Two days had passed, John had been getting anxious but Sherlock was getting more and more excited, John had thought that waiting would have made Sherlock insufferably frustrating but instead the waiting seemed to sweeten the mystery of the case making him insufferably excitable. John doubted he had been sleeping at all, and wouldn't eat unless John forcibly demanded it and at best it was only green apples and slices of ham.

The end of the third day John was still at war with himself. He had had this conversation countless times with Sherlock over the past couple of days but he persisted one last time. "I still think we need to inform Lestrade."

'Oh here we go again, Doctor Watson and his commitment to the individual life rather than the importance of the bigger picture." Sherlock threw his arms up dramatically: "And tell him what John? We know there's a bigger conspiracy at work then you think because we broke into your office and stole private police files?"

'We?' "Well, we could just say that you collected these yourself."

"Oh think John, half of them have got his bloody hand writing all over them."

"But what about the civilians? 10's or 100's of innocent people are in Great Queen's Street are going to die from whatever this is that's going to happen tomorrow."

"It's none of our concern John."

"None of our conce..." John's voice hitched and stuck in his throat in disbelief. "We're talking about innocent lives here, Sherlock. You can't say that's not important, we need to get the place evacuated." His eyes bore Sherlock's face but Sherlock remained fiddling with his violin.

"John, we can't, if we change anything or set off a chain that leads whoever it is to know we know about it then well we don't know what could happen all I know is it is a bad idea. John, we need to know what's going on."

John threw Sherlock a glare who still hadn't looked up and stormed to bed determined he would do everything he could to help those people tomorrow. He finally dropped off listening to Thomas Newman's: Whisper of a thrill floating out of the living room from Sherlock's violin.

There was no pattern to the times in the newspapers which meant they had no idea when this was going to take pace, they were ready at 6am and they made their way to High Holborn.

It was 2:35pm before anything happened, they had circled the circumference of Great Queen's Street multitudes of times even up from Drury Lane to Remnant Street, trying every path and alley until, for no rhyme or reason, a blue police box appeared in a corner of the high street outside a Starbucks.

"Sherlock there!" Sherlock whipped round, they had passed that corner thirty odd times that day but it was if it materialized out of nowhere and why was no one paying it any attention. They sprinted to it in disbelief to its reality and fear of it being a mistake. But after they got to five feet away they slowed in caution. They both circled the box. Sherlock stopped at the back and knocked on the wood, he pressed his ear against it, 'How can I not tell if it's hollow or not?'

"Sherlock" John was at the front of the box, ear pressed to one of the doors: "Is it just me, or can you hear music?"

Sherlock dove to the blue wood. "Moonlight serenade." Sherlock tried pulling the door open. Locked. He circled around again: '50in x 50in x 98 in.' While John knocked on the entrance.