Before Falling yet After Drowning

Chapter Eight

"Doc?" the stranger tried again weakly. Still no response. 

The man gently moved the Doctor onto the ground and stood up. His blue eyes stared intently at John. "What happened?" he demanded. 

John was quick to shrug. "Don't think that I've got any idea."

He turned to Sherlock. "And you? Got any ideas you want to shed some light on?"

Sherlock pushed his eyebrows together. "What do you mean? You saw what happened. For god's sake, you shot one of the damn things. You're telling me you're ignorant enough to have already forgotten?"

The stranger displayed a dumbfounded expression, matching the one that was surely also on John's own face. "Forgotten what, exactly?" The stranger asked. 

"The aliens." He said shortly.

"Aliens?" The stranger repeated. "Would you mind telling me where?"

Sherlock sighed. "Well obviously they're gone now, but they were definitely here. They're the ones who attacked the Doctor."

The other man straightened up so that they were at the same height. "Listen, buddy. I just met you, and the moment I did, something happened to the Doc. So if there are any aliens here, who's to say that it's not you?"

Sherlock twisted his lips into a wry smile. "I could say the same," he replied, turning away. "But I won't. Because you're into the business of hunting aliens, like the Doctor. That much is clear, you just came back from the dead. And you seem to genuinely care about him. The Doctor trusted you, so it seems that we must, too. You both have knowledge of these things far beyond ours, and seeing as though the Doctor was our source of information, that responsibility has now fallen to you. The question is, are you up to the job?"

The stranger chuckled, shaking his blood-crusted head. "Listen, I didn't exactly start the job yesterday. Who're you to be giving the orders here?"

Sherlock's tone was clipped as he replied. "Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective. And we don't have time to argue titles, something is clearly wrong with the Doctor."

"Not you, John," he added as an afterthought as the army doctor looked over toward them. John had decided that it would be best to stay out of their way, seeing as though they'd likely both just blow up in his face if he tried to enter the conversation. All this talk of aliens was confusing him, anyways. Instead, he knelt by the Doctor, who was still unconscious. 

John began to check the man's vitals, trying to tune out the argument behind him. Both of the other two men clearly fancied themselves the leader of the group, and neither were about to back down. John started by taking the Doctor's pulse, putting two fingers on his limp wrist. John then pulled his hand away to see if it was shaking, because the man's pulse seemed to be spiking out of control. His hand was completely still.

"Sherlock!" he called. 

'What?" Sherlock snapped, agitated, as John had suspected, at being interrupted.

"It's his pulse! It's- why, it's nearly double normal!"

"Good," the other man said, appearing behind Sherlock. "That means he'll hopefully be up and running in no time."

"Excuse me?" John stared at him in confusion.

He didn't elaborate. "Come on. We've got to get out of here. Especially if Mr. Brains over here is right, then we're in deep trouble. Help me carry him."

He dragged the Doctor to his feet, draping one of his limp arms around his shoulder. John moved to support his other side. They made their way slowly down the hallway. John could tell that the other man didn't have much strength in him, but he pushed on anyways. John tried to take on more of the Doctor's weight, and the stranger gave him a look of gratitude.