Joan sat in her chair with a heavy groan and watched as Rosie clambered over the working Sherlock and crawled to the kitchen in time to stop a vial of something green from falling. The detective, as always, didn't even lift her head up. The doctor sighed, looking out the window. Some weather mutant had decided to make it storm, although she knew from watching the telly that the reporters thought that it was just a freak pattern of clouds. Rosie was back in her lap as 3 zombies staggered by their window. A few moments later they banged on the now battered door of 221 b. "Sherlock. SHERLOCK," The detective looked up. "Yes?" Joan gestured at the door, which was in danger of falling in. Sherlock waved her hand and the door opened. The zombies spilled in but quickly stood up, lurching towards Joan. Rosie had already crawled up the stairs, thanks to her 6th sense. Another wave of the hand and the zombies were impaled with knives. They dropped to the floor, dead. Joans telesthesia suddenly alerted her that Mycroft, who had telepathy, and her partner, Anthea, who had illness inducer, were about to enter through the door. Sherlock apparently heard them, because the door slammed shut, just as Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.

The old landlady looked at Sherlock, then at the door, then at Joan. She sighed. "Not your housekeeper, dear," as she dragged the bodies of rotten flesh away. Mycroft entered, apparently having picked the lock, umbrella and all, as Mrs. Hudson went back down the stairs.