Author's Note: Would you look at that?! I actually managed to get this done! Enjoy!
Westley unlocked the front door, balancing a couple of bags and drinks as she walked in. "Mrs. Hudson, I've got you some coffee," the blonde called out, shutting the door. "And some biscuits. And some news I forgot to share!"
The landlady came out of her door, smiling wide. "It's so lovely to see you come by more often, dear," she said, clapping and taking a bag and a drink. "The boys are upstairs, doing the usual. I'm so glad they finally made up!" she giggled, waving a hand. "John really didn't have to take so long, did he? Anywho, I'll be up in a bit for that chat." Westley flashed a smile before going up the stairs. She kicked open the door as Sherlock and Watson spoke to someone on the laptop.
"There's nothing down there, Mr. Holmes, I told you," a young man on the screen said as he searched through maps. "No sidings, no ghost stations."
Westley set the bags and drinks on the kitchen table, grabbing two and taking them to the men. They ignored her, John looking through a book while Sherlock searched a map on his side. "I am obviously interrupting but drink this before you run off, yea?" Westley demanded, placing the cups in the hands of her fiancé and brother before turning back to the kitchen and pulling out the biscuits from the bags, setting them on a tray.
"There has to be something," Sherlock said, setting the cup on a chair and going back to the map. "Check again."
"Look – this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff," John said, imitating Sherlock and setting his own drink on the table, away from the laptop. Westley rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee and stepping up behind them, peeking over John's shoulder. "Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand – "
"No, it's none of those," Sherlock interrupted, switching to an older map. "We've accounted for those," he murmured, leaning in for a closer look. Westley pivoted away, annoyed at being ignored. She leaned against the kitchen table, coffee in one hand and a biscuit in the other. Westley kept a keen ear on their words, only needing to hear another five minutes of them conversing, before something clicked.
"Guy Fawkes," the blonde muttered just as Sherlock said, "It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster."
"And so what's down there? A bomb?" John asked, looking between Sherlock and the man on the screen. Sherlock stalked off. John turned to Westley. "Oh…"
Westley quickly walked up to her fiancé, cupping his face and kissing him hard. "Go," she urged him and the doctor stood, grabbing his coat. John was about to dash out when Sherlock walked back in.
"You too, Wessie," he said, slipping out her childhood nickname. John's eyebrows popped at this, a grin sliding onto his face as Westley stared in shock. "He knows about that one, right?"
"Try it and I will kill you, John Hamish Watson," Westley said through gritted teeth, knowing full well her fiancé was about to come with some smartass remark. "I will get you for this, Willie," she said, the last word syrupy sweet as they all rushed out, following the detective's lead. At the name, Sherlock groaned and John didn't even try to disguise his laughter now. "And what's with the last minute invite to the party?" Westley asked as they went down to access the station, completely forgetting Mrs. Hudson would be walking up to an empty flat.
Minutes later they were walking down the corridors. The trio moved quickly. "So it's a bomb, then? A tube carriage is carrying a bomb?" John asked.
Sherlock locked eyes on something. "Must be." John nodded, removing his glove.
"Right," he replied as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock and Westley asked simultaneously. "Wait, no, police!" Sherlock said as they reached a locked maintenance entrance.
John scoffed. "Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament."
The detective made a wall to block people's views after he handed Westley a small leather bag, and the blonde didn't hesitate to start picking the lock. "They'll get in the way. They always do," he said, hearing the immediate click from the gate. "This is cleaner, more efficient."
Westley handed the kit back to her brother and pushed the gate open. "And illegal!" Westley said in a chipper tone.
Sherlock winked at her. "That's the fun part," he said as all three went inside. Sherlock pulled the gate closed behind them. Each pulled out a flashlight and walked down the maintenance tunnels. Sherlock and Westley walked ahead, flashlights waving about. Both siblings raised their heads suddenly, but didn't turn around. "What are you doing?" Sherlock called back, without bothering to look.
A sigh echoed and Westley smiled, shaking her head slightly. "Coming," John said, sliding his phone back into his pocket and quickening his pace to stand beside his fiancée.
"No service?" Westley teased, her flashlight flickering around the tunnel. She flashed the light long enough on John's face to catch his glare. She giggled as they continued walking for a while now, through the narrow tunnels and walkways, climbing down steep metal ladders. They finally reached the platform on Sumatra Road station and the level of alertness went up on all three when they saw no sign of the train.
Sherlock twirled in a circle, flashlight shining everywhere. "I don't understand."
"Well, that's a first!" John said, his laughter bubbling underneath.
"There's nowhere else it could be," Sherlock continued, facing the track before placing his hands on his temples, eyes shut as he concentrated. Westley, on the other hand, turned and walked to the left of the platform. She jumped down, mindful of the tracks.
"Westley?" John called out, just as an exclamation came from Sherlock. The detective paused when he saw his sister already walking down the tracks. "That's… Isn't it live?" he asked Sherlock.
The man grinned before jumping down, walking quickly to his sister. "Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails," he called back to the doctor, his flashlight wavering. "This way."
The Holmes sister heard John's muttering, and she giggled to herself as they walked round a bend. "Ah. Look at that," John said as all three flashlights land on the missing carriage hiding behind the turn.
"Boys," Westley called a moment after, her flashlight trained on a large open vent. Sherlock and John joined their own lights to show several small explosive devices attached to the sides of the vent. "Demolition charges." The trio moved quickly now to the carriage, John checking the underside while Westley and Sherlock entered the driver's cab, climbing in and directing themselves into the carriage itself.
It was slow work, looking into every seat and corner, their torches shining along the ceiling and floor. At the second set of side doors, Sherlock slowed down, his eyes trained on something. John was in the carriage as well now, giving a second sweep to the area the siblings just inspected. Westley noticed a dislodged seat cushion. "It's empty," John said, an almost relieved sigh escaping his lips. "There's nothing."
The sound of Velcro came from the two sides of the carriage as Sherlock and Westley both pulled off cushions. "Isn't there?" Sherlock asked and John pointed his light towards the seat Sherlock removed then the one Westley uncovered.
Sherlock stepped back to provide John a better view. "What?" John said, his eyes now on the cavity underneath the cushion, wired-up explosives in plain sight.
"It's not carrying explosives," Westley she stated soberly, pulling at another seat. "The whole compartment is the bomb." Sherlock and John started to remove the rest of the seats, exposing more of the wired explosives. The detective stopped, tapping his foot over the floor panels until he found a loose one.
He took off his gloves and kneeled, his slim fingers forcing their way into a gap and pulling out the panel. The three froze when they saw the massive device hiding in the crevice. John began taking several deep breaths as Sherlock propped the panel up against the seats. Westley kneeled opposite of her brother, her eyes on the sleeping bomb. "We need bomb disposal," John said, trying his phone again to find no service.
"There may not be time for that now," Sherlock murmured, his eyes going over the bomb when a sudden beep came from the device. The trio froze when they noticed the numbers began to run backwards.
Westley looked up at her brother. It was hard, trying to be so serious. "So what do we do?" she asked, keeping her voice carefully even.
The flash in Sherlock's eyes at her picking up his trick made it harder for him to stay in character. "I have no idea."
"You better think of something," John said, his voice stern.
"Why do you think I know what to do?" Sherlock asked, exasperated.
"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets," he hissed. When John got a view Westley's face, though, he stuttered. "Uh. No offense, love."
Sherlock tried not to smirk as he spoke. "Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you? You were military."
"I wasn't bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor!" he said, pacing the train.
Westley shonea light in his face. "But still a soldier. It is clear our military training is still severely lacking," she huffed, turning the light back to the bomb. She caught sight of the tiniest twitch at the corner of Sherlock's mouth, and she made a reminder to herself to smack him afterwards.
John sighed heavily. "Can't – can't we rip the timer off, or something?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.
"That would set it off," Sherlock answered, still examining the bomb.
"You see?" he said, hands in the air. "You know things."
Both siblings kept their eyes on the device, watching the count down while going through the wires and the sides of the bomb. "Er," Sherlock nervously sounded off, running his hands down the panels.
John started pacing again. "My God!" he exclaimed, his hands in the air again. Another distressed sound came from Sherlock as Westley simply sat back on her legs, silent. "Why didn't you call the police?" Sherlock shot John a pleading look. "Why do you never call the police?" John asked, furious.
"Well it's no use now," Sherlock said.
John stopped his pacing, his face cold. "So you can't switch the bomb off," he said through gritted teeth. "You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police." He turned away then faced Sherlock again.
Sherlock simply looked at him with a defeated look. "Go," he said, his eyes flickering from John to Westley. "Both of you. Go now," he said, pointing to the back towards the driver's cab.
"There's no point now, is there," he growled. "Because there's not enough time to get away; and if we don't do this," he continued, gesturing angrily at the mother bomb, "other people will die!" The trio looked at the numbers as they counted down to less than two minutes now. John pointed at Sherlock now. "Mind Palace." Sherlock gave a confused sound now. "Use your Mind Palace."
Sherlock scoffed. "How will that help?"
"You've salted away every fact under the sun!" John exclaimed.
"Oh, and you think I've just got 'How to Defuse a Bomb' tucked away in there somewhere?" Sherlock asked, voice dripping in sarcasm.
"Yes!"
Sherlock blinked, tilting his head. "Maybe." He shut his eyes tightly, fingers up to his temples.
"Don't you have something like that?" John asked Westley, snapping her out of her reverie. "A Mind Palace, a Mind Mansion of sorts?"
Westley stood, absentmindedly swiping at her jeans. Sherlock stood along with her. "Well compared to Sherlock it's more like a Mind Shack, if I am to believe your earlier statement," she said, crossing her arms.
John winced, stepping to her and wrapping his arms around her. "Please," he started, his eyes searching hers. "This isn't the time to compare brains. This is our future." Westley sighed, pulling herself out of his grip and walking to the end of the train. Sherlock's head was nodding and snapping back and forth as he travelled through his Mind Palace, John pacing between him and Westley as the blonde simply stood with her arms crossed. Her brow was creased just as much as Sherlock's as both siblings worked through their minds, grunts and negatives emitted from both.
"Think," John said softly, his eyes shifting to Sherlock then Westley. "Please think," he repeated, hands balled into fists. Echoing groans came from the Holmes siblings. "Think!"
Sherlock's eyes screwed shut tighter, his hands shaking. Westley's fingers jerked now, her teeth bared in almost a primal sneer. John stopped walking, closing his eyes as the sounds from the two became louder, and their breathing erratic. They finally let out a cry and opened their eyes, their hands falling to their sides. Westley turned her back to her fiancé and Sherlock looked at him, a blank but apologetic look on his face.
Westley could imagine the disbelief etched and she pressed her lips together as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Oh my God," John sighed now. He gave his back to Sherlock, rubbing his face. The Holmes sister turned in time to see Sherlock tear the scarf from his neck and double over, burying his face in his hands. "This is it," John said, defeated. Westley walked past John, watching Sherlock flail over the bomb, more panicked sounds emitting from the consulting detective. "Oh my God," John repeated.
"Turn that off," Sherlock mumbled vaguely. "Oh God! Er, um." John faced the two again, turning Westley to him and hugging her tightly. The woman buried her face in his neck, pressing her lips tighter together now. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said softly.
John screwed his eyes shut as he held Westley, before opening and focusing on Sherlock. "What?"
"I can't," Sherlock stuttered, swallowing hard as tears filled his eyes. "I can't do it, John. I don't know how." The man straightened up to his knees. "Forgive me?"
The blonde felt the tensing of her fiancé's muscles. "What?" he repeated, voice tight and furious.
"Please, John, forgive me," he said, bringing his hands up into a praying position. "For all the hurt I caused you."
One of John's hands released Westley, a finger waving at Sherlock. "No, no, no, no, no," he said, almost chuckling. "This is a trick."
The Holmes sister pulled back, taking hold of John's free hand tightly. "No," she said softly.
"Another one of your bloody tricks," John continued, his eyes widening.
"No," Sherlock assured him as well.
"You're just trying to make me say something nice," John insisted, his eyes studying him then studying Westley. "Right?"
Sherlock shook his head. "Not this time."
The hold on Westley's hand turned into a vice grip. "It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like," John cut off, grimacing and attempting to fight back the tears that came to his own eyes. Sherlock stood only to sit at the edge of one of the nearby seats. The hand John aimed at Sherlock now wrapped around a handrail, his eyes on the floor. The doctor suddenly stamped his foot, his voice low but savage now. "I wanted you to not be dead."
"Be careful what you wish for," Sherlock replied, rubbing his mouth. Westley squeezed John's hand, an attempt to comfort him. Maybe it was a little mean to do it this way, but she knew John well enough. Without drastic measures, he wouldn't relent.. It would eat through him eventually, worse if they ever truly were caught in a situation with no way out.
"If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there, either of you, and," he suddenly bared his teeth. John half turned, shaking his head. "You'd still have a future."
"We know," Westley noted.
The youngest Holmes had to hand it to her brother. He was a hell of an actor. He clenched a fist and wiped at his nose, his features twisted in despair when John faced him again. "Look, I find it difficult," John started, voice tight. "I find it difficult, this sort of stuff."
Sherlock gave a meek nod, eyes on the ground. "I know."
John's voice was barely above a whisper. "You are the best," he started, choking up. "And the wisest man," he tried, sniffing roughly before continuing, "that I have ever known." Westley smiled at her fiancé, interlacing her fingers with his and tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. Sherlock looked at John with wide, tear-filled eyes as the doctor sighed, lowering his head before raising it once more. "Yes, of course I forgive you."
On the last syllable, Sherlock and John locked eyes for seconds. The detective took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes and keeping his head lowered. Westley bit her lip again, her eyes wide in her attempt to keep her composure. John, on the other hand, looked at the ceiling briefly before shutting his eyes, head raised still. What seemed like sobs came from Sherlock's shaking body. The blonde looked between the two men and burst out laughing, slapping her hand over her mouth a second later, eyes round at her misstep.
The doctor jumped at the sound, his eyes darting to his fiancée as she just couldn't handle it anymore, crumbling to the ground as peals of muffled laughter came through her hand. John immediately turned to Sherlock and his so-called sobs turned into hoots of laughter. Westley's shaking finger directed John's gaze to the counter, flickering between 1:28 and 1:29.
Sherlock's laughter turned into high-pitched giggles and Westley uncovered her mouth to clutch at her now aching stomach, her giggles almost matching Sherlock's in pitch. John's face began to turn red, looking between his future wife and future brother-in-law. "You," he started out as Sherlock stood, tears from his laughter covering his cheeks.
"Oh, your face!" he exclaimed, laughing hysterically.
"Utter," John continued, hands into fists again.
"Your face!" Westley echoed, tears of her own falling down her face.
John pointed at Westley now. "You…"
"I totally had you!" Sherlock called out, wiping at his face.
"You cock! I knew it!" John cried, pacing again now. "I knew it! You f – "
Westley stood, her arms around her stomach. "Oh, darling, such sweet things!" the blonde cooed. "I'll remember that next time we're in a life or death situation. You didn't even bother turning to me afterwards, you know!"
"I never even knew he cared!" Sherlock said, unable to stop himself from laughing.
John glared at both Holmes siblings. "I will kill you both if you ever breathe a word of this," he threatened, pointing a finger at Sherlock then at Westley.
Both raised a hand, holding three fingers up while their thumbs held down their pinkies. "Scout's honour," they echoed, before their laughter got the best of them again.
"Whatever that means," Westley said before breaking up in laughter again.
"To anyone!" John finished, before turning to Westley. "You KNEW!" he half-yelled as his fiancée wiped at her face with both hands. "You knew he knew how to turn it off!"
"Of course I did," she said, tapping a finger to her temple. "Our minds hold almost the same information, you know, with us growing up together and what not. Bombs were a curiosity of ours."
"There's an off switch," Sherlock said, squatting down to the bomb.
John turned to him. "What?"
"There's always an off switch," Westley added, taking a tentative rest on the edge of a seat.
Sherlock stood again, smoothing a hand down his coat. "Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there's an off switch."
The doctor's shoulders tensed. "So why did you two let me go through all that?"
"For saying Sherlock is more clever than me," Westley immediately piped up, flashing a smile at her fiancé.
"We both know he's right," Sherlock said, waving a hand as Westley glared at her brother. "And I didn't lie altogether. I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off." Another chuckle escaped Sherlock while Westley covered her mouth to muffle a giggle. "Oh!"
The sound of a voice over a walkie-talkie radio floated through the open door of the driver's cab. Flashlight beams approached along the tunnel and John stared, surprised, before pointing at them. "And you did call the police," John huffed.
"Of course he did. I forced him to," Westley said, rolling her eyes as she stood.
"You knew this was happening from the start, didn't you?" John asked his soon-to-be wife. When Westley only gave him a cheeky smile, John exhaled sharply. "I'm definitely going to kill you," John directed at Sherlock.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, please!" he said. "Killing me – that's so two years ago." Westley let another giggle escape as Sherlock flashed a quirky smile at John before turning and heading to the driver's cab. John himself couldn't help it now and let out a silent laugh. He hooked his arm around Westley, pulling her close and kissing her hard. "Come on, lovebirds," Sherlock called out without turning to face them before exiting the train. "It's the perfect day for an engagement dinner."