Love comes in all different shapes and sizes and when I look at you, Anderson and Alice, I realize how fortunate I am to be the recipient of such devotion. A text pings on my phone. I should ignore it, but my obsessive nature doesn't allow me to. I read the text, then re-read it again. "John, Anderson, we have to leave now."

You look at me. "I know you're bored, but quit being so cryptic. Valentine's Day only comes once a year. Try to enjoy it."

I grasp your arm. "John, get up, and take Alice and Anderson out of here. Try to get a cab out of the city." A barrage of police cars rushes past the window, too many. "John, mass panic is about to ensue. Before the news hits, you must leave, now."

Your expression sobers. "Oh, Jesus, Sherlock, what's going on?"

I pull you and Anderson close. "Scotland Yard is under attack. There's been a credible threat on the entire city. Now, get up and get out."

"What about you?" you whisper.

I look at you, perhaps for the last time. "I love you. All three of you. Go back to Baker Street if you can't get out of the city. Tell Mrs. Hudson, London Bridges."

You take my hand. "Why can't you come with us?"

Tears fill my eyes. "I just can't. Now go and don't worry I will find you." More police cars rush past the window. "Go, now hurry."

You nod, then like a good soldier you, Alice, and Anderson are gone—safe. I hear a low rumble, it makes the windows tremble. People look around in confusion. I get up making my way towards the door. I want to scream at them all to run, but I have a mission and all missions have casualties. I open the door, throwing myself to the ground when an explosion rocks the café where we all sat peaceful and carefree just a few moments before. Hands pick me up, moving me to safety. Though I can't feel pain, I know I am injured. Surprise makes my heart rate spike, when I realize I am in Mycroft's arms. I'm not surprised because he is carrying me. I'm surprised because his facial expressions are full of fear. He lays me in the back of a vehicle, then unbuttons my coat and rips open my shirt. A voice I don't recognize says, "The glass shard missed a main artery. Just keep applying pressure, until I can stitch him up."

I look up at Mycroft and take his hand. "Mycroft, make sure they're safe if I should…."

"Sherlock, quit being so dramatic, you're going to be fine."

"Okay, I'm ready to stich him up now. Sorry, I don't have any deadener, mate."

Mycroft smiles. "Don't worry, he's used to needles."

I look up at him with a witty retort on my lips, then stop. He is wearing black tactical gear and his hair is messed up. He looks lost and his vulnerability makes him look younger. Though he tells the man who is stitching me up to not be gentle, due to the fact, that my skin is tough like a housecat's, he looks down at me in concern, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that my loss would devastate him. It shocks me, yet confuses me at the same time, considering how many times he has put my life at risk. Mycroft, could it be that you do care?

The vehicle hits a bump, and our hands are knocked apart. When I sit up I notice we are in a tactical unit tank. Then I think of Scotland Yard, wondering if Lestrade is okay. We reach our destination and are hustled inside an underground base. I look over at Mycroft. "I get the end of the world is upon us, but why am I here?"

Mycroft smiles. "Just wait for the briefing."

A man steps up to the front of the room and everyone silences. "At approximately 8:21 this evening Scotland Yard was bombed along with other buildings in the area. So, far no terrorist group has claimed responsibility. This image was transmitted to national security just before the bomb hit as well as the words 'undeciphered'." The man pauses, then projects an image on the screen in front of us.

.

What the bloody hell is that?" A voice asks.

I smile and say, "A puzzle."

Mycroft gives him a gentle push. "Time to shine, little brother."

No one comments on my blood spattered torn shirt when I step to the front, pacing while I look at the picture. Then I stop. Chill bumps race up and down my arms. It feels almost as good as multiple orgasms. "It's a puzzle within a puzzle."

"Explain," a clipped voice demands.

"The image you see before us is a difficult jigsaw puzzle, each piece has to be obtained and put together one at a time. Google the image and this will come up as one of the most difficult jigsaw puzzles ever invented; however, the bomber also sent the word, 'undeciphered,' which indicates there is more to the puzzle than just the image, thus supporting my conclusion of a hidden cypher or cryptogram hidden within its depths."

"Like a complex, 'where's Waldo.'"

I look over at the speaker in annoyance. "Your attempt at an analogy is sadly lacking. You're an idiot, don't speak again. You'll lower the I.Q. of the whole country." Then I think of Anderson, you and Alice and my concertation wavers. Why have I wasted so much time, putting down others? Anderson, once a source of derision is now one of my beloved partners. It hurts to feel. Why did I let you, John, into my heart? But then what would life have been without you? I would have been nothing more than a machine, an enigma, an unsolved puzzle. I clear my throat. "I need a quiet place to think and some tea." Then I step down from the platform and make my way to Mycroft, where I whisper in his ear. "I need you to find out if John, Anderson and Alice are safe."

"Sherlock, the country is under attack. How can I possibly…"

I grasp him by the shirt front. "Do it, or London will fall."