Sentiment

Chapter 9 | The Aftermath

A shrill ringing sound echoed between Sherlock's ears and it seemed to drown out all other noise in the detective's proximity. His eardrums felt pierced, too, as a sharp pain shot through the inside of his head, like a flash of thunder from one ear to the other.

He drew a sharp intake of breath at the unexpected pain and took a second to evaluate his conditon further. His chest hurt as well, possibly a broken rib, and his back was sore as hell. It at least beat being dead, Sherlock thought to himself. He drew another shuddering breath and as he did, dust and soot travelled into his lungs. He coughed at the sudden dry itch and the pain in his chest intensified.

"Sherlock? Oh my god, Sherlock? Are you there?"

Sherlock barely heard the voice and struggled to place it. It was familiar, but who could it be? It was a man's voice but not John's, and obviously not Moriarty's. Suddenly, he recognized the friendly, familiar voice and opened his eyes swiftly. He was grateful the light from the night outside was dark and clouded, and not bright and glaring, as pain filled his eyes. For a second he had a hard time focusing, like a microscope that needs to be adjusted to focus the lens.

As the foggy images cleared, the man made out a figure kneeling above him clad in a heavy robe and with grey hair atop its head. "L-Lestrade? Where's John, Lestrade? Where is John?"

He moved to sit but a firm hand atop his shoulder stopped him. "Take it easy, Sherlock," Lestrade said gently. "John's alive. He's a bit bruised up, but honestly, you seem worse for wear. Are you okay?"

"Fine," the dark-haired man assured shortly and determinedly sat up to look about him.

He noted that the bell tower seemed to be mostly ruins, as he gazed about. The entire floor was covered with debris, ash, glass or the remains of half a wall. Up above his head, there were several giant holes in the sceptre roof which allowed the moon light to shine through. The giant clock dial was almost entirely missing, glass and metal strewn about everywhere in the small space. Sherlock suspected the damage looked worse from the outside, however.

Moriarty certainly had done a number on the great bell tower, and it seemed a miracle it was still standing. Moriarty was right in one thing, though; it would be a long while before the bell tolled after tonight.

Glancing about him, the detective quickly came aware that Irene was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's the woman?" Sherlock asked still somewhat groggy to the head. Lestrade's frown was the only answer the consultant detective needed.

"What woman?"

"Never mind," he muttered and struggled to stand up amid the debris. "Moriarty?"

"Gone," Lestrade's tone of voice was short and it seemed plain to the other man that the DI wished he had been able to give a more positive reply to this particular question. "Are you going to explain this, Sherlock?"

The tall man frowned. "Probably. Just not to you. Is my dear brother here yet?"

It was the grey-haired man's turn to be confused. "How did you know?"

Sherlock managed to throw the somewhat elder police an impatient glare. "Big Ben just exploded. Of course my brother wants part in the action. Take me to him."

Lestrade hesitated briefly before conceding to the younger man's request. "He's with John anyway. Come on. Careful, Sherlock."

___________

Sherlock's hearing was still somewhat impaired and the ringing noise had yet to disappear when he and Lestrade finally exited the bell tower and entered the hectic streets of London.