EPISODE 7:

THE DERPY HEARSE


That morning following the incident atop Saint Bart's, Scottie and Emily woke up in their own beds for the first time in years. Yet despite having been away from their respective homes for so long, upon returning the two teenagers quickly realized that absolutely no time had passed since the night they disappeared. The years were gone, just like that. In fact, they jumped back into their old ordinary lives so suddenly that at first they thought the whole thing was some big, crazy dream. But it couldn't have been - it all felt so real, and Emily, Scottie, Willow, and Blaise all claimed to remember the bits that they took part in.

Coming back was bittersweet. Emily was thrilled to see her family, friends, and pets (Scottie not so much for the first two), but they both missed their fictional life. Rewatching the show was strange. In an attempt to relive their misadventures, Scottie and Emily had since collaborated on a series of "fan fictions" about the things they'd done in BBC's London. Although not wildly popular, these were generally enjoyed by viewers online who hadn't the faintest idea just how true their stories really were.

Another two years passed like this. Or perhaps they were the same two years all over again, but that hardly made a difference. Scottie turned 18 (again) and went off to college in Kentucky with Blaise, who assured him that the days of meddling with alternate universes were behind her. Emily also turned 18 for a second time but, being a year behind Scottie, was still a senior in high school.

Eventually the third season of the BBC Sherlock was released, and both teenagers watched it online at the first opportunity. More time passed, as Emily started getting positive responses back from the art schools in California she applied to. Scottie, on the other hand, dropped out of college and moved back in with his parents.

Not too long afterwards, Emily was in the middle of putting off her statistics homework when she heard the TARDIS' familiar swooshing noise. It was, of course, only familiar because that was what she had programmed as the tone to go off whenever she received a new email on her phone. Emily glanced down at the thing, but it wasn't lit up. She pulled out an earphone and realized that the noise was coming from outside the apartment. Emily lept up and ran into the living room, where her younger sister was already on her feet.

"Did you hear that?" Julia asked. "Do you think…?"

"Well. There's one way to find out for sure." Emily unlocked the front door and they hurried out, each fighting to get there first. Julia, of course, didn't know about her sister's misadventures in London, nor would she have believed any of it. But now she just might, because standing majestically in the center of their back patio was a blue police box. Julia started to let out a high pitched squeal but then slapped a hand over her mouth.

Emily smirked. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" inhaled Julia.

"Doctor."

Julia squeaked. "Doctor who?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Correct."

Emily made to knock on the TARDIS door just as it flung open in front of her. But she wasn't standing face-to-face with the Doctor.

"Blaise!" Emily gasped, lunging forward to hug her internet friend. "What are you doing here? And why do you have the TARDIS still? Is the Doctor here?"

Blaise smiled guiltily. "He, um… He got held up doing important save-the-universe business. You know how it is."

"And so you decided to take the TARDIS out for a joy ride?"

"...something like that."

"Oh my God oh my God oh my God I knew it was real!" Julia breathed, teetering past the other girls and into the time machine policebox. It was just as wonderful as she'd always imagined it would be - bigger on the inside and all that jazz. What she didn't expect to see was Scottie sitting on the steps inside and staring back at her blankly.

"Oh." The boy blinked. "Hullo Julia."

Julia tilted her head to the side before calling out rather loudly, "Emily, could you please come here and explain me a thing?"

Her older sister popped her head in through the doorway. "Mm? Yes?"

"What the actual fucking shit are your And Another Note buddies doing in our backyard in the goddamn TARDIS?"

"Geez, someone curses a lot for a twelve year old," Scottie commented.

Julia narrowed her eyes. "I'm fifteen."

"Eh. Close enough."

"I'm still waiting for an explanation," pressed Julia.

"Alright, confession time it is," Emily began, stepping further into the TARDIS. "So. Um. Two years ago Scottie and I may or may not've been magically transported to BBC's London in our sleep and moved in with Sherlock and John to help solve crimes and shit like that. Long story short we almost killed ourselves but were then rescued by Blaise, who showed up in the TARDIS randomly and she took us home and it was basically like no time had passed at all when we returned! Oh and Willow was there too, but we didn't exactly see her for much of our adventure."

A heavy silence hung in the air after Emily had finished summarizing the event to her younger sister. "Well?" the girl said after a while. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"This is the strangest dream I've had all week," Julia finally wheezed.

"What? No! It's not a dream. This… All this is real. I know it's weird, like, acid trip weird, but that all really happened and whatnot. I mean, look at us - we're standing around in the real motherfucking TARDIS, for God's sake!"

Julia folded her arms. "And even supposing I did believe you, why have your internet friends shown up again now?"

Emily opened her mouth as if to say something, realized she didn't know the answer, shut it again, and then whirled around at Blaise. "That's a very good point. Why are you back here?"

"Well. Because season three of Sherlock aired, of course," Blaise explained. "I just thought you might want to go back and relive the episodes. For old time's sake."

"But… I thought the Doctor had said that we could never go back?" Emily questioned. "That it would mess everything up again."

"Well he couldn't know that for sure. And aren't you at least a little curious how Sherlock and John are faring without you?"

"I really do want to meet Mary," Scottie begged, coming bounding over to Emily. "C'mon. You've missed this. Just the two of us against the world."

"Did you just try to bribe me with a Sherlock season three quote?"

"...maybe?"

"Because it absolutely worked!" Emily threw her arms out around Scottie excitedly. "Oh, God, I've missed you so much! I mean, I know we talked pretty every day online, but it isn't the same thing. All that stuff you said about wanting to stay in London forever - you were right! Being back is absolutely miserable in comparison. I feel like Frodo getting back from Mordor and realizing that the home he once thought was a perfect little utopia was unbearably boring."

"Same!" Scottie smiled. "Except that I've felt that way all along. But I'm glad we're on the same page now."

"Uh, but there's just one little problem…" The two of them looked up to see that Blaise was pointing at Julia now. "Did you want this one coming with you?"

"No," Scottie and Emily said at the same time.

Julia frowned. "Wow. Rude."

"Sorry kid, I don't make the rules," Blaise told her.

"Can't I at least wait here and meet the Doctor?"

"Nope, sorry! No kid sisters allowed," Blaise said, ushering a complaining Julia out of the room. Despite the girl's best efforts to dig her heels into the ground, Blaise managed to successfully get her outside of the spaceship and shut the door on her. They couldn't hear was she was saying from the outside now, but Julia proceeded to bang furiously against the wooden doors.

"I actually feel a little sorry for her," Scottie admitted. "Is it weird that she reminds me of us when we first left for our big adventure? We were about that age, right?

"She'll get over it. Oh! And I'm going to have to pack my things," Emily realized.

Blaise shook her head. "No need. Time machine, remember? I made a pit stop to right before you get in here at the end of Reichenbach and picked up all the things you had with you at that point in time. It's over there, see?" Blaise pointed to the other end of the room, where a couple large duffel bags had been piled on top of one another.

"This certainly beats waking up in a sketchy hotel room," Scottie muttered.

"And before I forgot, we're going to need to get you both changed," Blaise said, waving her hand and indicating the teens to start to follow her up the stairs. "This baby's got quite the collection, especially if you need period pieces. I'd been in a lot of high school productions back in the day and trust me, the Doctor's costume department takes the cake!"

"Costumes?" Emily repeated from several steps behind the other girl. "I'm sorry, but why are we changing our clothes?"

"Because you're going to want to be dressed up for where we're going."


The TARDIS materialized in a dark alleyway in London. More specifically, the BBC's London. After making absolutely sure that Julia was fine to be left alone in the box, Scottie, Emily, and Blaise got out and stepped out onto the pavement. Across the street from them was the Landmark Hotel.

"You'll find your friends at the main restaurant in there," Blaise said, pointing.

"Are you coming too?" Scottie asked her.

"I s'pose so. Wouldn't be very kind of me to drop you off and not double check that I hadn't made a mistake in timing and location first."

The trio crossed the street at the corner and made their way into the hotel and through its doors to the restaurant. Blaise had been right about making them change: everyone inside was very much dressed up, and now they, too, fit in. Scottie was in a dark suit, Blaise in an elegant and flowy purple blouse, and Emily in an almost skin-tight sparkly red dress that she had eagerly picked out, claiming it reminded her of Jessica Rabbit and that it was exactly the sort of thing she was going for for prom.

"May I help you?" a hostess came up and asked them.

"We're actually meeting up with a group, but thanks," Blaise told her.

"Aw yiss, this is my jam!" Scottie squealed, starting to shake his hips a little as Donde Estas, Yolanda played.

"You don't even know half the Spanish for it," scoffed Emily.

"You shut the fuck up. The season three soundtrack is great and you know it."

"Look! There they are!" Emily squeaked. She elbowed Scottie and nodded towards a table a little ways away, where John and Mary were seated as Sherlock stood between them. "Oh. Maybe… Maybe we shouldn't interrupt. They look like they're having a serious conversation."

Scottie made a face. "What are you talking about? Of course we should - they're probably just as excited to see us and we are to see them! Remember how John cried when we were saying goodbye?"

"B-But if Sherlock just appeared after having faked his death for two years-"

"He didn't," Scottie promised her. "We stopped that from happening. Does any of this ring a bell? Now c'mon, I'm getting butterflies in my stomach just standing here!"

Unable to hold back her excited smile any longer, she joined Scottie in sprinting towards the characters. Sherlock turned his head towards them just in time to see them leap at him, knocking the detective off of his feet. All three of them came crashing to the ground.

"OH MY GOD!" John let out, scrambling out of his chair. "Wh-What's going on here? Are they part of your homeless network? Sherlock?!"

"H-Help!" the man flailed an arm.

"Well. Surprise," Blaise smiled, coming up beside John, now with a drink in her hand. "Are you happy to see us or what?"

"Do I know you?" the doctor spat back.

Blaise looked a little taken back. "I… Well, not officially. We met briefly outside the TARDIS. Don't you remember? When the Doctor and I came to pick up Scottie and Emily?"

John squinted even harder. "Who?"

"...them?" Blaise pointed towards Scottie and Emily, who were still on top of Sherlock on the floor and laughing maniacally.

"Aw, geez," John exhaled. "Mary?"

"Yes, of course!"

He and his long term girlfriend each took one of the kids and pulled them off of Sherlock. Emily then immediately latched onto John and Scottie hugged Mary, even though technically he hadn't met her yet. Suddenly a couple of restaurant staff had come over and were asking the group to remove itself from the establishment.

"Wh… N-No, we don't know these kids!" John tried to pry the girl off of himself. "Please. We have nothing to do with this. Don't do this. C'mon."

"I'm sorry, but you caused a disturbance and can't have complaints about this sort of thing go ignored," a waiter informed the man regrettably.

"How much do you want? I'll pay," John said, starting to dig through his wallet.

"Sir. I'm sorry, but you and your party has to go outside now."

"It's okay," Mary said, putting a hand on his upper arm.

"No!" John pulled away. "No, it's not okay! What about any of this is okay?! First… First him, and now-"

"SIR."

The entirety of the group was promptly escorted outside. John was fuming, but Sherlock and Mary both looked equally confused at the whole scenario.

"This always happens!" John hissed. "You're out of the picture for two years - two fucking years - and nothing. Absolutely nothing. Peace and quiet. But the very second you decide to swoop back in - pulling this sick stunt and dragging all of your… your crazy back with you!" The man came into Sherlock's face accusingly. "Do you think that his is all some kind of big joke? That you can just come popping back in here like no big deal with a couple of-"

"I'mma let you finish," Emily interjected, putting her hand up, "but first I mustache you a question... John, Watson your face?"

Mary, Blaise, and Scottie simultaneously burst into uncontrollable laughter at this. Even Sherlock couldn't hold back a smile. Angrily, John clenched and unclenched his fists a couple times.

"I don't have time for this," he muttered unhappily. "Sherlock, Mary - once you're finished having your fun, might we finish this discussion elsewhere?"

"Oh. Oh, right, of course," Mary said.

"Where to now?" Scottie asked energetically.

John was already starting to head down the sidewalk at a much quicker pace than everyone else. Sherlock spun around, cutting the three youngest in the group off. "Uh. Perhaps it's best if you lot... didn't tag along. John and I have some catching up to do."

Scottie looked hurt. "So do we!"

"Listen, kid, we've never met, I haven't the slightest idea who you are, and I'm willing to bet that neither does John. That being said, I don't know what sort scheme you three are up to, but it's probably best that you go about your business and leave us out of it, understand?" With a final huff the detective whipped around again and followed after John and Mary.

"Wh-? B-But Sherlock!"

Scottie and Emily geared to bolt after the other characters as well but this time were interrupted by Blaise, who grabbed each of the almost-adults by the backs of their clothing and reigned them back in.

"Hey!" yelped Scottie. "I thought you were on our side!"

"Yeah, what the hell, Blaise?"

Blaise rolled her eyes. "Thank God I didn't just turn you two loose in London. Apparently you need all the supervision you can get."

"That doesn't explain why you won't let us go after them," Emily grumbled. "I mean, just because they don't remember us, it doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"I won't let you chase down the golden trio because right now Sherlock and John need to have a heart to heart slash duke it out, and I have the feeling our presence would disrupt that."

"What a waste of time then," Scottie complained as he folding his arms. "If we can't stay with them, then what? Back to the TARDIS and then home, just like that?"

Blaise shrugged guiltily. "Well. Unless you have enough British money on you to afford a motel..."

"Hey guys? I, uh... Hold tight. I think I have an idea."

"I always get worried when she says that," Scottie muttered to Blaise.

The two of them watched as Emily scurried over to the corner in opposite direction from where Sherlock, Mary, and John had gone. She waited there for a moment until the light changed and then speed walked across to the other side of the street. It was there that she went into a real telephone booth that wasn't too far from where they'd parked the TARDIS. Scottie and Blaise exchanged confused looks and then darted after her.

By the time they caught up she was already ripping out a page from the phonebook chained into the booth.

"Um. Are you sure you're allowed to do that?" asked Scottie doubtfully.

"I didn't realize they still used these old things," Blaise said to herself. She swapped places with Emily as she exited the booth and flipped through the worn out yellow book with disinterest.

Emily folded the phonebook page into a little square and shoved it into a back pocket. "Don't know, don't care," she shrugged. "But that's what people always do in movies when they don't have anywhere to write down an address."

"You have an iPhone."

"...oh that's right."

Blaise stepped out of the booth and slowly closed the door behind her so that it wouldn't slam shut. "Where are you trying to go, anyway? And doesn't your Google Maps not work when you don't have access to wifi?"

"A map?" scoffed the younger girl. "I lived in London for two years, Blaise. I know this place like the back of my hand."

"She's directionally challenged and we should probably pick her up a tourist map as soon as possible," Scottie whispered knowingly.


"You better be right about this," the boy grumbled once they'd reached the address Emily had spent the past hour trying to get them to.

He, Emily, and Blaise were standing at the doorstep to a residence they had never been to before. Blaise was the first to grab the knocker and hit it against the door a couple times. After waiting for a bit and exchanging awkward glances she prepared to repeat the action. Before she could, however, the front door was answered by a middle aged woman that nobody recognized.

"Mrs. Anderson?" Emily asked softly.

"What? Oh, no, I'm… What can I help you kids with?"

"We're, uh... We're friends of, uh..."

"Philip," Scottie finished for her. "We've, um, worked with Mr. Anderson before and were wondering if he was around?"

The woman smiled and leaned her head back inside the house. "Philip!" she called out. "You've got company!" Beat. "Well I don't know, they say they're friends of yours. Why don't you ask them yourself?" And then back to Blaise, Scottie, and Emily: "Philip will be right with you, dears."

The woman scooted to the side and was replaced by Anderson. He had an almost comical beard now that made him hardly recognizable as the same Anderson they knew and disliked during their previous stay.

"Sorry, do I know you?" Anderson asked in a tone of voice that rather suggested he didn't.

"Hello!" Emily started, holding out a hand to shake Anderson's. "We were actually close friends of Sherlock's before… Well, you know what happened."

Anderson remained unconvinced. "He never mentioned you."

"Well, 'course he wouldn't. Not to you anyway. Thing is, we heard you were having a little meetup to discuss, um… theories about how he did it, and we think we might have a few that you'd like."

"Oh, right," Anderson. "The Empty Hearse. We're meetup tomorrow, actually, if you'd like to stop by then-"

"See, thing is, we just came into down and we don't exactly have place to stay," Emily went on.

"Oh. Um. I suppose I could, ah, point you in the direction of a good hotel? You're certainly dressed appropriate for the Landmark. That's not too far."

"Just came from there," Blaise chimed in. "Funny story, we had a dinner reservation, hence the outfits, but then our cards got canceled and we're in a bit of a jam."

"Oh." Anderson bit at his lower lip, finally catching on to what they wanted from him. "I don't, uh… I don't typically do that sort of thing."

"Sherlock usually let us stay with him when we came in for visits," Scottie tried.

"Well. Well, in that case, I suppose it would be the right thing to do…"

"Yes! Exactly! Oh, thank you so much! You won't regret this!"

Without waiting for a more firm decision, the three of them, already carrying their luggage, pushed past Anderson on their way indoors as the man hovered in the doorway with a face already full of regret.


"This isn't how I thought it would be," Emily pouted, clinging tightly a corner of her blanket and staring up and the dark ceiling. "Two years. That's how long I spent fantasizing about the day we came back here, and how happy Sherlock and John and everyone else would be to see us again…"

Scottie exhaled. "Well. You know what I always say. The secret to not being let down is very, very low expectations always."

"What's going on, anyway? How could they all just… forget us like that?"

"The world must've reset," Blaise guessed. She had called dibs on the couch and was lying a good foot or so above of Scottie and Emily, who were sharing the same large blanket on the extremely uncomfortable wooden floor below her.

"Reset?" Emily lifted her head slightly.

Blaise rolled over onto her stomach. "Well think about it. It makes sense. The Doctor brought you back to fix this universe. Maybe… taking you two out of it undid everything that happened before; put things back to the way the episode was really supposed to go."

"Without us ever meeting them," Scottie finished for her.

"Exactly."

"Well good fucking job trying to put us back into a world we clearly don't belong in any more!" Emily wailed.

"How the hell was I supposed to know!" Blaise shot back defensively. "I was just trying to do you guys a favor. You both seemed so… depressed whenever we talked online. I got to thinking that maybe you really were better off here, and especially by season three, now that you wouldn't be in danger anymore…"

"Can't you just drop us off in the right alternate universe then?"

"I don't know how you'd expect me to find it, supposing it even still exists."

"Well I'm not going home again!" Scottie announced as he sat upright, pulling the blanket halfway off of Emily in the process, which irritated her a great deal. "I say we give it some time," Scottie went on. "Try to make them remember, and if they can't, then we'll just start over again from scratch. I mean, it worked once, right? And to be quite honest we didn't exactly make the best impression the first time around, either."

There was a collective and thoughtful silence that followed this statement before Emily yanked the blanket entirely off of Scottie and proceeded to roll herself into a burrito with it.


"His movements were so silent," Mary read aloud from John's blog, which she had pulled up on her iPad. "So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent…"

"You what?" John asked from a little ways away.

"I couldn't help thinking what an amazing criminal he'd make if he turned his talents against the law."

John was standing in the middle of the doorframe to the bathroom now, frowning back at Mary, who sat on their bed. The lower half of his face was covered in shaving cream. "Don't read that," he told her.

"The famous blog, finally!"

"Come on, that's…"

"Ancient history, yes, I know," Mary answered. "But it's not, though, is it? Because he's…" John's girlfriend looked up for the first time at John with a mischievous grin. "What are you doing?"

"Having a wash," John sat flatly.

"You're shaving it off."

"Well. You hate it."

"Sherlock hates it."

"Apparently everyone hates it."

Mary let out a childish giggle. "Are you gonna see him again."

"No," pressed John, starting to sound vaguely annoyed. "I'm going to work."

"Oh. And after work, are you gonna see him again?" Without answering her, John rolled his eyes and turned back into the bathroom. Mary apparently couldn't stop smiling. "Cor, I dunno, six months of bristly kisses for me, and then His Nibs turns up…"

"I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes," John hissed from the other room.

"Oh! You should put that on a T-shirt!"

"Shut up."

"Or what?" Mary mused.

John stopped and turned to face her with a slight smile. "Or I'll marry you." There was a buzzing noise signifying someone at the front door then, and John and Mary glanced up. "Could you…?"

"On it."

Mary got up and went into the other room. When she opened the door she found herself standing across from a boy she recognized from the night before. Scottie shuffled awkwardly on the front porch for a moment before saying, "So. I realized we never really formally introduced ourselves. I'm Scottie Lewis."

The boy held out a hand to Mary, which she took. "Mary Morstan."

"Is John here?"

"He's a little busy at the moment. I can tell him you dropped by?"

"I'd actually… quite like to talk with him, if that's alright."

Mary hesitated for a moment before leaning around a corner inside and calling out "John! There's, a… friend here to see you."

"I'll be there in a minute," came the doctor's muffled reply.

Mary turned back to Scottie. "So, um. Are you a student, or something like that?"

"Something like that," Scottie pursed his lips together.

"And you know John from…?"

"It's complicated. Like. Really complicated."

"Mm. I bet."

John eventually stumbled in behind Mary, still wearing a bathrobe and now entirely cleanshaven. "Who gave you this address?" he demanded upon recognizing Scottie from the hotel restaurant.

"Uhhh… don't worry about it," Scottie breathed. "Look, I came because I wanted to apologize for last night. I hadn't realized that you would completely forget about us like that, so in retrospect, I understand that the whole experience was probably a little overwhelming, especially on top of finding out that Sherlock's been alive this whole time or whatever. That being said, out of fairness to you and because of how horribly wrong things went when Emily and I kept things to ourselves the first time around, I'm just gonna tell it like it is." Scottie took a deep breath before continuing: "Once upon a time a couple of kids fell asleep after rewatching their favorite TV show from opposite ends of the U.S. and woke up here in London. It was there that they met Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, a couple of men who had practically just been introduced to each other, and by some miraculous stroke of luck all four of them moved in under the same roof and - and - wait don't you want to hear how it ends!" Scottie called after John, who had already grown bored and started back inside, shutting the door behind himself.

Frowning, Scottie stuck a foot in the doorway just in time to stop the door from closing completely and kicked it back open again with the same leg. Mary opened her mouth slightly, as if she wanted to say something but wasn't quite sure where even to start.

"Okay wait at least let me prove it!" Scottie shouted and took a step inside.

Mary came forward now, trying to usher Scottie back out on John's behalf. "I don't think this is a good-"

"BOOM." The boy ripped down the zipper of his jacket and pulled it aside, puffing out his chest to reveal the sentence I DON'T SHAVE FOR SHERLOCK HOLMES was scrawled across his white T-shirt with a sharpie.

Mary cupped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my. How did you…? J-John, come have a look at this!"

"What!" John let out, circling back around. He stopped in his tracks again and read Scottie's shirt. Then the doctor began to fume. "YOU'VE BEEN SPYING ON US?"

Scottie blinked and took a step back. "W-What? No! No, of course not! And there's no way I could've done it that fast if I were! It's like I was trying to say before, I made that this morning because I already knew you were going to say it because where I come from this is a TV show and-"

But before he could even finish his sentence, Scottie was shoved out the rest of the way and the door slammed shut just inches away from his nose so suddenly that for several seconds the boy wasn't entirely sure whether it had actually hit him or not.

"Oh man we are so fucked," he sighed. Scottie turned around to leave the porch, shoulders hung.


"...I was terrified, obviously, but we both knew what had to be done, and somehow, having Scottie there with me made it all seem… well, not easier, but it certainly helped. Anyway, so there we were, standing atop Saint Bart's and squeezing onto each other's hand. Scottie hangs up the phone and he looks at me and I ask, 'So are we really doing this?' And then he nods, ever so slowly, and I shit you not, there was this look in his eyes like-"

"WHAT?!" Anderson let out, fists practically shaking with anger that had gradually built up since the beginning of her story. "Are you out of your mind!"

Emily scoffed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Look, if you're not going to take it seriously, Emily-"

"I'm sorry but were you there?"

"No! No, I wasn't, and neither were you! Your version doesn't make any sense. You and your friend couldn't possibly have known Sherlock during that time. I think someone would've remembered a couple of kids running around with him on cases."

"You bring up a valid point and it is currently something we're looking into," Blaise commented.

Anderson narrowed his eyes at the other girl. "You stay out of this."

"Now hang on," another person in the room said. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor and wearing a deerstalker. "I know it's not a valid theory, or even a theory at all, really, but I still think it's a rather fascinating concept and would quite like to hear the end of it."

"Yeah, at least let her finish!" another stranger agreed.

Anderson threw his hands down at his sides, a bewildered look about him. "I don't believe you people. I founded The Empty Hearse so like-minded people could meet, discuss theories…"

"Oh why bother?" sighed Emily. "Fan fiction's all most of them are anyway."

"Did you jump, though? Like Sherlock would've?" the man in the deerstalker pressed interestedly. "Off of Saint Bart's. In the story, I mean."

Emily pursed her lips and looked down at the floor. "Sadly, yes…" There was a collective gasp from several of the members of The Empty Hearse. A sly smile spread across Emily's face and she lifted her head again victoriously. "But we LIVED! See, what we hadn't counted on was-"

"OKAY THAT'S QUITE ENOUGH OF THAT!" Anderson yelled, making Emily jump a little in her seat. "Sherlock's still out there. I'm convinced of it."

"Oh my God," another girl let out, her eyes widening at the TV screen that was on behind Anderson "Oh my God."

Anderson turned to look now, and the rest of the room, too, noticed the rolling headline: HAT DETECTIVE ALIVE. The thing was muted. Fractions of a second later the room erupted into text alerts. Nearly every individual scrambled to pull their phones out from their jacket pockets. The girl who had pointed out the TV to Anderson held up own cell phone up to the man's face with the sort of look you only ever see on a true fangirl. "Oh. My. GOD!"

"Oh yeah we could've told you that," Blaise shrugged. "Just saw into the man last night, actually. Pretty spry for a corpse, by any standards."

"Wait doesn't anybody want to hear how we survived?" Emily asked, dismayed at having lost the attention span of the meeting.

Starting to get annoyed by the excitement in the room, Emily and Blaise migrated into the house's foyer.

"Hey, Blaise… I just wanted to say that I appreciate everything you're doing to try and help me and Scottie," Emily said as soon as they were in a space where they could hear themselves think again. "Sticking around like this, I mean. You know, you're not obligated to, if you've other places to be. I don't want to hold you back or anything."

Blaise frowned. "Wow. If I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to get rid of my company."

"T-That's not what I meant! All I'm saying is, you don't owe us any favors. If anything it's the other way around, so… I like you being here. I just want to make sure it's on your own terms."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. And don't worry," Blaise shrugged, "I like an excuse to spend time with you and Scottie in a debatably fictional world. Plus, the TARDIS is just fine where it's parked. The doors are locked and anyone who thinks twice about it will just assume it's a tourist attraction. We are in London, after all. And… And if we can't get you both settled back in I want you to have a way back," the girl admitted.

Emily's eyes grew wide with worry. "Oh, geez, I hope it doesn't get to that point!"

"Me neither. But at the rate things are going…"

There was a knock at the door then, and because Anderson was clearly too distracted with the rest of his fanclub and the good news, Blaise answered it.

"I have returned," Scottie announced, stepping into the foyer. Blaise shut the door behind him.

"And?" Emily asked eagerly. "How did things go at the Watson household?"

"Not so good," the boy told her. "John thinks I'm creepy and never wants to see us again." Emily looked crestfallen by this news. "Well. I mean, those weren't the man's exact words, but it was sort of implied."

"W-Well you shouldn't give up just yet!" Blaise tried. "So you didn't get anywhere with John. That just means it's time to try with Sherlock."

"Newsflash: he doesn't want us around either," Scottie grumbled.

"Then get him to come to you."

Emily raised an eyebrow at this. "How?"

"Jesus Christ, you lived with the guy for two years and you really don't have any ideas? Pretend to solve a case before him! Sherlock can't stand having his intelligence questioned. If he gets to thinking you guys know more than him, he'll hardly be able to keep himself away."

"I don't know…" Emily exhaled. "Last time Scottie and I tried to prove we were competent by solving a case before them it ended in John yelling at me for stretching out his sweater the wrong way."


Not entirely to anyone's surprise, the trio wasn't welcomed to stay another night at Anderson's and had since moved their stuff back into the TARDIS for the time being. Over the course of the remainder of the day they came up with a battle plan, which was put into motion that night. Knowing in advance about John's abduction, Scottie, Blaise, and Emily had arrived on scene in front of a church for Guy Fawkes Night just before the start of the event.

"I don't like this," Scottie kept saying. "We know he's in there and yet we're not doing anything to help get him out."

"Patience young padawan," Blaise breathed. "We know Magnussen is watching. If we help him now the texts to Sherlock and Mary will stop, because there no longer will be a threat. We need to do the thing just before they get here."

"Which will still be before the bonfire is lit," Emily added quickly.

Scottie narrowed his eyes. "Okay but I'm still allowed to not like it."

A mischievous grin spread across Emily's face as she took out her phone and starting texting with it. Scottie made a face and leaned over the girl's shoulder.

"Um. Who are you texting…?"

"Mary."

"...why."

"How did you even get her number?" Blaise asked, looking a little surprised if not impressed.

Before hitting send, Emily showed the screen to both of them, which she had put a couple lines of song lyrics into: Come on baby light my fire. Come on baby light my fire. Try to set the night on fire.

"Oh my God," Scottie exclaimed. "You're actually the devil. Did you know that?"

"Just having a bit of fun," the girl mused.

"Wait no don't send it out! I have an improvement. May I?" Blaise held out a hand to Emily, who cautiously gave her the phone. Blaise then proceeded to change the message to Come on baby light my John. Come on baby light my John. Try to set the John on fire.

Emily gave Scottie a sidelong glance. "And you say I'm the devil?"

"You both are horrible people."

"Here I've got another one." Emily took her phone back and sent the current message. She began typing a second message, this time reading And I set fiiiiiire to the Johnnnnn, which she waited several seconds longer before sending out as well.

"MY TURN!" Blaise excitedly took the phone again and put in John is the light. Light of the world. Light up the night. When will he learn. Now is his time. Now is his turn. To burn baby burn baby.

Blaise hit send and Emily held up a hand to stifle a laugh. "Oh my God we really are going to hell."

"Okay, give me that," Scottie said, and swiped the phone. It took him a minute to figure out the typing mechanism, but his message was very short: THIS JOHN IS ON FIIIIIIRE!

Emily cackled unattractively. All of a sudden, Blaise elbowed Emily in her side. "Uh, guys… I think we've gotten more than a little sidetracked."

The two teens looked up to see a man approaching the bonfire and preparing to light it. Letting out a yelp, all three of them rushed forward, pushing past several people crowded around in front of them to get to the backside of the unlit bonfire they'd been circling. A couple people saw this and started to try and pull them back.

"There's someone in there!" Blaise hissed, pulling away from one of the strangers and starting to rip apart at the bonfire.

In a matter of seconds they had gotten it open enough to reveal John, and it took all three of their combined strengths to pull the man out again just as the bonfire was lit from the opposite side. Several people looked on in various states of confusion and worry. Emily and Blaise knelt down on opposite sides of John, who was very clearly still feeling the effects of what he had been drugged with and looked in no state to get up just yet.

"I'll go and wait for Sherlock to point him in the right direction," Scottie said and skirted around the bonfire. The boy returned a minute or so later with the detective and Mary, who also dropped to their knees in front of John.

"Oh my God," Mary kept saying.

"Oh yeah, we pulled him out for you," Emily told Sherlock. "Yes, remember us? Who you told piss off last night? Well, you're welcome. Your best friend is now not dead because of us. So. About that thank you and perhaps an apology..."

But the man clearly wasn't listening, because he practically shoved her out of the way to get a better look at John. Emily stood up and dusted herself off. She was joined shortly by Scottie and Blaise.

"Well that was a bust," Scottie sighed. "I told you we should've tried showing up to his and Molly's walk-in case thing with job applications."

Blaise rolled her eyes. "Do you really think Sherlock would hire a couple assistants after that first impression you made at the restaurant?"

"Well no, but I mean, we didn't exactly think they'd let us move in with them just like that the first time around..."

"H-Hey! Hang on!" Emily said, coming back up to Sherlock's side as he and Mary were busy helping John to his feet again. "Look, I know you're a little preoccupied at the moment, but Scottie, Blaise and I came an awful long way to meet with you, and I think we have some valuable information about what's going on."

"And I think it's best if you scurried along," Sherlock retorted.

"We know about the terrorism threat!" the girl huffed. "And who's behind this most recent incident with John, but that's unrelated." The detective stopped now and for the first time turned his head to meet Emily's eyes. She swallowed and held her arms out to her sides. "Go on. Deduce me. See if I'm lying about any of this. So c'mon - what are you waiting for? Deduce me, you whore!" Mary let out a gasp and threw a hand over her mouth. Sherlock didn't say anything, and so Emily went on: "See, you can't, can you? You don't know what to make of me."

Everyone else in the vicinity seemed to hold their breaths. The Guy Fawkes bonfire continued to roar on behind the group, lighting their faces with a warm, orangey glow. Emily started to regret having said anything, because Sherlock had handed off his half of John's weight to Mary now and came towards her, eyes narrowed, almost challengingly.

"I know that you're an adult, but only just," he started, his voice deep and full of contempt. "You attend secondary school in the United States, where you live in a large city, probably, on the west coast, so Los Angeles or someplace relatively nearby. You own a… sorry, two cats, and are an older sibling. You live with only one parent after the divorce, which was probably when you were very little. You participate in a team sport, one similar to cheerleading or gymnastics but perhaps less conventional, and it has banged up your hands quite a bit over the course of several years, which is not good news because you're also an artist. You like to draw and play the violin in a school orchestra. You're left-handed, your feet turn in slightly when you walk but not enough for most people to take note of..." Sherlock paused momentarily to suck in another breath of air. "Need I go on, or have I already convinced you that I do, in fact, very much know what to make of you?"

"You've only just scratched the surface," Emily answered stiffly.

Sherlock seemed almost amused by her answer. "Not good enough? Alright, then let's take it up a notch, shall we?"

"Sherlock," Mary warned.

"You have more insecurities than you've got fingers to count - fears about not making up your mind when it's most crucial, fears of never being taken seriously, fears of sudden change and getting let down by people time and time again. And all of these things you're afraid of will continue to happen because you're too weak to change your attitude about them or grow the hell up and get over it. Appearance-wise, you don't like your nose. You think your breasts are too small. People probably tell you that bruise on your lip isn't even noticeable until after you've already pointed it out, but a part of you suspects that this isn't true and they're just being polite - which they are. You use cover-up to mask your acne; not much is needed, but still you do it every morning because you're afraid of people seeing it and judging you. Thinking that you're ugly. Or dirty. You pretend not to be, but are in fact very concerned with what people think of you, which is why you're looking so upset now. Because you're quite obviously a fan and deep down you wanted more than anything for me to like you, and this being the case, I'm afraid I have rather disappointing news."

Sherlock was standing just inches away from Emily now and looming over her as her eyes started to water, and now even Scottie was becoming angry. He came forward and pushed in front of Emily defensively. "Hey, how about you quit trying to use your little talent to scare her off, alright?" he spat. "You aren't the only special snowflake in this world."

"Oh? And pray tell, what can you do?" Sherlock took a couple steps back and seemed to stand even taller now, his chin jutted out. As if he were daring Scottie to turn the tables and deduce him, only to throw it back in his face when he obviously couldn't.

"Oh, just about the same thing, only the psychosocial edition," Scottie snapped in return. "Where should I begin? How about with 'caring is not an advantage'? Is that what itty-bitty Mycroft told you when you dared to have icky feelings in front of him? Or did that start with your parents, when your dog died and you had the experience of missing someone for the first time?"

Initially prepared to scoff and reply with his usual snark, Sherlock paused. His face was unreadable, but Scottie was emboldened by the detective's seemingly piqued interest and continued.

"Is that the line you served yourself when none of the other kids wanted to play with you because you were too smart or socially inept or whatever? Because it's true, y'know." Scottie narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "You do have the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, but still you wanted to be a pirate... and ended up as a consulting detective. Was it the excitement and adventure you were attracted to? Or was it the solitude disguised as independence and the fear disguised as respect?" Sherlock made no attempt to answer, though Scottie wasn't expecting him to. "Y'know, most people are idiots compared to you. There's no reason for you to care about the opinions of us peasants, especially if your exaggerated arrogance is to be believed. And yet, that's the frailty of genius, isn't it? It needs an audience?"

"You can't honestly-" Sherlock began, indignant.

"Because using your above-average intellect to solve complex shit comes naturally to you. It's fucking easy," Scottie hissed. "And the reactions of shock and awe that it causes are the only constant source of attention that you can rely on! Because the rest of you is perfectly ordinary, and with a grade-A shitlord of a brother, ordinary is boring! Because you are a lonely, naive man, so desperate to show off-just give him a puzzle and watch him dance!"

Mary was beginning to glance warily between Scottie and Sherlock, as if expecting the detective to suddenly lunge at the teen. However, Sherlock showed no evidence of being angry-or anything else. He stood motionless, his face stuck in a mask of polite surprise, while Scottie jabbed him in the chest with a finger.

"But let me tell you, Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Scottie said, his voice dangerously low. "There is nothing boring about you. Or normal. Don't insult yourself trying to pretend otherwise. You organize things by color rather than type, because you're a visual thinker-so am I, and sixty percent of the general population. You fiddle with whatever you're holding, and throw things into the air just to catch them, like a little kid. Origami calms you down and helps you focus. You love dancing, and being able to make your own mood music whenever you feel like it-all things you learned from watching how-to Youtube videos. You wear the same thing every day because once you've found something you like that works, you don't think there's any point in testing new options. You love spontaneity, but only if it fits nicely into your daily routine. You like dogs and looking at pretty flowers, and being in places that are way up high. You're insecure about a lot of things and you want the approval of people you like, and you so badly want to be special just like every other human being in existence-"

"Stop it!" Sherlock interrupted, his face having finally broken into an odd mixture of anger, surprise, and maybe even fear. "How are you doing that?"

"How do you deduce people?" Scottie threw back.

"I observe."

"And I remember."

The boys both fell quiet for some time. "Oh no he didn't," Blaise said softly from a little ways behind them.

"What do you want?" Sherlock finally asked.

"We want to show you something," Scottie told him. "And then you have to promise to hear us out."

"Mary, can you…?"

"I can take care of him," the woman told Sherlock. John was starting to look a little better at that point. He seemed to be standing for himself, anyway, but still appeared a bit dazed and confused and who knew how much he comprehended from everything else that was going on.

"Alright," Sherlock sighed. "Where are we going?"

Mary and John went their separate way and Sherlock allowed himself to be escorted into a cab by Blaise. Scottie was about to get in when Emily held him back by a sleeve and muttered "Hey... I wanted to thank you. What you did back there was..." The girl trailed off, not entirely sure what word she was looking for. Nice? No; it was really more cruel than anything else. Badass, perhaps?

"Of course," the boy smiled back. "No one insults my boo and gets away with it. 'Sides, someone had to knock the guy off his high horse sooner or later, and what else was I supposed to do with the extensive hours I'd spent analyzing the man's each and every character trait?"

"Yo - what's the holdup?" Blaise asked loudly, doubling over to see the others from where she was seated past Sherlock in the vehicle.

Emily put a thankful hand over Scottie's shoulder for a moment before pulling open the door to the passenger seat and getting in. The cab then took the group back to the hotel where they'd first arrived, and they got out on the street corner.

"The Landmark," Sherlock muttered, recognizing where he was right away.

"Close but no cigar," Scottie told him. "Across the street from the Landmark." The boy then proceeded to lead the rest of them across a crosswalk to the opposite corner and then halfway down the that block and up to the alleyway where they had parked the TARDIS. Blaise went up and unlocked it, figuring out what Scottie was up to.

Sherlock stopped in front of the TARDIS and gave it a disinteres once-over. "What is it?" the detective finally asked.

"It's a police box," Emily told him.

Sherlock frowned. "Yes. I can see that, thank you. Why have you brought me here?"

"To observe," Scottie pressed.

Sherlock looked back at the boy for a moment before wrinkling his nose. The consulting detective took a deep breath and then came closer to the blue box. He stared at it for some time before slowly touching his fingers to it and pushing it open. Sherlock stopped again. Cautiously, he proceeded to step inside and let the door shut behind himself.

"I hope you're right about this," Emily turned to Scottie. "For all we know exposing him to time lord technology could break the poor man. So much of what he knows relies on science and physics working properly..."

Sherlock stumbled backwards out of the TARDIS again. The three of them waited in silence and watched as he skirted around the tight space between the box and the brick walls surrounding it, his hands pressed against the TARDIS. After he'd made a full 360 the detective popped his head in and out of the TARDIS a few more times. Next he stood in the door frame with his left arm gripping the TARDIS by its outer corner, his right presumably outstretched from the inside. Once he was finished Sherlock slowly shut the door again and turned to Scottie, Emily, and Blaise.

"You have my undivided attention," he said, whatever emotion he was feeling at that point in time still entirely hidden from his face.

"Not good enough," Blaise said.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly. "I'm sorry? I thought that was what you wanted."

"Scottie wanted your attention. Emily wants an apology for what you said at the bonfire."

"He doesn't need to apologize," Emily muttered half-heartedly.

"Shh. I want to hear it, then."

The man was quiet for several seconds. "Very well," he finally gave in. Sherlock turned to face Emily. "I misjudged you earlier. I... was quick to take one look at you and assume the full story. Clearly my interpretation had a few holes in it and I'm... sorry if anything I said offended you."

Emily couldn't help but blush a little at this. "C-Can I have a hug?"

"...I beg your pardon?"

"A hug. To prove it."

"I don't see what-" Sherlock started.

"Jesus Christ!" Scottie groaned. "You heard the lady, and I agree. I think a hug is in order."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "And... then you'll tell me what the box really is?"

"Yes. But probably back at your flat, because we may or may not still need a place to crash. Indefinitely."

Reluctant at first, Sherlock came closer to Emily, as if he were still in the process of deciding if he really was going to go through with the gesture. Finally he did make up his mind and stiffly put his arms around her.


"Oh, just look at all these wonderful little curls at the end!" Mrs. Holmes sang as she ran her elderly fingers through Emily's hair. The girl was currently sitting perhaps too comfortably across the woman's lap and had a satisfied look upon her face that was a little off-putting for at least one Sherlock Holmes. "Reminds me of a little boy I used to know," Mrs. Holmes cooed and let her hand drop.

"Wait no don't stop!" Emily let out.

"You're like a fucking cat," Scottie rolled his eyes from John's armchair.

"I'm so glad you finally decided to get us some grandkids," Mrs. Holmes went on.

Sherlock furrowed his brows at his mother. "I didn't."

"Wish you'd told us much sooner, though. Now they're almost all grown up and we've missed all the fun bits!"

Emily turned her head. "I'm still fun."

"As I've already said, I barely know them," Sherlock seethed. "They certainly aren't mine at any rate."

"Now now, don't be like that. There's no shame in adoption."

"There really isn't," Mr. Holmes agreed with his wife.

"Oh but just think of what wonderful news this is!" Mrs. Holmes squealed. "We can start bringing the whole family together for Christmas dinners again. Oh, I'm getting antsy just thinking about! You and Mikey helping out in the kitchen while the little ones run around outside…"

"See?" Blaise whispered to Scottie. "Slowly but surely everything's falling back into place. Give it a few more weeks and it'll be like you never left at all."

The living room door opened then and John entered the flat.

"John!" Sherlock let out, more relieved to see the doctor than he had expected. He lept out of his chair and to his feet.

"Sorry," John said quickly, "you're busy."

"Er, no no no, they were just leaving!" Sherlock hurried over to the couch and pulled Emily off of his mother, who he brought to her feet.

"Oh, were we?" Mrs. Holmes asked, eyes wide.

"Yes."

"No, no, if you've got a case…" John tried.

"No, not a case, no no no!" insisted Sherlock. And then to Mrs. Holmes: "Go. Bye."

"Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember," the woman reminded him.

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out."

"Well, give us a ring. Maybe we could get brunch! Bring the kids with you!"

"Very nice, yes, good. Get out." With one final shove Sherlock had managed to shepherd his parents out the door and tried to close it on them, but was stopped by Mrs. Holmes, who had stuck her foot in the way.

"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock," she said much softer now. "All that time people thinking the worst of you. And now look at you - a father and everything! We're just so pleased it's all over." Without answering Sherlock made another attempt to close the door, which also failed. "Ring up more often, won't you?" Mrs. Holmes went on.

"Mm-hm."

"She worries," Mr. Holmes told him.

"Promise."

Sherlock looked back at John and then came close to the crack of the door to utter "Promise." Mrs. Holmes smiled at this and reached out to stroke his cheek. "Oh, for God…" Sherlock pulled away again and shut the door, this time completely. "Sorry about that," he said, whirling around to face John.

"They're still here?" John asked, pointing to Emily, who was now lying down on across the sofa, but clearly referring to all three of them.

"Oh. Right. New neighbors, apparently."

"Apparently?"

"Yes."

"And those two were… clients?"

"Just my parents," Sherlock breathed.

John looked almost shocked by this news. "Your parents?" he parroted.

"In town for a few days."

"Your parents?"

"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of Les Mis," Sherlock droned. "Tried to talk me into doing it."

"I still think we all could've gone," Blaise shrugged.

"Those were your parents?" John asked, still in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Well…" John chuckled a little and looked away. "This is not what I…"

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

"I-I mean they're just… so… ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear," Sherlock sighed. "Same with these three, apparently. Can't seem to get rid of them for long."

"Mm, yes. They are quite like a couple of bad pennies," John agreed half-jokingly. "I probably should've warned you about that. They're not staying here, are they?"

"Downstairs," Scottie told him matter-of-factly. "221C. You know, you can just talk to us directly. We don't bite."

"Scottie, was it?"

"Yes."

John shifted his glance over to the others. "And you…?"

"Emily," Emily told him.

"Blaise," Blaise said afterwards.

"Right," John nodded. "Scottie, Emily, Blaise… I'll try to remember that then." He started to turn, stopped suddenly, and then looked back in their direction. "Hey. Thanks for pulling me out last night. If that's what was going on."

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, not bad." John instinctively made his way over to his old armchair, stopped when he remembered Scottie was currently in it, and relocated to Sherlock's chair instead. He was still a bit cut up around the sides of his face, but not nearly as much as he had been in the original episode. "Last night… Who did that? And why did they target me?"

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted, even though he wasn't the one John was looking at.

"Didn't they, though?" John asked with a nod towards the kids at the other end of the living room. "Last night they said something about… what happened. And the impending terrorist attack. That they weren't connected."

Sherlock glanced over at John from where he'd been standing in front of the mirror by the fireplace. "You remembered that?"

"Yes," John said cautiously. "Is that… Is that why they're still here? Because they have information you need?"

"It's possible," Sherlock said softly.

"But… But what would a handful of juveniles know about a terrorist attack?" John asked, looking back at Emily, who had now shifted in such a way that her head was hanging off the end of a sofa cushion and her feet her up in the air, pressed up against the photograph and map display Sherlock had put up.

"Probably about as much as you do?" Blaise shrugged from next to the sofa, her back leaning up against its arm closest to the window. "That the attack has… I don't know, something to do with that one guy's his little disappearing act in the subway?"

John made a face now and shifted his eyes over to Sherlock again. "Subway? Do you know what she's talking about?"

"Yes. But I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous," Sherlock muttered. He came towards the wall behind the sofa now. "Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"Give his life?" John repeated.

"According to Mycroft. There's an… Excuse you." He frowned down at Emily, whose legs were very much in his way and in an attempt to solve this issue he took her ankles in each of his hands and pulled them away in opposite directions, which ultimately spread her legs apart.

"Oi!" Emily shrieked, kicking at him and rolling off of the couch and into the space between it and the coffee table, where she promptly got stuck. "Look at this fool," she threw out indignantly to no one in particular. "I let him hug me once and now he can't keep his hands off me."

"There's an underground network planning an attack on London - that's all we know," Sherlock continued, completely ignoring the girl. "These are my rats, John."

"Rats?" the other man echoed from across the room.

"My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth…"

John pointed to one of the pictures. "I know him, don't I?"

"Lord Moran," Sherlock told him. "Peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment."

"Yes!"

"He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

John's face fell. "What?"

"He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed." Instead of using his words to explain, Sherlock went to his laptop, which was sitting at the living room table. He opened it and began to pull up the footage concerning Moran disappearing off of the subway carriage. John came over now to have a look.

Seeing that they were all but ignored by this point, Scottie got up from his chair and went over to Blaise and Emily. "Hey, wanna do something fun tonight?" he asked, his voice low.

"Like get ice cream?" Emily suggested from the floor.

"Um. No. I meant like stop a terrorist attack."

"Do you even know where we'd need to go to do that?" Blaise challenged.

"Um, duh! Who did you think you were talking to?"

"Fair enough. Emily makes a valid point though," Blaise said, trying her hardest to keep a straight face. "I think we're all overdue for a celebratory ice cream party."

Scottie narrowed his eyes at her. "Did you both legitimately forget I'm lactose intolerant or are you deliberately trying to give me a hard time?" Rather than answering, Blaise and Emily exchanged looks. "Okay fine," Scottie sighed. "We can stop for ice cream on the way."

"Yes!" Blaise and Emily exclaimed simultaneously. And then Emily went on, "Okay but first someone is going to have to help me out of this position because my butt is currently wedged between the sofa and coffee table and I think that my legs are starting to fall asleep."


"Ah, look at that," John said. And there it was: the single carriage, carrying a bomb and sitting just few dangerous feet in front of them.

"John."

"Hm?"

John stopped and they both pointed their flashlights up to now see several explosive devices hung up along the sides of the vent.

"Demolition charges," John muttered.

The two of them pressed on towards the carriage. Once they reached it, John went down into a squat to have a look underneath the carriage with his light. Sherlock pulled open the double doors dramatically and then he stopped abruptly in the middle of the entrance.

"Draw four, motherfucker! Also the color is now green because screw you that's why, and while you're busy with that, here's a skip, skip, skip, draw two more and UNO!" Scottie slapped his second to last card down with a triumphant glow.

"I hate this stupid game," Emily grumbled, her hand now taking up a good two-thirds of the deck. She was sitting cross-legged across from him towards the center of the carriage, separated by two stacks of Uno cards.

"Bull. You're just a sore loser and you know it."

John clenched his fists at his sides. "What the bloody hell is going on here?!" he finally exploded, causing Scottie and Emily to lift their heads and Sherlock to jump somewhat.

"Well it's about damn time!" exclaimed Emily. The girl dropped her cards and folded her arms. "If I had to play another round of that I may've just personally restarted the damned counter!"

Scottie started to put the cards back into their box. "You think she's kidding, but she actually already tried to do so twice in the last hour. Apparently losing card games gives rise to her inner terrorist. Kira," he added as a side comment. Emily stuck out her tongue.

Sherlock stepped fully into the carriage and looked almost impressed. "You kids defused the bomb already? Might I have a look?"

"Insulted as I am by your lack of faith, sure - see for yourself." Emily then helped Scottie remove the floorplate they had been sitting on. Sherlock came closer and inspected the opened thing.

"Huh. Would you look at that."

"This is all very suspicious," John accused, stepping fully inside now. "How do we know they aren't involved with planting the bomb in the first place? They were at the scene of the bonfire, too. Could be connected, for all we know."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "I think they just wanted our attention, wouldn't you say? Solved the puzzle themselves, figured out that the bomb had a simple off switch, and then waited for us to come prancing in. They may be recklessly impulsive, but I'm convinced that their meddling isn't a danger to anyone but themselves."

"Well thank you for sticking up for us," Scottie began, "but you're still an ass for what you were about to do to John."

"I'm an arse?"

John blinked, opened his mouth, shut it again, and then turned to Sherlock expectantly. "Sorry? What's he going on about now?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," the detective lied.

"Also Sherlock already phoned the bomb squad on your way over here. So don't worry about that."

"He what?" John snapped, his face growing red. Whatever he were about to say next was interrupted by the door opening behind him. But instead of being the bomb squad it turned out it was only Blaise, who was carrying a drink from Starbucks.

"Sorry; I ended up going to the wrong subway station. But can I safely assume we saved Parliament?"


"But it's crazy talk! Even if their claims were true, don't you think we'd all remember it?" Lestrade questioned.

Sherlock merely shrugged at this. "Believe what you want, but there is something awfully familiar about it all, even if we don't recall meeting them in the past. I personally have gotten nowhere trying to fit all the pieces together, so instead I'll give Scottie, Emily, and Blaise the benefit of the doubt for the time being. Besides, they could yet prove useful to me."

The other gentleman rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. "I don't suppose there's any sense arguing with you once you've made your mind up about something. That's one thing that hasn't changed while you were away from Baker Street. I don't know about this whole idea of taking in a couple of children, however. The old Sherlock Holmes would never consider such a thing."

"Well, Mrs. Hudson seems to have taken quite the liking to them, anyway," Sherlock shrugged. "I hate to think of how lonesome she was while I was a way. Could be good for her, having a couple of kids around to look after."

"Mm. Right."

John appeared in the hallway leading to Sherlock's bedroom just then. "Come on," the man pressed. "You'll have to go down. They want the story."

"In a minute." Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed past the other man, Lestrade following close behind him.

Mary, Mrs. Hudson, Scottie, Emily, and Blaise were all crowded around in the living room to 221B Baker Street. Everyone but Scottie had a champagne glass in their hand, although Emily had taken all of one sip of hers and made a face before deciding that she wasn't going to have anymore; she just liked feeling sophisticated by keeping it with her. Sherlock came into the room then and popped open the cork of a new bottle, which he took to the coffee table to fill a new glass.

"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary," Mrs. Hudson was saying. "Have you set a date?"

"Er, well, we thought May," Mary answered.

"Oh! Spring wedding!" the landlady let out cheerily.

"Yeah. Well, once we've actually got engaged."

"Yeah," John muttered.

Mary cast a knowing look in Sherlock's direction. "We were interrupted last time."

"Yeah."

Sherlock smiled at her.

"Well I can't wait!" exclaimed Lestrade. The D.I. held up his glass in a toast as he said this.

"We're invited too, right?" Emily asked eagerly.

John looked about ready to protest. "Well I don't see why not," Mary said, giving him a warning look. "The more the merrier." Scottie discretely fist pumped the air at this news.

The front door opened then and Molly was there with Tom, her current boyfriend that the ensemble had yet to meet. And also who was dressed almost exactly in the likeness of one Sherlock Holmes.

"Hello, everyone," Molly greeted them.

"Hey, Molly," smiled John.

"Tom, this is everyone."

"Hi," the man said.

"Hi," Lestrade echoed.

"It's really nice to meet you all," Tom went on. "Hi."

"Wow. Yeah, hi. I'm John." They shook hands awkwardly. "Good to meet you."

"Ready?" Sherlock asked, leaving the window he'd previously been standing by.

"Ready," answered John.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to give Tom a rather surprised once-over. Lestrade came up to the couple, offering, "Champagne?"

"Yes."

Sherlock continued making his way between them and out of the room. The Detective Inspector handed a glasses to Molly and Tom, who both thanked him. Once out on the landing, Sherlock took another peek at the newcomer just before John joined him, shutting the door behind themselves.

"Sit down, love," Mrs. Hudson offered.

"Oh, thanks."

Lestrade cleared his throat a little. "So. Um. Is it serious, you two?"

"Yeah!" Molly smiled. "I've moved on!" She looked over at Scottie and Emily now, likely noticing them for the first time. "Oh! And I don't believe we've met?"

Emily glanced over at Scottie, who merely shrugged. The girl then stood up and went over the woman to shake her hand. "Yes, hi. I'm Emily," she told her.

Blaise came up behind her and had a turn. "And I'm Blaise," she said. "The one who refused to get off the sofa is Scottie."

"Molly," the woman smiled back. "It's a pleasure. Are you someone's relatives, or…?"

"It's um, kind of a long story," Lestrade chuckled.

"Actually I think I'd better get going," Blaise said. "I just remembered I had a… thing." The girl quickly said goodbye to the rest of the room and dismissed herself.

"Wait!" Scottie called out. He and Emily proceeded to chase her out of the flat, catching up again on the landing. Scottie let the door close behind them. "Where are you off to?"

"Let's face it, this is your thing," Blaise sighed. "I mean. Yeah, I like Sherlock too, and it's been a ton of fun, but… as counterintuitive as it sounds, you guys, this place, these characters… You all belong together. Sherlock isn't just Sherlock anymore. You've made it your own thing. And I don't want to get in the way of that."

"You're not getting in the way of anything, though!" Emily tried. "We all met online at around the same time. Just because Scottie and I have had a lot more time to bond over the years doesn't mean that you shouldn't be given the same chance."

Blaise smiled and shook her head. "Nah. Like I said, this is your thing, and I've got my own. Namely, a Doctor that's going to be very, very pissed off when I go pick him up."

"Oh yeah," realized Scottie. "You did kind of steal the TARDIS, didn't you?"

"That I did."

"Will you at least come and visit sometimes?" Emily asked hopefully.

"We'll see. But just in case I get held up, don't go throwing yourself off any more buildings, you hear?" Blaise gave them each a warning look, which Scottie and Emily avoided her eyes for. "Alright, alright, c'mere you dorks," the girl laughed and held out her arms.

Smiling, Scottie and Emily both stepped forward to give her a hug. "Thanks for taking us home," Emily said, letting go again.

"Solve a lot of cases for me."

"We always do," Scottie laughed.

With one final nod goodbye, Blaise went downstairs and just out of view. Scottie and Emily were only just about to turn back inside, however, when the girl came running back up the stairs to them again.

"Trapped?" Scottie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"There are so many people with cameras outside," his friend wheezed.

"Aw well, I suppose another hour or so with us won't kill you," Emily chuckled, holding open the door to 221B.