Summary: John has startling news and the world may never be the same again. No warnings.

Author Notes: Chapter One! Yeah! Long journey ahead of us! I thought i might as well post the first chapter along with the prologue. There should be a new one every other week, if not every week. Hope you enjoy the story.

Chapter 1: It tolls for thee

Days Earlier

John all but burst into the flat dancing around as he tried to juggle the groceries and his coat. "Sherlock?" He looked over. The consulting detective was in his armchair and apparently on his laptop. John sighed. It didn't matter how many times he changed the password, Sherlock always seemed to get it eventually. John set the groceries on the counter. "Have you seen the news?"

"No." Sherlock said tapping away on the keyboard. The bread fell off the counter as john set everything down. Sherlock quickly scanned him wondering why he was in such a rush. He sighed, it had been so peaceful in the silent flat. But, despite the noise, he was happy to have his blogger home.

"Why not?" John yelled from the kitchen.

"It's mediocre trivia used to brainwash the masses into believing they actually have a grasp on what is going on in the world."

Sherlock jumped slightly as John fell into the room two large book bags in his hands. He slid into the television gracelessly and flipped it on. Sherlock shook out his black curls. "Honestly John, the news-"

"Shush! look at this" John pointed at the screen where a woman in a gaudy red suit stood on the street. The name Sandra Rivers came and went over the screen as she adjusted her microphone and waited for her cue. John turned up the volume as she began to speak.

"I'm reporting live from Brighton, one of the only places left unaffected."

"Unaffected?" Sherlock said.

John shushed him again the woman continued. "All over, a strange new epidemic has spread throughout England. This contagion began several days ago in Liverpool with mild symptoms and spread like wildfire through the city in less than an hour. This new disease has left many of the residence of Liverpool in, what baffled scientist are calling 'a state of hyper aggression.' Recent reports indict that the disease has spread through Leeds and Bristol as well and shows no sign of stopping."

Sherlock leaned forward, his attention piqued. "When exactly did this begin?" he asked, paying close attention to the woman's words.

John didn't look up from the television. "Two days ago-"

"And you tell me now?"

"It was just a few cases yesterday. It's starting to get bad, isn't it?" John said.

Sherlock turned from the television to the window looking out. "What are the symptoms?" Sherlock asked looking outside.

"Paling or clammy skin, bloodshot eyes, extremely high and low body temperature fluctuations, I saw a report that some of the first victims had massive headaches too." John continued to shoot off symptoms as Sherlock stood. He stepped over the furniture in his way and looked out the window.

"John."

John looked up at the sound of his name. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Sherlock stepped over the coffee table to the kitchen reaching into their drawers. He took one of the two bags John had brought into the room. "Start packing. Grab only the essentials."

John watched the woman on television. "It hasn't reached London yet." He said. "I got these from the store a few minutes ago just in case things got too bad. It looks okay outside, a bit quiet but okay. We should be fine for now." John said listening to the woman continue to ramble about a vaccine.

Sherlock tossed John his bag and continued to fill his. He placed his bag by the door and pulled on his shoes. "Go."

John blinked getting to his feet. He walked down the hallway grabbing handfuls of his clothes. He stopped by the window. He'd never seen Sherlock's feathers so ruffled. What could be out there now? He looked out listening. At first he didn't understand, but, like a ton of bricks, it hit him. He dashed back over to the dresser and putting out his clothes stuffing them into his bag.

There was no one outside.

They lived in one of the busiest streets in London and not a soul was outside.

John fumbled with his shoelaces as Sherlock pulled his bag over his shoulder. "Hurry up." he said pulling open the door. John's cell phone chimed and he flipped it over. Sherlock looked over his shoulder. "Who is it?"

John didn't answer him. He snapped open the phone. "Greg?" He called into the phone.

Greg's voice came out in panicked puffs. "John! Thank God! Someone answered!" several screamed followed and shots rang out as John listened, stunned. A scramble later, Greg was back. "John, get out of town! These things are everywhere!" Another scream followed by another shot.

John clenched the phone. "What's happening? We saw on the news-"

"THEY'RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!" John recognized the voice as Anderson.

"Sally! Grab that rifle behind you!" Greg yelled and several more screams followed. "Get to Buckingham, we'll meet you there" Greg shouted over the chaos and the line went dead.

John stared at the phone in shock. Sherlock tugged him down the hall. Racing down the stairs, they passed Mrs. Hudson's door. John pounded on the door. "Mrs. Hudson!" The door below them opened and Mrs. Hudson stepped in swaying slightly.

"Boys?" she said. Sherlock caught her as she stumbled.

"What's going on? Are you hurt?" Sherlock asked. "How is it outside?"

Mrs. Hudson looked back toward the door meekly. "It's terrible. They've all gone mad outside. One of them down the street even bit me!" She held up a bruised hand, an angry swelling bite mark standing out against her pale skin.

Sherlock glared at the mark turning to John. "Get her things. We're leaving. We'll get Lestrade and get out of the city."

Mrs. Hudson handed John the keys and he rushed into her apartment. Sherlock investigated the mark on her hand. It was a hard bite, straight through the skin, blood had pooled in the bit itself and the skin around it was flushed but it didn't look like it would be a problem other than the pain. "Sherlock?" he looked up into her worried face. "Is your brother alright dear?"

He hadn't even thought of that. Was his mother alright too? How was his father? "I'll phone them soon"

"You'll do it now."

"Mrs. Hudson, we have to get out of the city and John-"

"You can talk and walk, young man." She said holding herself up. "Call now. I'll help get my things." He watched her climb the stairs to her flat and Sherlock, with a sigh, pulled out his phone.

He dialed Mycroft's number. No answer.

He dialed again. Still no answer.

Panic coursed through his chest and he dialed again.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice filtered in and out over the phone. Sherlock actually sighed in relief.

"Mycroft, are you-"

"GET OUT OF THE CITY NOW!" Mycroft shouted into the phone. Sherlock actually jumped. He could count on one hand the amount of times Mycroft had raised his voice to anyone, let alone him.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine" a revolver rang out in the background. "I was in Australia when this started. Where are you now?"

"Baker Street. We're leaving after we get Mrs. Hudson's things." Another three shot and a scream answered him from Mycroft's side.

"Call me when you've gotten out of London. I have to go. Anthea! DON'T TOUCH HIM!" The line cut off and Sherlock dropped his phone. John raced out into the hallway with Mrs. Hudson right behind him and shook Sherlock back to reality. He stiffened a bit before grabbing his phone and his bag. "We need to get out of the city as quickly as possible." He said and they walked into the London streets.