Chapter 5! I'm writing like a madman these days. I've wanted to create this story for a long time, but didn't expect anyone to be even remotely interested in it. But you kind reviews very more than enough encouragement for me to at least give it another chapter or two. Seeing how popular it has become I can assure you I will end it properly. Please note that in small segments of this and future chapters things will be explained and described 'outside of Johns head' which simply means everything won't be described by a blind point of view. And thank you all for reading!
Chapter 5
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."
John did his best trying to be as scientific about his explanation of bombs as possible. He felt he lacked in knowledge but Sherlock seemed to find every single word excruciatingly interesting if the dead silence was anything to go by. Afraid Sherlock had spontaneously fallen asleep during his ranting John asked, "Useful?"
"Yes," John heard Sherlock put his teacup on the table and John proceeded to drink his own. "I think it is evident the bombings were a message of some sort. A warning."
"Go on," John said sipping his tea.
"Someone who know what a threat Moriarty were to us- how close he got by kidnapping you back then, wants to remind us of this."
John frowned. "That's no very specific. Do you mean that this someone wishes to remind us of Moriarty or the feeling of being threatened?"
"Either. And I'm not sure whether we're talking about a single person or perhaps a group."
"You make it sound like we're fighting terrorist Sherlock," John sighed. This whole deal was starting to make him uncomfortable.
"You did serve in Afghanistan John," Sherlock deadpanned.
"Please don't joke about terrorist? Let's stay focused on something more likely alright?"
"Very well," Sherlock agreed and stood from his chair to pace the room as he so often did when solving mysteries. "A message then. A message from either a person or a group. We've already seen two suicide bombers- which could indicate that we are facing a group whose intent is to blow themselves up one by, one until there's no more of them left or until they succeed to do whatever they intent to. Like getting their message through. But I don't see where such a commitment should come from. Whatever the cause of their commitment, had this thing been organized by a single person… Then we should be looking for someone powerful…" Sherlock fell silent as he though this over. "Someone powerful who has connections with angry, delusional or suicidal men. And hates us. They must hate us, whoever they may be."
"It seems like you think it's more likely with a single man controlling this?"
"He has no control, John. He simple gives them a task and they follow him blindly," Sherlock's voice was growing darker by the minute.
"What are you talking about? You've got no evidence to back any of that up!" John put his tea on table, slowly lowering it not to smack it against the surface on accident.
"John, every suicide bombers in the history of the world have been manipulated, delusional men. We only ever lay down our lives to gain something in return. A clear path to heaven, money or protection for those we leave behind or everlasting glory or respect from the living. Can't you see that it makes perfect sense? With a powerful or resourceful man leading all the lunatics to us?"
John pondered for a moment, "I still think you lack a lot of evidence. But it makes sense I suppose."
"Of course it does. It's only logical."
"Yes, of course it is. You know what? I'm sitting here thinking that there's no way in hell you could solve half this crime without even looking at the crime scene- or even texting Lestrade- but I can't help but to think that at the end of this you're just going to do that thing with your jacket and say 'told you so'!"
"What thing with my jacket?" Sherlock asked, completely ignoring what he probably though was an obvious observation.
"Just- that- you know the 'swoosh'-thing," John waved his hands in the air.
"Swoosh?" Sherlock repeated a quirked eyebrow evident in his voice.
"Shut up," John grumbled and crossed his arms when Sherlock suppressed an amused huff.
Just as John opened his mouth to speak a loud shriek pierced through the silence. Even without his eyesight John sought out Sherlock and he was positive Sherlock was doing the same with him. John stared blindly in Sherlock's direction for a second before gasping, "Mrs. Hudson!" John got to his feet, and stumbled towards the door halting with his hands on the doorframe as not to fall down their now-gone stairs. Sherlock was by his side, peeking down at Mrs. Hudson. "Good evening Mrs. Hudson! Everything alright?"
Mrs. Hudson spun around, her big worried eyes meeting Sherlock's slim grey ones immediately. "Sherlock! I though the hole darn place had been ripped apart for a moment! Are you and John all right? I don't see the good Doctor anywhere!" she quipped quickly.
"I'm right here Mrs. Hudson, we're very sorry about you stairs. I promise it wasn't Sherlock's fault this time though. He's innocent for once."
Sherlock turned to look at John "For once? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh you know very well what that means Sherlock," John lectured him good-naturedly. His face split into a wide grin when Sherlock only grunted in reply. Sherlock peeked down at Mrs. Hudson once more. "Bickering like a married couple as usual I see," she said and then turned and walked out of Sherlock's sight. "I guess you really are both fine then," Sherlock hear her remove her coat and put down her bag before she returned to stand just at the end of the ruined staircase. Sherlock saw John open his mouth to comment on Mrs. Hudson's choice of words but Mrs. Hudson shrieked again, though this time not as loudly. "John! My God, what has happened to you? Sherlock!" she put her hands on her hips in a lecturing stance very unlike Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock looked her in the eye befuddled by her sudden change of character "How can I leave the house when I come home seeing the only doctor in this establishment has been blinded and my favorite stairs have been smashed to pieces?" she scolded. Sherlock was grateful that John could see him when he bowed his head in sort-of-faked guilt. "My apologies Mrs. Hudson, but John is right. A suicide bomber had made his way into Baker Street earlier today. He set off somewhere between where you and I are standing. He was also the one who blinded John –temporarily. He will be just fine. Oh, and I would recommend you not to sped to much time out here since all the dark spots would be human remains," he added flatly. John sputtered. "A-Sherlock! Don't say that-"
"All right, I'll keep that in mind. Do you think the police will mind if I clean up some of the mess?" Mrs. Hudson asked in her everyday happy voice- completely unaffected by the fact that she was surrounded by human remains. John was clearly shocked, though he hid it well.
John was beyond baffled, but it quickly as he remembered just who he was having the pleasure of being in company with. "No, no they won't mind. Do whatever you please Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock said in a carefree voice. John just huffed.
"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked the darkness.
"Yes, dear?"
"Since I'm now blind, and I'm going to have trouble getting out of the flat on my own I was wondering if I could ask you a favor? If it were not too much trouble it would be lovely if you could buy some of our groceries? Not all of them, only the essentials," John bit his lip, feeling bad for burdening Mrs. Hudson, but seeing that Sherlock would rather starve than getting even remotely close to a supermarket, he found no alternate solutions.
"But how will you cook, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked. John drew a blank. Maybe he hadn't really thought that one through. "Uh, I suppose I'll- I could just-"
"Don't you worry, sweethearts, I'll cook for you until you get back on your feet, John. But next time I expect you to have put you clever head to use and learned how to cook, Sherlock!"
John couldn't see, but Sherlock looked nothing less than mortified. Now Sherlock was the one to open his mouth only to be interrupted by Mrs. Hudson, "Dinner will be ready at seven, so you better have some contraption ready for you to hoist it up. I suppose it will be out back then? By you fancy surveillance ladder?"
"Wait- she knew about that?" Why was he surprised? Why did he even bother anymore?
"Of course. Nothing happens in Baker Street without Mrs. Hudson knowing, John."
"Of course."
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, I'll have something put together. I'll be waiting by my bedroom window at seven," Sherlock replied her.
"Goodie! I'll see you, then!"
"Later Mrs. Hudson," John and Sherlock answered in sync. John heard her giggle as she returned to her front door. He vaguely wondered if it was covered in human as well. Not that she would mind, obviously. John sighed as he once against was faced with the fact that he lived amongst the strangest people in London- and he didn't really mind. The last part was always the most concerning to him.