Chapter 4

"Where are we even going? Baker Street must be in ruins? God, is our flat even still there?"
"Don't worry I got a text from Lestrade explaining that it was only our staircase that was affected. We might need an alternate point of entrance but I'm sure we'll make it."
"Sherlock if you haven't noticed, I'm sort of not up for any parkour today."
"We've got some stairs in the backyard. We'll use them."
"… some stairs? What do you mean?"
"I had them installed when the yard had me under surveillance some time ago. Makes it easy to slip in and out unnoticed," Sherlock explained casually, though a smirk was evident in his voice.

"Oh. Well, of course. Of course you did."

Sherlock dragged John along when they arrived. He didn't walk at his usual speed though, and led John by resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's just through here," Sherlock mumbled- or maybe John's hearing was off again? Eventually John felt Sherlock's slim fingers curl around his hand and John jumped by the sudden intimacy but quickly found that he was simply being let to the a step on the metal staircase. It was more of a ladder than a staircase though. From what John could tell without his eyesight, it was made of simple metal pipes fastened to the brick wall. It was solid though, and John set his foot on the first step. "I'll be right behind you, if you should slip," Sherlock ensured. John tried to push away how glad the protectiveness Sherlock voice leaked of made him feel. "Yes, alright. Up we go" John mumbled. He hoisted himself up, wincing when his shoulder protested but kept going. They both made it to what John suspected to be the window of Sherlock's bedroom in one piece and without complications. John was relieved to say the least. The last thing he wanted was to fall to his death in the backyard of Baker Street from Sherlock's secret surveillance ladder. He let out a breath as his feet met solid ground and stepped out of Sherlock's way when he heard him shuffle through the window. "You good?" he asked.

"Fine. Now let's get you some proper clothes. I hate seeing you in that horrific hospital shirt," Sherlock said obviously frowning.

"What hospital shirt?" John questioned letting his hands pat at his upper torso. He was right, he was in a scratchy sterile, most likely clinically white, hospital shirt. He quickly made sure he was wearing his usual pants, which he was, but was still baffled that he hadn't notice anyone remove either his new jacket or his jumper. "When did they-?
Sherlock replied before he was done asking, "The ambulance ride. Not sure about the exact time as I was sedated, all I know is that they had you changed by the time I could think clearly, which was when we had already made it to the bed you remember sitting on."

"Alright then. I suppose Lestrade would want it for evidence. Since he didn't get my last jacket that is," John said pointedly. Sherlock moved out of the room, leaving the door open for John to follow him saying, "Oh, don't be like that. I doubt he even realizes that he's missing it, but he can always just get it later."

"Sure, Sherlock, if you say so." John shrugged and followed Sherlock with his good arm raised in front of him, should he have miscalculated their current location in the flat.

John stumbled his way to his chair and plunged down with a sigh. He heard the kettle beginning to boil and Sherlock ask, "Tea?"
"Never though I'd hear you ask that. But yes, thanks that would be wonderful."
Sherlock huffed "I've made tea before…" of course he had to defend himself. John chose not to argue, since he did make him tea yesterday. Woa- twice in two days? John almost wished they would encounter suicide bombers more often now. Almost. Soon he was handed a cup of tea and a gently warning from Sherlock, "It's hot, don't spill it this time."
"I'll try." As John waited for his tea to cool he spend his time thinking of the bombings and realized that Sherlock must be doing the same. "How come our flat is even still here?"
"What do you mean?" Sherlock questioned.

"You said you believed these bombers where part of a Moriarty copycat scheme or something, right? But that one bomb Moriarty set off was much more powerful. This one barely hurt me, and I was standing practically next to it!"
"I wouldn't agree that it didn't hurt you John, but I see your point. I've been pondering about that myself," Sherlock said. He used his deep rumbling voice, that one he always unconsciously uses when he is in deep thought, John noted.

"And what did you conclude? Have you solved the puzzle then?" John inquired.

"No, not yet. It's not much of a puzzle yet anyway, we don't have a lot to go on. I will have to speak to Lestrade. Maybe he has some facts about the nature of the bombs by now."
"I've got some," John said suddenly. Sherlock waited for him to continue, surprised to hear what John had said. "I mean- I've-I've seen bombs, but I'm not a professional. I didn't see the first bomb go off since I was busy knocking you over and all. But the second one was not meant to be lethal. Not to others anyway."
"How come? What would the purpose be then? To scare us?"
"I don't know, maybe? You're the genius, all I know is that the blast was meant to blind whoever were close when I went off. Could it be a message?" John heard Sherlock shuffle and imagined him slot his hands together in thought as he always does. "So you're saying you believe someone is plotting something against us," he concluded.

"Like I said, you're the genius, not me- and 'plotting' is a big word, don't you think? Maybe it's just- I don't know- someone trying to scare us. For whatever reason."

"No, it doesn't make sense. Something is clearly missing. We need more data to work this out," Sherlock stated. John nodded, eyes shifting uncomfortably underneath his gauze, "I agree. But first you've got to tell me what the doctors told you. Have I broken any bones?"
"No, you've got some bruises but you'll be fine. Don't worry, I've got you covered, John." Sherlock said quickly, obviously uncomfortably speaking of it. "Speaking of covers, I forgot to get you a new shirt!" He got up quickly, and strode out of the room before John could protest.

He was back in a heartbeat though, gently pulling John tea from him and replacing it with a soft sweater. "It's one of you usual ones, it was the first I could get to," he explained. John frowned. "Did you not just tell me that the stairs were done for? Did you install some secret pathway to my room upstairs too?"

Sherlock just sighed as if John was being completely ridiculous, "Of course not, the upper staircase is simply still standing."
It didn't make sense to John, but he believed him. "Alright, thank you then," he said, before ripping of the scratchy hospital shirt and pulling on the much comfier sweater Sherlock had brought him. "Don't mention it," Sherlock brushed it off.

Sherlock gave John back his tea and John sipped at it for a moment before asking, "So why are you still here?"
"Still where?"
"Here, in Baker Street. Why are you not storming through London like a madman to talk to Lestrade?"
"Because Lestrade is slow and I've got a crime scene in the next room," Sherlock stated simply. "And my doctor is suffering temporary blindness so I couldn't very well go anywhere now could I?" he said getting out of his chair and moving around the room. John figured he was getting his coat off.

"I suppose not… Speaking of Lestrade- why is this place not swarming with police?" Sherlock let out an amused sound, "Either they still think it's blown to pieces or they can't find a ladder. They've never been too bright John you know that. But they'll be here eventually, so let's make sure to look especially non-caring and bored when they show up, shall we?"

John huffed a laugh, "Yeah, sure, let's."

"Until then I'd like you to describe to me all you can tell about those bombs, however little it may be. Every detail is essential."