He always knew love was a weakness, he just didn't think it would be his.
Imogen Hargreaves is a former detective that finds herself walking right back into the life she'd left behind. Not only does drama ensue but she manages to catch the eye of t...
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In showing off to one woman, Sherlock had foiled a plan that had been months in the making.
A plane was supposed to leave for Baltimore from Heathrow tomorrow, its occupants dead and the navigation remote. It wouldn't make it to its destination before it was blown up mid air. A terrorist attack was about to happen but the government had gotten ahead of it, been able to control what was going to happen. Or at least they had - it's been shot to shit now because the terrorists know all about it.
Sherlock told Irene Adler, she told Moriarty and he told the enemy. A butterfly effect if you will.
By the time I got to Mycroft to warn him, it was too late. I stepped into his office as he got a message announcing they knew all about the Jumbo jet.
Now here we stand in the shadows, watching the consulting detective step on board and look up and down the aisles in confusion. It's the elder Holmes that steps forward into the light.
"The Coventry conundrum." Mycroft announces his presence, making his brother whirl on the spot. "What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead." He gestures to the rows and rows of deceased individuals.
"Plane blows up mid air, mission accomplished for the terrorists, hundreds of casualties but nobody dies." Sherlock joins the dots very quickly - although when doesn't he?
Mycroft hums, "Neat, don't you think?" He takes another step forward and I watch the exchange. Even standing there, Sherlock seems to have no idea what his part in this is. "You've been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages. Or were you too bored to notice the pattern?" Mycroft questions. I see the look of realisation cross Sherlock's face as he think on some of the cases that have come through his door. "We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight. But that's the deceased for you, late, in every sense of the word." The man complains.
"How's the plane going to fly? Oh, of course, unmanned aircraft. Hardly new." Sherlock tuts, hardly impressed with it. I shake my head in irritation, stepping into the light with my hands folded in front of me.
"It won't, Sherlock, and it never will." I tell him, not blinking at his shock at my appearance.
"Imogen? What are you doing here?" Sherlock asks me with wide eyes, taking a step towards me but halting when I send him a look not to.
"The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now - we've lost everything. One fragment of one email and months and years of planning, finished." Mycroft explains solemnly, gesturing to the cadavers filling the plane. I had been tempted to ask how exactly they got so many bodies without a huge uproar but decided maybe I didn't want to know after all.
Sherlock's quiet for a moment before he nods. "Your MOD man." He concludes. Wrong.
"That's all it takes. One lonely, naive man, desperate to show off and a woman clever enough to make him feel special." Mycroft says. His words strike me but I don't let it show.
