Sorry - it's taken me a month to update this - no excuses, just real life getting in the way...that and re-writes LOL!
Hope you like it, if you do please review.
Disclaimer: Don't own, no earnings of any kind made from this story

Flashing a bright smile and her security pass, Julia made her way past the extra security personnel and swiped her card through the electronic reader. Despite the early hour, several colleagues greeted her, but she was distracted and acknowledged them mechanically as she made her way to the lifts and her third floor office.

Sinking into her chair, she stared at her blank computer screen; her mind was eight miles and twelve hours away as she replayed over and over Mark Banks' telephone call the previous evening.

"I want Mycroft Holmes' address"

"But he's…"

"I WANT that address sweet Julia," the voice, sibilant and menacing, was insistent. "It's a small price to pay."

The sound of a throat being cleared snapped her back to the present, and she looked up to see one of the security officers hovering in the doorway.

"Miss Steers? Are you alright?" he asked, a look of mild concern on his face.

"Oh, um, yes Pete, I'm fine – just thinking." She forced another bright smile.

"Mr Holmes would like to see you. He sent me up here when you didn't answer his call."

Julia looked down at the instrument on her desk – she had neither heard its insistent ringing nor seen the flashing light that indicated a voicemail message had been received.

"Oh lord!" she muttered, flustered "I must have been a million miles away"

"You're not the only one," Pete offered sympathetically "I think everyone is still a bit shell-shocked after yesterday."

Julia nodded "And I imagine Mr Holmes wants to talk about Trish Samuels"

"Poor kid, she hadn't been with us long."

"I know." Her vision blurred slightly as she remembered the girl's fresh from school enthusiasm. "I was the one that interviewed her." she rose to her feet, opening a draw and pulling out her notepad and pen. Briskly crossing to the door, she followed the security officer out, across the corridor and down the stairs to the second floor.

The police forensics and army bomb specialists had long finished their work of evidence collection, and yet, despite the hard work of the overnight cleaning staff, there was still an acrid smell in the air that caught at the back of the throat. Julia hurried into the outer office, through the newly replaced door.

"Mr Holmes is waiting for you" Anthea pressed a button on the intercom. "Miss Steers is here, Sir"

"Thank you, send her in"

Julia knocked and entered the oak panelled office. Mycroft looked up and smiled.

"Thank you for coming Miss Steers."

O*O*O

John moved around the kitchen quietly, not sure if his guest was actually still asleep. As he sipped his tea he marvelled once again at his friend's acting abilities, knowing that anyone watching last night would have been convinced of her inebriated state as she stumbled around and giggled while he removed her jeans and sweatshirt before tucking her up in blankets on the couch.

At the sound of movement from the living room he poured a second mug of tea, looking up at the dishevelled figure that appeared in the doorway still wrapped in a blanket.

"Here" he said softly, pushing the mug towards her.

She winced, screwing up her eyes and shuffling over to sit at the kitchen table. John watched as she wrapped her hands around the mug, carefully sipping at the hot sweet liquid.

"Can I use your shower?"

"Help yourself"

With a brief smile she finished her drink and shuffled back to retrieve her neatly folded clothes from the back of the couch, dropping the blanket and heading down the hall.

John had thoughtfully hung a clean towel on the door hook, and by the time Ellen returned, showered and dressed in last night's clothes, he'd made toast and a fresh pot of tea.

"How's the head?" he asked, playing up to her act.

She groaned.

"Aspirin?"

"Paracetamol, sorry."

"That'll do."

He pushed two capsules out of their foil packing into her hand, and watched as she palmed them, pretending to wash them down with the tea before biting appreciatively into her breakfast.

"How much did I have to drink last night?"

"A lot – far too much in fact"

She shrugged. "Sorry sweetheart."

"Yeah, well, don't forget your Dad's expecting us this morning"

Ellen groaned and looked at her watch. Nine fifteen. She pulled a face.

"Hope you're feeling strong. Dad's bound to give you a lecture about looking after his little girl."

"Yeah well, if he knows how much you drink it's hardly surprising."

John's voice was harsher than he'd intended, and Ellen's eyes flicked to his face, narrowing slightly.

"I won't tell him if you don't. Ready?" She rose as John grabbed his coat and keys, and together they headed out onto Baker Street.

In the cab the atmosphere was a little strained. Ellen was busily sending texts while John stared out of the window, cursing his unruly tongue. He needed Ellen's help, and snapping at her for something that is hardly her fault is not the way to get it. He was just trying to figure out the right words to apologise when her slender hand reached over and clasped his, squeezing gently. He raised his eyes to hers.

"Your sister still drinking?"

He nodded.

"Sorry to hear that, John. That can't be easy to deal with."

"That's still no reason to snap at you."

"No problem." She leaned across and dropped a soft kiss on his cheek. "Put it to the back of your mind now – you need to be sharp."

John nodded. "Tell me about this guy we're going to see."

"Malcolm Ashby, weapons expert. He has contacts that even I'm happy to know nothing about – safer that way – but he's the one person I'd trust with this part of the puzzle. I already told you about his son, so just be careful what you say – I'm not sure how he'll react, but cut him some slack, Jez was his only child, followed in his dad's footsteps and was killed by a stupid accident before he really had a chance to live. I knew him through Malc, but I worked with him when he did a basic Intel course in Chicksand."

"Is that what you do now, Intel training?"

"Occasionally. Y'know sometimes when they run these courses it pays to have a lecturer who's actually done the job, not just learned the theory!" Ellen grinned as the cab pulled up in front of a row of post-war terraced houses in Whitechapel. She moved across the pavement and knocked at the door as John paid the driver, then together they waited.

O*O*O

Malcolm was a big man, a gentle giant, and although his welcome was a little chilly he led them through the house and into the kitchen, where a pot of freshly brewed coffee and warm croissants were waiting.

"At least you can still tell the time" he muttered grumpily, pouring mugs of coffee for his guests, and passing the plate of rich, buttery pastries. "So what's going on?"

Ellen wrapped her hands around her mug and took a sip of the steaming liquid before introducing John, and then she sat back and motioned to him to tell his story.

Malcolm listened intently, much in the way Ellen had the previous evening, although unlike the lady he had nothing to say until John had finished speaking. Getting up to refresh his drink he spoke over his shoulder.

"Ellen tells me you have a bullet"

"Uh, yeah" John dug into his pocket and retrieved the oddly shaped twisted metal, tipping it into the other man's outstretched hand.

The silence stretched as keen eyes examined the projectile from every angle. Ellen watched as the former armourer and field weapons expert took in the details – size, weight, design – seeing the interest sparking in his world-weary features. At last he looked up at his guests and smiled a little grimly.

"Like I said Ellen, you never change," the voice was gruff, with a hint of hidden emotion, but there was no animosity in his expression. "You still like to bring me puzzles."

"Knew you couldn't resist, Malc" she smiled up at him, "and this one's a beauty!"

"And how many people dead?" he switched his gaze to John.

"One."

"But two shot?" he frowned and closed his eyes. "Lucky, very lucky; this looks like it was designed to screw through whoever it hit, tearing its way through internal organs." The eyes flashed open and stared challengingly.

"My friend was running full pelt towards the guy when he fired." John explained. "Caught the gunman off guard so, rushed shot, no time to aim. That, and the fact that only an idiot would run at an armed man like that."

"Idiot then is he, this friend of yours?"

"He's a genius – there's a fine line."

A rich chuckle escaped as Malc picked the bullet up once more.

"Can I keep hold of this?"

John glanced at Ellen, who gave a sharp nod.

"Yeah sure, only I'm supposed to give it back to the police at some time – evidence if we ever bring him to trial."

"You'll not bring the owner of this type of ammo to trial lad; he'll either succeed and flee the country or die trying." Malcolm stood, waiting expectantly until his guests followed suit. "I'll help solve your puzzle Dr Watson, if at the end of it I can keep this little gem, and the gun designed to fire it."

"If you're right, then keeping the bullet shouldn't be a problem." John agreed with a smile, shaking the big man's hand. "Can't promise the gun, but I can promise I'll try."

Evidently that was exactly what the armourer had wanted to hear – no false promises.

O*O*O

Sherlock wish the sound of pained groaning would stop; it was hurting his head and making his teeth ache! It was only as full consciousness returned that he realised that the despised sound was coming from his own lips, and that the ache was due to his clenched jaw as he tried to stifle the signs of weakness.

"There now, you really overdid it yesterday, didn't you?"

One grey eye cracked open and scanned the immediate area around him. Mrs Hudson stood at the bedside holding a cloth-covered tray, and over her left shoulder he could see one of Mycroft's hired nurses.

"Did you drug me?" Sherlock demanded, bringing both hands up to grip at his pounding head. He wasn't impressed when he heard his landlady chuckle.

"We didn't need to, dear. You fell asleep at the computer, and dear Mr Hodges had to carry you through and put you to bed."

"I need to check your wound and clean that chest drain" the nurse stepped forward and started to pull down the covers.

Sherlock snatched them back, hissing as the pain in his chest increased with the sudden movement.

"Mr Holmes..."

"Sherlock dear, you've got nothing I haven't seen before"

"No!" the patient struggled to rise from the bed, only to be stopped by the sight of the diminutive septuagenarian locking the connecting door that led to his 'office'. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying out your brother's instructions" she responded with a smile "and if you don't behave I'll let John know – it'll worry him I don't doubt, but he'll be cross if I don't tell him."

Pouting, Sherlock stared sulkily at the two women. He knew full well what was being implied – that John would be distracted, and therefore more likely to get hurt. Huffing loudly he pushed the covers back down, allowing the nurse access to the tubes and the attached clear plastic bag.

With swift, professional movements the young lady removed the bag, cleaning the end of the tube before attaching a fresh bag and clipping on the shoulder strap.

"This looks good, Mr Holmes. When you take a break this afternoon we can run a chest x-ray, and if it's clear we can probably remove the drain altogether." She indicated the portable x-ray machine in the corner "Your brother provided everything to help your recovery"

"And I suppose you think I should be grateful?" came the snarky response.

"Oh no, Mr Holmes, he assured me you wouldn't be."

O*O*O

John and Ellen walked in silence down Valence Road, she slipping naturally into 'girlfriend' mode, and he following her lead. Passing under the railway bridge Ellen paused and looked around.

"Over there" she said finally, pointing to a railway arch, walled up, with a tatty green painted wooden door, and a letting agency sign above it.

There were a multitude of people making their way in the world using the converted arches as business premises, mostly car repairs or garages, occasionally a potter's workshop with its kiln to keep the cold out. On closer inspection they could see a notice freshly pasted over the To Let sign, advertising the arrival of 'Nightwatching, Electronic Security Specialists', and in smaller lettering 'Trade Only, by appointment'.

"Nice choice of name" Ellen spoke to the shadow in the darkness as they stepped through from the bright light of day into the unlit unit.

"Thought it sounded good" came the response, coinciding with the snap of the light switch that flooded the room with a sickly yellow glow and revealed a small, wiry man with weathered, suntanned skin, dressed in faded jeans and a sweatshirt, neatly hand-painting a sign to hang outside. Catching John's glance he smiled.

"Window dressing. If you don't put a sign up, they'll come and be nosey – if you talk to them while you're hanging it they'll leave you alone more often than not"

"Sounds like you've done this before" John smiled and held out his hand "John Watson"

"That's Captain John Watson to you H" Ellen added with a smile as the two men shook hands. "And this is H McCormick, sapper, formerly Royal Engineers"

"Good to meet you H – short for…?"

"Horatio" the other man laughed depreciatively "Parents wanted me to join the Navy"

"So why didn't you?"

"They wouldn't have me – couldn't cure me sea-sickness!"

"And if you believe that John, you're an idiot."

Now it was John's turn to laugh.

"Wouldn't be the first time I've been called that El, but even I'm not that gullible"

He looked around appreciatively and the other signs of 'window dressing', the desk with papers and order pads, the shelves on one wall with interesting looking boxes, and the comfy chairs for the 'clients' to relax in. More subtly there were lots of 'ledges and edges' that could be used to half sit on or against, and a white board sales chart that – John had no doubts – could be flipped round and used to plan and co-ordinate their actions.

"I've already texted Pat to meet us here this afternoon – 14.00 hours. Who else have you got on board?" Ellen hitched a hip onto the edge of the desk and looked expectantly at John.

"Danny Morgan. I gave him the list of people I'd sounded out earlier; he was going check back on them – two were maybes, Pat, Georgie and Dan himself were keen to play. I'll text him and get them along for a briefing."

"Six definite, two maybes, is that it?"

"Sherlock's okay for distance work – research, stuff like that. Told him he can't come home 'til he's fit." A thought occurred, and he looked up from his mobile. "I need to safeguard my laptop."

"Remove it from the flat then."

John winced.

"I was hoping Sherlock could feed us information." He confessed ruefully "It'll give him something to do, and keep us up to date. Not so easy by text."

Ellen chewed her bottom lip, staring at the floor.

"What about Jamie?" H offered carrying a stepladder through the door and setting it up outside. Walking back in he added "He's ideally placed; he only lives a mile or so away – easy for his wheelchair. We could set him up with a computer here."

John frowned and looked from one to the other, seeing Ellen's eyes light up.

"Brilliant H! John, can your flatmate's brother arrange for us to have a computer?"

"Will it be…?"

"Safe? As houses. I have a few little tricks up my sleeve – unfortunately not the kind that can make your laptop invisible to Mr Banks, but certainly enough to protect a unit here."

"And Jamie?"

"One of ours, John." H explained, "Lost both his legs to an IED out in Afghanistan a couple of years ago. Good lad, comms and surveillance specialist so he knows his way around a computer – he'll be glad to help."

Ellen nodded enthusiastically "One of ours in more ways than one, eh H? Your nephew isn't he?"

"The wife's cousin's boy. Young, but sensible. I'll pop round to see him once I've hung this, bring him back with me." And he shouldered his way out of the door carrying his newly painted sign.

"Right, let's see what we can do about that computer." John pulled out his mobile and dialled Mycroft's number.

O*O*O

Julia stared at the screen of her smartphone. 'Message sent'. The headache she'd felt building up since her meeting with Mycroft Holmes was developing to epic strength now, and the nervous butterflies in her stomach were causing her to regret the sandwich she'd had for lunch.

With a start she realised she still had Mycroft's personnel file open on her screen, and quickly closed it down. A second screen remained open, one showing a picture of a fresh faced eighteen year old that had opted to try for a career in Government instead of going to university. Now she was unlikely to have a career of any kind, hampered as she was by the loss of her dominant hand and the sight in one eye. The hospital told her she had been very lucky – Julia doubted the young girl felt the slightest bit inclined to agree.

Stretching a hand across her desk she picked up her telephone.

"Hello Janey? We've got a meeting booked this afternoon, would you mind if we postponed? No, no nothing's happened, yes, we're all jumpy at the moment…" she rubbed at her forehead as she spoke. "No, I've just got a migraine building up, I think I just need to go home and lay in a dark room."

She listened as the voice at the end of the phone murmured sympathetically, agreeing that the meeting wasn't so very important, and wishing her well. In relief she finished the call and shut down her computer. Everything else could wait until she felt better.

O*O*O

Sherlock glanced to his left, watching the information search stream a light bar across the computer screen. He was currently searching for any data relating to Marc Joseph Banks, with a sub search for any close variation on that name. So far everywhere was coming up blank, but he was neither surprised nor disheartened – rather he relished pitting his wits against this man again.

On the second screen, CCTV images. He had studied the images from the shopping centre, and the car park (he winced a little as he saw with awful clarity the moment he had run straight into the madman's bullet), now he was uploading views of Whitehall.

Easing himself out of his chair he walked carefully across to the printer. A set of glossy black and white images were sitting in the collection tray, clearly showing the face of the would-be killer. Marc Banks hadn't bothered to alter his appearance; he wanted them to know who they were up against.

Pinning them to the board beside his desk, Sherlock returned to the computer screen to start his search for clues to the bomb attack, his eyes keenly scrutinising the pedestrian traffic through the Government heartland.

Huffing frustratedly as his observations were interrupted by the shrill tones of a text alert, he snatched up his phone, freezing the image on the screen as he read.

'Baker St compromised electronically. Arranging different email contact point. – JW'

'Not sending to M. – SH'

'Course not. Standby – will txt contact address soon. – JW'

"Mr Holmes."

The nurse had entered while Sherlock read John's first message, but he had studiously ignored her. She was unfazed.

"Mr Holmes, Mrs Hudson is making you a cup of tea, so I thought now would be a good time to x-ray your lung."

"Busy"

"Mr Holmes…"

He turned to look over his shoulder at her.

"You have taken this job because you need money for…" he paused, his eyes flicking over her "ah yes, you want to be able to pay off a large portion of your mortgage – no, your rent, in advance. Travelling?"

"Not really…"

"No, you've signed up to a charity." He stared coolly up at her. "You should talk to my flatmate, I believe he has friends in the organisation you want to work for."

"How?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did your brother tell you?"

"Your missing ring told me," Sherlock indicated her left hand. "Fiancé left you, what, three months ago? You had a good job but too many memories attached to the workplace so you gave it up, you don't want to give up a career you find satisfying and you don't want to waste those years of training. Bank nursing isn't enough of a challenge so, Nurse Moore…..it has to be Médecins Sans Frontières."

The young woman stood and gaped at him.

"Oh Sherlock, can't you behave for five minutes?" Mrs Hudson's admonition was tempered with a smile and the production of the promised cup of tea. "Once your x-ray's done…"

"Not happening" Sherlock cut in, his attention returning to the screen.

Nurse Moore opened her mouth to argue, but Mrs Hudson held up a hand, a gentle twinkle in her eyes as she reached around to place the teacup on the desk in front of the recalcitrant young man.

"Shame, because the sooner that drain's removed, the closer you are to going home to Baker Street."

Sherlock's head came up, and for a moment he was absolutely still, then crashing his fist down on the desk he leapt to his feet, gritting his teeth against his body's protest at the rough treatment.

"Come on then." He snapped "Let's get this…this…procedure over."

O*O*O

Mycroft was as good as his word, and within an hour of John's call had arranged delivery of some top-of-the-range computer equipment, ready loaded with the highest quality protection software.

H returned to the unit shortly afterwards, walking alongside a young wheelchair-bound double amputee, with long curly ginger hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a short scraggy beard. The pale blue eyes were alive with good humour, the lines around his eyes as much to do with laughter as with the pain of his injuries.

Jamie wheeled to halt in front of John and threw a cheeky salute.

"Private Jamie Robson reporting for duty, Sir."

"Stand easy, Private" John returned the salute.

Jamie's grin widened, and he shook John's proffered hand.

"Jesus, you don't know how refreshing that is, Sir!" he exclaimed "some people will almost strangle themselves with their tongues trying not to say 'stand' or 'legs' or 'run'."

"Makes them uncomfortable," John agreed, "remind me to introduce you to my flatmate – a more irreverent person you're unlikely to meet – give him a taboo subject and he'll be sure to drag it into every possible discussion if it suits his purpose."

The door opened again, and Pat Donoghue stepped through into the room carrying a tatty olive green backpack. He was closely followed by short, solidly build man, whose sharp eyes took in everything in the room in seconds.

"Pat, Georgie" John greeted them with a handshake then turned back to Jamie. "You'll meet the guys properly when we're all here – first thought I want you to have a look at the computer." He gestured to the table where H was already unpacking and connecting the hardware and cables.

"Don't power it up yet." Ellen called from across the room. She was digging into the backpack. "Pat collected this from home for me – and there's a little gizmo in here to alert us to hackers with enough time to shut them down before they can do any damage."

Carrying a small black box and some power cables, she climbed around behind the main tower and plugged one cable into a spare USB port. Attaching this to the box she plugged it into the power socket and flipped a switch on the side. A small green light glowed on the side.

"Right, if anyone tries to get into this system that box does two things." Climbing back out she stood between John and Jamie and counted the points off on her fingers. "Firstly it holds them outside of our system and automatically saves everything you're working on as it shuts the system down. Secondly, it sends an echo back to trace the IP address, which may give us a fighting chance to find him."

"I thought the guy we're after is ex-Military Intel" Georgie asked, looking dubiously at the box.

"Yeah, but it's fairly recent development, he was inside when it trialled. And this is a shiny new fourth generation box – the best yet." She handed Jamie a small blue pen-drive. "If the system shuts itself down, you won't be able to re-boot until it has neutralised the threat, which basically means it will confuse the signals and send the hacker off on a different course. When you open it again it will ask you for a key – that is the key. It'll unlock your system and bring back everything you were working on."

"Got it" Jamie tossed the drive in his hand before sliding it into his jeans pocket. "I've been building my own secure website over the last few months. Me and H thought it would be best to use that as its unknown."

Ellen nodded and looked over her shoulder, noting that two more had joined them. She flicked a glance at John, who nodded briefly and walked across to sit on the edge of the desk.

"Thanks for coming everyone. Now, I know you all know Ellen – she's the one common denominator in this group, but for the benefit of everyone else we'll do a quick intro. Who we are and what our speciality is – or was" Noting the nods of assent he started the process. "Right, you all know me – and for the record Jamie, it's John not Sir – not in the army anymore, still a doctor though, but try not to get hurt."

A ripple of laughter ran round the room. Jamie nodded.

"Jamie Robson, computers."

"H McCormick – I'll run the office here, acquire or fix any electronics and generally gofer."

"Danny Morgan. With Pat here I work obs and infiltration – under the enemy's eye so to speak" He indicated the man standing next to him.

"George Dunn – friends here call me Georgie – covert ops."

"That leaves me last then" the accent was pure Geordie "Jim Wainwright, also covert ops, and a little tech work so if you need any help Jamie, just shout."

John made himself comfortable and called the group to order. While the introductions were being made Ellen had started to draw a timeline of events on the whiteboard, and John used this to illustrate and explain the situation so far.

"Do we know what he looks like?" Dan shifted in his seat to get a clearer view of the board.

"As soon as Jamie's got the computer up and running I'll get Sherlock or Mycroft to send any recent pictures. I need Mycroft to send the file over electronically – the hard copy I had is still securely hidden in the flat, in a room that is now under surveillance by Banks."

"So what now?" Jim asked

"You send this to your flatmate" Jamie interrupted John's response "Let's get the intel we need" he handed over a slip of paper with an email address.

Pulling out his phone John tapped the keys slowly and carefully, finally sending the message.

"Now we look at how best to use our resources." John picked up the question. "El?"

"John, can you get Holmes to send through CCTV feeds? Let's play to Jamie's strengths here." She waited for John to pick up his phone again then addressed the others. "No need to watch John's flat, we know he's got electronic eyes everywhere, so we're being careful about how we use it."

"What about his flatmate?"

"Out of the way, recovering from injury." John picked up the story. "So far his brother has been 'warned' with a low grade incendiary device that injured a junior member of staff. He continues to act as if the threat is very general, rather than specifically aimed at him."

"You'll need obs then, John? On the brother's home?"

"Yeah." He grimaced. "Knightsbridge. There's staff in the house, the grounds are monitored, and all the doors and windows have security alarms."

"Safe then." Georgie commented.

"Maybe – the security's been breached before, although I'm sure he's upped his game there, I'd be happier if I could see that for myself. I'll go with Dan and Pat, let them do what they do best."

"You have the address?" Pat stood and grabbed three small radio mikes and earpieces, handing one to Dan, then liberated from the backpack a small box similar to Ellen's 'rover'. "Then as soon as we get visuals of our mark, we go."

"El, I'll meet you back at my place."

"I'll be close by, I'll see you arrive."

John nodded and looked around.

"Jamie, Sherlock will send you information as he gets it. H, can you collate it and let me know if anything occurs that you think is significant."

"Nothing yet for us ops boys then," Jim said with a smile, "We might as well try to find us some decent lodgings"

Jamie spun his chair round and fished a set of keys out of his pocket, tossing them to the Geordie with a smile.

"Use my place. I've got a spare room and a couch that converts to a bed. Make yourself at home." The computer chose that moment spring to life with a series of e-mails and open transmission requests. "Okay John, looks as if your guys are coming up with the goods." He typed a command in, and as a clear black and white picture flashed onto the screen, grinned up at his companions.

"Lady and gentlemen, I give you Marc Banks."

O*O*O

Danny Morgan had just completed his first sweep, strolling the length of the street, past Mycroft's house, when Pat's voice hissed in his ear. Pulling out his phone he pretended to take a call.

"There's been incursion into the back of the house." Came the low whisper. "And there's some kind of blocker on the exterior monitor. We're going in for a closer look."

"Right, I'm on my way" without appearing to hurry Dan extended his stride, walking around to the rear parking access of the upmarket properties.

John and Pat meanwhile had slipped over the wall and was approaching the back door. Pat's keen eyesight had already noted the split wood of the doorframe, up close the damage looked much worse. They waited until Dan was over the fence and into the garden before gently easing the door open. With a clear line of sight through the scullery to the kitchen, Pat could see that two people sitting at the table. He motioned Dan to join them.

"Doesn't look good." He said softly, indicating the unnatural way their heads flopped to the side.

"Bastard!" Danny hissed back, slipping through the door "Come on, let's check the rest of the place, see what he's left us."

A cursory touch to each of the bodies as they passed confirmed to John that the Carslakes had been murdered, their necks snapped and their bodies arranged in this grotesque imitation of a tea party. Separating out, they moved swiftly through the house, John searching downstairs, Pat and Dan the upper floor.

John had just past the stairs, seeing his companions making their way down as he headed towards the room Sherlock had referred to as the drawing room, when the sound of a key in the lock stopped him dead.

Mycroft stepped through the door, closing it behind him and snapping the light on.

"John?"

"Bloody hell Mycroft! Didn't expect you home for a couple of hours yet." He turned and called up the stairs. "'S all right guys, you're safe to come down."

"What's going on John?" Mycroft's eyes narrowed as Pat and Dan joined them in the hallway.

John walked towards the other man, hating to be the one to break this particular bit of news. Out of habit he glanced in through the open door of the drawing room.

"Fuck!" he shouted, grabbing Mycroft's arm "Everybody out. Run!"

They made it almost through the kitchen before the tinkling of glass was followed a split second later by the boom of the drawing room exploding.