Risen from death (Moriarty's return)

You are not going to like this

Sherlock took the binoculars from John's hand and looked at the dead walking troupe approaching. Some of them were barely recognizable since the flesh of their faces had almost disappeared by decay. On the contrary, others conserve almost intact their facial and body structure, except for some spot of rotting flesh. From his clothes, it was clear that not all of them belonged to the same era.

The numerous group approached a bit. Though they were obviously walking, they seemed to advance a lot of space in one step, challenging physical laws.

"Ted Bundy, Albert Fish, Jack the Ripper, Gilles de Rais, Richard Ramirez, Harold Shipman, Angus Sinclair" Sherlock muttered, almost for himself, shivering.

"Who?"

"The serial killers. Moriarty's company. The most sadistic criminals mankind has known" Sherlock lowered the binoculars. "Somehow, Moriarty's has risen them from the dead."

"Zombies." John shivered with disgust. "I hate them. Not alive, not dead... revolting".

"What could you tell me about them?"

"About what?"

"Focus, John! About the zombies".

"And why am I supposed to know anything about them?"

"Because you are a werewolf?"

"I only know one thing. Except for my SIG, we don't have anything to fight them".

"Well, that..." Sherlock bit his upper lip and frowned, hesitating. John scowled. "That is not totally accurate."

"What do you mean?"

"You are not going to like this"

John raised an eyebrow, breathing deeply.

Sherlock left the room and climbed the stairs, followed by a really angry about to explode army doctor. They entered into John's old bedroom. Sherlock jumped on the bed and touched a spot on the roof. With a click, a squared piece of the roof seemed to slide a bit inside the roof. Sherlock pushed it until it disappeared almost entirely inside the false ceiling. Then pulled on something, and a big long black sports bag fell onto the bed. He opened the zipper, and John gasped.

The doctor knelt on the bed and rummaged in the bag. His eyes wide almost comically when he took a Benelli M4 and looked at Sherlock, speechless. Then he took out a Mossberg 500, a Colt M1911, and a katana. He looked at Sherlock, agape. Sherlock closed his eyes, waiting for the storm he was sure John was about to unleash.

"Since when?" shouted John. "How"? He took two deep breaths. "OK, no time for this now. But when all of this is over, you and I will have an exciting conversation about hiding unlicensed military and police firearms at home," he shook his head. "You are unbelievable."

He took the Benelli and broke the action open. "Ammunition"?

Sherlock, visibly alleviated, rummaged again in the ceiling panel and produced another bag with the requested ammunition. They both loaded the firearms, John's irritation escalating, watching the expertise Sherlock showed while doing it. Clearly, he kept the guns, but he had also trained himself in using them.

"Sherly... Did you miss me?" Moriarty's voice seemed to reverberate along the flat.

Despite the situation, John couldn't help smiling.

"Sherly?" he mocked "Did it happen anything between you and Moriarty that you forgot to tell me?"

"Oh, shut up!" retorted Sherlock. He searched again in the ceiling hole and produce two pairs of military boots, two bulletproof vests, and two little black backpacks.