John walked up to the door that not even an hour ago had been his office, and almost bumped into an older man leaving the room.
"Excuse me," he said, stepping back and giving the other man some room. Then he blinked, licked his upper lip and held his hand out. "Doctor Kuryakin, it is an honor to finally meet you."
The older man frowned slightly, then he nodded, awareness dawning in his ice-blue eyes. He took John's hand in a firm grip that belied his appearance. "Ah, yes. You're Mark's boy. Napoleon told me. Don't expect to see very much of me."
John smiled, nodding. "I was informed, sir. If you have any need, though, I would be happy..."
"Don't push," Illya growled. Then he smiled. "I do expect a wedding invitation. For some reason, I'm fond of that young idiot you're marrying."
"Funny, I say the same thing," John answered. That drew a laugh from both Mycroft and Illya.
"What have you found, Doctor?" Mycroft asked.
"Something on which I think I would like a second opinion," Illya answered. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Mycroft cut him off.
"Absolutely not!"
"Crawling about in a debris field is a young man's job, Mycroft. And you know what he can do, what he'll see. It would take me days to discover what he'll see in a few minutes."
By this point, John knew what Illya wanted, and he was nodding his agreement. "We should bring Sherlock in. Mycroft, you know he can figure this out."
"He is not at his best right now-" Mycroft started, stopping when John slowly started to shake his head.
"You shouldn't try to use medical excuses with me, Mycroft. Sherlock is more than ready to get back to work. More importantly, I agree that he is ready to get back to work. This involved Moriarty. We need Sherlock."
Mycroft scowled. "I will never get him out of my department ever again, once he knows where we are located," he pointed out.
"Mycroft, do you honestly think he doesn't know where we are?" Illya asked, sounding incredulous. "He has met me at the door five times in the past six months, wanting my opinion on one or another of his experiments."
Mycroft just looked at the older man, then softly asked, "And you did not tell me this why?"
"Because so long as I do not violate security, what I do when I leave here is none of your concern. Sir." The chill in Illya's voice was palpable, and John found it difficult to look at either of them. Instead, he glanced down the hall, seeing the tiny light in the headset that Mycroft wore flashing green.
"Very well. On your head be it. I'll send Anthea for him," Mycroft said at length. "He's at Saint Bart's, you said?"
John nodded, not looking at them. Something... he shook his head. "Yes. Want me to go with her? He'll be more likely to drop what he's doing and come."
"No, I know what will bring him," Mycroft answered. He took his mobile from his coat pocket, tapped in a short message, then held it out so that John could read what he had written.
-M's plant tried to kill JW. Come at once. Car will collect you at St. Bart's.
"Tell him I'm fine," John suggested. "Or he'll show up with my gun."
Mycroft frowned, added something to his message, then sent the message.
"Thought you said that you didn't have service down here?"
"Did I?" Mycroft asked. He smiled slightly. "That wasn't quite true. You do not have service. I have service everywhere."
"There you are!" John turned to see Sebastian coming down the hall towards them. "You all right, Doc?"
"Fine, thanks," John answered. "Yourself? I could always manage another patch job. We did more with less in Afghanistan."
Baz grinned. "Nah, I'm fine. I have something for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a headset similar to the one Mycroft wore. "This is set up to only work on the internal network," Baz explained. "Turn it on here. Blue light means its functional, red light means it needs to be charged. Green light means active. Volume control underneath."
John nodded, switching the earpiece so that he could slip the headset on his left ear. "Thank you. Mycroft, how long?"
"Twenty minutes, if he comes right away."
"And do you need me for anything?" He looked from Mycroft to Illya and back.
"The room is sealed again," Illya said. "I'm off to see what Napoleon and Livvy have found."
"I'll join you," Mycroft said, and the two men left. Once they were gone, Sebastian looked at John and smiled broadly.
"So, loose ends," he said. "Want to grab some coffee? Tea? Quick shag in the blind alley?"
John coughed, startled. "Thought you said you were involved?" he asked.
"I am. But he travels so much, we're kind of open," Baz shrugged. "I know I'm not his only except for when he's in London, he knows I might pick up a bit on the side when he's away. Everyone is okay with it."
"Well... thanks, but... no thanks. I'm not... not okay with that." John tried to keep himself from stammering, but couldn't control his embarrassment. "It's not that you're not a nice fellow, but..."
"But you've got your guy at home, and you're a one-man man," Baz finished. "I thought that might be your answer, but nothing ventured, you know? Some of the people Mycroft brings in here... well, when the Captain comes down from Cardiff, it's a damned orgy in here."
"Remind me to call out when he next comes around," John said immediately. Baz laughed.
"He'd like you. You're quick. Come on, let's go get some coffee."
#
Half an hour later, John and Baz were sitting in the Hub, discussing American football over now-cold coffee. John fell silent in the middle of a question, hearing a familiar voice, only partially muffled by the doors of the lift. The doors slid open, and Sherlock swept out in the Hub. His pale eyes darted from side to side, taking in every detail. Then he stopped, looked at John, and smiled.
"John," he said. Behind him, Anthea rolled her eyes and walked away, murmuring softly, presumably into her headset.
"I'm fine," John said immediately.
"I can see that you're fine," Sherlock retorted. "Tell me exactly what happened." He looked past John, frowned slightly. "Who is this? He does know that you're engaged to be married, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he knows," John said, nodding.
"Then why is he propositioning you?" Sherlock demanded. "Especially since he's got a girl... no, a boyfriend of his own."
Baz coughed, looking impressed. "Damn," he murmured. "And I thought it was just hype." He rose and held his hand out. "Sebastian Moran. Heard quite a bit about you, Mister Holmes. Didn't believe half of it until now."
"No one ever does," Sherlock murmured, ignoring Sebastian's hand as he looked around the Hub. Baz frowned a little, glanced at John, who shook his head. Baz shrugged and dropped his hand.
All at once, Sherlock smiled broadly. John looked past him, and saw that Doctor Kuryakin had come into the Hub. To John's surprise, Sherlock met him halfway and hugged the older man.
"It is good to see you, Doctor," he said, before switching to Russian. The two men started talking rapidly, both of them heading back down the corridor towards where John's office had once been.
"Coming, John?" Sherlock called over his shoulder. John grinned, waved to Baz, and hurried after Sherlock and Illya. He caught up with them just outside the sealed door.
"Who has been inside?" Sherlock asked.
"Since the explosion? Only myself," Illya answered. "I've gone over the security cameras, and the ones inside the office were very conveniently inoperative. The ones here in the corridor showed Mister Hunter, twice that morning. Mycroft and Doctor Watson. Livvy and Doctor Watson, and then Colonel Moran, once alone and once with Doctor Watson. That last just before the explosion. The only people who were here alone were Colonel Moran and Livvy."
"Baz said that he had to come looking for me. I was in the Web with Livvy," John offered. "I imagine that Livvy was looking for me, too."
Sherlock nodded. "Shall we?" he asked. Illya stepped forward and did something that John didn't see; the door slid open, and he saw the ruins of his office for the first time. The inner door had been blown completely to splinters, as had part of the wall. There was twisted metal and charred wood everywhere underfoot, and Sherlock took his coat off and laid it on the floor in the corridor before carefully picking his way through the debris field. He stopped at the hole in the wall, looked down, then disappeared inside. John followed, to find Sherlock sitting on his heels in the middle of the destroyed room, his hands folded under his chin, frowning at the twisted metal that had been scanners only that morning.
"What do you see, Sherlock?" Illya asked from behind John.
"Whatever it was, it was planted there," Sherlock pointed. "From the spread of the debris and the angle of the larger metal fragments, I'd say no more than half a metre from the ground. Hard to say with any accuracy what was used-"
"Something you wouldn't have seen," Illya interrupted. "I tested some of the residue."
"So whoever it was has access to your laboratory," John murmured.
"Wrong, John. You can do better than that," Sherlock scolded. "Tell me what you see."
John stepped forward, eyes slightly narrowed, looking slowly around the room. On his second scan, he stopped. "Sherlock?"
Sherlock looked immensely satisfied. "You saw it. Good."
"There were two devices." John walked over to one of the other scanners. "You said the angle of the metal showed that the explosion came from over there, but this panel... if that was what exploded, these pieces here should have been bent in. Not out."
"Excellent, John," Sherlock said. "Now, where was the trigger?" He turned around again. "There had to be something that could trigger both explosions. They assumed you would be inside this room. Two explosions, they wanted to be certain that you and anyone inside with you were either hurt too badly to get out or killed instantly. They wouldn't risk either device not firing, so the triggering mechanism would have to be in the same room. Line of sight, if at all possible, with all the interference from the rock. Doctor, do you have a pocket torch?"
Illya pulled a small one from his coat pocket and handed it to Sherlock. "What we could have done with you forty years ago," he murmured.
"With our luck, the other side would have gotten him first," Mycroft said from the doorway.
"Grandfather would never have allowed it," Sherlock retorted.
"True," Illya agreed. "The Old Man was always very particular about family."
John heard all of that as if from a distance. For some reason, he was having trouble looking away from one of the pieces of wreckage. No... not the burned and twisted chair... the panel underneath!
"Sherlock, here!" he pointed, moving to pull the chair away. "It's in here."
"John?"
"Don't ask me!" John looked up and met Sherlock's eyes. "I don't know how I know, but I know. It's here."
Sherlock stepped back, looked at the panel, then nodded once. "I do believe you are right, Doctor," he said with a smile. They worked together, pulling away enough of the debris so that they could force the panel open, then Sherlock got down on his knees and peered inside by the light of the tiny torch.
"This is almost untouched," he said, his voice echoing slightly inside the space. "Conduit, wires, connections - oh, that's novel. Tobe, you've surpassed yourself. Now, then, what is this?" He twisted, stretching until his upper body was almost completely inside the panel, then grunted slightly before sliding back out and sitting down on the floor. In his hand was a small box.
"Transmitter," Sherlock said. He turned it over. "Common construction. Parts you can get at any electronics shop. You could make one of these in your garage, if you had the knowledge."
John shook his head. "It wasn't Tobe," he said firmly.
"No. It wasn't," Sherlock said. He looked up, and John had to restrain himself from knocking the dust out of Sherlock's still-too-short dark curls. "This is too simple. Tobe could do better than this. He certainly couldn't do worse."
"What are the chances that this was all here when it came in? When the equipment arrived from Cardiff?" John asked. Sherlock looked up, then looked around.
"Possibly. Mycroft? I know your pets under the Roald Dahl Plass are trustworthy, but what happens when the equipment leaves their hands? Who transports all this?"
Mycroft was scowling, and John had a pretty good idea why. "I don't know how you know about Torchwood Three," Mycroft said sharply. "I will find out. I hate to get the Captain involved. Work does tend to slow down to a crawl when he is here."
Sherlock looked up and arched an eyebrow. Mycroft said nothing, but a soft red flush started to appear just over his collar. Sherlock looked surprised.
"Does Greg know?" he asked softly.
The red intensified. "Greg is...very much aware," Mycroft admitted. John blinked, realized what Mycroft was not saying, then looked away quickly - this was more information than he needed about his future brother-in-law's sex life!
"Mycroft! I am surprised!" Sherlock grinned and rose to his feet. He tossed the trigger mechanism towards Mycroft, who snatched it out of the air. "Now, it is entirely possible that someone planted the explosives and the trigger before the machinery ever arrived here. However, I know Tobe. He went over this equipment with meticulous care before installation."
"So he knew," John said. "Damn."
"He knew," Sherlock repeated. "And he said nothing." Sherlock frowned. "John, what time was it when the explosion happened?"
John frowned, thinking. He rubbed his chin and cocked his head to one side, then said, "Little before ten? I'm not entirely sure."
"And who was on your schedule for that time?"
"Baz was here with me... bu that's not what you asked," John said. "I never looked at the schedule. I just saw people as they came to me. Which probably wasn't the order it was supposed to be."
"So what was the order?" Sherlock insisted. "Who was supposed to be in this room, with you, at approximately ten this morning?"
In answer, Mycroft pulled out his mobile and touched a few keys. His eyes widened slightly, and he looked up.
"It was supposed to have been you, wasn't it?" John asked.
"No. It was supposed to have been Olivia."