So. Sorry this wasn't posted yesterday.
BUT. On another note... You guiz are so awesome. All these reviews make me smile and want to write. Another chapter will be potted later on tonight in honor of you awesome readers and because I'm torturing you.
There is no kissing in this chapter.
I know, I know, I'm sorry! I want to make this oh so painful for you all because I'm a cruel, cruel bitch.
No, no. I'm kidding. I love you guiz and I'm really enjoying your reviews and thoughts. Really. I took your advice and wrote the Mycroft breakdown. But that's all I'm telling you about it. It happens. I really hope it's to your liking. I tried ok? I tried.
Also: My sister helped me with the Mormor in this one. She had some really funny ideas and I needed to use them. She's great to brainstorm with. So. I hope you guiz enjoy this. I really do. And I hope I did a good enough job to live up to what you guiz have been saying about this fic in your reviews.
Current Song: Shake It Off by Florence + The Machine
Current Thought: Gonna break for food and pod-ficing but I will be back loves. Till then, re-read like hell and enjoy!
Another Brick In The Wall: Part Seven
Fuck. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Jim had obviously lied about what the fuck that bomb was made out of. It wasn't even supposed to be a bomb. Just a small, controlled explosion. How could Sherlock have been that stupid? How? Last time he was every going to put any stock in something James Moriarty said.
Sherlock coughed a bit, looking through the haze of cement dust and brick. The air smelled like pure chlorine and brick-dust and he found himself choking on it with every breath. But he didn't care, he had to find John. John who had shoved him out of the way and into the pool, the water absorbing most of the shock from the explosion and keeping Sherlock relatively safe, although he had hit the bottom with a thud and was bleeding profusely from his forehead. That was nothing compared to how John must be faring. John, his John. Sherlock had to find him.
"John! John? JOHN!"
Sebastian spit out blood and groaned as he rolled over, looking to the side where he had been lying only minutes before. His things were smashed now, and although he didn't pride himself in being a guy who was overly concerned with the material, he did feel a pang of sadness at the thought that his rifle was in pieces under the section of wall that had collapsed.
But, first things first: Where the hell was Jim?
Oh, Seb was going to end him, he fucking was, no matter how good the sex was, no matter how brilliant that man was. He was a fucking idiot. Semtex. Sem-fucking-tex. He was going to kill Jim Moriarty if that blast hadn't already. Yes, Sebastian had been the one to shoot the bundle of wire and metal and explosives, but he, along with everyone else, had been told it was going to be controlled. The look of manic satisfaction on Jim's face before he was blown backwards and the look of surprise and horror on John and Sherlock's faces as they realized they had been lied to had been warning enough for Seb.
So he was going to find Jim. And kill him. With his bare hands too. Mind as well. The bastard had gotten his favorite rifle destroyed. He was going to absolutely pay.
Or at least that's what Sebastian was going to do. Until he actually found Jim under some rubble. He could already hear the ambulance and fire department and police sirens outside, people yelling, trying to get into the small, destroyed building. But Jim was lying on his back, feet straight up in the air, his Italian leather shoes dusty and scuffed, one with a rip at the toe. He wasn't going to be happy about that. Seb, quite frankly, couldn't care less. He walked over to the man boy who was only now starting to come to, groaning a bit, then laughing weakly when Seb levered him up in his arms.
Jim smiled dazedly. "Look Seb, I did it. We, I mean we did it. Isn't it beautiful?"
Seb growled and checked the other boy out. He felt wetness at the back of Jim's head and when he took his hand away it was covered in blood. "Damnit, Jim," he swore. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
"I was thinking – that I wanted – to see – the lights," Jim ground out as Sebastian grabbed him by the waist and started to drag him out of there, his feet and therefore shoes, getting more wrecked as they slid along the ground. "Seb," Jim said, his pupils pin-pricked. He still managed to sound annoyed though. "You're ruining my shoes."
Sebastian didn't even stop walking, he simply slung Jim over his shoulder, the smaller boys torso hanging over his back limply. Jim's face was pressed to his back and he pounded his fists weakly against Sebastian's back, saying, "Sebastian, this is wrong. This is worse. I think I'm going to vomit. Seb. Sebby. Sebastian. Sebby. Seb."
The sniper-boy continued to walk, grimacing at the annoying sounds coming out of Jim's mouth. "Vomit and I leave you here," he said as he fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it haphazardly on a piece of burning debris. Jim didn't shut up though, so Seb twisted a bit and handed the other boy his cigarette. "Shut up and smoke that. It'll keep you from passing out."
Jim took the cigarette, ever mumbling. "Shut up? Me? Who does he think he is, the lackey. I'll show him." He did smoke though.
And it became blissfully quiet.
Sherlock yelled again, coughing up soot. Things were burning and melting and it was bad. John was nowhere. The pool area wasn't even that big, but it looked so much more confusing blown up.
"John! Answer me, please John!" Sherlock tried again. Oh God, John could be dead and it was his entire fault. How could he be so stupid as to listen to Jim Moriarty? Never again, he vowed. Never again, it wasn't safe for John.
"John! John where are-"
"Sh-sherlock? Is that…" A cough. "Sherlock…" Weak. Quiet.
To the left and sticking halfway out from under a large section of ceiling was John. John who was covered in soot and blood, his arm or shoulder so obviously broken, on his side, a large portion of concrete on his legs. His eyes were weakly opening and Sherlock threw himself down beside him.
"John? Shit, John oh God, John I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. Oh God, can you move?" he babbled.
John shook his head. "N-no. I think… I think my leg or hip-I think it's broken," he said, his voice cracking, tears making clean tracks down his face as they fell.
Sherlock wanted to hit someone. Mainly Jim. "Fuck. Fuck. John, hold on, someone's going to come for us, I heard the police and ambulances, they're coming to get us." He had, much like Sebastian had, heard the authority's sirens. They just needed to hold on. Sherlock scooted over near John's head, putting it in his lap. "I'll be right here, I promise. I won't leave."
John tried to protest, tried to tell Sherlock to go get help, but the other boy wouldn't move. It was then that Sherlock saw a shadow hunched over a bit, going around them. He squinted, trying to make out the figures. It looked like there was someone slung over another person's shoulders. His eyes widened as he realized who it was. He shifted a bit to try and get a better look.
"Sherlock, what are you-" John started.
"Moran! Moriarty! You bastards! Get back here!" Sherlock yelled.
Sebastian stopped and turned. "What?" he yelled over.
"Help me get this off of him!" Sherlock said, gesturing to John.
Sebastian looked at them, stuck, but together, just like he was with Jim, Jim who bleeding out and slung over his shoulders. They would be fine, as long as they had each other. He shook his head, much to Sherlock's chagrin. "No. They'll come in for you. I need to get him out." He didn't apologize because he honestly didn't mean to. He had nothing to apologize for.
Sherlock's face scrunched in anger until John said softly, "Sherlock. Look at Jim, over his shoulder." The back of Jim's head could be seen, matted with blood. Sherlock's face didn't soften at the sight, not one bit. "Let them be," John said. "I'll be fine."
And with that, Sebastian nodded John, who understood a bit what he was feeling, and walked away from the other two.
Mycroft was silent the entire drive back and he was so tense that Greg was afraid that if they went over a bump, Mycroft would snap at the action of being jostled a bit. They didn't say a word to each other, and mostly because Greg had no idea what to say to him. What do you say to someone when they discover that their little brother has had a building collapsed on top of him?
Nothing, apparently.
"Mycroft-" he tried.
"Gregory, please," he said coldly, his face blank. "Shut up."
Greg's mouth snapped closed and he looked straight ahead. He chose not to take the comment to heart, judging by the way Mycroft's hands were so tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles were white. After a few more minutes and a few more exits, Mycroft finally turned his head a bit and spoke.
"I'm sorry that was-"
"Its fine," Greg said as gently as he could. "I get it. Just… just drive Mycroft."
And he did. He silently drove them all the way back to the school's campus and ditched the car right in front of the destroyed pool-house with the other police cars. There were a few of them and two ambulances, along with a fire-truck. They were putting out the fires around the area. Half of the ceiling had collapsed, the doorway a mess of cinder-blocks and metal and steel. Glass was everywhere and there looked like there was no way to get inside, where it must be worse. The smell of chlorine was everywhere though, and there was a slight tremor in Mycroft's hand as he got out of the car, gripping his brolly.
Around the area of destruction, there was a crowd of students and teachers alike, all right at the edge of the caution tape they had put up, just to block off the area. Mycroft dismissed it, going right under it after pushing people out of the way, Greg following close behind. A few people stared at his new hair-style, but Greg was ignoring them, because they honestly weren't important. He followed Mycroft, the other boy going straight to the officer in charge.
"What are they doing to get those boys out?" Mycroft asked coolly, not even twitching. It looked like his mouth was barely moving.
The officer turned to look at him, surprised that he had gotten through. "Look, son, you can't be here-"
"I can be where I please." He glared and said, "Mycroft Holmes."
Apparently that meant something because the man said, "Oh. Sorry sir." He swallowed. "We're getting a team together and they're going in now. We don't know how many survivors there are." Mycroft's lip twitched at that and Greg felt his stomach drop. This wasn't very good at all. "So far as we know, there were only four boys in there when it happened, though we can't figure out how. Gas leak, they're saying."
Greg wasn't really surprised when Mycroft didn't correct the man, but kept quiet about the boys blowing the place up. "Yes, I imagine it was. Four, you said? One of them is my brother, Detective. I expect to be updated on the goings-on of your search, is that clear?"
The man's eyes widened. "Your…? Yes. Yes sir, of course." People started yelling, asking questions and the officer looked hassled, turning away. "A moment sir," and he gave an acknowledging nod to Greg. The detective turned to the crowd and said, "Look, you all have to take a few steps back please. And we don't know much right now. It would be appreciated if you could just-" The students and teachers cut him off with more yelling and questions, fears and hopes. He tried, he really did, but they wouldn't listen, a few actually trying to get under the tape and having to be taken away by other officers. Nothing was going to get done if this was left to happen.
Greg didn't know what it was. Maybe aggravation at the school's inhabitant's stupidity. Maybe he really had grown attached to the four idiots that were trapped in there and he really wanted them out. Maybe it was the absolute empty hopelessness he saw in Mycroft's eyes that the other boy refused to show on his face. Whatever it was, he was glad for it. It felt a lot like standing up to them all.
He walked over to where everyone was crowded and, before anyone got a negative comment out, he yelled, "Stand back, you morons, and shut up. Did you not hear the man? They need you to get back. You tossers aren't fucking helping. So stand. The fuck. BACK!"
There was a moment of absolute silence, and then, without a word, the entire student body took a giant step backwards and slammed their mouths shut. Many looked at Greg in awe, some in fear, others in confusion. A small ripple of whispers went up in the crowd, saying things like, "Is that Greg Lestrade?" and "Nah, can't be," or "Holy fuck mate, I think I just pissed m'self."
Greg stared at them all a bit angrily and then turned on his heel. Mycroft had only a small line between his eyebrows. The other officers though, looked shocked.
"Holy fuck, boy, than-"
"Thanking me won't get them out of there," Greg growled, cutting them man off. "Do your job." The officers scattered, but not the detective. He went up to Greg, gave him an appraising look.
"What's your name son?" he asked, ignoring the look Mycroft spared him.
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Gregory Lestrade."
The man nodded. "Well, Gregory Lestrade. You may have a future at the Met, the way you're going. Look me up if you're interested. Ask for Detective Inspector Steven Gatiss." He nodded to Greg and then went off to supervise his men.
Greg swallowed and then nodded to Mycroft. "Right then," he said. They could ponder that later.
Suddenly, there were shouts from over near the entrance of the leveled building. Greg and Mycroft shared a quick look then ran over, stopping as two figures walked out, one slung over the others shoulders. The carrier groaned then swore like a sailor. Or a sniper.
"Sebastian?" Greg said. The boy in question looked up, face streaked with blood and nodded to Greg. He ignored the officers and medics who ran over to them. He wouldn't talk to them, Mycroft and Greg knew. Mycroft waved a hand at the officers, saying they would handle it, to keep looking for John and Sherlock.
Sebastian stopped beside the ambulance they were standing near, a medic looking him over. He, naturally, ignored her. "Lestrade. Holmes," he said gruffly.
Jim piped up from the back, "Let me down, Sebastian." Instead, Seb turned around so Jim was facing Mycroft and Greg. "That works too," he conceded.
"Where are they?" Mycroft said tightly. "I will end you and your friend if my brother and his boyfriend are found dead. I will end you, James Moriarty. It will be painful and it will not be quick. See if I'm lying to you, you twit. Speak. Tell me now." He showed no expression on his face, and Greg was starting to get a bit worried.
Jim though, stared at them blankly, then said, "Seb, translate. All I got from that was torture or something. He was using words that screamed caring and you know how I feel about that. Can't understand a word of that rubbish."
Sebastian said stiffly, "He wants to know where John and Sherlock are."
"Oh," Jim said, sounding genuinely confused. "Why didn't you just say? Tell them Seb."
Sebastian let Jim down first, surprisingly gentle, and then turned to Mycroft and Greg as Jim tried to regain his balance. "Last I saw, Sherlock's forehead was smashed and John was pinned under a section of wall or something." He shrugged then. "Like I said, last I saw."
"And you didn't help them?" Greg asked, horrified.
Jim glared. "Be realistic, Lestrade. It wasn't our problem. And I doubt a few teen aged boys could move that piece of cement." He blinked then, slightly swaying. "And I am about to pass out." He turned to Moran. "Sebastian? Catch me." And with that, his eyes promptly rolled into his, and his entire body crashed backwards. Sebastian snatched him seemly right out of the air, lest he do more damage to his head than already done. More blood stained his hands as he carried Jim over to the gurney.
Greg and Mycroft watched as Sebastian roughly wrestled Jim's thin form onto the gurney, jostling him much to the surrounding medics' horror. When they went to help him he held up a hand. "Oh no," he said angrily. "It's fine. I'm just a bit cross with him, that's all." Sebastian expertly strapped Jim in, though he did it with more rough-handling and slamming than entirely necessary. No one dare go near him. He was obviously angry. When he was satisfied, he started to walk away before he remembered something and went back. Sebastian snatched the cigarette hanging from Jim's slack fingers and popped it into his mouth, lips pursed, taking a deep pull.
He started to walk away for good that time, even as a medic called after him, "Sir! Sir you can't leave, we still need to check up on you. Sir!" Sebastian simply flipped the man the bird and walked on in the direction of Baker House.
"He'll be fine," Mycroft said stonily. "Mr. Moriarty, it seems, is not. I suggest you spend your efforts on him, instead of wasting them on his partner, yes?" Then man sighed and went to check on Jim, moving him to the first ambulance and driving off to the nearest hospital with the rest of his team.
Mycroft and Greg were then called over by the detective. "They've found your brother and his friend, but… the younger Mr. Holmes is being a bit difficult."
The look in Mycroft's eyes was carefully guarded as he took the walkie-talkie offered to him by the detective and said, "Sherlock?" His voice was as steady as ever.
"Yes it's me," Sherlock said, sounding a bit irritated.
"Listen to them, Sherlock," was all Mycroft said.
"No," Sherlock responded adamantly. "They want me to leave John and go to the hospital while they get him out, but it's my fault he's stuck under there in the first place and I refuse to leave him. I'm not going until he gets out, Mycroft."
Mycroft sighed, sounding weary. "Don't make me order you," he said, half-heartedly.
"I'd like to see you try," was Sherlock's stubborn response.
Before it could go on, Greg cut in. "Let him stay. We can wait until they come out, alright? There's no point in starting a war here. Pick your battles, Mycroft."
The other boy looked at him for a moment, blankly, then nodded. "Fine," he said to Sherlock. "We'll be waiting. Don't give them a hard time." He handed the device back to the detective who just sighed and nodded to them before leaving.
It took another twenty minutes to get Sherlock and John out, all the while Mycroft staying quiet. He said nary a word until he saw the curly head of his younger brother being carried out be a man from the fire department. John followed behind and right onto the ambulance, already on a gurney and passed out cold. He looked terrible. They both did.
As medics prepped John for travel, a woman sat Sherlock down at the back of the ambulance and threw a blanket over his shoulders as she cleaned out the wound on his forehead. Blood dripped into his eyes and matted his dark hair and she had to keep telling him to stop moving because he kept turning his head to get a look at John.
Mycroft strode up to them, Greg on his heels, the woman nodding to them and moving away after putting a butterfly band-aid on the gash on Sherlock's forehead to keep it closed for the time being. Mycroft lifted an eyebrow coolly. "Well?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I have a concussion at the least. Maybe a sprained wrist. John though…" He looked back. "John is… he's…" Sherlock swallowed hard and blinked. "He's alive. That's what counts."
"What, may I ask, were you thinking?"Mycroft asked, too calm to be normal.
"I wasn't! Alright?" Sherlock snapped. "If that's what you're trying to point out, dear brother, then believe me, I understand that. I wasn't thinking and now John and – and everything, it's just," he started to hyperventilate, his entire body shaking, the shock finally hitting him. He gritted his teeth and pulled the bright orange shock blanket closer around his shoulders.
Mycroft stared at him for a moment before walking forward and wrapping his arms very carefully around Sherlock's shoulders. His face was blank as Sherlock burst into tears and held on, sobbing and garbling halfway-coherent words. He said he was sorry a lot, not to tell their mother, that he didn't need the blanket, he wasn't in shock, he was just cold and shaky and worried and tired. Mycroft just nodded and slowly ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. His face didn't change at all and now Greg was really worried. There was something wrong here, he could feel it.
When Sherlock finally pulled away, he glared at Mycroft and made him swear not to tell anyone what had just happened. "That goes for you as well," he said to Greg too, his voice still thick.
Greg nodded. "Of course not, mate." The woman came back, nodded to Mycroft and Greg again and herded Sherlock away from the ambulance as they started to close the doors on John's still figure. At Sherlock's look of utter panic, she said gently, "I thought you'd rather sit up front with me. How does that sound?" Sherlock looked at her for a moment before nodding slowly and she helped him up into the seat, while murmuring, "There we go, you're fine."
Mycroft pulled her aside after she had closed the door and then walked over to Greg. "We may take our leave now," he said simply. Greg nodded, still weary of the other boy. His lack of emotion wasn't normal and he was just waiting for Mycroft to start yelling and screaming at people or something. But it didn't happen. He simply nodded for Greg to lead the way, which he did, right through the crowd of their peers who were starting to disperse anyway, so there weren't many people still left watching. Most just stared at him, surprised, unseeing, shocked. He ignored them and walked on. It was only when they were past the parking lot did he noticed the Jaguar was nowhere to be found, Anthea probably having moved it, and the they had to walk to Baker House.
Greg trudged on, turning onto the beaten path to their House, Mycroft close behind. It had stopped raining a while ago, so it was only a bit damp and chilly out. Fine for a walk. It was only half way there that Greg noticed Mycroft had taken hold of his elbow. A few moments later, he felt the other boy start to shake, and, once they were in the wooded area, far away from everyone else and still a long ways off from their rooms, Greg turned around and Mycroft Holmes broke down into tears much like his baby brother had done only minutes before.
Greg stood there in shock for a moment before instinct kicked in and he wrapped his arms around the other boy, slowly lowering them to the ground so that he was sitting on the ground and Mycroft was leaning into him, sobbing into his shoulders, absolutely shaking. It hadn't occurred to Greg that Mycroft had just been holding it all in so that he could appear strong and civil when no one else was. It had helped a lot, had gotten the job done, but even Greg could understand that he needed to let it all out at some point. He was just honored that Mycroft trusted him enough to be able to do it in front of him, trusted him enough to accept his comfort, to need it at all. It was a good feeling while at the same time a very bad one.
Because it felt like Greg's insides were being pulled out as he listened to Mycroft's heart wrenching sobs.
"Hey, hey now. Shhh, it's fine, they're all fine. Sherlock's fine, it'll be alright. You're ok," Greg soothed, trying desperately not to cry himself. He was terribly empathetic at times. He really didn't need it to happen right now. Mycroft's hands tightened on his jumper, as he nodded messily into Greg's neck, sniffling and gasping, not quite able to speak yet. Mycroft's heart hurt and he had been so afraid that Sherlock had been seriously injured or worse. It was a relief, these were tears of relief and fear and he just needed to get it all out because if he didn't now, he never would. He was just glad that Greg was there. He wouldn't have had anyone else to do this in front of.
"Hey, I'm right here," Greg continued on. "I'm not going anywhere, take your time. Take all the time you need."
And those few words just made Mycroft cry harder, but in a better way and he started to laugh then, laugh and hiccup through the tears. He giggled into Greg's neck and then realized exactly where he was when he felt Greg's responding laugh vibrate in his throat, right where Mycroft had his face pressed against. He huffed another laugh and then pulled away, grimacing at the mess y state he'd left Greg's jumper in.
Before he could apologize, Greg stopped him. "It's fine. I can always wash away snot and tears. No harm done." He looked at Mycroft worriedly. "You alright now? Better?" Mycroft nodded. "You sure? Cos if you need to have another cry, go for it. Really, I don't mind. I have two shoulders you know."
Mycroft gave a ragged laugh again, his voice a bit wrecked from crying. "No, truly. I feel much better." He sobered up then. "Really, Gregory. Thank you. If I could somehow repay you for having to deal with all that…"
But Greg was shaking his head. Mycroft was an idiot if he thought he'd only done that for payment. "No. Really, don't. That's what I'm here for, alright? I wanted to."
Mycroft nodded, another wave of emotion hitting him, but he stopped it just in time from becoming tears. He was just a bit sensitive right now. He smiled and nodded to Greg again and then stood up, extending a hand to Greg to help him up as well. Once they were both up, Mycroft turned away. His face was probably blotchy and red, a real mess. He looked horrid after crying, he knew. But Greg tugged his head around and wiped a few stray tears from his face, then smiled, not disgusted or horrified.
How could he be? Mycroft was beautiful in his eyes no matter what. Oh. Oh that was odd. Greg really liked this boy, oh goodness. He smiled at Mycroft's look of gratitude and nodded for him to walk on. If Sebastian had already gotten home, all bloody and disgusting and filthy and angry – he'd been so angry, at Jim, at everyone, but mostly Jim, Greg could tell – then the rest of the House would be worried and wondering and wanting to go see the three – ok, maybe Seb would be the only one who would want to see Jim, maybe Molly too, she was an odd one, that was for sure – of them in the hospital. Greg sighed. Really. He'd have wanted to tell the others altogether. It'd be easier. Harry was going to be wrecked, Irene messed up as well, as close as she's been to Sherlock, oddly enough. Anderson and Sally probably wouldn't believe it until they saw it. Mike and Molly probably already knew, seeing as they were at the hospital as of now.
Greg shook his head. They'd deal with it when they got home.s
It was only at the door of Baker House, when Mycroft nodded to him and let go of his hand that Greg finally realized they'd held hands for the rest of the walk home.
So? I hope that was to your expectations. I really really do. Seriously guiz. Beta'd by the same woman who's done it for the other chapters! Must give her a bit of credit there ;) Also thanks to my older sister. It was great of her to help, because she's not into slash but she did it anyway. She doesn't "mind" Mormor, just not the "romantic aspect". *le sigh* I'll try and knock some sense into her, shall I? :)
So. Reviews would be wondrous, guiz, really. And you guiz are some of the best reviewers. I've gotten reviews and likes and favorites by Americans, British, Australians, Finnish, Germans and the likes! It's great. I'm so glad I'm getting across to such a different variety of people! Really. I'm so glad, chuffed, really.
Next chapter is, hopefully, just as long and maybe we can get some action in there, yes?
Once again, please REVIEW!