Sherlock was frustrated. Not only was John not willing to speak with him, but Sam had fled as well. It was annoying. He was on a case. Sam knew that, John did as well, and yet here he was on his own trying to figure it out. His skull was even less helpful than before, so it wasn't long before he called in some outside help. Molly had been called, though having expected something else in mind other than assisting in his case solving. Sherlock started with the small stuff first, hoping to ease up some of the workload Sam had in the hopes that when she returned to the flat she'd be available to help. They were dull cases, occasionally emotional, but he pushed through them. If Sam could tolerate them, then so could he. The case with Scotland Yard was slightly more interesting, though Sherlock was curious as to why Lestrade hadn't called in Sam.
Not picking up her phone or answering his texts. Odd, but she rushed off earlier. Probably assumed I would have it covered. Sherlock assumed as he and Molly left the most recent case. Mr. Shilcott, the man he'd borrowed the hat from for his brother's little test, had found an issue with a vanishing man on a tube car. Sherlock though, had recognized the man getting on the tube. He had actually gotten so distracted from trying to figure out how he knew the man, that he hadn't noticed he'd stopped on the stairs leaving the flat until he snapped out of it.
"The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took ten minutes; ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park." He rattled off as it clicked in his head what could have happened, looking down at a stunned Molly. "So I'm going to need maps. Lots of maps, older maps, all the maps."
"Alright."
"Fancy some chips?" Sherlock asked as he went past her down the stairs, remembering how Sam used to grow a bit more sluggish on cases when she was hungry.
"What?"
"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions."
Molly smirked a bit as she followed after him. "Did you get him off a murder charge?"
"No. I helped him put up some shelves."
She chuckled a little, before stopping him. "Sherlock?"
"Hm?" He paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her.
"What was today about?"
"Saying thank you."
"For what?"
"Everything you did for me. Sam says it's best to show my thanks, for some reason. Claims no one believes me when I just say it."
Molly's lip twitched into a forced smile. "It's okay. It was my pleasure."
"No." He said, stopping her now as she walked past him. "I mean it."
"I don't mean 'pleasure'. I mean… I didn't mind. I wanted to." Molly replied, Sherlock stepping closer.
"Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible." He sucked in a breath then, letting it out. "But you can't do this again, can you?"
Molly smiled, but her voice cracked slightly. "I had a lovely day. I'd love to. I just… um…"
"Congratulations, by the way." Sherlock commented.
She looked down at the engagement ring on her finger. "He's not from work."
Sherlock smiled, remembering how Molly's previous date had actually been Jim in disguise as her coworker.
"We met through friends, old-fashioned way. He's nice. We… He's got a dog… W-We go to the pub on weekends and he… I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I've no idea why I'm telling you any of this." She muttered.
"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths." Sherlock teased.
"No?"
"No." He said, leaning down and kissing her cheek briefly, before pulling away and walking out.
"Maybe it's just my type." Molly said, too low for him to catch before they went their separate ways.
Sherlock returned to 221B, having stopped by the chip shop on the way and grabbing enough food for him and Sam. He was displeased to see she hadn't returned, though as he looked a while longer, a frown began to form on his face. She was here. Her coat's back as is her scarf. He spotted the open violin case on the couch; one that wasn't his. She'd been going to play before something interrupted her. Someone at the door, perhaps? But then where is she? No right-minded individual would just leave without their coat this time of night. He ate a chip as he heard a familiar voice from downstairs and he headed to the door to meet her.
"Mary? What's wrong?" He knew immediately that something was wrong if the woman was visiting without her husband.
"Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip-code." She rattled off, surprising Sherlock briefly before she showed him the message she'd gotten on her phone.
Save souls now!
John or James Watson?
"First word, then every third." Sherlock mused. Save John Watson."
Saint or Sinner?
James or John?
The more is Less?
Sherlock immediately locked on to the key words 'Saint James the Lesser' and dropped his chips as he raced downstairs with Mary.
"Now!"
"Where are we going?!" Mary asked.
"St. James the Less. It's a church. Twenty minutes by car." Sherlock replied. "Did you drive here?"
"Uh, yes."
Sherlock turned around in the middle of the street. "It's too slow. It's too slow."
A car blared it's horn as it swerved around him.
"Sherlock, what are we waiting for?!" Mary demanded frantically.
"This."
He stepped into the path of a motorcycle, held up his hand and quickly bartered for the bike. They raced to the church, getting texts from the kidnappers the closer they got, but soon reached a road blocked by police. Sherlock calculated a different route and hurried, ignoring the protests from the officers as he sped to the church in concern for his friend. He continued to find as short of routes as he could, spotting the bonfire being held nearby. The next text seemed to mock him too.
What a shame Mr. Holmes. John is quite a Guy!
Sherlock understood and ice went through his veins as he spotted the flaming bonfire.
"Oh my God."
Screams rang out as Sherlock and Mary jumped off the bike and rushed to the fire. Sherlock quickly pulled John from the fire, patting his face, but glad when he saw that he was at least semi-conscious.
"S-Sam." He muttered and Sherlock stopped.
"What?"
"S-Sam." John repeated, weakly lifting a finger to point at the fire and Sherlock's heart stopped.
He left John and dove back towards the fire, wincing away from the flames as he dug deeper. He spotted a bare foot and grabbed it around the ankle, heaving to pull out Sam from the bonfire. She was unconscious with a nasty bruise and gash across her temple, and Sherlock grimaced as he hastily put out the flames starting to lick at her arm with his scarf.
"Sam! Sam!" He called out, hitting her face lightly as well. "Come on, Sam. Wake up. Move!"
He leaned over to check that she was breathing, and relaxed slightly when she was, before returning to try and rouse her. A groan was finally released from her, before she coughed and hacked from smoke inhalation. A shaky laugh of relief left him as she groaned again and glared at him.
"I-I… hate you." She spat out with a wheeze as Sherlock helped her sit up. "S-Stop pissing… people off."
"Don't know if I can." He smiled, and nearby sirens made Sam groan louder as the ambulance came to take them by the hospital.
I woke up feeling exhausted, though it wasn't caused by nightmares, for once. My body ached and my throat felt like sandpaper. I immediately began coughing and feeling my lungs heave in the clean, not-smoke-filled air. I groped around until I found the glass of water on the nightstand and sat up to drink in a vain attempt to sooth my throat. John and I had been quickly released from the hospital last night without much issue. While he suffered minor smoke inhalation, mine was slightly more severe and I had bandages over my right hand from my fingers down to my elbow from second degree and third degree burns. They had wanted to keep me overnight after getting a look at my head, but John managed to convince them otherwise and Sherlock and I returned to 221B, while he returned home with Mary. I, myself, had taken some sleeping meds and knocked out the first chance I had.
I regretted it slightly now, seeing that it had long since passed morning and was edging into the afternoon. With a small sigh, I got up and went to head to the kitchen, only to pause when I heard voices from the living room.
"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa. Aren't you, dear?"
"'Fraid so." A man admitted easily and I dragged a hand down my face as my beaten mind caught up to what was going on.
Sherlock's parents. First I forget about the Guy Fawkes mess and get bashed upside the head and nearly killed, then I forget about the Holmes'. I need to get myself straightened out if I'm going to be of any use… though I still question why I'm trying so hard for that big-headed moron, Sherlock. The soft pitter patter of claws on wood made me look over to see Smith waiting for me at the end of the hall and I knew my position had been given away; to Sherlock, at least. Seeing no real need to hide myself, I walked out and gave the glaring Sherlock a bored look.
"Oh! Hello, dear." Mrs. Holmes called out with a worried look. "Did we wake you? Sherlock didn't mention he had someone over."
She sent him a look and he pointedly avoided it.
"It's fine, Mrs. Holmes." I replied with a croaky voice, ignoring how Sherlock's gaze immediately went to me at my words. "It was about time I was up anyhow. I'm Sam Foxe, and apologies for not shaking your hands. Mine's a bit…"
I held up my bandaged appendage and couldn't say I wasn't surprised when she rounded on Sherlock.
"Injured? You're getting young ladies hurt in your detective business?"
"No." Sherlock argued with a groan. "There was just an incident and she happened to be at the wrong place. I certainly didn't do it."
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"
Hearing Sherlock's full name come out, I decided I'd done enough teasing of the detective and cut in.
"Mrs. Holmes, it's fine, honestly. It was carelessness on my part, not his. No need to shout." I soothed her. "Would you like some tea? I doubt he offered you any."
She went to answer, but Sherlock suddenly stood and approached them.
"So did you find it eventually? Your lottery ticket?" He asked, trying to bring a swift end to our meeting and get them out as quickly as possible.
"Sherlock." I chimed, stopping him as I moved into the kitchen to at least make tea for myself. "Don't step on the coffee table or the couch with your shoes on."
I could feel him glaring at my back, but heard him throw his shoes across the room before stepping over to the tangled web of pictures and maps on the wall above said couch as Mrs. Holmes responded to his question.
"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, uh, St Paul's, the Tower… but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament. Some big debate going on."
"Anti-terrorism bill." I called out, clearing my throat painfully afterwards as I poured the tea; hoping Sherlock would see the importance of my knowing that information.
Unfortunately, he was a bit more distracted by John showing up.
"John!"
"Sorry, you're busy."
"No, no, no. They were just leaving." Sherlock said, trying to pull his mother to her feet.
"Oh, were we?"
"Yes." Sherlock said sternly as I set about getting John tea as well.
Might as well make Sherlock his coffee too while I'm at it.
"No, no. If you've got a case—"
John was cut off.
"No, not a case. No, no, no." Sherlock said. "Go, go."
"Yes, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember." His mother reminded him.
"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out."
"Well, give us a ring."
"Very nice. Yes, good. Get out."
He shoved them out the door, but Mrs. Holmes stopped him from shutting it with her shoe—much to Sherlock's annoyance—and I wandered out of the kitchen and gave John his tea. He took it with a grateful smile and I managed a small one in return, before leaning around Sherlock's shoulder to speak with his parents.
"I'll make sure he calls."
"Sam." Sherlock hissed and I rolled my eyes.
"You can do that much." I chided him. "Nice to meet you both."
She smiled at me. "And you dear."
I stepped away then, allowing Sherlock to have his little moment with his parents as I moved to rest on the couch. It didn't take long for the door to be shut and for Smith to move up onto my lap; Sherlock turning around with a slightly embarrassed look. Though one would have to be used to him enough to see it.
"Sorry about that."
"No, it's fine. Clients?" John asked.
Sherlock hesitated, glancing at me, but I raised a brow and he begrudgingly responded truthfully.
"…Just my parents."
"Your parents?"
"In town for a few days." Sherlock went on.
"Your parents?" John repeated, stunned.
"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of 'Les Mis'. Tried to talk me into doing it."
"Those were your parents?" John questioned again, looking out the window.
"Yes."
"Well…" He chuckled. "That is not what I…"
"What?" Sherlock questioned.
"I mean, they're just… so… ordinary."
I snorted. "Believe me, John. They're anything but." I glanced at Sherlock. "Physicist or mathematician? I forgot."
Sherlock scowled. "How can you forget?"
I shrugged, clearing my throat and lifting my tea. "I don't have the information readily available to brush up on. It's been more than two years since I'd first learned of future events. There's no way to keep it fresh other than writing it down or going through it mentally every so often, and there's no way I'm writing it down for someone to get their hands on. I'm not an idiot. So, physicist or mathematician?"
Sherlock watched me for a moment, contemplating something, before turning away as he responded. "Mathematician."
"Ah."
"Um, sorry. Who are we talking about?" John questioned, looking between the two of us with furrowed brows; probably realizing something was going on.
"His mother." I muttered. "A genius mathematician. Very unordinary."
John moved away from the window and spoke. "Did they know too?"
"Hm?" Sherlock hummed, pointedly keeping his gaze averted.
"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek." John clarified, already frowning at the impending answer.
"Maybe." Sherlock murmured, giving me a desperate look that I ignored.
"Ah! So, that's why they weren't at the funeral."
"Sorry. Sorry again."
John hummed, not really believing the apology and when he moved to the door, Sherlock repeated it, with a bit more meaning.
"Sorry." He looked at me then, surprising me slightly. "To the both of you."
John let out a small sigh, relaxing a bit and glancing at me briefly before turning away. Seems he's still hesitant about apologizing to me about the whole hitting thing. Either that, or he doesn't want to do it in front of Sherlock. Shame he doesn't know about the drug problems I had, nor Bobbie. The three of us would make for quite the mess if we just went and spouted out all our problems right now.
"See you've shaved it off, then." Sherlock commented about John's mustache, changing the topic.
"Yeah. Wasn't working for me." He claimed, though I knew that between Sherlock and Mary, he'd been convinced it was no good.
"Mm, I'm glad."
"What? You didn't like it?"
Sherlock smirked. "No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."
"That's not a sentence you hear every day."
"Nor from two supposedly straight men." I tacked on, giving the two a look. "If you're going to flirt, can't you do it elsewhere?"
"We're not gay." John pressed, taking a seat in his usual chair. "How's your arm, by the way?"
I lifted it and looked it over. "Been better. Not stiff or anything, but stings on occasion with certain movements. I won't be typing responses to your cases for a while, Sherlock, so you best catch up with your work. And you, John?"
I cleared my throat yet again and sipped at my tea.
"Bit smoked." He quipped, looking at Sherlock seriously. "Last night. Who did that? Why did they target us?"
"I don't know." Sherlock admitted begrudgingly.
"Yet another sentence you don't hear every day." I murmured.
"Is it someone trying to get to you through us? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?" John pressed.
"I don't know." Sherlock repeated, moving towards me and giving me a look, though I knew he'd be aiming for his wall of information. "I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous. Though, you mentioned I upset someone, Sam."
I looked up at him as he hovered and sighed, hand shifting over Smith's back on my lap. "If it helps, the person or people who put us in that bonfire have nothing to do with this case. It will be a while before you deal with them, though where we ended up is potentially important I suppose. That being said, I did already give you a hint about this terrorist mess."
"Yes." He hummed, staring above me at the wall now. "'The secret's in the wording'. Your so-called 'hint of the day'... Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant?"
"'Give his life'?" John questioned in shock.
"According to Mycroft." Sherlock replied. "There's an underground network planning an attack on London. That's all we know." He made a face then, before gesturing to the wall. "These are my rats, John."
"Rats?"
John looked to me for help, but I remained silent and allowed Sherlock to explain.
"My markers. Agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth…" He pointed to a photo and I leaned back to get a look.
"I know him, don't I?" John questioned, pointing as well.
"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment." Sherlock rattled off, the name making me shiver as I remembered a different Moran.
"Yes!"
"He's been working for North Korea since 1996."
John's expression fell. "What?"
"He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed."
"I'm going to take a shower." Sam said then, looking a little unnerved by something as Sherlock went towards his computer.
John watched her go and waited until the water was running before speaking up. "Did something happen between you two? I thought things would be okay because she knew about you."
Sherlock gave John a look. "While she was upset about my not getting into contact with her, just as you were, it seems that she has something else on her mind and doesn't care for my prying."
"Something else?" John questioned. "Like what?"
"I don't know." Sherlock said, frowning himself as he shifted his gaze to the bathroom door. "Something that happened while I was gone. She refuses to tell me, but she's been solving my cases, John. As a distraction from something. She's tucked away that old shy persona that we knew and covered it up to protect herself from whatever it was that happened, and it wasn't the drugs."
"Drugs?" John gaped, not having known about any drugs when it came to Sam. "What drugs? I thought she never used!"
Sherlock looked at him in confusion, before it clicked. "Oh… Oh, that's why you… She never told you."
"Told me what?" John demanded to know. "What didn't she tell me?"
Sherlock hesitated, silently questioning whether he should be the one to tell John, before giving in. "Moriarty took her. The day before I jumped. He drugged her, John, numerous times. He made her addicted to heroin to spite me."
Guilt suddenly ate away at John, who realized now why Sam had looked so malnourished at the gravestone. He knew now what she'd meant about being unable to do anything while up on the roof with Sherlock.
"God… Oh, God, I didn't know…" John breathed out, looking at the restroom door in stunned shock and devastation. "I… I didn't know."
"There's nothing to do about it now." Sherlock sighed out, knowing he needed to have a talk with Sam about what had happened, but with this case in the way, he didn't know when he'd get the chance. "Come here."
John got up and went over to look at the screen Sherlock had playing a video of the tube car that Moran disappeared into.
John frowned. "Yeah, that's… odd. There's nowhere he could have got off."
"Not according to the maps." Sherlock agreed and John hummed. "There's something. Something, something I'm missing. Something staring me in the face, if Sam's hint was as obvious as she's making it."
He turned back to his wall of information, but took out his phone when it went off to look at the photos of Moran that his homeless network caught.
"Any idea who they are? This underground network?" John pressed, though Sherlock didn't answer as he continued to look at the computer screen. "Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones."
"Our rat's just come out of his den." Sherlock murmured, ignored as well.
"Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again. Maybe they're going to make an appearance."
It seemed to click then for Sherlock.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" He shouted, catching John's attention as the shower stopped. "I've been an idiot. A blind idiot!"
"What?"
"Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant."
"What are you on about?" John complained, hating when Sherlock got like this and left him out of the loop.
"Mycroft's intelligence. It's not nebulous at all. It's specific. Incredibly specific."
"What do you mean?"
"Finally figure it out?" Sam asked, coming out of the bathroom in a shirt that barely clung to her and made John wince at how slim she was.
"Not an underground network, John." Sherlock said, attempting to clarify what he'd found out. "It's an underground network."
"Right, what?"
Sam sighed. "Underground, John."
"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face." Sherlock rattled off, but John was still very lost, so Sherlock went over to replay the footage of the tube; Sam hovering behind him.
"Look. Seven carriages leave Westminster, but only six carriages arrive at St. James Park."
"But that's… I… I-It's impossible."
"Not if you have someplace to ditch the carriage." Sam hummed as Sherlock agreed.
"Moran didn't disappear. The entire tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."
"Detached it where? You said there was nothing between those stations."
"On official maps." Sam chimed. "You need to look at the old stuff. Hint number three."
Sherlock nodded eagerly, but John was still confused about this mess of a case.
"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"
Sherlock started pacing. "It vanishes between St. James Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You two are kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks par—" He stopped abruptly and turned to Sam. "The date. What is it?"
"'Remember, remember, the fifth of November'." She chimed and John went pale.
"My God."
"Lord Moran. He's a peer of the realm. Normally, he'd sit in the House. Tonight, there's an all-night sitting to vote on the…" Sherlock looked over at Sam again, wishing he'd seen her hints earlier. "…new anti-terrorism bill, but he won't be there. Not tonight." He smirked. "'Gunpowder treason and plot."
I felt bad, but had ended up falling asleep on the couch at some point while Sherlock and John went about gathering maps and such to search through for the hidden train station. John had been kind enough to rebandage my red arm after my shower—made brief due to the pain the water caused my burns—but this did very little to stop the nightmares that seemed to continuously pester me.
Fire licking at my arm, smoke burning my lungs, choking on air. Gasping, unable to breath, water, a breath, more water, a breath.
"Stop it. Stop it. I don't know anything! I won't tell you anything!"
"Oh, but you will, because otherwise… I'll take them from you, Sammy. I'll take everything important from you. Starting with him."
"Sam? Sam, are you alright? God, vomiting again? Why didn't you call me? I was only taking a nap in the other room. I told you, you can wake me up for anything. Why do you have to always fight your battles by yourself? I want to help you. Can't you see that?"
"No. No, Bobbie. You can't. He'll get you, too. I can't let him get you."
"Too late~"
Gun shots, pain, shouting, screaming.
"Bobbie! Bobbie! Let me see him! Please! Please, he's my boyfriend!"
Laughter, echoing laughter. A detective rising from examining the body. Sherlock.
"He's dead, Sam. And it's all your fault."
"You killed him!" John shouted. "You killed him!"
"No! No! I-I didn't! It wasn't my fault! Please! Please, just give him back! Bobbie!"
"Sam!"
I sat upright, gasping for air, and shivering despite the sweat that was dripping down my back.
"Sam, are you alright?"
I looked over to see John giving me a worried look, and I almost did it. I almost blurted out everything, but I caught myself just in time and clenched my teeth with a nod.
"Yeah. Sorry. I'm fine. It was nothing, honestly."
"But Sam—"
"Did you two finish?" I cut him off, not wanting to talk about it. "Did you find the station?"
He, thankfully, dropped the subject and nodded. "Yeah. Sherlock told me to wake you up. He's already waiting with a cab downstairs."
I nodded, getting up and cringing immediately at the fire burning in my shoulder, but not stopping. I won't ever be able to stop. "Right. Just let me grab my shoes and coat. I'll be right there."
There was silence for a minute as I tied my shoes, before he spoke again.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
I laced my other boot and got up, grabbing my coat from the coat rack. "No, but neither are you."
I felt a little bad for those words, but if he was going to question me, then he'd better expect to get some questions back; if not from me, then from Sherlock. I wasn't about to break so easily. I wasn't like before. And despite the itch in the crook of my elbow and the ache in my chest for a cigarette, I continued forward, just as I always had; ever since Bobbie was killed.
The ride towards the station was relatively quiet, as was the walk down into the station up until John spoke.
"So, it's a bomb then? A tube carriage is carrying a bomb."
"Must be." Sherlock hummed, glancing again at me, though I kept my gaze straight ahead; not wanting to give him hints or confuse him.
"Right."
John took off his glove and pulled out his phone.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock questioned.
"Calling the police."
"What? No!"
John made a face as though he knew Sherlock was going to stop him. "Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament."
"They get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient." Sherlock argued, moving to a locked maintenance gate and pulling a crowbar from his coat.
"And illegal." John commented.
"A bit."
"Put it this way, John." I added to their argument. "If the police get called, the media will find out about Parliament being evacuated over a bomb threat. Moran is watching the television right now. If he sees the evac starting, he'll set the bombs off earlier; adding to the body count. Calling the police before we find and disarm the bombs could be problematic."
"I…" He stopped, looking at me in surprise as I raised a brow at his dumbfounded expression. "I didn't think of that."
"Hm." I hummed as we moved into the tunnels and pulled out torches.
It was a bit of a walk to the abandoned Sumatra Road station, but once there, Sherlock frowned at the lack of a tube carriage.
"I don't understand."
"Well, that's a first." John scoffed.
"There's nowhere else it could be."
"It's too open." I mused, giving him a bit of a hint.
"Oh!" He exclaimed, rushing to the end of the station platform and hopping down with John lagging behind as I followed.
"Hang on, Sherlock?"
"What?"
"That's…" John looked at the tracks at Sherlock's and my feet. "Isn't it live?"
"Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails." Sherlock replied, bounding off down the tunnel and I sighed as I picked up my pace; John complaining behind us.
"Course, yeah. Avoid the rails. Great."
"This way."
"You sure?"
"Sure!" I chimed back, answering for Sherlock.
We didn't have to go far before we found the carriage and John chuckled.
"Ha, look at that."
"John." Sherlock said, catching his attention and aiming his torch up into the vent above us to reveal more explosives.
"Demolition charges."
We moved towards the carriage and before Sherlock and John could get absorbed in checking the outside of the carriage, I opened the door and climbed in the back.
"It's inside."
When John looked around to see an empty carriage though, I sighed loudly.
"No, John. It's not empty. I assure you. Just need to look harder."
I moved in front and reached out, pulling a couple of wires to their attention. Sherlock was quick to understand.
"This is the bomb."
"What?" John questioned and Sherlock went and lifted up a seat cushion as I released the wires and watched.
"It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb."
We pulled up more and more cushions until Sherlock found the compartment in the floor with the main detonator and I felt a chill go down my spine. While I had acted rather uncaring up until this point, the sight of the actual bomb bothered me and reminded me that—even though I knew how things went in the show—I was not immortal. I did not know everything. I knew nothing concerning my own personal safety, nor how my mere presence could change how things ended. For all I knew, I could die here and now. We all could. I sucked in a sharp breath between my teeth and closed my eyes momentarily; fighting to ignore the mocking laughter of Moriarty from my memories and how helpless I was when it came to what happened with Bobbie. I let out a long sigh and opened my eyes as John and Sherlock began discussing what could be done about the bomb in the floor.
"We need bomb disposal." John murmured.
"There may not be time for that now."
"So, what do we do?"
Sherlock looked down then back up. "I have no idea."
John obviously doubted that. "Well, think of something."
"Why do you think I know what to do?" Sherlock argued as I remained silent for now.
"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets."
"Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?"
"I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor."
"And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all." Sherlock countered, pointing his light at John, who was growing nervous as he looked down at the time displayed on the bomb.
"C-Can't we rip the timer off, or something?"
"That would set it off."
"You see? You know things." John replied, raising his voice and Sherlock turned away with a heavy sigh.
And lights. I mentally hummed, glancing up just as the lights came on and the timer started. My throat tightened in concern as I silently reassured myself that everything would be fine. Sherlock knew what he was doing. And if not, then I do. I just need to keep my head until the right time.
"Uh…"
"My God!" John exclaimed as Sherlock paced, moaning in confusion.
"Uh…"
"Why didn't you call the police?"
"Please, just…"
"Why do you never call the police?!" John shouted.
"Well, it's no use now." Sherlock countered, finally getting the words to do so.
The timer hit 2:15.
"So you can't switch the bomb off. You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police." John turned away in exasperation and turned back again; giving Sherlock the chance to try and shoo him off.
"Go, John. Go, now." He said, pointing at the only way out.
A part of me swelled proudly at John's expression, the loyalty, as the timer hit 1:57.
"There's no point now, is there? Because there's not enough time to get away and if we don't do this, other people will die!... Mind palace." John declared, pointing at Sherlock.
"Hm?"
"Use your mind palace."
"How will that help?" Sherlock questioned.
Doing far too good of a job acting in this. I'm actually glad they've sort of forgotten I'm here. I'm not going to like how they react once they remember though.
"You've salted away every fact under the sun!"
"Oh, and you think I've just got 'How to Defuse a Bomb' tucked away in there somewhere?!"
"Yes!"
Sherlock stared, before giving in. "Maybe."
"Think." John breathed out desperately. "Think. Please, think. Think!"
"Ah!" Sherlock shouted coming out of his so-called 'mind palace' and giving John an apologetic look.
"Oh my God."
Sherlock took off his scarf and John turned away, finally spotting me standing not far behind him as Sherlock crouched to the floor.
"Wait… Wait, Sam!" He rushed over and grabbed me tightly by my shoulders, making me cringe slightly. "Sam, you know what's going on. You can stop the bomb!"
And here it is. The part I've been dreading since Sherlock dragged me into this mess. God, what do I tell him?
"J-John, I… I don't—"
John's gaze sharpened dangerously, making me remember what happened back at Sherlock's grave. "I don't care about whatever's holding you back, Sam. If you know how to defuse the bomb, then you better damn well do it, because this isn't about some stupid plot anymore. This is about lives! Actual, human lives! And if that matters to you at all, then you better damn well stop the bomb, right now!"
I flinched back at his shout, clenching my fists at my sides before looking past him at Sherlock. The man stared at me back silently from the ground, and I didn't like what his expression was telling me. He wants me to go along with it. God, he wants me to go along with lying to John about this mess so he can get forgiveness. But what about me, you moron?! I felt my nails dig into my palms before I looked back at John in fear and concern.
"I-I don't remember, John."
"What?" He breathed out, before shaking me by the shoulders. "What do you mean you don't remember?!"
I grit my teeth, trying to not shout and add fuel to the rage John was spitting out. "My memory's not perfect. It's been over two years. I can't remember every little thing that—"
"Little?! This is far from little! How the hell do you forget how to disarm the bomb?!" John shouted back. "God, you're bloody useless!"
Those words cut into me like knives as he finally released me and turned away; pulling a hand through his hair. That was the one thing that had a hunted me the most these last few years around Sherlock. Ever since I'd ended up in this timeline, the one thing I never wanted to be was useless, and yet, here I was. Here I was being told to my face how useless I was and—despite my actually knowing how to stop the bomb—a deep part of me knew John was right. What had I done since Sherlock's return? I hadn't been of any help. I fought with him, got kidnapped, and slept through everything of some importance. Hell, before Sherlock's fake death, I felt I was useless to him and John. Having John tell me to my face though, that finally seemed to clench it.
I glared at Sherlock when I saw he was looking at me with an expression I didn't like. I was hurt and he knew that, but I did it for him. So, I hoped he was happy. He'll end up being forgiven, but I might never will.
"I'm sorry." He breathed out, though looking at me, I believed him to have been speaking with John; who responded.
"What?"
Sherlock turned to John as I sat in one of the seats, slumping over and running my shaking hands through my hair as I listened to Sherlock's act playing out before me.
"I can't… I can't do it, John. I don't know how. Forgive me?"
"What?" John questioned again, voice tight and making me lift my gaze from my feet.
"Please, John. Forgive me… for all the hurt that I caused you."
"No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick." John said then, waving a finger at him.
"No."
"Another one of your bloody tricks."
"No."
"You're just trying to make me say something nice." John pressed, but Sherlock chuckled bitterly.
"Not this time."
"It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like…" John glanced at me and I stared back solemnly for a moment before looking away, playing into Sherlock's act still, despite everything; making him believe this wasn't a trick.
John sucked in a breath and turned away, trying to get a hold of himself as he gripped one of the grab rails beside him tightly.
"I wanted you not to be dead." He spat.
"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for." Sherlock replied softly as John sighed. "If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and… you'd still have a future… with Mary."
"Yeah, I know." John said, gesturing at him briefly, before managing to get the words he wanted to say, out. "Look. I find it difficult. I find it difficult, this sort of stuff."
"I know." Sherlock replied back and John blew out a breath, straightening.
"You were the best and the wisest man… that I have ever known." John lowered his head and raised it again. "Yes, of course, I forgive you."
"And Sam?"
The air seemed to tense all over again as John shifted and turned to look at me. Unable to hide the shame that welled up in me, I looked away, feeling as though I was once again intruding on a moment between the two. That, and I really didn't want to hear John say those words.
"This isn't her fault, John." Sherlock pressed and a part of me hated that he was trying to change John's mind. "Not this bomb, not our previous cases, and not my death. Even if she had told us—"
"Lives would have been saved." John muttered, making my fists tighten.
"Lives would have been lost." Sherlock argued. "If anything, we owe it to her that we were even able to get this far. If she had never hinted to us possible solutions, if she hadn't taken those drugs before my death—"
What? When did John find out about that? Did Sherlock…
"—then I might very well have stayed dead. Any number of things could have happened, and her leaving out some minor information that we shouldn't even be privy to in the first place, has helped us."
John scoffed, though there was a bit of hesitation to it. "Says the man who had been about ready to throw her in jail for it."
"Yes, I'll admit, I wasn't thinking… rationally, but we've seen proof. Haven't we, John? She has always been loyal to us. You know that."
John paused, before letting out a long sigh. "Yes. Yes, I know that, but I'm not going to forgive her."
I grit my teeth, but he continued.
"If anything, I should be begging for her to forgive me."
I looked up slowly, cautiously, unsure whether I had heard things right, but John was giving me a small smile.
"I owe you for saving this idiot, after all." He managed to joke, though immediately looked apologetic. "And for the yelling earlier… especially the funeral. I'm really sorry, Sam."
"N-No. I, um…" I tried to think of something to say, a small amount of hope trickling through me. "I should have explained things better or… or something. Although…" I glanced over at Sherlock, who was already beginning to shake with suppressed laughter. "…you might want to hold back on the forgiving."
John furrowed his brows, confused, before he heard Sherlock and saw where I was looking; turning to the man as he managed to speak and spotting the flickering timer on the bomb.
"Oh, you're face!"
"You… utter…"
"Your face!"
"You…"
Sherlock stood and continued to laugh. "I totally had you."
"You cock! I knew it! I knew it!" John turned to me. "And you were in on it!"
I held up my hands. "Sorry. It really needed to happen. I swear."
He didn't look pleased by that response, but I was feeling a bit better about this mess.
"Oh, those things you said. Such sweet things." Sherlock rambled on with a grin. "I never knew you cared."
John turned back to him with a glare. "I will kill you if you ever breathe word of this..."
Sherlock held up a Boy Scout's salute. "Scout's honor."
"…to anyone. You knew!" John shouted as Sherlock knelt to the bomb. "You knew how to turn it off."
"There's an 'off' switch."
"What?" John seemed a little shocked at the simplicity of that so Sherlock pointed it out to him as he knelt to look.
"There's always an 'off' switch. Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there's an 'off' switch."
"So why did you two let me go through all that?" John snarled.
"I didn't lie altogether… I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off." Sherlock teased, wiping stray tears from his previous laughter. "And don't blame Sam for this. As I said, she's always loyal to us."
"To a fault." John grumbled, though he didn't seem too angry with me, anyway.
We could hear voices and walkie-talkies now and John gestured to the door.
"And you did call the police."
"Sam called the police, but yes. Course we did."
"I'm definitely going to kill you." John threatened and Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Oh, please. Killing me. That's so two years ago."
He smiled at John, who managed a small smile back and even a short laugh before Sherlock moved to leave and called over his shoulder.
"Come along, Sam."
Oh, how I missed those words. I sighed in the back of my head as I stood and went to trail after them.
Sherlock walked to his bedroom, knowing that Sam was inside, and knocked on the door frame to get her attention. She was buttoning up the last few buttons on a dress shirt and her hair was still slightly damp from the shower she'd practically sprinted into this morning. It had been another nightmare, Sherlock knew. It seemed nearly every morning she was either in the shower recovering or attempting to forget it with a heavy jog. And now he'd had enough.
"Sam. I wish to speak with you about something."
Sam turned to him with that expression that grated his nerves so much. That blank, tired, haunted look. Then she turned back to her bed to pick up her coat.
"Make it quick, if you could. I've got a case."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm sure the missing dog could wait."
Sam frowned at him, but continued to pull on her coat. "Even a small dog can travel up to twenty-five miles in eight hours. I'll need all the time I can get, Sherlock."
Sherlock didn't really care, and knew he had other things to worry about than letting her get on with her 'case'.
"I wish to know what happened the two years I was missing."
Sam paused in tying her shoes, but didn't look up as she soon continued. "Read a paper. The ones I could get are in the corner of the living room with the rest of them."
"What happened with you." He clarified and she glanced up before bending down the grab her other shoe.
"I already told you I don't want to talk about it."
"I do."
She frowned at him and stood, making to head past him and out the door, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her.
"Sam, we need to talk about this."
"Why?"
Sherlock frowned. "What?"
Sam whipped around to glare at him. "Why do we need to talk about this? What happened to me isn't any of your concern, just as what happened to you is none of my business. So why is digging up things I'd much rather forget seem to suddenly be the top priority for you?"
Sherlock decided then that if she wanted to do this the hard way, he'd be more than happy to oblige.
"Because this needs to stop." He snapped in return, gesturing to her. "When was the last time you were able to sleep properly? Eat properly? You are a completely different person from who you were, Sam, and I want to know what happened to cause this."
"It doesn't matter!"
"It does to me!" He shouted in return, silencing her, trying to calm himself down. "Sam, believe it or not, but you're important to me and I care about you just as I care about John. So, seeing you waste away your talents on missing dog cases, seeing you get only a few hours of sleep only to be startled awake by memories of whatever happened… If you just talked about it—"
Sam cut him off. "Talk about it? What the hell is talking going to do? Better yet, when was the last time you talked to anyone about your problems, Sherlock? You were tortured in Tibet and you don't think that deserves some discussing?"
Sherlock winced, not liking Sam dredging up the memory of that. "That's different. No one would understand—"
Sam laughed bitterly. "Really? That's your excuse? Can't talk about it because no one understands what it's like to be tortured? Oh, wait! Didn't I have a point where I was tortured with Moriarty? Oh, guess that doesn't count does it, since I'm just some kid to you. I'm not clever enough to keep up or some other nonsense, is that it?"
"No!" Sherlock argued, annoyed with how Sam kept twisting his words around. "I'm different than you, Sam! I don't need that kind of support and—"
"Oh! So, you don't need John or I? Is that it?"
"No!" He raked a hand through his hair. "I compartmentalize things! I'm able to lock things up and forget about them! And perhaps I should talk things over with you and John more, but Tibet is something I'm trying to forget about!"
"And I'm trying to forget about what happened too!" She snapped back, voice tight as she brought a hand to her head. "God, why can't you just let this go? I have it relive it every night, isn't that enough for you?"
"I… I want to help." Sherlock begrudgingly admitted. "Anything, Sam. I'll play for you at night like before. I'll eat with you at breakfast, if I must. However, I want to know what happened. I want to fix things and I can't do that if you won't let me in."
Sam took a deep breath in and let it out, looking up at him seriously. "Then let me in."
Sherlock hesitated.
"Let me in, Sherlock. I don't care what you want to talk about. Tibet, your family, Moriarty, whatever. But if I'm going to tell you what happened to me, I expect you to do the same."
"Will you allow me to know about your foreknowledge as well?" He questioned.
"What I can give you, yes, but then I want to be more involved in cases. If you decide to do something stupid, no pushing me aside. I'm going with you."
Sherlock's hunched shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded. "Very well. Some restrictions?"
"What?" She asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Nothing drug related. I'm able to cope with the urges better should I relapse for whatever reason, but I'm not willing to put you at the risk of following me down that path should a case lead to it."
Sam shivered, but nodded. "Yes, that's fine."
Sherlock hummed, shifting out of the way. "A bar then?"
Sam snorted. "Sorry. I've got a dog to catch. Here though, is fine. I expect some good scotch though. I know. Tell your brother that if he'll get us some good stuff, I'll go with your parents to 'Les Mis'. It's been a while."
Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he pushed open the door to the flat to let her out, but agreed. "Very well."
"I'll see you tonight though, Sherlock." She said heavily with a soft sigh. "We've got a long talk."