SHERLOCK

This house is moderately interesting. Family of five lived here. Two boys, one girl; the youngest. They have nice furniture, apart from the dust and cobwebs, the house is immaculate. I pick up a detailed model of the solar system, at least thats what I assume it is of, I am no expert. Gladstone has the same idea and bats his paw at the spinning planets. Horrible creature. I try to lose him by slipping into another room and closing the door. There, try and follow me now. I think I've picked one of the boys bedrooms. It's all in shades of black and red. I stretch myself out on his bedroom and star at the ceiling. How long has it been? How long has John been gone?

Something is clawing at the door. I fall off the bed and growl through the crack between the door and the carpet. A slim paw catches my hair and pulls. Blasted animal! I rip his claws from my curls and open the door, bearing my teeth. Gladstone jumps back and runs away, his tail kinked. Oh you think you are so funny don't you. Come back here!

JOHN

Lestrade led me back to a small group of people waiting just around the corner. Without talking we headed to one of the many empty houses in the street. The soldiers with them stood guard while we made ourselves at home in the living room. Hell one of them even started making pouring tea from a thermos. They were an odd group, Lestrade, two women, a young man with a disgusted look on his face at his surroundings and the government official I'd often seen around the compound. We sipped our tea in silence whilst I worried about Lock. Was he behaving himself? Probably not.

"So, you are Doctor Watson, pleasure to finally meet you." Finally meet me? What's that supposed to me?

"Um, same. Sorry, you are?" There is something about the man that tugs at my memory, not just from seeing him in the compound. It's something else...

"Mycroft Holmes, at your service. You've met Lestrade, meet his former team, Sally Donavan and Marion Anderson." Marion?! Oh the poor man. Actually that is pretty funny. "And young Miss Molly Hooper."

"Hello!" She waved at me very enthusiastically.

"Hi..why are you all here if you don't mind me asking? Can't all be here for me." Though I'm flattered if you are.

"Quite correct Doctor Watson. Finding you was only part of our mission."

"Thought it was something like that. So come on, why are you here?" Lestrade and this...Mycroft person, give each other a look. Are they going to bloody tell me or dance around the issue. I have a time limit here guys. Get a move on.

"What do you know of Sherlock Holmes?"

SHERLOCK

"Stop.. crying!"

"No.. don't..."

"Not.. my fault!"

"Shut.. up!"

I hate cats.

JOHN

"Nothing whatsoever." Name didn't ring a bell. Should it have?

"Are you quite sure, because you have been seen in his company." Mycroft produced a photo from his suit's jacket pocket and handed it to me. Seen in his company? The only person I'd been with lately was ...oh.

The photo was of Lock. Though a much younger Lock. At least a decade younger. He had a sour expression and a younger version of Mycroft holmes stood next to him, a bright smile on his face. Lock looked like he wanted to murder the photographer. So Lock's name is actually.. Sherlock? Weird name but I'm not one to judge. I have to admit I prefer Lock. It suits him somehow. Sherlock Holmes though, did they come here to rescue him? Surely they know he's..well dead. Especially since Lestrade would have seen him.

"Well?" Oh right, they'd be waiting for me to reply. I produce two of the polaroids from my wallet and pass them to Mycroft.

The rest were with Lock. These two were my favourites, the one of Lock with it's wide eyes and half smirk, and the one with him holding Bluebell to his chest with one arm, and drawing what I think is a duck, with the other. Mycroft takes them, surprised but curious. His eyes widen and he shows them to Lestrade. Also surprised. Well, I don't blame them. Lock isn't exactly a normal zombie. I should get back to him before he panics or something. God knows what he'll do then.

"Definitely him." Mycroft hands me back the photos. "Tell me about him."

"Can it wait? Only I left Lock by himself and he'll be bored to bits right now."

"Lock?"

"Sorry.. um...that's what I call him. Should have said at the beginning but everything happened so fast."

"Why do you call him Lock?" Mycroft sits forward, I sense he's very eager to know the answer. Especially since if I never knew his name was Sherlock, why would I call him by such a similar name?

"I didn't. It's what he calls himself." I stood, the others following suit.

"Zombies don't have names." Says...Sally?

"Well this one does. Is there somewhere else we can meet?" Mycroft nods but I suspect he has many more questions.

"You know Baker Street? There is a flat-"

I interrupt him. Sorry, not sorry. "221B right? Sorry, I left him with the cat. God knows what he's done to it now. I'll be there soon!"

I felt sorry for running out on them but my main concern was a panicked zombie and an angry cat. Neither should be in the same vicinity as the other. And given that we were mad earlier and the last time I left Lock he'd come after me with a spear, concerned for my safety, I should really make sure he's alright. The place is luckily not far and the flat is still intact, so everything looking good so far. The door is still on it's hinges. Lock is nowhere to be seen though. I push open a door, which leads to the living room and see little red paw prints covering the carpet, leading out towards ...the bathroom.

"Not my.. fault."

"Oh Lock..."

There is paint everywhere and one very angry ,and now red, cat.

Wonderful Lock, just wonderful.

"..Sorry."

"Sure you are. Come on, let's clean him up. And I need to talk to you about something. A very important something."

"Ok."

"You have a red paw print on your face."

"Yes."

"You going to wash it off?"

"...yes?"

"...Come here, you are utterly ridiculous."

"...no."