Chapter 4

When Sherlock and John entered the compartment where Steven and Mark were a half hour later, they were immediately greeted by papers crumpled all over the floor.

"I take it it's not going so well?" asked Sherlock as he raised a brow, looking at Steven and Mark who were both busily writing on sheets of paper they had unearthed from the satchel.

"It's going. It's a process," commented Steven, pausing in his work to pass the sheet to Mark to look at.

Steven turned to face Sherlock and John. John was looking at both of them with a look of utter disbelief, while Sherlock held a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, uncrumpling it to look at its contents. He squinted his blue eyes slightly in order to read what was recorded there.

"'Enter Sherlock wearing a fedora and dark sunglasses...'" Sherlock jerked his head up to look at Steven and Mark. "A fedora and sunglasses? Am I part of the British Mafia?"

Mark chuckled at that comment, finishing composing a line and looking up from the sheet.

"Why do you think we discarded it?"

John wandered over to start gathering the crumpled balls of paper that littered the ground like oddly shaped snowballs.

"Have you managed to come up with anything concrete?" asked Sherlock as John laid the balls of paper on a nearby table, uncrumpling some to read the contents.

"We both think we might have something," said Steven.

"It just has to be something short. It's not as if we're about to perform this for a theater," said Sherlock.

"May we read what you have so far?" asked John.

"Of course," said Mark smiling, reaching for the small stack of papers and handing it to John.

John took the stack of papers from Mark and started to look at them. Sherlock leaned over to peer over John's shoulder, quickly reading the text.

"It's quite short..." commented John after a minute.

"We can improv as we go," said Steven.

Sherlock smiled at that.

"Yes, John. We can improv. Surely, you must realize that these two men have the whole matter of composing a script in their capable hands."

Steven and Mark both shared a smile at Sherlock's praise. They both rose from their seats and walked over to John and Sherlock. John had at that point handed the script to Sherlock, and Sherlock was currently studying it closely.

"Are we ready to get things underway?" asked Steven, "Or would you like a practice run through first or something?"

Sherlock looked up from the script then, fixing his gaze on Steven and Mark.

"Of course we're ready. Lets get this underway."

Sherlock didn't move right off, still clearly thinking over something.

"What is it?" asked Mark.

Sherlock slid his eyes to meet Mark, shrugging.

"You're clearly debating something," stated Mark as he stared at Sherlock.

"I'm merely debating on whether this simplistic plan of yours will yield the results I'm hoping for. "

"I'm sure that it will, Sherlock. Have a little faith," assured Mark.

"Oh, I have faith. All I don't have is the trust and pixie dust," he retorted with a slight grin.

Steven, Mark, and John laughed as they all prepared for their short one act play.

The compartment was filled with all of the passengers on the train. It made for a very stuffy atmosphere; one in which the slightest cough or shift from any member caused a chain reaction of coughing and shifting. Mark and Steven were both standing at the end of the compartment where a small, non inhabited area made up the area for their "stage". Sherlock and John both stood off to either side. Sherlock stood up straight, looking stoic as always, while John kept nervously wiping his hands on his jeans. Sherlock kept shooting glances at John, wondering why he was so nervous. It wasn't like he was about to go to war; it was just a skit.

"Welcome everyone! We're so glad that you could all join us today for our small one act performance. We hope that enjoy what you view."

A small round of applause went out from the crowd already, and Sherlock exchanged a look with John. These people were super happy for being on a possibly bomb inhabited train.

"So, without further ado, please enjoy our skit, 'If It Kills Me'."

Sherlock coughed then, not because of the cough that emerged from the back of the crowd, but because of the title that they had produced for their skit. Mark caught on to what Sherlock was doing, and shot him a look. Sherlock cracked a smile then, chuckling as he walked out into the open space; onto the "stage".

Sherlock walked slowly across the small space that made up the stage with a small handful of papers, casting looks once in a while at the audience. John entered from the opposite side, bumping into Sherlock. Sherlock over dramatically threw the papers up into the air as John bumped into him, causing them to scatter everywhere. Steven and Mark did face palms behind him. That action was really over acted.

"I'm so sorry," said John as he bent to help Sherlock pick up the papers. As Sherlock was bent down, John dug out a knife and pretended to threaten Sherlock with it. Sherlock, being over dramatic once again, made his eyes as wide as quarters.

"Say one word and I'll kill you, understand?" he whispered in his ear.

Suddenly Mark walked out onto the stage, once again playing Sherlock's brother. He stopped in his walk as he saw John and Sherlock kneeling down near the papers together. He didn't notice the knife like it was written in the script.

"Hello, brother mine. Do you need help gathering up your papers?"

Mark was in the process of bending over to help when John hissed in Sherlock's ear, "Tell him to go away, or I'll kill him."

The crowd gasped at what John had said; some placing their hands over their mouths as if they were holding in a cry. Sherlock hid his eye roll and replied, "Don't kill him. Your grudge is with me, not my brother."

"How noble! The noble ones always have a way of being the heroes in shining armor, don't they?"

"What are you two talking about?" asked Mark as he was now bent down next to them.

"Tell him to go away now," hissed John again, pretending to look like an angry psychopath.

"Brother mine, we've got it covered...It's alright."

Mark made no move to move and John got angry. He pretended to turn and stab the knife into Mark's stomach. Mark made a pretend gasping noise and collapsed onto the ground. Another round of gasps rose from the crowd.

"I warned you!" stated John, "And now your brother must die!"

"But why? I didn't mean for your sister to disappear!" called out Sherlock. "I didn't think that mission would have been dangerous for her!"

"Who were you to decide? It was her life, not yours!"

As John turned his attention to Mark, Sherlock turned to scan the audience with his eyes. His eyes immediately gravitated toward anyone that was playing with their hands, which was a good majority of them. In his mind palace, he managed to quickly deduce what each person was doing with their hands. Slowly a small smile played its way onto his face. He saw someone near the back of the audience that looked a bit suspicious, playing with a cellular device that looked awful similar to a bomb control.

Steven, who could see the small smile on Sherlock's face, was flattening his hand and repeatedly bringing it back and forth in front of his neck to tell him to drop the smile because in the act his brother was dying. Mark lay on the floor still as John stood above him, pretending to get ready to finish him off.

"All lives end! All hearts are broken!" declared John as he brought the knife over his head.

Instead of turning to stop John from pretending to stab Mark through with the knife, Sherlock slipped forward and started to work his way through the crowd. The suspicious man at the back saw Sherlock's approach and, with wide eyes, turned to quickly flee from the scene. Sherlock was fast on his heels though, and pushed through the door after him.

By this point, John noticed that Sherlock was running off after a suspicious character. He held tight to the knife as he quickly ran after Sherlock. Steven and Mark pushed through the crowd shortly behind John, not wanting to get left behind.

As the three of them left the compartment, all of the passengers swiveled to look after them. After a minute or two of complete silence passed by, a small child at the front of the audience vocalized the thought that was running through everyone's minds as they listened to the distant shouts from the pursuit.

"Is the show over?"