will. Have to go now."

Alex kept her eyes on the horizon, watching the officers in their black uniforms shine their torches in all directions, voices overlapping and sounds of feet hitting the ground. The vibrations from the thuds could be felt through her feet. Soon, the officers were so sporadic, and the dog had gone so far into the distance, that she could no longer hear or see the police men and women who had ventured so far into the forest. The area was gaining light by the minute and more tall, lanky trees became visible. It was easier to see the fallen trees and work round them.

Out of breath and in need of a rest, Alex slowed and held onto a tree to keep from fainting. She hadn't eaten since having the cake the previous day and it was almost 24 hours since she awoke from her last sleep.

Looking around her, she was sure she was becoming more and more alone. It was getting quieter and the police were covering all the areas. But this was no time to flag. The Collinsons' lives depended on every able body to find them and save them. Using all of her willpower to pass a greater judgement on her body's protests against the constant moving, she propelled herself forward into a jog and within only a few minutes, she had caught up with the officers. Alex also joined in the shouting.

Being at the end of the trail was not enough, she had to be at the forefront. She had to find the family. Sheer determination pumping around her body and the need to bring an absolution to the matter. Running faster and ignoring the cries of the police behind her, urging her to slow down, she called and called with the others, hoping for an answer.

Only twenty metres ahead of her was the German Shepherd and its handler. The dog had definitely picked up on something and was winding through the forest quickly. Alex was sure the dog could have been faster, but it was trained to ensure that its handler could keep up.

Abruptly, it stopped. Its ears pricked and tail poised in a sitar shape, quivering and on red alert. It turned to give its handler the heads up that something promising was in the distance. Four other officers noticed this and as the animal plunged into a gallop through the trees, whimpering and yelping, Alex pushed herself into a full on sprint.

There it is! The place they are being held! Alex thought as they approached a small, decrepit brick building. It had no windows. It was a bunker as Sherlock had deduced.

"Police! Is there anyone in here?" One of the officers cried as they broke down the flimsy plastic door to the bunker. Alex couldn't see into the place as the officer had blocked the view. He had stopped. Still as a statue. Faintly, Alex could hear the words "good God" escape his lips. Oh, no! Oh God no! She thought. They weren't dead? Please, no.

The man rushed forwards and Alex could now see into the small room. She really didn't want to. Her heart was doing somersaults and her stomach wanted to dry heave. Resisting these feelings, she peered into the dark room. She could hardly see anything. Just hear a voice. It was the male officer who had broken the door down. Trying to drown out the sound of her own voice in her head, Alex found she could faintly distinguish what was being said.

"It's alright, you're going to be alright. There are officers here to look after you all, don't worry."

With those words, Alex instantly felt a long breath leave her body, relaxing her immediately. She moved to a further away spot to call her two friends. After the brief calls, the Collinsons emerged. All three of them were covered in mud and had cuts on their wrists where they had been tightly bound. Their poor faces showed great expressions of shock and relief. They'd been through a terrifying experience but they had more to come. They had to live with their experience and recount it to the authorities.

Alex wanted to reach out for them, make them understand that they were not in any danger anymore. But as they all turned on their heels to walk away, a bleeping noise penetrated the softer sounds of the forest and the thuds of feet. It was a warning, coming from the bunker.

"Quickly! Run!" As soon as the first syllable was shouted by the same male officer, all of them had turned their heels to escape as soon as possible. The Collinsons also realised that their lives were still in danger, and awaking from their terrifying ordeal, they flung off their blankets and took several strides through the woods. It was as if the whole scene was happening in slow motion.

Moving to dodge a tree that seemed to come out of nowhere, the most deafening blast took over the whole area, creating a force that elevated Alex's feet from the floor. Airborne, her arms instinctively crossed over her form to shield herself from the inevitable crash to the ground. Her knees bent, trying to force her body into the foetal position. She protested as best she could, making an attempt to move her hands to break her fall. But it was no use. This was all that Alex would remember before she would wake again.

Like coming to from a very, very deep sleep, Alex's eyes flickered a little until they were open enough to see where she was. She was prone, surrounded by white walls, lights, the feel of a mattress beneath her and sheets over her. There were flowers to her left, although she could only see a few of them. Moving her neck hurt. Really hurt. What had happened? Trying to speak, she felt a hand cover her own, and the owner speak to her.

"Alex, darling, it's alright, you're in hospital. Don't try and move or speak if it's painful."

The fingers rubbed along her hand, although she could hardly feel it. Both her hands were bandaged thickly. Gazing upwards, she saw the soft eyes and caring face of John Watson. Alex tried to speak again, but John made a shushing sound to stop her. There was nothing wrong with her throat or mouth. Why wasn't she allowed to speak? Her stubbornness took over – to hell with what John Watson thought, wonderful man though he was.

"Wh-What ha-happened?" She asked, realising that certain parts of her face stung. Cuts, no doubt. This was why John was trying to discourage her from speaking, but he was now aware that it wasn't too difficult to enunciate.

"What do you remember?" John asked, holding her hand tighter. Struggling to go through the images in her head, she recounted what happened until the time that she couldn't remember. Just a bang, being thrust off her feet and… Nothing.

"The bunker had a bomb in it. This was so no evidence that could be found. Sherlock's working hard to locate the people who did this. The interview with Marcus didn't throw up any leads, I'm afraid."

"How are the Collinsons?" Alex asked, trying again to move but the sharp pain put her head right back in the same position.

"They're fine." John reached forward and stroked Alex's forehead soothingly, avoiding the grazes.

"You've got a few cuts, but they'll heal. It's remarkable you haven't broken any bones. Just soft tissue injuries. The x-rays show there is no serious or permanent damage."

No serious or permanent damage? Then why…

"What am I doing in a private room?" She enquired, rolling her eyes about and noticing that John wasn't the only person in the room. Although John had said that Sherlock was looking for the kidnappers, there he was in the same space. Who was the other? Tall, dark, with a receding hairline and umbrella in hand. Mycroft Holmes. Not wearing the frown he often did. Actually smiling! Smiling kindly at Alex. What were they all doing there? Alex returned to her previous query – what was she doing there? A private room. She didn't have private medical insurance. She should be on an NHS ward. How did she get here?

"Err…" John shot a look to Sherlock who looked at Alex – almost apologetically. Could they afford a private room? No, someone had to pull strings for this. It was a nice place, curtains and netting as well as a dresser in the corner. One thing keeping it from being private was the window in the door. This was of course for medical staff to supervise. There would only be one reason for Mr Holmes the older being in the room.

"You got me here? Why?" Alex looked at the man. She was genuinely touched by what he had done, but was curious as to why.

Alex flicked her eyes between Sherlock and Mycroft. The former seemed bored and might have been pissed off that he had not found the family. It had been Alex who had suggested Rainham and she had been right. Sherlock's first choice was Epping Forest. His first hunch was wrong.

Feeling the irresistible compulsion in her head to smile, she complied with it and let out a giggle.

"Oh my God!" She sighed to herself, placing her free hand to her forehead. Another small giggle came.

"What?" The consulting detective actually looked confused. His brother followed suit. John just raised one eyebrow.

Alex had finally realised the truth about both the Holmes' men. Underneath their masks, their armour and fortresses, there were two very caring men. The masks had cracks in them and every so often, the real person would shine through. It would be only a bit, just a little bit. One could never look inside the walls of the fortress. The men would decide when to show themselves. Sometimes inadvertently. They're hearts were situated in the right places in their castles, however, encased in tough glass and had guards to protect them and to protect the men from their own hearts. It was obvious.

"What is it?" Sherlock repeated, leaning in closer to Alex.

"You two. You're so transparent!" Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged glances.

"Hmm, that's the sort of thing that the Holmes' brothers would say, Alex." John said, seeming to be impressed that she had managed to confuse them.

"Transparent?" Mycroft interjected. Alex turned to him, finding she could only do so with her eyes, and realising the one thing she had omitted to say.

"Don't think I'm ungrateful for this, because I am, believe me. Thank you, thank you very much. You just didn't have to, that's all."

"What do you mean we're 'so transparent'?" Sherlock looked almost offended. Mycroft just appeared to be curious.

"Nothing…" Alex returned.

"No, what?" Sherlock asked again.

"I've been called many a thing in my lifetime Alex, but 'transparent' has not been one of them." Mycroft added.

"Really! It's nothing. Please don't ask me again, my head hurts."

The point was taken, but the question unanswered. Mycroft, being the tolerant and patient man he was said his goodbyes and departed, leaving Alex with Sherlock and John.

"Any luck on the kidnappers?" Alex asked Sherlock.

"The police are tracing the loan sharks. But they all check out. I've yet to look at the evidence for myself, so that's the next step."

"Then why aren't you doing that now?" Alex had actually answered her own question earlier on.

"Oh, just, err… You know. Wanted to ask you first about what you saw, you know, just to see if there were any clues in what you experienced…" He smiled cheekily, trying to put emphasis on his statement about him being there for the case only. Alex saw through it like glass.

"Just as I said, Mr Holmes. Transparent."

Three days and nights later, Alex was fit enough to walk unaided and the pain was becoming manageable. John had turned up to take her home. Although the hospital food was lovely enough, given that it was private and paid for, she was longing for something naughtier.

"Here." John said to Alex as soon as they departed the hospital. He handed her a brown paper bag with a red symbol on it. Just from the smell and the heat, Alex knew that he had very generously bought her a McDonald's breakfast. Bought one for himself too and had hid them in his holdall. They sat on a bench near the entrance to the hospital scoffing their food. Alex finished hers much quicker than John. She still felt her stomach rumbling afterwards. Knowing that this was the general after effect of junk food, she tried hard to resist as John bolted down the last bit of his hash brown. But she had just come out of hospital, so why not stock up?

"Fancy another?" Alex asked, fishing out her wallet. She figured she owed John Watson for all the kind things he did for her.

"Erm, no, thanks."

"Go on! You can't be completely full on that! I'll get us a cup of tea, or anything you want. My treat!" John didn't take long to consider his answer.

Taking a short trip to the nearest McDonald's, they indulged their cravings more, and John had opted for another breakfast he had that morning. With a paper cup of tea. Alex had a sweet tooth after the savoury breakfast and chose pancakes with plenty of syrup.

"Where's Sherlock this morning?" She asked.

"Still with the police. They think they have a lead. Not sure, though. This is a tough one."

"We should be helping him…" Alex said.

"No, Alex. This is a bit more risky. I've assisted him as much as possible. Sherlock has no fear, so he can focus a lot better than most, so he's the best person to solve it."

"I'm not a meek, fragile little girl, you know? That bomb could have hurt anyone, even Sherlock if he had been there. And you."

"I know," John reassured her, "but that's not the point. This is Sherlock's job. He was born to do this job and I was a soldier. You're great, Alex, I think you're fantastic and you've shown that you can do this too but it all comes down to experience. I'm older than Sherlock and I think I'm probably more worldly wise, but he specialises in this. Even today I'm sitting this one out…" John told her before Alex interrupted.

"To get me from the hospital?"

"Yes, and no. I knew it was best that Sherlock did this on his own. He has the Met behind him doing all the background checks. He did ask about you, you know?"

"Really, what did he say?" Alex was eager to find out, but what John was telling her only confirmed her view of transparency.

"He asked how you were getting on and when I told him you were getting on fine and going to be back today, I caught the slightest glimpse of a grin before he turned around to abruptly walk out of the flat! I think he was trying to cover up that he was glad you were fine and coming home."

Alex smiled as she sipped her tea. Typical of the man to hide how he felt about things.

"Like I said. He's like glass. Can see straight through it."

"Yeah, what did you mean by that?" John folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, grinning from ear to ear. Alex was more than happy to spill now that the brothers weren't listening.

"Those two men come across as being cold, heartless, emotionless machines – no offence – but it's just a mask. Sherlock's neither a psycho nor sociopath. Nor Mycroft. They've obviously developed masks, shields and everything else that acts as a buffer against the world, so they're untouchable. They are both skilled in the art and science of deduction but Sherlock has more drive and discipline than Mycroft. Something to do with their upbringing. I've seen you and Sherlock together and truth be told, I've never seen a closer bonded friendship than the two of you. Never had one like that myself. He really cares for you, Mrs Hudson and me. I even think he would call Lestrade a friend. He seems to actually respect him when he treats the rest of the members of the force with such animosity."

John interlocked his fingers and placed his elbows on the table, intrigued by what he was hearing.

"Sherlock wouldn't be doing this job if he didn't care. If he really didn't, and got bored like he always does, he wouldn't be solving crimes and saving lives, he would be out there doing them. I think his mentality is just that he doesn't get emotionally involved. Like professional distance. If he let sentiment get in the way, he'd never be able to focus. He has to channel all his efforts to crack the codes and find the common denominators, so his approach is to not feel anything – get out there and do something." Alex had finally finished. It was as if she had wanted to say this for some time.

"I think you're right. He does care. So does Mycroft, he shows it all the time with Sherlock. I do like seeing this side to Sherlock. It's rare, so it makes it all the more special." Alex thought it was time for a rather cheesy moment.

"Cheers." She said, holding up her paper cup, rather surreptitiously as not to attract attention.

"What to?" John said, making the same subtle gesture.

"To Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes." Their cups touched.

"And to you and me for putting up with them!" John added.

"Yep, to you and me. Also to Mrs Hudson, Molly and Lestrade for having the patience of saints." Alex exclaimed.

"Oh definitely."

They giggled at how silly it was. But Alex had just come out of hospital and was rather happy about it, so John allowed her this indulgence.