For John Watson

[howdull]

[Sherlock is still finding pieces of the melted laptop in the carpet.

It had actually been quite an ingenious booby trap to be devised by a fourteen year old boy with only household chemicals to work with but, as Sherlock surmised, rather overkill to keep his mother from finding his extensive porn collection. Not one of their more illustrious cases, but it had been quite entertaining to watch both the boy and mother's faces as he revealed that he did know the how and why. He lost interest after the mother started shouting and John started shouting and the whole thing turned tedious.

He rather thinks John won't actually be doing a full write-up of this one on his blog.

It's been two days since their last case and he's beginning to get more than a little antsy. Lestrade has sent him nothing, just a boring hit and run that he refused to even leave the flat for, and nobody interesting has appeared through the blog. Said blog he is currently scrolling through on John's laptop, having borrowed it again.

He did ask, it's not his fault John hadn't been in the room at the time.]

Bored, John.

[He doesn't even know if his flatmate is even in, but that's hardly a necessity for him to actually speak to John. Frustrated, he throws the laptop across the room to hit the wall, where it summarily breaks. Which is where he can be found whenever John appears, sulking amidst pieces of laptop, both from the melted one of their last case and John's poor broken one.]

Comments

[jumpthegun]

[Given the alternatives...]

I can check some other texts there. See if the symbol turns up.

[howdull]

John.

[His expression softens just marginally to something much more uncomfortable.]

You need to call Clara, I'll send Mrs. Hudson up.

[jumpthegun]

[John's expression shifts, he swallows. No, no. If he's angry, he can manage. If he's focused, he can do this. He needs to be doing something to help Harry. Except there's really nothing he can do on his own at the moment, and the police are doing what they do, Sherlock's going to go learn Pashto.

He sinks back into his chair, tone going flat.]

Yeah. Funeral home, too. I'll do that.

[There's something hot and burning in his chest that he tries to ignore. He pulls out his phone and just holds it for a bit, not even watching to see Sherlock leave.

While the other man is away learning Pashto, John will go through the motions. There are people to call... Clara first, then Harry's work. Clara is the hardest. She sounds genuinely pleased when she answers. God, he'd always liked her. She's sobbing not two minutes into it. Harry had been the one to walk away from her, after all. He doesn't know any of Harry's friends, but there's family to tell. John just sends out an email. He can't do calls with cousins and the like he barely talks to, as is.

Mrs. Hudson helps with finding a funeral parlor, at least, brings him tea he doesn't drink and biscuits he doesn't eat.

When Sherlock returns, he'll find the doctor sitting where he's been left, scrolling through a list of Afghan War veterans. None of the names are particularly jumping out at him.]

[howdull]

[It's not Sherlock that disturbs John first while he's scrolling through the list of veterans, it's Mrs. Hudson come back up the stairs. She's holding a parcel in her hands, chattering away with her voice just slightly higher than normal as a hint of how upset she is for one of her two boys.]

John, this was just delivered for you, I thought I'd bring it up for once since-- well, you know, you have enough on your plate at the moment.

[She shifted it to hand it over, paper ripping a little.]

Oh-- that's shoddy wrapping, that is. Hm, oh, bits are falling out.

[A piece of paper that flutters to the floor. What used to say B is for Baby, now says B is for Baker Street. A piece of the parcel in Mrs. Hudson's hands can be seen blinking, a little red light on a regular pattern.]

[jumpthegun]

[John barely has time to think. Oh, god. IED. How big? There are people out on the street. Can't just toss it out the window. They might get hurt. Alleyway? Narrow street. Might impact the other buildings, but broken windows and busted bins are a small price to pay. Or he could do the bathroom. Contain the blast.

He's up and lunging for her, even as the thoughts race through his head. John grabs the package and shouts.]

Out! Out, it's a bomb!

[Mrs. Hudson startles, eyes wide. He can see the protest coming, and snaps, military-style.]

Martha Louise, front door. Now!

[She goes running and John follows her out the door. Where Mrs. Hudson goes down, John stays the course, tossing the package into the bathtub, ripping the medicine cabinet off the wall and throwing that down on top of it. It'll increase the shrapnel, but John's out and slamming the door a moment later. He's more intent on slowing the blast. While he tries to get out, too.]

[howdull]

[The package weighs a significant amount and feels slightly malleable under the paper, likely semtex, and that much of it will definitely destroy the flat if not the entire building that the flat is part of. Maybe even the flats either side next door and Speedy's below too, and there's not nearly going to be enough time to evacuate everyone.

John gets to the doorway just as it goes off, a white rush of sound and then heat at his back that will propel him on a concussive wave out of the door and into the street. Debris begins to fall all around, people are screaming, car alarms are going off up and down the street, and a fire is raging up in 221B.

The building, thankfully, hasn't collapsed yet and people are starting to emerge from Speedy's, but not too quickly.]

John-- oh, John.

[Mrs. Hudson hurries over to him, her cheek bleeding where a shard of glass from a blown out window hit her just below the eye.]

[jumpthegun]

[Disorientation, a searing pain at his back from the burns, and tinnitus are John's reward for remaining conscious through that. He tries to push himself up and looks to see Mrs. Hudson's lips moving. What she's saying goes over his head, though.]

Mrs. Turner. Get her. Buildings...

[There will be other people calling the police, calling ambulances. If Mrs. Hudson can walk, she needs to run and fetch their neighbor and her married ones, if they're home. Might not be. Middle of the day. Good chance people will be gone to work.

It's a challenge just to get to his knees, and John rolls over as Mrs. Hudson frets before finally hurrying to rescue her friend. If the buildings either side do start to collapse...

His home is in flames. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson's home is in flames because of him. B is for Baker Street. Family, home... friends have to be next.

It's a lucky thing there's a police presence in the area from earlier, at least. It means the response is minutes in coming, people to help as the fire brigade roars up later. John's vaguely aware that someone is helping him up, moving him back and away as people are pulled out of Speedy's and fire hoses start to blast water at the building.]

[howdull]

[The sing of sirens is lost in the aftermath of the explosion, but soon there are several police cars, two fire engines, and four ambulances. Two paramedics hustle over to John and one of them, a pleasant woman with red hair and freckles, bends down to look in his eyes.]

Dr. Watson, is that right? Can you look at me a moment, love? Can you hear me?

[She's directing for a gurney to be brought out, he has some burns on his back that need treatment and she wants to get him to the hospital.]

Dr. Watson, Detective Inspector Lestrade is here, he wants me to make sure you're all right.

[jumpthegun]

[He has to strain to hear her over the ringing in his own ears. She looks nice. Very nice. His eyes are unfocused, though.]

Mrs. Hudson, she was hurt.

[Lestrade should take care of her first.]

[howdull]

Someone will be taking care of her.

[Her words were soothing and slow.]

I want you to come and lie on your front on here, okay? I'll give you a shot for the pain and we're going to take you to hospital, is there anyone we can call?

[jumpthegun]

Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. He's at the library. Text him.

[He's aware, as a doctor, he needs to be cooperative. As a doctor, though, he's also aware that there are other people in more trouble than him. John tries to wave her away, and then a thought occurs. An incredibly paranoid thought.

Unfocused or not, John's gaze tracks down to the woman's hands. How many fingers does she have? Why is she giving him a shot? Did Lestrade really send her. Without even confirming, he starts to shift away.]

Who are you?

[She has a perfectly legitimate pair of paramedics with her and an ambulance, but that doesn't mean anything.]

[howdull]

My name is Tracy Wells, I'm a paramedic, love.

[She has ten fingers and her nails are both cut very short and kept utterly clean of anything like nail vanish. Can't wear that on duty.]

Come on, Dr. Watson, please let us help you. Can you get onto the gurney yourself, or do you need some help?

[jumpthegun]

[The explosive, the chaos of it, all of this is taking him back to Afghanistan. He leans farther away from her and shakes his head, swaying for a moment. Danger. There's danger here. She might be working for the Alphabet woman. Or she might be the next victim. C is for Caring?]

You're in danger. She might be watching. Help someone else. I'll get a cab.

[He looks around, but there aren't any taxis in the immediate vicinity, police have set up blockades at either end of Baker Street. C is for Cab. He'll walk. He'll just walk. He needs to get up first, though.]

[howdull]

[Trust issues. Isn't that what his therapist said, and what Mycroft had confirmed in his little black book? The paramedic doesn't know that, though, and she looks confused and concerned at his response.]

You're not in a state to get a cab, you have burns on your back, okay? Who do you think is watching us?

[She gestures to her partner, a stocky man with no hair at all, who starts to prepare a syringe of something to help him relax.]

We're here to help you, Dr. Watson.

[jumpthegun]

The woman with nine fingers.

[He can't put this woman, Tracy Williams, in danger. John pushes himself up to standing and stumbles, having the steady himself on the gurney. John's eyes catch on the syringe being prepared.]

Don't you dare drug me.

[He needs to be clear-headed if he's going to walk. And he is going to walk as he turns from them and takes a few steps. John collapses to his hands and knees with a grunt, though, the pain searing up his back and vision starting to swim. They won't have to knock him out, luckily. John finally faints the rest of the way on his own.]

[howdull]

[That wasn't ideally how they wanted to treat their patients, but at least it did get him out cold and stopped the arguments. She quickly administered morphine and a mild sedative to keep him under until he had been taken in and examined by a proper doctor.

When he did finally wake up in a hospital bed it would be on his side to avoid causing more damage to his back, an IV of both fluids and low grade morphine feed into the back of his hand.

Sherlock is sitting on the visiting chair, still in his Belstaff despite the warmth of the hospital room. His knees are drawn up to his chest and somehow, despite his long limbs, he's impossibly managed to curl his entire body into the one small NHS standard chair. His eyes are fixed on the middle distance, fingers a steeple below his nose.]

[jumpthegun]

[John struggles back toward consciousness. The morphine means he's not really feeling much from the burns but it is making everything a bit fuzzy. The tinnitus seems to have quit while he was out, at least. It will make conversation easier.]

How was the library?

[howdull]

[For once it takes no time at all for Sherlock's attention to refocus, his eyes suddenly sharpening onto John's face.]

Uninspired, only two books in Pashto.

[One of them was a Judy Blume novel, that's just low.]

Why am I your emergency contact?

[jumpthegun]

Because we live together... [And Sherlock is his best friend, even in their relatively short acquaintance... but something less sentimental there, too.] And I just got your home blown up. B is for Baker Street. Have you talked to Mrs. Hudson?

[howdull]

Started to, but I had to tune her out, she wouldn't stop wailing and it was very distracting.

[It's just a place, just possessions, he can find somewhere else. Money isn't exactly an issue for him.]

Family and home, someone wishes to systematically remove your ties to the world. You should contact Sarah, any other relatives that may be hiding in the woodwork, and any unfortunate that you believe to be a friend.

[jumpthegun]

[Sherlock's thoughts are trending in the same direction as John's for where this is going, which is never good.]

Bill, Mike... Mike's the only one still living in London.

I didn't see any symbols on the package they delivered. Just the alphabet. What's Lestrade said about it?

[howdull]

Not Bill, B is for Bill, we've had B.

[He dismisses this absent friend, whoever that might be.]

Mike may be in some danger, D could very well be for Doctor, though that could also encompass Sharon and your other colleagues.

[It was Sharon, right? John's current girlfriend.]

Lestrade has taken the note and what remains of the bomb to be tested, I have ever faith that they will return with nothing useful whatsoever. Haven't you learned by now not to trust the police in matters that require even half a brain, John?

[jumpthegun]

Her name is Sarah. And N is for Nurse or L is for Life. Bill's the reason I came home from Afghanistan.

[And god, Sarah... he hadn't even thought about that. John's hand shifts down to his pocket, but of course he's in a hospital gown, not his clothes. There's an immediate spike of panic and paranoia that he can't quite control at having his things taken away. It's normal, but his tone is sharper for a moment.]

Where are my clothes? My phone? We need to get out of here. People are in danger if I'm here.

[howdull]

The doctors have them and wouldn't hand them over to me, some nonsense about a breach of policy.

[He doesn't argue that John makes it more dangerous here, because he quite patently does. Someone wants to hurt him, and that makes everyone around him a target.]

Of course, it's quite possible that B is as far as your admirer thought, that bomb could have been intended to kill you. Which would make the connection more familial based, Watson in general, rather than just you.

[jumpthegun]

[John's going to ring for the nurse with the button near his bed. He doubts he'll be able to talk them into giving his things back, but Sherlock might be able to. Or he might be able to deduce them into compliance... as cruel a tactic as that is. Needs must. It's not like John can go home to grab a change of clothes.]

I'm pretty sure we haven't got any family enemies anyone mentioned. And why would she draw that symbol on Harry? Why would she put her body like she did? Like a little girl.

[There seems to be some sort of message there, now John has had time to process it more... if only just.]