Naomi's bid for control of Heaven was a solid one, but little by little plans began to fail. Angeles disobeyed, Castiel fled. She was consumed with it. It changed her, ignited a fire inside of her that pulled her away from the gentleness of her human lover and towards the terrifying hurricane of an angel queen. She wanted balance, she needed peace, but that was slipping out of her grasp little by little.

Needs must. She would do whatever she had to in order to bring Heaven the peace and order it needed. She was so sure it was the right thing to do.

Until the day she wasn't. Until the day she realized that there was a whole of humanity to protect, and that she should have been protecting them from the beginning. She had very little time to act on the sudden epiphany.

Metatron stabbed her drill into her head and dug it in. His taunts echoed in her ears; his hands on her back, pressing her down into the desk as if trying to make up for all the pain she'd caused in that very room. He'd planned on killing her, but no one knew her drill better than she did. It wasn't meant to kill, it was meant to fix. Death was going to be agonizingly slow. The spell that cast all the angels away from Heaven was an answered prayer.

She crashed into the Pacific Ocean with broken wings, a hole in her head. But with no hope of a rescue, Naomi, Angel of the Lord, was going to die.


(I am hoping this email can get to Mr Mycroft Holmes. Please forward on, thank you.)

Dear Mr Holmes,

I am a nurse at St Paul's Hospital in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Recently we had a Jane Doe come in after being fished out of the ocean last week. She was severely injured, unconscious and unresponsive. She is still in a coma, and I'll refrain from listing her complete condition here, but she's lived longer than the doctors expected.

The patient is mid-forties, Caucasian, auburn hair, blue eyes, about 1.75 meters tall. While I was caring for her, I touched her hand. And, as strange as it sounds, your name and 'London' just popped into my head. When it happened the third night in a row, I knew something was...abnormal.

I hope this made sense. I'm not sure if this was the right thing to do, I'm not sure if it's even real. But I figured I'd try, all of us in the ICU are rooting for her.

Best wishes,

Annie Davis, RN


Anthea forwarded the e-mail to Mycroft Holmes as soon as it was received. She was one of the few people who'd seen Naomi during her previous visits, and recognized the description detailed by Annie Davis. She didn't know of Naomi's angelic nature, and she couldn't be sure, but she left the final assessment in Mycroft's hands.

Mycroft's concern for Naomi had been growing steadily for a while now. He'd noticed the change in his companion, and he'd taken note of her withdrawal from him. When he read through the e-mail, his concern doubled. He requested an immediate background check on the nurse and hospital. When both of those cleared, he made room in his busy schedule and called in a flight to Canada.

Satisfied everything was in order where his work was concerned, and with Sherlock still busy dealing with Moriarty's network, he called ahead to inform the hospital he was coming. He settled in for the nine and a half hour trip on his private plane shortly thereafter. Annie Davis met him in the hospital's lobby when he arrived to give him an overview of Naomi's condition once he announced himself as her husband. He provided a name for her, filled out the necessary paper work, and followed the nurse to Naomi's room.

Many things went through his head from the moment he'd read the e-mail up to this point. He couldn't quite understand the events that had led her here, or how she'd landed herself in front of death's door. He was grateful that by some miracle this nurse had found the sense to contact him, but he couldn't help wondering what would've happened if she hadn't. He would never have seen Naomi again, would never have known what happened, and he would've grieved her loss again.

His eyes still riveted to Naomi's pale face, he removed his leather gloves from his hands. "Where's the doctor in charge?"

"She's doing the rounds-"

Annie was interrupted as a petite woman in a white coat walked into the room. She had a tablet in one arm and a serious expression on her face. "I'm Dr. Lam. You must be our miracle patient's long lost…"

"Husband," Mycroft supplied for her, and offered a hand in greeting. "Mycroft Holmes. Miss Davis here was kind enough to contact me. Could you bring me up to speed on her condition?"

"Right." Dr Lam glanced him over in quiet suspicion, but took his hand to shake. She then turned her attention to the tablet, where she'd pulled up Naomi's medical chart. Her words were clear and concise, no matter the news she brought. "Your wife was found six days ago in the Vancouver Harbour by a fishing boat. The medics thought she was dead on site, but not long after she started demonstrating vital signs and was brought here. She had a hole in her head and had lost quite a bit of blood. My emergency surgeon operated to clear the broken skull fragments and put a plate there until the donor bone fuses with her skull. Her MRI showed extensive brain damage to that area." She tapped the back of her own head just above her bun of dark hair. "The occipital lobe, with possible damage to the temporal lobe. We're talking an incredibly high chance of total blindness, and if not, it'll be hallucinations and loss of vision at the very least. But she's made it this far without infection or brain hemorrhage. Beyond anticipation. She should be dead, Mr Holmes, and without sounding insensitive, I'm surprised she's not." She almost smiled. "I have high hopes she'll recover. But we won't know the extent of the brain damage until she wakes up."

Mycroft didn't smile or otherwise give any indication of emotion because it simply wasn't in his nature, but he nodded once, politely, to confirm he understood. And then he peered over at Naomi. He didn't know much of angelic biology, but he'd seen Naomi recover from wounds before. Once, when he was very young. He'd also seen her vessel die when her grace had been stripped from it many years later.

He couldn't very well explain that to this doctor, but he was cautiously hopeful Naomi would recover too. He'd deduced Naomi was still safe within her vessel from the nurse's e-mail testimony, perhaps all she needed was time to heal like before. Perhaps. He didn't want to think about the other possibility, here in front of these two women.

Mycroft tore his eyes away from Naomi, and once again fixed them on Dr Lam. "Thank you," he said professionally. "I'll be staying here until she's fully recovered."

"Considering my personal interest in this case, I'll see to it. If you have any questions, Mr Holmes, I'll leave you my contact information." Dr Lam said, handing him a business card from inside her white coat. "And I'll see you tomorrow, should everything go well." She swept out of the room a moment later, head turned down to the tablet to review recent lab results.

Mycroft tucked his gloves into his coat pocket and the doctor's business card into a silver card holder.

Alone in the room, with nothing but the beep and whirr of medical equipment to fill the silence, he found himself at a complete loss about what to do. He took a step toward Naomi's bed and carefully settled down on the edge of her mattress. From this angle he couldn't see the head wound, nor did he want to. He took her hand instead, twined their fingers together, and lifted vulnerable blue eyes to study her pale features.

"Naomi," he said through the lump in his throat. "You need to come back to me... please. I've missed you." And I can't lose you again. He didn't say so out loud, but the words still burned his tongue. He swallowed them down. "I love you."


Deep inside herself, Naomi was slowly healing. Her grace had been shredded worse than she'd ever experienced, the pain was intense and the effects would not be easily overcome. The drill had been inside her head too long. Her vessel was broken, her wings in tatters, there was only so much she could do.

She should have been dead, after all.

But she was just barely aware of the outside world. Of the kind hands of nurses, the driven doctor, and then…and then the hand she'd wanted to hold. Familiar, gentle, loving. She had too many apologies for him, lost time and regrets to make up for.

Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the monitor keeping time of her steady heart beat. It would be days before she climbed out of the fire and into the cool light of day.


During that time, Mycroft rarely left Naomi's side. He slept in a chair by her bed when he needed the rest and ate in the cafeteria, retreating to his hotel room only twice to shower and change. Gone were his three-piece suits and in their place he'd donned crisp shirts, casual trousers and soft cashmere jumpers.

He'd also grown a tiny bit scruffy over his cheeks and chin, but he couldn't find it in himself to worry about his appearance the way he usually would've. Instead he paced, fingers fidgeting beside his legs. He would sit and talk to her when that did little to calm his anxiety. Early the third day, he'd even retrieved his book to read to her a little.

He was halfway through a chapter when he noticed the subtle signs that she might be waking up. Closing the book, he set it aside and straightened in his chair. "Naomi?"

"Mm." Naomi tried, but the waking up process was strange. She turned her bandaged head towards him and blinked blue eyes open. "Mycroft." She exhaled and closed her eyes against the light again. "I'm sorry... So sorry."

"Shh, it's all right." Mycroft moved to sit on her bed and took her hand in a firm grip. He cupped her face with the other. "How are you feeling? What do you need?"

"I'm…I don't know." Naomi teared up and her hand flexed weakly in his firm grip. "It's all my fault. I'm alive and I shouldn't be."

He would've been relieved if it weren't for her tears. He scooted closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "What do you mean? What happened? I've got you now, you're safe."

Naomi shook her head, willing her emotions back under control so she could relay what happened. She took several deep breaths. "Heaven's blocked, the angels have fallen, I didn't prevent it. I forgot the mission, I was selfish and…." She sniffed again, turning her face away from him as if that'd stop him from seeing her cry again. "I failed."

Mycroft took a moment to processed her words as well as the gravity of the situation, but his primary concern was Naomi. Here and now, when she clearly needed him most. He smoothed a tendril of hair away from her face. "You're saying you can't go back to Heaven," he repeated for clarification. "What of your grace? Will you be able to heal regardless?"

"Slowly yes, but my wings are gone. I'll never fly again." She reached with her other hand to catch his, turning watery blue eyes towards him again. She couldn't bring herself to show him the broken, tattered remains of her once beautiful multi-grey wings. "I'm sorry." She repeated. "Please forgive me, I didn't mean for this to happen."

"You have nothing to apologize for, as far as I'm concerned," Mycroft said earnestly. "I mean that. You did what you thought was right at the time and regardless of whether or not I agree, I will never fault you for that. I love you and I respect you." He wiped her tears away with gentle fingers and met her eyes. "I'm just glad you're all right. I've been so worried."

Naomi flashed back to Metatron's attack, the helplessness of it, the pain. Surprising her from behind, pinning her down on the desk as he drilled her tool into her head. If he knew she was alive, if he came after Mycroft…there were so many possibilities, so much danger. She caught his fingers and brought them to her lips to kiss. Her bright blue eyes were on him. "He planned on killing me, with my own tool. I wasn't supposed to be all right, I was supposed to be dead. I probably deserved it. I don't know what to do."

"First thing you're going to do is recover." Mycroft was already making plans in his head. "I'm not sure what protocol dictates in this case, but I'll talk it over with your doctor. You can fly back with me and we'll sort out the details at my estate. Is there a way to keep him from finding you?"

"Yes, angel wards...will hide me from all of them." Naomi breathed out, leaning into his hand. "And you, I can't bear…if you'd get hurt. I won't allow it. I love you, I'm so sorry." She slipped back into Enochian, willing another round of tears away. She felt like a failure in every single way possible, it wasn't an easy thing for her to comprehend.

"We're going to be fine. Both of us, I promise you." Mycroft shifted on the bed so he could hold her properly in his arms. As much as he could, at any rate. He kissed her temple. "I love you too," he said quietly. "I've got you, whatever happens."

Naomi relaxed with him, tears in her eyes and too many thoughts on her mind. They stayed that way until they were interrupted by Dr Lam.

The doctor deemed Naomi's abnormal recovery 'impossible and miraculous, but I'm not asking questions. Someone's looking out for you.' Naomi didn't offer an explanation, but thanked the hospital staff graciously. The next day, Mycroft and Naomi boarded his private plane.

London awaited them, and before she'd even settled in, Naomi ensured that his house would be warded from other angels. She was going completely off of the grid to heal from her ordeal. She died, after all, and she was certain they'd be coming after her. The host was a scattered mess, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Didn't matter. She had a new home now.