4

No sooner than John and Sherlock had climbed into a cab the detective's phone rang. He looked at the display. Mrs Hudson. What could she possibly want?

Sherlock took the call, listened for a minute before hanging up.

"What was that about?" John asked.

There's a bomb threat near Baker Street. The whole area is closed. We can't get to the flat.

"Barts?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Dr. Hooper went on holiday with her we-have-quite-a-lot-of-sex boyfriend, and somebody erased my security clearance for entering Bart's labs.

Right now I can't even get close to the building without provoking an arrest."

John rubbed his chin. "Um, Mary and I, we have a little lab and some stuff at home you could use. A microscope for example."

"Better than nothing, I suppose," Sherlock conceded.

John gave a wry smile at his friend's ungracious attitude before he directed the cab to his home instead of Baker Street.

"Hey you," Mary greeted both men at the door, kissing John and letting Sherlock pass, who's look indicated he wouldn't appreciate a hug right now.

John left his friend alone in the "lab", went to fetch some tea and explained the situation to Mary.

"You go and help Sherlock, I'll try to find out if and when he can go back to Baker Street."

As it turned out, Baker Street would be off limits for the rest of the night. John kept making tea for Sherlock, a sandwich he was sure his friend wouldn't eat and prepared the guest room for him. He knew Sherlock wouldn't sleep but he probably needed to lie down to think.

"Bathroom is upstairs. Towels and everything else you might need are in the cabinet on the right." John told the detective. Knowing they wouldn't help Sherlock by disturbing him, John and Mary went into the living-room to watch some telly.

An hour had passed when Sherlock came in so suddenly both of them jumped.

"You don't happen to have any nicotine-patches?"

John immediately shook his head, Mary followed suit hesitating just a second.

Sherlock disappeared again with a huff.

Some hours later John stretched, and checked one more time on his friend. Sherlock lay stretched out on his bed. He looked quite peaceful, was obviously thinking and ignored John's goodnight. John saw three nicotine-patches on his friend's forearms and wondered where he had obtained them.

In the bathroom he discovered with a mixture of amusement and annoyance that Sherlock had used his toothbrush. Changing into his pyjamas John climbed into bed, snuggling close to Mary who had gone to bed earlier.

Mary kissed him. "You owe me a massage," she quipped.

"What?" John looked at her in confusion.

"You promised me a massage when I got Sherlock to take his vaccination."

"So?"

"He put the nicotine-patches on we had in the bathroom, didn't he?"

"Since when do we have nicotine-patches in our house?"

"We had today."

"Sorry, I still don't get it," John replied.

Mary rolled over, smiling sweetly at John. "My love, those nicotine-patches," her wiggling fingers substitute for quotation marks, "are the latest invention for patients with a phobia for injections. Instead of the nicotine they are soaked with a vaccine - in this case for the flu."

"I changed the wrapping and hid them in the bathroom, having an inkling that Sherlock might pinch them."

John couldn't help himself. He began laughing, and couldn't stop for several minutes.

OOo

Greg had curled up in the cupboard, ready to doze off again when he felt something poking into his side. Checking the jacket he had nicked, he found a pocket he hadn't noticed before. Inside was a mobile phone. Yes!

No code was required to unlock it. For a moment Greg thought of calling 999 but the phone got no signal. Bugger! There might be a signal near the funnel they had encountered but calling from a phone that even there probably received a weak signal at best might alert Banks and his men. He could send a text though. He knew Sherlock's number by heart and was certain the clever detective would find him, even with only a few clues.

He had just entered Sherlock's number when he recalled that it was the old number. The one before the detective had faked his death. He tried to remember the new one but he only could recall the first three digits. Okay, Mycroft Holmes' number than. That number was easy enough, a mixture of his ex-wife's date of birth and his licence plate. The elder Holmes would most likely contact his younger brother for help.

Greg began to prepare the message. 'Alive.' No, delete that. Obviously he was alive. Dead people didn't text.

Hurt. Old clinic? near Thames, noise train over bridge, funny smell. Thinking for a moment he added (ask John). He knew the last time he had caught that smell John had been with him, and they both had said "funny smell".

Milton Banks, bad, poison; secure Yard's vault. PC Zoe Lincoln got away? GL

Hearing voices and steps from at least two people outside, Greg froze and hardly dared breathing. They were clearly looking for him and PC Lincoln. Fortunately nobody had bothered checking the cupboard.

The phone told him it was almost 2:30 in the morning when he finally dared leaving his hideout. Greg scurried back where he knew he'd find the funnel, when he heard noises from the other direction. He ran, mobile in hand, hoping the phone would pick up a signal sooner rather than later. When he reached the funnel he heard steps and voices coming his way.

"There he is!" a man shouted and came running towards him.

Nowhere to hide, he pressed the send-button.

"Message has been sent", appeared on the phone. Not a moment too soon. Greg shoved the phone back into the jacket and started running when he heard a scream. Another man came around the corner, holding Zoe Lincoln in a tight grip. Shit, they got her!

"I'll twist off her head, if you don't stop right away," the man shouted. Greg stopped, and turning around he recognised her capture as the one she had knocked out. He was probably mad as hell.

Besides, the vault's contents were safe now, and Sherlock would find him, hopefully very soon. The inspector thought, he probably wouldn't have been able to escape anyway in this labyrinth. Rising his hands, he surrendered.

The woman was released when the other man got hold of the DI. The man hit him twice in the stomach, sending him to the ground. He had almost expected that. But then PC Lincoln came over, kicked him in his crotch so hard, Greg screamed in pain and surprise.

He was still on the floor, squirming in pain when Milton Banks walked around the corner.

"He knows the Vault's security code, Dad!" Lincoln told him.

The man smiled coldly. "Good girl."

"I think it's time we extract that information from him."

Banks gestured and Greg was kicked in the face and lost conscience.