Summary: Friends are found. Misery pecks over the horizon.

Author's Note: I am so sorry, don't hurt me for a several week late update. As for this chapter, I recently found out crayons could be used at candles after an experience that went horribly, horribly wrong and Dimmock always struck me as a "had a telescope when he was ten' kind of guy. Prepare for heartache in the next chapters. Hope you enjoy this one.

Chapter 6: Ring around the Rosie

The silence was excruciating. Sherlock could hear his heart beat. The rapid fire beats drummed against his rib cage painfully as he waited for a sound, any sound. The door creaking open shattered the silence. John stepped out, his face aged a thousand years. Sherlock grimaced as his eye noticed a bit of blood here and there that hadn't been there before. He gagged swallowing the bile that crawled up his throat.

John reached over to him brushing a tear from his cheek. Sherlock stared at the wetness on his hand. He rubbed at his face angrily as he grumbled. Standing curtly, he walked down the hall on numb feet. They walked in silence.

John tossed open the door ready to strike at whatever came into view. Sherlock looked around. They were in an old house. It had been ransacked hours ago if the overturned furniture said anything. They found the kitchen and bathroom quickly and searched for supplies.

Sherlock tossed him a roll of gauze he'd found in the bathroom. "We have to find Lestrade." John nodded. Those were the first words either of them had said in over an hour. John took Sherlock's steel pipe and drove a long pair of scissors he'd found in a bedroom through them. The pipe was thick but he'd managed in a few minutes with the help of some furniture leverage and screws. He looked over the new weapon. It would have to do until they found something more durable.

Sherlock looked around as John worked. The silence was beginning to kill him. He opened his mouth to speak. A scream ran out. "GREG! THERE'S TWO MORE."

John shot up. "Was that Sally?"

Sherlock was already halfway down the stairs. He opened the door and kicked a sick clear over the porch banister. Sherlock waved his arms as Donovan turned his way. Her eyes widened and she grabbed Anderson's arm. They ran toward him around a far corner. As they moved, the sick followed them. Sherlock noticed Dimmock behind him and Lestrade in the rear batting off a sick that got a bit too close for comfort. Sherlock slammed the door after they'd made it inside.

John scrambled for the blinds. He didn't know if the sick could see but it was better safe than sorry. They scrambled down as the dull moans and silhouettes came back. Only after the shadows passed did John realize he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly and looked around.

They all caught up with the situation at once. Lestrade looked over to his left. "Sherlock?" Sherlock blinked as the man pulled him into a hug. He hugged him back stiffly. Lestrade smiled. "I thought you both were dead." he said as he hugged john.

Sherlock looked around. He remembered every face that made it through the Yard or at least the important ones he didn't delete. "You're the only ones who made it?" He knew it was an obvious question with an obvious answer but a small part of him hoped that others had made it.

Dimmock's smile wavered. "There were more of us." was all he said. Silence followed. Lestrade lifted a small flap of the window. "We need to get out of here." he said more to himself than anyone in particular. He talked over his shoulder. "Where's Mrs. Hudson?" he looked out the window. John visibly winced. Sherlock stiffened. In their silence came his answer.

Sherlock looked around. "We need to gather as much supplies as possible." he said. Everyone nodded and scrambled around the house. Sherlock looked through the drawers of a gaudy pink room. He tried to ignore the pink and white teddy bears smothered in red liquids on the bed. He opened a container inside the drawer and found what he was looking for. Tossing it into the bag, he met the others downstairs.

John had found more medical supplies under the cabinets in the bathroom. He'd managed to find some hydrogen peroxide and a bottle of aspirin with the usual band aids. Donovan had found a baseball bat in a boy's room. She didn't recommend going in there, Sherlock understood why. Everyone had found something whether it was bits of food or weapons. Sherlock pulled his container out of his bag. He held out a pack of crayons.

Anderson looked them over. "Crayons? Really? What are you going to do with them? Draw us a mural?"

"No," Sherlock said. "They're for you to use while the grownups talk."

Dimmock stepped in between them. "Alright you two. Now isn't the time."

Donovan looked out the window. The sick were beginning to gather. "We'll need to find higher ground before the sun goes down."

Anderson looked over her shoulder. "And go where?"

Donovan closed the curtain closed again. "Anywhere." she snapped.

John raised his hands. "Alright everyone," They all took a deep breath. John looked into the next room before ushering everyone toward the stairs. "We need to be quiet." he said. "Noise attracts them."

He opened the staircase door and they all filed out one at a time looking into separate rooms. "Clear." John whispered down the hall from the first room. Everyone whispered back. They gathered in the closest room by the fire escape and barricaded themselves in.

Sherlock grabbed the crayons from his bag and lit a single one with a match. Setting them down in the center of the room, the fire collected and he grabbed two more. The wax gathered and the crayons propped themselves up as candles in the center of the floor. Anderson avoided eye contact as they gathered around the crayons (now candles).

No one said a single word as they watched the crayons burn themselves out. Everyone took their positions around the room nodding off against doorways and filing cabinets. John turned on his side toward the flames but sleep wouldn't come. Sherlock yawned by the fire.

John chuckled. "You should get some sleep."

Sherlock nodded. He laid on his side facing John and drifted off. John watched him sleep. It wasn't a peaceful one, his brows were knit and his lips were flattened in a stiff line. He looked around the room. Everyone had fallen asleep in one way or another. Dimmock was the only one awake.

The Inspector caught him staring. A soft smile played on his face. "You look like hell."

John chuckled. "So do you."

Dimmock shrugged. He turned back to the window. John looked into the fire. "You know, if you keep looking at them, it's going to drive you crazy."

Dimmock snorted. "I'm not looking at them." he said. "I've just never seen London so dark." He looked up at the sky. "I never realized how bright the stars were at night. All the city lights and musty air pushed them away."

John looked up and sure enough a cosmic ocean of lights stared down at him.

Dimmock smiled. "Makes you feel small, right?" John nodded. Dimmock looked at him again. "You really do look like shit." He said. "Get some sleep. I'll take the first watch."

John nodded. "Wake me up in an hour." He said. Dimmock stared at the sky without a word. By the time John's head hit the pillow, he was already asleep.