“There are at least forty major terrorist organizations that might know about the RIs.” That was another sign of nerves: usually, he meandered through his Mind Palace in blissful silence, which meant John was free to read or catch up on television.
“Isn’t that your brother’s problem?”
“If they get hold of a viable Solanum sample? It’s everyone’s problem,” Sherlock snapped, lifting his hands to rake his fingers through his hair.
Pritchard emerged from the office she’d been checking and walked over to them. “Let’s not buy trouble we don’t have.”
Terrorists, zombies, and a countdown to nuclear annihilation, John thought grimly. As far as trouble went, there wasn’t much more that they could buy.