Cauldron-Born [SHERLOCK FANFIC]

Loyalty and Guilt

Looking down at John, Sherlock said in his rapid voice that sounded professional only because John didn’t understand what he was saying. “John, do you trust me?”

Rolling his eyes and letting out an audible sigh, John replied in a dull voice, “I’ve had you point a gun at me, come inside the flat with a harpoon, had me wired for that ridiculous experiment that failed, and, not to mention—,”

“It didn’t fail!” Sherlock snapped as he crawled forward towards John. The floor beneath him gave just enough for him to stop and feel around for a more solid surface.

“Of course, I trust you, Sherlock!” John shouted before his body crashed through the splintering wood. He felt a hand shield the back of his neck and another support his back. He knew the fall would be brutal, but he also knew Sherlock’s protection would ease the pain. Before he had time to think further than knowing Sherlock had thrown his body against him, his back smashed against the ground and a vibrating pain shot through his spine.

“Fire, Charlie!” Sherlock ordered, still crouched over John as the horde crowded in on them. Sherlock pulled out his handgun and, using the butt of the weapon, smashed the intruding heads. He caught snapping jaws with his forearm, hoping that their teeth wouldn’t break his skin. He would drop periodically to armor John from another wave of snapping and scratching. “John, get out! When I move my leg, slip out and get to Alana and Charlie as fast as you can!”

John nodded his head in understanding and waited for his cue. He closed his eyes, shutting his senses from the howling, grunting, and yelling. He felt Sherlock’s leg knock against his, giving him the immediate signal to roll out and run. As quick as he could, the doctor flung his knees to his chest, rolled onto his stomach, and crawled out through the legs of one of the monsters.

Charlie continued to shoot, killing off three and wounding one. Alana rushed forward and took John’s hand. “Come on, John!” she helped him to his feet and didn’t escape until he found his footing. When Charlie’s magazine was empty, he snatched Alana’s and finished the rest of the creatures off. One by one, the bodies fell dead onto the ground or on top of the detective.

There was another bridge of silence. It was thick of wonderment and fear. Standing with their hands clutching each other, John and Alana stared at the heap, doubting that Sherlock was still alive. Charlie was the first to step forward, making sure that each body he encountered was dead before he moved it.

“Charlie?” John asked, hobbling forward. His bad leg was aching again, and his wrist was badly sprained. Stumbling and falling twice, John finally made it to Sherlock’s side. He placed a hand underneath Sherlock’s ear and waited to feel a pulse. He looked at Alana, his breath hitched and afraid. He wondered if his shaking fingers were deceiving him that the detective was still alive. With his eyes on his wife, he whispered, “Feel the pulse for me, Alana.”

Alana slowly came up to the three men and knelt down beside John. Carefully, but precisely as taught by John, she placed her fingers in the crook of Sherlock’s neck and waited. Her brows weaved and worked in concentration as repositioned her fingers for a better analysis. Her face relaxed after what felt like forever, and she looked up at John with a soft smile. “He’s breathing, John.”

Charlie stooped down and picked up Sherlock’s pistol. “Interesting. One of these people struck him on the head and made to eat him. We shouldn’t underestimate these creatures’ intelligence. They’ve been heightened beyond their control.”

Relieved that his friend was all right, John let out a small laugh and leaned his head against Alana’s shoulder. “Thank God he’s all right. What an exciting day.”

“We should burn the bodies and find a place to huddle in until we know what to do,” Charlie suggested, scratching the back of his neck with the tip of his gun. “I can take care of that while you and Alana make sure Sherlock makes it safe outside.”

Nodding his head in approval, John and Alana each put an arm around their shoulder and carefully hauled the detective out of the barn. Charlie stayed behind like he said he would. John figured it was because he wanted to think by himself—something that reminded him much of what Sherlock would do. When he and his wife placed Sherlock on the ground, his head resting on Alana’s knees, John said quietly, “Alana…”

“What is it, love?” Alana peered at John’s face, trying to read his wrinkled brow before he answered her.

“He’s been bitten.” John pressed a hand against his forehead and inhaled deeply. “The spine. The skin’s punctured and he’s bleeding.” Chewing the inside of his lip violently, he looked up at the boy and said, “We need his blood. And we need it fast.”

Alana reached out and touched John on the shoulder. “John, we have to think about this—at least for a moment!”

“No, Alana, not this time. From what Sherlock has told me, the boy’s blood cells are coated with this protective serum that makes him immune to these monsters. I need that—and I need it fast.”

“John—,”

“Alana!” John struck the ground with a balled fist and looked up at her, his body shaking. “We can’t let him die like this. And from what I see, this stuff acts fast. If you’re not comfortable with getting the boy’s blood, then we’ll look for the father. But I can tell you which one will be faster—and it won’t be locating some scientist!”

Pondering on her husband’s words and looking frequently at Charlie, Alana said under her breath, “All right. I’ll talk to Charlie.” She slipped out from underneath Sherlock’s head and headed for Charlie. John stayed behind, wishing he had stayed behind and fought alongside Sherlock. But he didn’t. And because of that, he was determined to save Sherlock—no matter what.