An atmosphere of gloom had settled over the occupants of the limousine on the ride back to New Scotland Yard. A couple of social workers had picked up Martha, who had begun to sob quietly once they had taken the dead baby from her for an autopsy at Bart's.
Sally had decided she hadn't observed how Raymond Lindhurst's nose had been broken. First and for once she was in complete agreement with the Holmes brothers, that Lindhurst had deserved the punch. Furthermore she didn't know if her career would come to a very sudden end if she were to testify against the British Government. Right now she sat in the limousine, opposite from Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, wishing she was anywhere but inside this car. She didn't particularly like either Holmes and hoped they would never consider her their adversary. Between the two men another person would have fit comfortably onto the seat but albeit the physical distance, they had never been closer; their brotherly bond stronger than ever.
Without a word Sherlock left the limousine when it stopped at a traffic light near King's Cross Station. Currently nothing supported the theory that John had left the underground tunnels but Sherlock would leave no stone unturned until he had found his only friend. He needed information only his homeless network could provide.
Hurrying towards the train-station, where he knew he would find people who could help, Sherlock felt his stomach growl. He had taken his last meal almost thirty hours ago and his body demanded fuel. Searching in the pocket of his coat for some money that would buy him a sandwich, he felt the mobile phone Mycroft had given him just before they had left Finsbury Park Station. The data from Sherlock's old phone had already been transferred onto the new one. When the phone chirped to announce an incoming message, Sherlock was almost certain it was from his brother.
His heart rate stepped up a notch when he saw it was from John. He anticipated it would be the message his brother had provided him with before but it was a new one.
'Dear Sherlock', it began.
Without further ado Sherlock flagged down a cab. Not sooner than he had given the destination to the cabby, he dialled his brother's number. If John was entombed underneath the bunker, Sherlock needed efficient and quick help to rescue him, which Mycroft would be capable of providing.
oOo
"There are rooms underneath that bunker," Sherlock insisted, wondering for the umpteenth time how a city like London didn't crumble from the sheer halfwittedness of those who were running it.
"And you are right, Mr. Holmes," a woman replied, who was just walking into the room. She threw a thick folder onto the desk before stretching out her hand to greet Sherlock. "Alison Watson, Emergency Planning Officer. I got a call from Whitehall that you're in need of competent help."
The three men Sherlock had been talking to until now, were ducking their heads under the merciless scrutiny of the woman.
"You, Percy, go and find out who was in charge of sealing the bunker. Apparently the doors were not sealed properly as mandated. You, Edward, go and get a crew that is capable of drilling an emergency exit for the man, who's trapped down there."
The third man, who had watched the others almost standing at attention before running out of the room to execute the commands they had been given, looked expectantly at his superior. "And what can I do to help" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
The woman's mouth twitched. "You, Jeremy, may go and fetch us some tea and," she studied the lanky Consulting Detective for a moment, "a bag of crisps, if you please." Jeremy dashed away to get the requested tea and crisps.
"Now Mr. Holmes, I happen to be an avid reader of Doctor Watson's blog and since I hope there will be many more blogs in the future I'd say we're all going to do our best to rescue him."
Sherlock rolled his eyes but was listening when Alison Watson spread a map on the table and began explaining where the rooms were located she thought her namesake might be in and what she thought would be possible to do, to get him out of his plight.
She had just finished her explanation to Sherlock, who finally found himself in the presence of some competence, when Jeremy came back. He not only brought tea and crisps but also news.
"We got information from a janitor working at Finsbury Park station. He returned to his rooms at the station before he was really allowed to after the evacuation. While he was busy tidying up, he heard a noise coming from the pipes that are running through his office. He said it sounded like someone was banging SOS on the pipes. First he thought it was a trick to make him leave again but when the noise was repeated over and over again, he reported it.
Those were indeed good news because now there was only one room John could be trapped inside. Unfortunately, it was a room with extremely thick walls and it would take some time to drill through, not to mention make a hole large enough to rescue the trapped and perhaps injured man.
oOo
Sherlock was beside himself, while he was watching the crew drilling a hole through the wall. The first hole had the sole purpose of providing some oxygen for John and perhaps to determine if he was still alive. The SOS signals had stopped some time ago and it was entirely possible the trapped man had already died from suffocation or injuries causes by the detonation.
When the drill finally broke through the wall, people at the site almost held their breaths. No sound came from inside the room. A tube, attached to an oxygen tank, was pushed through the hole to enrich the air inside the room. Meanwhile the crew drilled two more holes. A staff with a tiny camera was inserted through one hole; another staff, this one with a powerful light attached, went through the second hole. Several minutes had passed and still no sound came from the room. The camera's first view showed a motionless body. Although the picture on the view-screen was black and white, it was clear to see that the man in the picture was dead.
"That's not John," Sherlock croaked, when he had studied the view-screen, that displayed the video-feed from the camera, for a few seconds.
The man, who was operating the camera, kept doing sweeps. When Sherlock caught site of a hammer, lying on the table, he told the man he should try getting a view from the pipes that ran over the table through the length of the room. The light hardly reached that far but once a few adjustments had been made, a human form that was lying motionlessly on top of the pipes, came into view.
Sherlock brought his mouth close to one of the holes. "John!" he called out.
The man didn't stir.
"John!"
Still no reaction.
"John, it's Sherlock. Do something, anything. Please!"
Alison Watson's heart went out, when she heard the desperation in the Detective's voice.
"There!" one of the men shouted and pointed at the view-screen. In the gloom light John's left arm, which that had hung down limply, began to twitch visibly. The people, staring at the screen, began muttering among themselves in excited voices when the movement became more coordinated. A groan could be heard and Sherlock called out again, his mouth pressed to one of the holes.
"John!"
"Sherlock?" The voice was scarcely audible but the whole of the crew that was present to rescue the trapped doctor broke out into cheers.
It took them nearly eighteen hours to free John Watson from his prison. When the doctor had felt strong enough to move, he had climbed down from the pipes. He had been provided with water and protein drink through a tube, so when they had eventually created a hole large enough for him to climb out, he wasn't that exhausted.
Sherlock's presence had been an incentive to the crew on site, motivating them to get their work done as quickly as possible. Hovering close by, he queried the competence of every single person present and shouted abuse when he saw fit, until John told him to either shut up or go home. To everybody's relief, the Detective spent the next two hours sulking in a corner, which sped up the work quite a bit.
Early next morning Mycroft Holmes scared the whole lot of workers by paying the site a visit to see how things were progressing; in his wake a still coughing but at least well rested Detective Inspector, who had been ejected from the Government official's sofa rather rudely less than an hour ago.
The working site erupted with cheers again when John Watson, dirty but very much alive, finally climbed through the hole that led to freedom. Not giving a toss about dirt and quite a bit of dried blood, Alison Watson engulfed the startled doctor into a hug as soon as he had cleared the hole; ignoring a glaring Sherlock in the process.
John had to endure several well-meant pats on his shoulder until he finally managed to leave the vicinity together with his flat-mate.
After a quick detour to the hospital, John could finally climb the seventeen steps that led to his and Sherlock's flat. To Sherlock's chagrin it was John who used up all the hot water before he collapsed, squeaky clean and dressed in his oldest and most comfortable dressing-gown, into his chair. Mrs Hudson had tea ready and had made a pie, both John and Sherlock wolfed down with equal gusto.
An hour later Mrs Hudson sat in her flat, drinking tea and smiling softly at the ceiling because the flat above her own was exceptionally quiet.