The red numbers ticked ominously, counting down… to what exactly? Poison gas? Explosion? An oven full of cookies? He was pretty sure it wasn’t an oven of cookies but he was trying to think positive.

“I’d be careful if I were you… one wrong move and our planet gets wiped of life.”

He told her unhelpfully. Her response was just as unhelpful.

“It’s hardly our planet. It just D.C. and surrounding areas…”

He was silent as he contemplated her grim words. The woman across from him was completely straight faced, no sign of emotion in her eyes as she surveyed the detonator in front of them, hidden in a silver briefcase, hidden even further in an abandoned industrial basement.

“Is that–?”

“Yes, moron, it’s sarcasm. I’m an introvert! Not a sociopath!”

He pouted, his lower lip stuck out like a child.

“That’s not disarming the bomb.”

She had to admit he was right. But the truth was she didn’t know how to even begin.

She was a journalist! Investigative, yes but never before had she tried to uncover a terrorist plot. She really didn’t mean to… she was just trying to write an article about foreign food packaging. She didn’t think that people sent individual bomb parts in boxes of cookies!

She watched as the numbers counted down from two minutes. A minute went by, to afraid to touch even the silver case, let alone one of the buttons or wires.

“Sherlock Holmes should have figured it out by now.”

Came her nephew’s smart response to the fifty-eight second left.

“Shut up.”

He rolled his eyes but she didn’t notice. She had an idea now. Suddenly she found herself dumping out her purse on the damp, gritty concrete and sifting through the small mountain for… her multi-tool. Amazingly useful little things sometimes. She pulled out the blade and cracked the plastic casing around the timer.

“What are you doing?! Your going to set it off!”

She shushed his worrying with a glare and set to searching through the wires. There it was! She pressed it but the clock kept ticking, counting until…

“Three seconds!”

Three seconds lasted for five seconds. Five seconds turned into ten…

“What did you do?”

She grinned sheepishly.

“Sherlock… season three?”

His face creased in confusion. He always knew his aunt was eccentric but he still found himself constantly surprised, especially by her next words. ““There’s an off switch. There’s always an off switch. Terrorist organizations can get themselves in a lot of trouble with out them.””

She quoted. He stared at her dumbly.

“So you saved D.C. and the surrounding areas with your love of television and ridiculous memory for useless knowledge?”

“Well… it wasn’t useless… after all, I did save D.C. and the surrounding areas!”

She said it so chirpily, as if this was just another day.

“With that logic… how are you not dead yet…?”

“Luck? I don’t know, kid but stick with me and maybe some of my luck will rub off on you!”