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BREAKING NEWS: EXPLOSION AT ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL, LONDON
HELP LINE: (+44) 1234 4567 89
Last updated 16th June, 20:12 GMT
An explosion occurred at St. Bartholomew's hospital at approximately 6 o'clock this evening, partially destroying part of the upper floors and roof.
Little is known at the present time about the explosion, though speculation suggests that it was the result of a faulty gas pipe. Flames can still be seen on the top of the building, as well as a large amount of black smoke.
People still appear to be evacuating the building. Fire and rescue personnel at the scene have deemed the building to be "dangerously unsafe". Police and hospital staff are refusing to comment at the present time.
The precise number of casualties is currently unknown. Authorities are currently setting up help lines for the families of victims. Local residents have been advised to remain indoors until the fires are under control.
We will update with more information as soon as it is available.
(6.47pm) UPDATE:
Detective Inspector G. Lestrade released a short press statement at 6.45pm:
"At this moment in time we are unable to comment on the cause of this explosion, though we can confirm that it doesn't appear to be the result of any foul play. The explosion occurred between 5.30-5.35 earlier this evening. As of yet, there are no apparent casualties. There is no doubt that we have been incredibly lucky; however we encourage anyone with any information about the explosion get in touch through your local authorities, or via our police help line. Thank you."
According to witness accounts, a fire alarm was set off minutes before the explosion, resulting in immediate evacuation. According to security staff at the hospital, there was no scheduled fire drill, which begs the question:
Who set off the alarm?
(7.26pm) UPDATE:
The hospital has confirmed that all staff and patients have been accounted for. As such, there are no confirmed casualties.
(8.12pm) UPDATE:
One year today, Sherly. Did you miss me? xxxxxx
---
When Jim walked through the door, he was grinning like a madman and covered in copious amounts of what appeared to be blood.
Sebastian looked the man over, and then looked him over again for good measure. His usually flawless suit was creased and scuffed, even torn in some places. He had a cufflink missing and his right hand was bruised horribly, probably broken in at least one place. Sebastian studied the small cuts that looked suspiciously like shrapnel burns on the right side of his face and on parts of his suit, the half formed bruises on his cheek and around his eye, and the powdery black ash that dusted his entire body from head to toe. He noted the large, thick trail of blood running down his face from what was probably a nasty head injury, and the fact that the man's eyes were red and bloodshot, watering at the edges, and came to the one only possible conclusion he could think of:
Something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
"What the fuck, Jim?" He exclaimed, tossing the newspaper that he wasn't even reading aside. Jim wobbled on his feet, bracing himself against the doorframe with a hand that, in all honesty, looked as if it would break in two should any additional pressure be applied. Jumping to his feet, he was at Jim's side in an instant. He carefully hooked an arm around Jim's smaller frame and half-dragged half-carried him to the sofa. He absently noted that the little bastard was far too light. He didn't eat nearly enough. Sebastian would have to fix that, but now was neither the time nor the place for arguing about how 'bad for brainwork' digestion was.
"Seb – Seb, guess what?" He said breathily, with all the excitement of a five year old (albeit a semi-sedated five year old). "You won't believe it. Go on... Guess."
"What the bloody shitting fuck happened to you? Jesus Christ, Jim, you said you were going out for a coffee run and some fresh air. Jim, this doesn't look much like coffee to me. This looks like blood." Sebastian yanked off his own jacket and thanked the lord that he had favoured a plain T-shirt that morning over some expensive shirt. Jim hated when Sebastian got blood on anything designer. Then again, Jim hated everything Sebastian wore that didn't have a label reading Westwood, McQueen or Dolce & Whatever. He placed a hand on the side on Jim's head, focussing on his eyes and the damage around them. "You're probably concussed, you idiot. How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Sherlock Holmes!" He yelled suddenly, swatting Sebastian's hand away and making to stand up. Knowing he wouldn't have made it very far, Sebastian grabbed his shoulders immediately and shoved him back down before he managed to hurt himself any more than he already had, earning a pained groan of protest.
"No, no. You've obviously been in some kind of explosion. Don't you even think about moving. Shut up and let me take a look at that shoulder." Sebastian's demands were made in the most 'shut the fuck up and do as you are damn well told for once' tone he could muster, and one that he reserved for only the most intense of situations. He hadn't really needed to use it since his military days, which was surprising considering Jim's track record. He gently unbuttoned Jim's once-white-now-red shirt, and slowly slid it and the tattered suit jacket over his right shoulder, revealing a colourful map of blues and purples, spread right across Jim's pale skin. He gritted his teeth because god damn it, he wasn't paid nearly enough for this shit. He started feeling his way around the shoulder, gently, checking for any fractures or dislocations, earning small moans of discomfort from Jim. At any other time, they would have been fucking adorable, but as it was, Sebastian was far too angry to be drawn in by any of Jim's finer qualities.
"Sherlock Holmes..." Jim whispered, all long and drawn out as it he was pondering some great philosophy that only he understood. He pressed down on Jim's shoulder just a little harder than he needed to, causing Jim to flinch, because fuck, he hated Sherlock Holmes and he hated Jim for being so utterly obsessed with him in the first place.
"...Is dead? I'm aware of that fact. Saw his grey matter splattered across the pavement. Now answer my question, what happened to you? Did a client come after you or something?" Satisfied that there were no major breakages, he slipped the shirt back over Jim's shoulder. "I'm going to take a look at your hand. It's going to hurt. Brace yourself." He said, easing off the suit jacket as gently as he could, and slowly rolling up Jim's shirt sleeve. Without warning, Jim tugged away violently, glaring at Sebastian, practically snarling at him.
"No! Listen to me! Listen to me or I'll rip out your stupid tongue and ram it down your throat!" He closed his eyes, swallowing his anger and clenching his jaw tightly as if trapping any further abuse, preventing its escape. "Sorry, I didn't - I didn't mean that." He muttered almost sadly, opening his eyes again and giving Sebastian what could only be described as the most soul-shattering puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. Sebastian gave in and stood up.
"I'll get the first aid kit. Don't move." He ordered, heading for the kitchen. The nearest first aid kit was down the back of the sofa, hell, the flat was full of first aid kits, but the one in the kitchen was by far the favourite. It not only contained the softest, most expensive bandages money could buy, but also had a generous amount of morphine, heroin, and various other painkillers of questionable legality. It was only on his way back to Jim that the man finally spoke again.
"He's alive, Seb, he's alive. Sherlock Holmes is alive." He said distantly, staring into nothing. If Sebastian didn't know better, he would say that his boss looked shell shocked - scared even, especially if his shaking hands were anything to go by.
"Jim... Holmes is a dead man. I watched that sorry sap of a doctor's heart shatter into a billion pieces . I saw the body all smashed up on the pavement. I watched them push the stretcher away. He fell – how many floors? There's no way he survived." Sebastian said, kneeling in front of Jim and beginning to tend to his hand. It felt oddly like placing a comforting hand over Jim's in an effort to say 'don't worry, it'll be alright'. Strangely, it had a similar effect as his shoulders seemed to lose all their tension, instead becoming relaxed as he exhaled heavily.
"I survived shooting myself in the head." He muttered with his eyes closed and a grin small tugging at the edge of his mouth.
"You never shot yourself in the head." Sebastian countered, wiping away ash and blood using an antiseptic wipe. He felt a slight pang in his chest at the mention of the headshot incident. Jim didn't need telling how much that shit affected Sebastian, yet he consistently failed to acknowledge just how hurt his sniper had been. In truth, his world had literally fallen apart when he believed his boss to be dead. He'd found himself without a purpose in life, wandering aimlessly between booze, cheating poker and meaningless sex, never stopping to evaluate what he was doing because it hurt too much. It was just like before, and he hated every second of it.
"And Sherlock Holmes never hit the pavement." He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Though I don't know quite how he managed it."
"Don't do that, you'll make it worse." Sebastian said, softly taking Jim's wrist and pulling his hand away from his eyes. "I'll get the eyewash when I'm done with the rest of you. What were you thinking, meeting Sherlock alone like that? You should have called me." He growled the last part, throwing the dirty wipe aside and dramatically tearing open a roll of bandages using his teeth. "Shit. I shouldn't have let you go. I knew you were in a state before you left. I get the coffee, Jim. I always get the coffee."
"I was not 'in a state'. Besides, I didn't plan on meeting him. I really, honestly didn't. I just needed to get away from these four walls and your ugly mug." He blinked, looking at Sebastian with a playful smirk, before closing his eyes. "Just kidding, Sebby. You know how I feel about your pretty face."
"You're so funny, Jim." He remarked humourlessly, turning Jim's wrist to better apply the bandage. Jim took a sharp intake of breath, scrunching up his features in pain. "Going to have to strap this up in a support, I'm afraid. I don't think it's broken, but you've definitely done some kind of wrist-related damage".
"'Some kind of wrist-related damage'. God, Seb, you should've been a doctor." He replied sarcastically, swallowing hard, clearly in a fair bit of pain. "I saw him. It was a completely chance encounter. I didn't think he'd seen me, but then I got a text from him. Here, see for yourself." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, flashing the screen to Sebastian. There was a large crack going down the centre, but it could still be read.
Looking good for a dead man, Jim. Meet me on The Roof. I have a surprise for you. I O U. -SH
"And you went? Why didn't you call me, you bloody idiot?! You could have died! You very nearly did!" He yelled, temporarily forgetting Jim's injured wrist in favour of yelling at him instead. Sometimes, it just had to be done. At times, it was as if Jim lacked any regard whatsoever for his own life, which frustrated Sebastian to no end. It wasn't easy, tirelessly working to keep someone else alive because they, for whatever reason, were too damn irresponsible to do it themselves.
"He knew about the bomb we were going to use to blow up That Bitch's house. He brought it with him, showered me with all of his little deductions regarding my plans, and told me to diffuse it or he'd blow the both of us up. Reckless, dull, unimaginative... But effective." He spoke slowly and softly, an illusion of calm. Sebastian knew that in reality, Jim was probably conjuring up a bunch of ingenious plans for revenge as they spoke, picturing Sherlock as a gruesome, mutilated corpse or some shit like that. It made for quite a pretty mental image, actually. "I pulled out my own revolver and beat him to the punch line."
"You did what – Jim. You fucking did what, what were you thinking, I- Jesus. Never mind. I don't want to know. What does Adler have to do with any of this?" Sebastian asked, confused. The last time he'd seen her, she'd made quite the impression, commenting on how Sebastian's 'over the top muscles' were ruined by his 'overall hideous posture'. She'd told Jim that she had 'imagined him to be... taller'. Knowing Jim, that precise moment was probably the point at which he had made the decision to kill her. She'd gone on to talk about insurance or blackmail – one of the two. They were the same thing, really. She'd threatened to expose Jim's plans to Mycroft "Ice Man" Holmes. That was the day that Irene Adler became known as 'That Bitch'. Sebastian hated her. Jim hated her. Everyone, in general, hated her.
That is to say, everyone hated her apart from Holmes. If he weren't so infatuated with Jim, and with his army doctor flatmate, he'd have a good shot at her. Sebastian wouldn't have minded a crack at that himself. She wasn't too bad if she kept her annoying trap shut. He was almost disappointed when he found out that the boss intended to have her blown into a million smouldering pieces. It seemed like such a waste.
"I suspect that's where he's been hiding - with her, I mean. It was carelessness on my part. The toy soldier who planted the bomb in her home told me that she had 'male company'. I thought it'd be some poor sod of a politician getting all hot and bothered, tangled in her little web of blackmail. It never even crossed my mind that it could have been The Virgin." He spat the last word with an edge of disgust. "Of course, he waltzed in and used his magical powers of deduction, which is a fancy term for pointing out the obvious and calling it 'clever', to find the bomb and come to the conclusion that only I could've been behind it."
Sebastian frowned, tying off the bandage around Jim's wrist whilst keeping movement (and therefore pain) to a minimum, before strapping on a wrist support to be on the safe side. He pulled out a fresh antiseptic wipe and a pair of tweezers, using them to get the bits of rubble and muck out of the shrapnel burns and cuts that littered Jim's face. "I thought you'd be happy. You've been climbing the walls since Sherlock took his little tumble."
"I am happy. I am, Sebby, I am." He nodded, reassuring himself more than he was reassuring Sebastian, who extended his frown at the comment. "Honestly, I mean it. Stop with the face. I just... I just wanted coffee and fresh air today, that's all."
There was a pause of silence in which Sebastian found himself just inches away from Jim's face, so close that he could feel the smaller man's breath ghosting over his own skin. Jim didn't look happy. He held Jim's head in place with one hand and gently cleaned the cuts with the other, wiping away all the nasty black ash and partially dried blood. The whole thing felt oddly intimate. There was a particularly nasty wound on his hairline, likely the source of most of the blood. He cleaned it up the best he could, taped a square piece of gauze to it, and hoped for the best. Jim was right to be sarcastic, Sebastian was a crap doctor.
Even though Jim had just nearly died, this felt nice. It was always nice when things were like this, when Jim was calm and pliant, when he was nice and relatively non-violent and they could just be together, even though Sebastian knew that it was merely the calm before the storm.
"What happened to Holmes? I hope he smashed his skull in, because if he didn't, I'm going to do it for him." He didn't even try to keep the venom out of his tone. Sebastian was born a soldier and yes, he did enjoy the thrill of the hunt. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the kill, too. But when it came to Holmes... He wanted to tear the man apart whilst he was still breathing. Perform a live dissection – a vivisection, with a conscious Holmes and an audience of Watson because no one, fucking no one, was allowed to hurt Jim like this and get away with it.
"Aw, pet, I love it when you get all protective over me." Jim whispered, nuzzling his face into to the hand supporting his head. Sebastian scoffed, as if the notion of him wanting to protect Jim like that was ludicrous, even though both knew it wasn't. "I mean it, Seb. Sebby... I'm sorry."
"You're scaring me, boss. Just how hard did you hit your head?" He placed the tweezers back into the first aid kit and threw the wipe away, never once moving his hand from Jim's face. He wasn't lying; Jim scared him when he was like this. Sebastian often allowed himself to get lost in the monster, to be taken away with all the blood and the violence and the threats and death. He'd get on with the shooting, the killing, and ask no questions about it. Jim was a criminal, plain and simple. He tended to forget that Jim was, underneath it all, still human.
"Too hard, not hard enough, oh, I don't know." He muttered as he brought his hand to rest over Sebastian's. Don't dare move. "I am, though."
"You are what, Jim, delirious?" Sebastian quipped, about to pull his hand away. He wasn't wrong. Jim's pupils were huge and his eyelids were drooping ridiculously. His speech was unusually soft and very slurred. Not exactly a good sign.
"Sorry." His grip tightened on Sebastian's hand, just barely. No. You aren't going anywhere (or I'll burn you, etc.). Sebastian took a deep breath, stroking Jim's cheek. He never knew quite how to treat Jim when he was being nice. Sometimes, it would backfire and end in a fight, end in them hurling vicious, biting remarks at one another and then spent the following days sulking at each other until the next job came along.
"What for, Jim?" He urged softly, focussing all of his attention to Jim's sharp dark eyes; Jim's sharp, dark, bruised, irritated, watery eyes. This wasn't doing him any good; the idiot needed rest and urgent medical attention, not a heart-to-heart with a fellow psycho.
"Don't. You already know." He replied, shrugging off Sebastian's hand and making to stand, almost toppling over.
"I do already know. I just wanted to see if you did. It's fine, just don't do it again." He said, tucking one arm around the back of his boss and under his shoulder, and supporting his waist with the other. "Don't worry, Jim, I've got you."
The journey to the bedroom wasn't really what Sebastian would call a joint effort. Jim supported his own weight as best he could, whilst paying little to no attention to his balance or orientation. Sebastian could do the driving, it was all fine. He just needed to get to bed and sleep it off. Everything would be better in the morning.
Sebastian set him down on the bed and pulled out a small syringe. "Morphine, it will help with the pain. It's only a one off, though, just because I feel sorry for you. Don't get any ideas." He said, tugging off Jim's shirt sleeve. He lined the needle up to Jim's vein, waiting for any sign of protest. When he was met with none, he slid the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger. The effects were almost instant.
"Wouldn't... Dream of it... Sebby..." Jim slurred, laying back into his overly large, fluffy white pillows and sighing contentedly. "Anyone would think I was... some kind of an addict..."
"You are joking, right?" Sebastian said as he rummaged through Jim's drawers in search of something appropriate for the man to sleep in. "Not an addict, my arse."
"Not... an addict. I just like feeling good. It's not a crime..." Jim paused for a moment, rethinking his answer. "...It's not a bad crime. Not compared to... the rest."
"Sure, okay. Whatever you say, boss." He said nonchalantly as he approached the bed, carrying a plain T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Jim was an addict. The number of times Sebastian had peeled a semi(or un)conscious Jim off the bathroom floor, so drugged up that he didn't even know what day it was, and spent the best part of an hour trying to rouse him whilst cleaning traces of sweat and vomit off his face... No. Normal people, non-addicts, didn't do things like that. They just didn't. But that was whole other kettle of fish, and Sebastian really didn't have the energy to be adding anything else to his 'reasons I'm going to kill my boss' list.
Joggers and a T-shirt weren't exactly Jim's ideal fashion pick. In fact, they were quite the opposite, but it would have to suffice for now. You can't sleep in a three piece, after all. It wasn't easy getting Jim changed. He wriggled and whined, kicked and tried to pull away. "Stay still, Jim, you're acting like a child." he groaned. People had put up less of a fight when he was throttling the life out of them. Hell, he'd gone up against tigers with less fight in them. When he finally managed to get Jim sorted, he felt ridiculously proud of himself.
He reached into his pocket, revealing a small bottle. "Eye drops, open wide." Jim did as he was told, for once, which was quite surprising. Jim hated eye drops. As an over grown child with a penchant for playing with dangerous chemicals and explosives, eye drops were an absolute necessity, especially considering the fact that 9 times out of 10, Jim was too irresponsible to bother with something as 'boring' as safety specs. He placed the bottle on the nightstand.
"Get yourself comfortable, that's it, there you go." He pulled the duvet over his boss, smoothing it down over him. "You're officially confined to this bed until further notice. I'll be back later to check you haven't died in your sleep." He turned to leave the room, and had almost reached the door when he heard a tiny voice.
"Wait."
"What?" He said, turning to Jim.
"Could you pass me my phone? I need to send a text." He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, rummaging through Jim's discarded suit until he found the phone.
"You're gonna be needing a new screen for that, mate." He commented, handing the battered phone to Jim.
"Oh and... stay with me... Would you?" Jim said as he took the phone. He looked up at him with the saddest, most heart breaking look on his face that Sebastian had ever seen, would ever see, and he found himself completely and utterly unable to resist. It was amazing how the vicious monster known as James Moriarty could go from cobra to kitten at a moments notice. Kicking off his boots, he climbed into the bed beside Jim and wrapped his arms firmly around the smaller man, feeling him melt into Sebastian's hold almost on reflex.
"You're adorable when you're clingy, you know." Sebastian grinned, holding Jim just that little bit tighter.
"Don't ever call me adorable." He threatened, managing to sound honestly dangerous, whilst also docile and thoroughly cute. He unlocked his phone and appeared to type a brief message with an obscene number of kisses, before carelessly tossing it aside and turning into Sebastian's hold.
"Can't help it Jim, you're such a little sweetheart when you're not dismembering folk." He pressed a kiss to Jim's head, knowing he was in dangerous territory and not really caring. Jim was a bastard and he should have called. He'd well and truly earned a bit of harmless teasing.
"Oh, I'm little now, am I? It's not my fault you're a tank." He drawled, draping an arm over Sebastian's side. "All you do is point a rifle and shoot it, I fail to see how such a task could lead to you being so..."
"Herculean? Hulking? Ripped?" Sebastian chuckled against Jim's ear, earning a sharp pinch to his side. "Ow! You little shit!"
Jim laughed.
"Try caveman. Just kidding, all of the above, you're a manly bastard and you know it. No one likes a show off, Seb." Jim seemed to breathe his words as opposed to speaking them, as if the effort alone was too much. It probably was. Poor sod had to have at least two or three cracked ribs, and smoke inhalation never did anyone any good.
"You do." He smirked, running a hand up and down Jim's back soothingly. "You're shivering a bit. You aren't cold, are you? It's not the blood loss, is it..?"
"No Seb, god, no. It's not the blood loss. I'm just... It's probably just the adrenaline." He lied through his teeth, shuffling closer to Sebastian. "I'm fine."
"And you're sure you aren't just saying that to stop me from dragging your sorry arse to accident and emergency?" He looked at Jim. His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed. He'd look so very innocent if not for the cuts and bruises that littered every inch of his person.
"Mmmm sure, pet. Just hold me."
"Poor Jim. You've really had it rough today, haven't you? C'mere." He said softly, pulling Jim closer to him and holding him tightly, gently connecting their lips and kissing him ever so tenderly, as if anything harder would break him in two. Jim leaned into the kiss and opened his mouth, a quiet moan escaping into the sniper's mouth, before pulling away and tucking himself into Sebastian. "Don't worry Jim, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." Ever.
"Seb... That's so lovely." He purred, burying his face in Sebastian's chest and clinging to his shirt as if his life depended on it. Within minutes, the shaking had subsided, and Jim's breaths came in a slow, steady rhythm.
Sebastian's heart clenched. He didn't really know what love was. He'd never had a long-term relationship, never thought he "loved" anyone, not even his own parents. Love was for ordinary people. Love was for people who didn't make a living out of killing other people. As he ran his hands through Jim's hair, Jim made a soft, barely audible sigh of contentment, his hands tightening around Sebastian. He looked down at the smaller man's soft features, at his smooth skin and long eyelashes, and realised that god, it was the most beautiful damn thing he had ever seen. It dawned on him at that moment that what he had with Jim was probably the closest thing to love he had ever felt before.
And he never wanted it to end.