The Watchers
When Heaven came crashing down to Earth with Metatron's spell, angels were thrown into chaos. Destruction and death went hand in hand during that time, with thousands of angels in thousands of locations across the globe.
Certain humans retaliated. Angels were dangerous beings. Capable of destroying and killing with quickly and with no remorse. They were categorized as terrorists in most circles, and few organizations were doing something about it. To ensure the safety of humans around the globe they had to act. Measures were taken to rounding them up. Warding, banishing, holy fire, warded chains, angel blades.
Mycroft Holmes was in his office in the deeper parts of the MI-6 bunker in London. Where he'd interrogated James Moriarty. And where they were currently housing five angel prisoners. He'd just gotten a call about another his M.O.D men were bringing in.
He sat in the interrogation room, on the only chair in the room. His legs were crossed and his hands were folded delicately in his lap.
Two men, both as tall as he was and fifty pounds heavier, carried the angel in between them on the way. They had an arm each and her bare toes just barely touched the ground. They dropped her onto the cement ground in front of their boss.
The angel landed on her knees with a cry. As her hands were shackled behind her back with angel warding cuffs, there was no opportunity to catch herself. Her messy auburn hair fell in front of her face as she was forced to bow before the British Government.
"Leave us," Mycroft ordered softly, but the M.O.D men obeyed without question. They disappeared out of the room and the door thumped shut behind them. Mycroft leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees, conflicted deep inside himself. And already searching for a solution.
Silence stretched out in which the only sounds were labored breaths from the angel and the hum from the air conditioning unit.
"I thought you got away," he finally said. She didn't reply, so he spoke again, calling to her. "Naomi?"
She sucked in a breath and tipped her head up to meet his eye. Her face was already bruised, a split lip and blood from her nose from the fight that resulted in her capture. "My injury…I couldn't get away, they cornered me."
"Will you live?"
"Can't guarantee that if your men get a hold of me again, but I will recover in time otherwise."
Mycroft left the chair to join her on the floor. There was no camera nor recording equipment in this room. And the mirrored observation room was empty and locked. No one would know his involvement with Naomi, angel of the Lord. A friendship turned intimate relationship that went back almost thirty years now. The fallout, however, from those facts being made known would be disastrous, both for him as well as his brother. He knelt in front of her, using his hands to gently cup her face. Eyes soft and loving.
"I'm sorry," he said, brow pinched in guilt and concern. "I never meant for you to be captured."
"And yet, according to you and your government, I am dangerous. They will execute me once they've located another blade." She nearly pulled away from him.
He pressed on. "I won't allow that."
Naomi softened, relaxing into his touch as his thumbs wiped away tear stains. "I know, I'm just afraid. And in a great deal of pain. I don't want to die."
Mycroft closed the distance and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "I promise. I'll get you out. I will not see you killed. I love you."
He wanted to hold her and tell her everything he was planning for them once this nonsense was over, but their time ran short. He let her go, brushing his fingers over feather soft skin once more before he stood and sat back down. The men came back into the room. All it took was a look before they picked the angel up and drug her out.
Naomi struggled, weakly as it was, but it was enough for them to slip a gag over her mouth and knock her upside the head. She went limp in their arms. Mycroft's ice blue eyes narrowed and he already picked out fourteen ways to make them suffer for that.
There was little time. He had to get her out. He had to bring his angel home.
It wasn't many hours later when Anthea brought a visitor into his office. Mycroft raised his eyes from his laptop to scrape over the balding man. His visitor was the head of some department somewhere; someone who was still technically an underling, but who had more authority than the average Military Defense agent.
"Mr Ortega, what can I do for you?" Mycroft leaned back and steepled his hands. He'd been formulating a new plan, as well as turning over the plans already set in place. He didn't appreciate the interruption.
"We recovered a blade, sir. From the male we caught today. It's in my safe. We can start the next phase tonight."
"No," Mycroft said firmly. The next phase was execution. Mycroft needed time to get Naomi out.
"But sir? We don't have much time before their 'friends' figure out where they are. We could be looking at a siege."
"Yes, but not tonight. I'm still conducting interrogations. There's information yet to get out of them."
Ortega frowned, the action creasing his shiny forehead. "My report says the last of the interrogations has been completed. They aren't giving anything up."
"There was a female brought in tonight. I'm not done with her yet."
"Then may I have permission to begin?"
Mycroft pursed his lips. Naomi wouldn't survive an interrogation, she'd said so herself. He couldn't allow that. "Not tonight. You've done enough already. Go home, she will still be there in the morning."
The man looked like he was close to arguing but wisely decided against it. He bowed his head and left the room with only a 'yes, sir'.
Anthea caught Mycroft's eye once he was gone. Mycroft shook his head, leaned back in his seat, and breathed out slowly. "Text Sherlock. Code Wolf Cry."
Naomi had been taken to one of the many cells they'd set up for the angel prisoners. They threw her into the warded small room that lacked both a bed and a window. The door shut and locked behind them. It's not like she was unfamiliar with prisons, just normally she'd been on the outside looking in.
She'd not been relieved of the burden of the chains, but they had ripped off the gag. Her arms behind her back, she just lay there on the hard ground. Waiting.
Hours passed. Naomi dwindled. The injury to her head from Metatron's assassination attempt was serious, and she hadn't received proper care nor had proper time for healing. Not to mention the continued trauma and her bound wrists. The warded cuffs cut into her pale flesh. She was going to die without help. Her eyes closed as she focused on preserving what she could of her grace.
Eventually, the door opened. But who stepped through was not who she was expecting.
"Coast is clear, Sherlock, hurry up."
Sherlock Holmes crouched down next to the broken angel and pulled her up into his arms as comfortably as he could. Naomi couldn't see who was with him, but it had been a female voice. A familiar one. She would have smiled had she felt up to it. Instead, she breathed heavily against his shoulder.
"Easy, Naomi, we've got you. No time for the chains, just stay still." Sherlock spoke quietly. "Nat?"
"Still clear, I've got the guards timed and cameras taken care of, we'll make it." Natasha Romanova turned back just as Sherlock stepped back into the hall. "We've got four minutes to the get to the car, two minutes out of the compound, twenty-five to get across town. Piece of cake."
"We'll have cake later." Sherlock adjusted his hold on the broken angel. The three of them slipped into the darkened hallway.
Natasha's schedule was right on point and they encountered no resistance on the way out. Not that resistance would have been a problem, the Black Widow would have moved through them like a knife through butter.
Naomi's eyes stayed closed and she tried her best not to be a burden. At least her vessel had lost weight in the month since she'd been injured. The minutes seemed to drag by as they slipped out of the bunker and into the night, each jostle and motion sending discomfort through her. By the time the trio made it into a waiting car, Naomi's injuries were causing her so much pain she'd started crying again.
Sherlock, of course, had no idea what to do with that. Crying angels were his brother's department. He could take care of the cuffs though, and while Natasha drove, he loosed the metal from around her wrists. Once they dropped to the ground, Naomi relaxed on Sherlock's lap. He didn't mind holding her, at least for now.
"Traffic's minimal, we'll be there soon," Natasha said, peeking into the backseat. She caught Sherlock's eye and her brow creased in concern over her friend. "Mycroft will meet us there."
"And so will John," Sherlock added.
"Thank you," Naomi breathed out against the thick fabric of the Belstaff. She was safe, she knew that. But she longed to be tucked into the comforting embrace of her human. There was much history between them. And while she hadn't been the epitome of a lover recently, being a zealous and fierce angel leader as she was, she always made sure Mycroft was safe. Never had she thought the tables would turn. She needed him to hold her, needed to feel cool and safe. She longed for her beloved.
Natasha drove the getaway car right into Mycroft's multi-car garage. Sherlock carried Naomi into the house, weaving through until they made an appearance in the fireside den. John Watson was already there.
"Set her on the couch," John ordered, pointing where he wanted her. Doctor-mode already activated. Sherlock did as ordered, gently laying the broken angel down on the plush cushions. Natasha followed close by. All three radiated protectiveness for their little but bonded family.
Mycroft breezed into the room not a minute later, walking with long strides right for the couch. He crouched down next to it and took Naomi's hand in his, using his free hand to smooth her hair back from her face. "You're safe, beloved," he said quietly in Enochian.
Naomi couldn't bring herself to smile or reply, but her eyes opened. A squeeze of her hand spoke for her. Their blue eyes met and years might have passed at the unspoken promise to each other.
Mycroft couldn't stay crouched for long, so he let her go, only to hover near the head of the couch and watch John work. His all-seeing eyes flitted over the doctor and the hurt angel as if to ensure what he already knew would be happening. John Watson would do his best for her. He cleared his throat. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Stand there and don't get in my way," John said, but it wasn't a quip with malice attached. "I'm patching up the wounds, need to clean out the one on the back of her head too, it looks nasty."
"We weren't followed, but I'm sure the guards noticed she's gone by now," Sherlock told his brother.
Natasha came up beside Sherlock and slipped her hand into his. "That was fun, by the way, can we do that every week?"
"Unfortunately for you, most of the people imprisoned in that bunker need to stay there," Mycroft said.
John, having bandaged her torn wrists and tended the cut on her lip, was now examining the back of Naomi's head. She'd turned to face the back of the couch and he'd pulled a blanket over her lower half.
Natasha almost smiled. "You know me and prisons, you've thrown me in enough of them after all. Remember that time-" she stopped abruptly. "Someone's here."
Sherlock straightened, turning his head like a bird looking for its prey. "Question is…who is it?"
"Betting on not someone we want," John added, without looking away from Naomi.
Mycroft's jaw set in the milliseconds he took to think. "Go, check it out," he ordered. "John and I will stay here."
Sherlock and Natasha went without complaint, headed for the double doors, but the intruder had already made it in.
A larger well-muscled man burst into the room, dark eyes and greying hair. But the biggest feature of interest was the fact that he gripped the handle of a silver angel blade. His brown eyes narrowed in on Mycroft, and then the angel on the couch.
The question about whether this intruder was human or angel was answered as he flicked his hand to send Sherlock flying into the wall. Stunned, but not dead. Natasha underwent similar treatment but landed in a crouch near the window. Biding her time.
The angel moved through the room without uttering so much as a word. Both John and Mycroft were pushed out of the way, each landing in opposite corners of the room. The angel grabbed Naomi by the back of the neck and pulled her off of the couch. She cried out, weakly struggling against him. Her own blade was absent, her fading grace could do nothing. Fear gripped her in her helpless state. She had no defense, and soon the larger angel had her pinned on the expensive rug. He straddled her torso, one large hand over her heart to keep her down.
"You bitch, you traitor. Working with them while our brothers rot on the executioner's block," he snarled. "They hunt me still, everyone else is gone."
"It wasn't me, no, please, Thomas." Naomi sobbed again, stilling only as the silver blade pressed against her neck.
"Stop!" Mycroft's voice cracked as he realized he was about to watch the love of his life be slain in his own house. He pulled himself up off of the ground. Shoulders rigid, blue eyes determined. "You will not hurt her. It was under my orders that they were captured. She had nothing to do with it. Take me instead." He smoothed out his suit coat and took a hesitant step forward. "We can…make a deal."
"Mycroft, no." Naomi caught his eye, but her vision was blurred through her tears. "Please no, we can't lose you."
Mycroft's heart was beating out of his ever tightening chest. The sight of the blade on her neck, slicing into her skin. Skin he's memorized in hours of nights together. She was only millimeters from death. He couldn't lose her. Not now, not ever. She was injured and weak, it was his duty to keep her safe, whatever the cost. He took another step forward, locking eyes with Thomas. "Let her go, you have control, we will figure this out. I give you my word. I'll do whatever you want, just don't kill her."
The Holmes team had been working together for years now. They had their own skill sets, their own gifts. And while Mycroft had been talking to the angel, someone else had been sneaking up from behind.
Natasha Romanova procured the angel blade that was cleverly hidden among Mycroft's collection of things. She worked as quickly and stealthily in the same way that she had made a name for herself doing. With an arm around the angel's neck, she pressed the blade up into his head through his chin. His mouth gaped open, eyes shining with grace until he went limp. The blade that had been pressed against Naomi's neck fell harmless to the side.
Natasha hadn't given Thomas a chance to reconsider his opinion, but she also hadn't given him a chance to kill Naomi. The latter seemed the most likely of the two options. She wouldn't feel guilty for doing what she had to do to save her best friend. She pulled the heavy, now dead, angel off of Naomi.
Naomi herself was lost to a combination of shock and fear, tears in her eyes, and shoulder shaking sobs. Everything had happened so fast and she'd been through enough hell as it was.
Mycroft was there in a flash. He knelt down next to her and very carefully pulled her into his lap. He cradled her head right next to his and wrapped his arms around her in the hold he'd been craving since she first went on the run. She felt so small in his arms. Weak and vulnerable and still shaking with tears. But she was alive. He felt choked up and didn't know what to do about that. Aside from hold her. "Shhh, I've got you, Naomi." He whispered in his ear. "I've got you."
Naomi shuttered in Mycroft's arms and could do nothing more than simply rest in his safe embrace. She'd been terrified, broken, and weak. It'd been far too close, but for the moment, it looked like the worst was over.
For more than one reason…death was not an option.
Sherlock and John approached Natasha, Mycroft, and Naomi from two directions, the former wrapping his arm around his lover and pressing a kiss to her red hair. "Well done, milaya."
"She going to be okay?" Natasha asked, leaning back against Sherlock. She held the bloody angel blade at her side. Just in case. While Thomas had said he was the only one, they didn't know for sure.
"I think so," John said quietly, peeking down at her for signs of further injury. He spoke to Mycroft next. "Take your time, but I am going to need to check her over again before I leave. Just in case."
"Understood." Mycroft flitted his eyes from Naomi's head up to the three other living beings in the room. All uninjured, save for a few bruises, and all wearing varying degrees of concerned expressions. He was grateful for them all, but couldn't quite put it into words yet. Perhaps in time.
Eventually he let Naomi go so John could do his work. Naomi's wounds were assessed, bandaged, and she was given instructions about laying low for the foreseeable future. After the physical was completely, Mycroft picked her up in his arms. He had no plans to let her go tonight. They'd missed tragedy by centimeters, after all. And there were weeks to make up for.
Mycroft gave the three others little more than a small grateful nod before he departed, expecting them to see themselves out.
Upon reaching the sanctuary of his bedroom, he did the best he could for his angel. He pulled off her bloody clothes, helping her get into one of her silk nightgowns she kept in his closet. He changed into his own pajamas, pulling himself away and hurrying through the more mundane human tasks of caring for himself. By the time he slipped back under the covers and pulled her into his arms again, his exhaustion had caught up with him.
Naomi protested none of his, what she would have called, fussing. She tucked herself with her head on his chest and an arm wrapped around his middle. The ancient angel marveled at the feelings of safety always accompanied this sleeping position. It'd been a difficult month and some since she last saw him, between the fall and the running. It'd been for his safety. She'd missed him so.
"Is there anything else I can do?" His voice was not but a soft baritone rumble.
"Just hold me, beloved."
"Fortunately that is one of my many talents."
Naomi smiled, turning her head to press a kiss to the exposed part of his chest. There was a short hesitation before she spoke again. "I have something vitally important to share…I should have told you sooner. But with the fall and my subsequent disappearance, I couldn't…" She didn't look him in the eyes. Unsure she could bear it, even in the dim light of the bedside lamp. Her fingers curled into his soft shirt. "I...allowed a child to be conceived."
Mycroft sucked in a breath, so quickly and forcefully, his chest rose and fell underneath her head. His brilliant brain struggling to work out the facts behind what she just said. "You're…you're pregnant?" Her vessel was his age, still in the childbearing years, but just barely. Anything could happen apparently. "You," he cleared his throat. "This wasn't an accident, You meant to conceive. Why? When?"
"I did," she murmured, quietly fearful he was going to reject her. "It was our last night together. A last ditch effort of a foolish plan to try another way at gaining the power and order I craved." She sniffed. "I'm sorry. I almost lost her, after I fell. And then….then I thought about getting rid of the problem."
"Don't." Mycroft spoke firmly, perhaps too much. He softened. "Don't, I…I didn't plan on this, but I don't want you to get rid of it. I'm confident we can make it work. Together."
Naomi sniffed again, clenching her fingers in his shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm a fool and a failure."
"You are nothing of the sort," he told her. "Never. You're mine, as long as you want to be. I love you, no matter what wrench gets thrown into my plans."
She tipped her head up to look at him. Blue eyes met. "I love you too."
Mycroft's lips curled into a little smile. As much as he wanted to start preparing for this now, there was time. His here and now was his angel, his pregnant angel, and a little sleep. "You said 'her'," he prompted.
"I did. You're going to have a daughter. She'll be here in about seven and a half months." Naomi found herself smiling back. "A nephilim, half angel."
Mycroft felt immensely affectionate towards the little piece of themselves growing inside her, he wasn't quite sure how to explain it. This was an unexpected adventure, one he never intended to have. He smoothed his hand down her hair. "I'm confident she'll be as fierce and beautiful as her mother."
"And as clever and passionate as her father," Naomi scooted up to catch his lips in a soft kiss. She pulled away and relaxed back onto his chest. "She's ours."