The Spider's Web
I do not own this show at all. This was inspired by The Last of Us, but I feel that it's different enough not to be a crossover. I've had about half of this on my computer for a while and as I am currently trapped in a bit of writers block I fiddled with this hoping to be inspired for my other fics. I'm not sure if this will stay a one shot or if I will continue it but I'll list it as incomplete for now. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story.
John and Sherlock ran for shelter with three long-term Infected close on their heels. The creatures hunting them barely even resembled the humans they'd been anymore. Their skin was discolored and protrusions and massive growths of fungus burst out from under their skin. They were the things of nightmares given life to chase after the two humans with startling speed. The two humans both held their guns out behind them shooting blindly in hopes of hitting them enough to stall them. The building in front of them was their goal, as long as it was clear of Infected they could barricade themselves in. the small building looked to be made of concrete and was the most stable ruin they'd seen in weeks. It had been enough to lure them out into the open where they'd been spotted. Now it was their only hope as the gun clicked and refused to fire.
One of them lunged at John and only a quick duck to the side saved him from its grasp. He put on more speed ignoring the burning in his lungs and legs to keep stride with the taller man. Sherlock ran with purpose and he didn't spare even the slightest glance back when his gun emptied of bullets. Instead he kept up his stride making sure to stay close to John even though if he chose could easily outpace the smaller man. After what felt like hours and more close calls than either of them would care to remember they burst through the door pulling it closed behind them. The Infected screamed and threw themselves against the heavy metal door landing against it with heavy thumps. The only thing that prevented a bloodbath was the fact that the door didn't open into the building.
John leaned against the door pressing against it just in case the Infected threw themselves hard enough to break the door. Sherlock ran to the side and pushed a heavy shelf. John hearing the whine of the shelf against the concrete floor ran over to pull the shelf toward the door to barricade it. Once the barricade was in place they stepped back and instantly burst into giggles. They laughed curling up to hold themselves up on their knees. They laughed giddy from the high of dodging death and turned to smile at each other. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he put the gun back in its regular spot under his waistband and John did the same with his own gun.
"As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted The Spider's Web," He spat the name like a curse. "Do not need a cure. What they need is a martyr and sadly they have decided on you John Watson to be their fallen light in the darkness. The only thing they need with you is to put a knife through your back, so if you have any intention of living you will come with me. If you value your life you will stop fighting me and start helping me."
John sighed feeling wrung out now that the rush of still being alive had gone. "I get it Sherlock I do, you don't like The Spider's Web, but that doesn't mean you can just take whatever you want from them. They're trying to help people."
"They only help themselves. As I was trying to tell you they need a new foundation on which to stand now that their network is collapsing. Can you think of a better way to bring together the few remaining battered souls left than to give them hope? Oh and what better way to bind them together than to take it away. See John if I did the stupid thing and let them take you at the end of this journey you'd be dead and any real hope for a cure goes with you." Sherlock turned to John his eyes ever changing color had turned a terrifying liquid silver in his rage. He prowled toward John with that same deadly grace that John had come to both fear and admire. His mouth was cruel twisted in a scowl that left no doubt to the depth of the utter hatred he had.
John shook his head his face however remained blank in confusion. He turned toward Sherlock looking up at the taller man with one eyebrow up. "Why do you think that they're not looking for a cure? What makes you so certain of it?"
The scientist paced back and forth his coat billowing out behind him like a cape from the comics John had scavenged from the mall as a teenager. "Nothing is more dangerous than a cornered animal and the Spider's Web have been chased into the corner. They are losing members left and right. They are being picked off one by one. They only have Moriarty to lead them and you've met him he isn't exactly leadership material. They need something more than the soldiers are evil or the rations are running out or if we don't fight back we'll die. Those phrases have lost all their bite; time has eroded away their effectiveness. See what they really need now is something to rally behind and nothing says rally like revenge. If the soldiers were to kill the only immune infected the only hope this world has ever had for a cure well what could be more worthy of vengeance than that." Sherlock said his voice cold his hands moving with every word.
John shook his head his eyes narrowed. "And what makes you think they won't rally behind a cure?" he crossed his arms putting all his weight onto his good leg out of habit.
Sherlock gave him a tight lipped smile that turned into a fang filled grin that was anything but friendly. "Once they have a cure what's to keep the unwashed masses loyalty. Who's to say the Spider's Web would share it in the first place. If there was a cure for The Infection, the only cure for The Infection, can you imagine what people would be would be willing to do to get their hands on even a chance of safety? If the supplies are rare and there isn't enough to go around people will riot. All keeping you will do is cause chaos and thanks to that you're more valuable to them dead cure or no cure. To me however a live test subject to provide a steady supply of samples would be invaluable. So who do you trust the animal in the corner or the scientist who's actually passionate about his work?" He threw himself down gracefully into a battered old armchair popping the k on work.
John looked down at Sherlock his brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I trust anyone these days. Everyone's gone crazy in one way or another." He shrugged. "Not much use for trust in a world gone mad is there?" he gave a grin that was part sarcasm and part genuine amusement.
"Good there may be hope for you yet." Sherlock said with a smirk.
John reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small cardboard box he turned it over in his hands a couple of times before holding it out to Sherlock. "Found this thought you'd appreciate it given all the moping you've done."
"I don't mope." Sherlock held out his hand and John not so gently put the box in it, before he threw himself onto a couch. It looked worse than the armchair but was infinitely better than lying on the floor.
Sherlock opened the package and pulled out a cigarette he took a sniff and made a face. "Ugh low tar."
"You're lucky I even found that package you git. You try finding cigarettes in the middle of nowhere." John said with his arm over his face the words muffled by the tattered remnants of his jumper sleeve.
Sherlock lit one of the cigarettes and took a long drag from it. He spoke releasing a white puff of smoke with each word. "It's impossible to sustain a smoking habit these days."
"That's good news for breathing." John piped up from his spot his arm now falling gracelessly off the side of the couch.
Sherlock groaned sounding more like a petulant kid than a fully grown man. "Breathing, breathing's boring."
"Not for the living Sherlock." John stretched out on the coach and groaned as it strained his sore muscles. "Think this spot is safe enough for tonight?"
"The structure is surprisingly sound, the windows are too high to reach, there is a large standing metal cupboard that would be hard to move, the air is fresh so the vents are clear, and there is only one door. I doubt we'll find anything safer and given what we just went through to get here I'm not eager to try." Sherlock said the eye roll visible in his voice as well as on his face.
John sat up moaning from the pain in his muscles and shuffled through his bag. "Well I'm starving right now. So beans, some stuff some idiot decided to call canned bacon, canned bread, cherry pie filling, peaches, fruit salad, or green beans? What would you like for supper?"
"I thought you caught us a couple of rabbits earlier?" Sherlock said as he looked over at John.
"I did but for once we have a surplus of canned food and a fresh hunt. Who says we can't have rabbit with cherry pie sauce?" John said looking at a can with a missing label.
Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh. "A decent sense of taste would object to that."
"No one has a decent sense of taste anymore. Not when everything we eat comes out of a can that expired ten years ago and is cooked in pots that haven't been cleaned in forever." John said as he got up and picked up the torn remains of cardboard boxes and the broken bits of old wooden furniture that were strewn through the room.
He then gathered whatever rocks he could find to create a small barrier. Once he had enough he formed a small flame pit and began to start a fire in its center. Sherlock watched him from his chair smoking quietly looking like he hadn't just run for his life. A silence settled over them as John coaxed the fire to life and pulled out the rabbits. They had been gutted when he'd caught them, but he still needed to skin them before he could cook them. He pulled out his knife wondering for a moment if it would be worth it to save the skins.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this." Sherlock said suddenly his voice soft but heavy with bitterness. He gestured to John absently flicking ash from his cigarette as he did. "We were never supposed to be friends. It was supposed to be simple, capture the specimen and study the anomaly. The only friend I ever needed was The Work and you are nothing but a distraction. So why am I so fond of you?"
John laughed the same bitterness in Sherlock's voice finding its way to his. "Well I wasn't exactly expecting to like you either; you did kidnap me after all. From people who I thought were helping me at that. Maybe we're both developing Stockholm Syndrome."
Sherlock looked at him as if he was being particularly dull a look he was getting used to. "I didn't kidnap you I rescued you from those idiots."
John laughed the bitterness draining away replaced by pure amusement. "By kidnapping me."