A/N: DANG, I almost missed a Sunday update! But here I am. (grins)
First, though… THANK YOU, a thousand times over, for your reviews, listing and support! You can't even imagine how much it means to me, especially now that this story's been recently resurrected.
Awkay, because I know what you'd REALLY like to read… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.
The Fate of a Hero…
The whole huge room held its breath, frozen by shock. Except for two people. Staring at the Doctor's prone, bloodied form and watching another person getting shot Cadi's daughter began to scream, tears of sheer terror and grief filling her eyes. And Sherlock was running.
"HOLD THE GODDAMNED FIRE!" Greg roared in a tense, pained voice, the sound somehow managing to get through to the shocked, armed group.
Sherlock, in full honesty, wouldn't have even noticed if there'd been a hail of bullets. All he saw was John who was still somehow standing. The former soldier's eyes were hazy and bleary when he dashed to his friend, his trademark coat billowing furiously behind him. The detective frowned, his hands twitching but not quite daring to reach out. "John?"
John blinked once, twice, that horrible haze not fading from his eyes for even a second. Slowly yet inevitably understanding seemed to dawn in their depths. The man swallowed hard. "I… I don't wa…" As it turned out those words sucked the last of the strength John had left.
Sherlock wasn't aware of the fact that he screamed when John's eyes closed and the smaller man began to fall towards the floor. Moving as fast as he possibly could he caught his friend, held on tight while his eyes scanned frantically to pinpoint the wound. It took entirely too long before he finally spotted the constantly growing moist spot on John's black shirt. It was located nearby the stomach area. Instantly his brain shot out a list of all the vital organs that might've been damaged. It took all of Sherlock's willpower to tune out the list. Instead he removed his scarf and slammed it as hard as he could to the wound, pressing down with all his might. Through it all John didn't even twitch in his arms and it sent a flood of ice through him.
John wasn't supposed to be this still, this lifel…
Rage. A new emotion. Similar to what came over him when he found Mrs. Hudson, beaten and held captive by those two idiots.
It was fortunate, really, that Sherlock was oblivious to the tears that shone in his eyes when he looked up, finally remembering the mass of people gathered around him. They were all staring at the devastation with wide eyes. The fury swell, mixing effortlessly with the constantly growing amount of sheer terror. "Make yourselves useful and call for an ambulance!" he snarled.
"It's… It's already on the way", Greg announced, appearing pale and shaky. The DI was still holding a gun at the remaining Dansheés but his eyes kept flickering towards John. "They'll be here soon." They could only hope that it was soon enough.
Sherlock's gaze kept moving. Finally locking on a painfully young, petrified looking Dansheé boy. The lad couldn't be eighteen yet there was a gun in his trembling hand. A gun that mere minutes ago fired a bullet at John. Tears were streaming down the youths face.
"Are you seeing this?" Sherlock hissed. "Do you see what you've done?! He was… He was only trying to help!" That was John's only crime and now…
The Dansheé, still a child really, sobbed. "I'm sorry…! I didn't… I didn't mean…"
"It doesn't matter what you meant!" Sherlock growled. His tears, of which he was still unaware, shone in the room's light. He glared at all the Dansheés. "John… His name is Dr. John Hamish Watson. And today… Today he let the monster that killed his sister live because that is who he is! And this… This is what he gets as a reward for his compassion?" He gasped, for he refused to call it a sob, feeling oddly choked. "Is this the kind of a world you want to leave your children with? Is this what you want to teach them? WHAT ARE YOU?"
For a couple of seconds everything was still. Then, one by one, the guns began to clatter to the floor. Starting from the still crying young alien that shot John. Until eventually all firearms were down. Several of them ending up stained by the blood of the two more lives that might be lost as a sacrifice for peace.
With the sounds of Cadi's daughter's loud, heart wrenching sobs time resumed.
Donna was by no means an athletic person. But as soon as a group of policemen appeared to where she was hiding with the remaining kids, announcing that it was finally over, she was running. Putting all the adrenaline surging in her veins to good use. Some sixth sense was telling her to hurry up before it was too late.
It certainly wasn't hard to pinpoint the scene of action. All she had to do was follow the sirens. Which was precisely what she did, all the way until the sight she met made her freeze to the spot. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her.
Yes, it was definitely all over. Yard's finest were leading people she could safely assume to be Dansheés out of the former school, grim expression plastered on each of their faces. One of them was carrying a hopelessly crying little girl. Donna saw a lot of people, really. But not the one she was hoping to see the most.
"Doctor?" she called out towards the crowd, ignoring how hopeless it was.
Of course there was no other response from the entire universe but a few passers by looking at her funnily. Donna didn't even notice. Instead she found herself running once more.
Well, if there was one thing she'd learned from the Doctor…
She dashed into the building, following some voice within and a flurry of activity towards the building's main hall. As soon as she made it there she froze. Completely. Without her even noticing it some tears appeared to her eyes.
There a man with brown hair and intense blue eyes was tending to a prone figure that lay completely motionless on the floor. The grim look on the stranger's face and the sickening amount of blood spoke more than enough. Donna's eyes, however, focused on the injured person.
A familiar bush of impossible hair. A very, very familiar long, brown coat. Converse shoes. That stillness, though… There was nothing familiar to it.
What have you done…?!
"Are you still with me?" It took a moment before she realized that the man trying to help the Doctor spoke to her. "I've already called for some help, but… In the meantime I need you." For a moment those eyes flickered towards her. "You know him, don't you?"
Somehow the man's voice was all it took for Donna to snap out of it and into action. She nodded fiercely, then dashed to the injured spaceman's side. "Yeah, yeah", she announced firmly. "I know him." Well, about as well as any human being could.
Something about her expression seemed to cause a spark of understanding. "You're Donna, aren't you?" the stranger inquired, his voice smooth with a clearly audible Welsh accent. Although the man's gaze didn't stray from his patient she could've sworn that he was looking at her. "His companion?"
Donna felt a flash of alarm and questions. At the moment, though, her head was too full of other worries to allow concern over such matters. "Yeah." She grasped one of the limp hands, silently pleading him to squeeze back. Nothing happened. She swallowed hard, unable to get rid of the bitter taste. "What… What the bloody hell happened?"
The stranger inhaled a deep breath. Some sadness appearing to his eyes. "He was one of the few who tried to do the right thing."
Donna's hold on the Doctor's hand tightened. She hoped that he knew he wasn't alone. "Sounds like something the bloody moron would do." If her voice broke a little, somewhere along the way, she decided that it didn't matter.
They remained in absolute silence for a few moments, both focusing on not trying to notice how uneven and laborious the Time Lord's breaths were becoming. Both attempting to cling to the desperate hope. One keeping a hold of his hand, the other squeezing at the wound that refused to stop bleeding.
"He'll be alright", Donna announced at last. Not bearing the crushing silence anymore. She would've wiped her eyes if she'd dared to let go of him. "I've… I've seen, what he's able to do. He'll be alright." She wasn't going to let him give up now! He was too stubborn for that.
Her companion didn't answer, instead pressed harder at the wound. The Doctor didn't react in any way although the assault should've hurt immensely. That was when they heard approaching steps and looked up at the exact same time. Hope, the genuine kind, rose in Donna's chest when she recognized the familiar face running along a pair of paramedics. They tried to smile at each other but both failed miserably.
Martha Jones' face was a picture of steel hard resolve. "Okay. Let's get him out of here."
The evening was already darkening when a set of steps approached a heavily guarded cell at the heart of London. The video feed from the fateful room had been cut off as fast as possible but the countless of copies of the encounter that remained spread like wildfire. Soon the whole world would know about the threat that'd been locked up into the cell. Of the threat that'd been neutralized at a terrible price.
Cadi lifted her head to see Ianto stood behind the bars, this time wearing his customary suit. Her jawline tightened while she fought to decide what she wanted to say to him. "Where's my daughter?" she demanded.
"She's still in a shock. But as soon as she recovers there's a couple that's offered to give her a home. A Dansheé couple." There was something unreadable in Ianto's eyes. "I made sure that the people in charge didn't repeat past mistakes."
Cadi nodded slowly and looked away. A massive amount of pain and relief swell inside her simultaneously. A hellish burning took over her eyes but she blinked it away forcefully. "Am I…?" She cleared her throat when her voice broke. "Am I ever going to see her again?"
Ianto was quiet for a very long time. "You've taken a lot of innocent lives. You and your allies have made international threats of yourselves." They both knew what that meant even without it being said. She'd never walk free again.
Not while she was still alive.
The enstranged siblings lingered in a thoughtful silence, somehow managing to draw comfort from each other in those entirely too brief moments. Both lingering in the days past rather than trying to imagine the future ahead. Their fingers twitched but in the end they didn't reach out for each other through the bars. It was only partially because of the guards lingering nearby.
"They know, now", Cadi pointed out, careful to keep her voice quiet enough. "About our kind. And they'll…"
Ianto stopped her with shaking his head. "No, they won't. Tomorrow morning the newspapers will state that the New Scotland Yard took down a terrorist cell. A group of violent humans, that's all the Dansheés will be."
Cadi scoffed, her heart thudding hard with ache, disappointment, fury and disbelief. "So… That's it? Those who died today… They died for nothing?" Her tone was a lot more bitter than she'd intended.
Ianto shook his head, sadness loud and clear in his eyes. "No. They died so that what's still left of the Dansheés and a lot of people would get to live. Including you and your daughter."
Cadi's eyes narrowed. A growl that caught the attention of a guard slipped through her lips. "My life isn't yours to save anymore", she snarled.
All of a sudden, for just a shimmer of a second, she could've sworn that she saw the little boy she used to call her brother. Ianto gave her the kind of a small, slightly sad smile she knew very well. "I'll never give up on you."
Cadi didn't know what to say to that. Instead she inhaled, looking into his eyes for what they knew to be the last time. "Goodbye, Jaunos. Take care of yourself and my girl."
"I will." Ianto gave her a one more, lingering look. "Goodbye, Aime." With those words he turned around and walked away without looking back.
Somehow they both knew that she wouldn't live until the next sunrise.
The first thing that John became aware of was a very familiar desert wind caressing his face. He frowned and tried to open his eyes, only to find that his eyelids were too heavy. The smell filling his mind was full of sand, foreign spices and distant gunpowder.
How was he back in Afganistan…?
Strange, unfamiliar voices drifted to his ears. Sounding jumbled and static. "… blood pressure keeps dropping…"
"…losing him…"
Dying…? Was that why he felt so tired, so out of focus? He was…
His heart jumped with sheer terror. Or perhaps something else entirely. A shrill sound filled his ears. His confused mind mistook a flatlining heart monitor for an approaching bomb. Pain exploded everywhere inside him and he would've screamed if he could've.
He… He couldn't go, not like this…! Because… He was starting to remember. Mary… Their baby… Sherlock… He couldn't, not yet…
There was another explosion of pain and absolutely all of him screamed although he couldn't produce a sound. He was begging, pleading, banging against whatever it was locking him to this nightmare. For the second time in his life John sent out a prayer to who or whatever was listening.
Please, god, let me live…!
Not very far away, completely unaware of John's fight, Mary was going through a war of her own. Alone, as she'd done most things during her life. Not that she would've even paid much attention to it at the moment.
That baby was going to bloody kill her before it was out!
"Get… it… out of me!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing her head back. "Get that thing out of me!"
This was wrong, wrong, wrong! John was supposed to be here, holding her hand. Where the hell was John?
The midwife couldn't quite stiffle a chuckle. "I'm sorry, Mary. But I'm afraid that it's your job to finish this." The woman was smart enough to check her progress and speak before Mary had the time to throw in a comment of her own. "Only a couple of more pushes, now. You're doing great."
Surprisingly enough those words did encourage Mary, just a little bit. Half subconsciously she summoned a picture of John to her mind. And then, with absolutely all there was left in her, howled as she pushed.
It hurt, even if it wasn't the most painful thing she'd ever gone through. Hurt like hell. At one point she was sure that she'd collapse. But then, so suddenly that she actually gasped, the agony and pressure were gone. Instead there was a new and shrill, demanding cry that seemed to fill all of the room and her.
The midwife smiled brightly. "Congratulations, Mary. You have a very beautiful, healthy baby girl."
Mary was unaware of the tears of joy that rolled down her cheeks.
"…you dare try and leave me! You've still got one heart going, you hear me? And I'm going to keep it that way!"
Martha's voice, which had been uncomfortably loud at first, began to fade away as the Doctor's consciousness dimmed. There was a beat or two of nothing but darkness. And then… Then he opened his eyes to see a stunningly blue sky. Pleasantly warm air brushed his face and the grass was comfortably soft underneath him. Everything felt so perfect that it was ridiculous.
"Doctor?" That voice… That impossibly familiar voice… He turned his head slowly, as though fearing that what he hoped to see wouldn't be there, to discover the smiling face of Rose Tyler. "Morning, sleepy head. You fell asleep on me." She then became a lot more serious. "What were you dreaming about? You were frowning and groaning."
The Doctor swallowed and focused on the sky for a moment, trying to overcome a bout of dizziness and nausea. "I… had a weird, unpleasant dream."
Rose nodded, still worried but smiling. "Well. You're awake, now."
"Yeah", he breathed out. He took her hand and held on tight. Ignoring the tiny and constantly weakening voice in the back of his head trying to tell him that something was wrong. And grinned. "I know." He was finally awake. Wasn't he?
Under different circumstances the chaos in the hospital's waiting room might've been amusing. Or perhaps touching. As the seemingly endless night wore on more and more people gathered in. Total strangers, pulled together by the day's near disaster.
At first it was just Greg and Donna, sitting right next to each other although there would've been plenty of space. Even without words or touches, despite the fact that they'd only just met, drawing comfort from one another. After a few hours a man who introduced himself as Ianto Jones joined them, bringing much appreciated coffee. At the moment they paid very little mind to how he could possibly know what kind they'd like. Perhaps Dansheés had telepathic abilities. Molly Hooper entered soon after, looking suspiciously lot like she'd been crying. After only a few words of greeting and introductions she slumped to the chair on Greg's other side, took his hand and refused to let go.
Eventually Mycroft Holmes appeared, his expression as difficult to name as always. Along him the man dragged Sherlock, who appeared pale, angry, shell shocked, desperate and so very, very human that it nearly succeeded in scaring Greg. They all noticed that he'd forgotten to change his clothes. John's blood still stained, or perhaps rather caked, them. "Well?" the detective barked.
It took a while before they understood what he meant. "No news yet, on either of them", Donna announced. Her voice sounded hoarse and almost pained, a shadow of its usual.
Seeing the new tension that appeared on the younger Brit Greg added his own input. "Maybe that's a good thing. They've been fighting for this long…"
If looks could kill the one Sherlock aimed at him would've taken him down instantly.
Mycroft emitted a suffering sigh. "Behave, brother dear, or I'll have you removed." No one had the heart to point out that the older brother didn't leave and, apart from a highly expected growl, Sherlock made no protests.
Those of them who'd known the two were surprised when out of the blue Philip Anderson and Sally Donovan entered the room, taking seat a bit further from the rest of the group. Appearing hesitant and signs of discomfort clearly visible to them all but obviously determined to be there. And they weren't alone.
The moment Mrs. Hudson came in she made her way to Sherlock and wrapped her arms stunningly tightly around the detective. Was that a sob that came along with a heavy sigh? "Oh, Sherlock…!"
For a second or two Sherlock remained completely frozen until the man's arms circled slowly around the old woman, providing what looked like a very, very awkward hug. Apparently Mrs. Hudson appreciated the gesture. She tightened her grasp to an extend where the usually cool and composed man seemed to be having difficulties with breathing.
As soon as the hug was finished and they were both sitting down, Mrs. Hudson's hand clasping Sherlock's determinedly, the detective glared at her two escorts. "What do you think you're doing here?" he snarked.
They exchanged a look before focusing on him. "We… know that we've made… mistakes", Sally admitted in a barely recognizeable voice. "But… We want to make sure that John will be alright. We owe him that much."
And a lot more, Sherlock's intensifying glare spoke but miraculously the man said nothing.
"Internet… It's gone crazy about the clips of…" Philip was, at least, smart enough to not voice the rest. "Thousands of people have already been commenting, praising the pair of them. What they did, or at least tried to do… They're heroes."
"They're not heroes", Sherlock and Donna denied almost simultaneously. Heroes? No. Something more than that.
The others frowned. They seemed confused and displeased. "Then what would you call them?" Greg asked.
Donna and Sherlock looked at each other for a moment. Then came to a silent agreement. "They're exceptional", Sherlock concluded. And if his voice held a great deal of sentiment no one pointed it out.
The seemingly endless wait continued. Until finally, just when they were starting to doze off from the exhaustion of the horrible day, their fatigued eyes caught something that snapped them to attention. Martha and another doctor whose name none of them had bothered to memorize approached the room. The looks on their faces promised nothing good.
TBC
A/N: Uhm… Why do I feel like I should start looking for a place to hide…? Those poor things!
Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? Feel free to drop your rants to the box down below. (smirks sheepishly)
Until next time, ya all! I really hope that I'll see you all there. ONLY TWO TO THREE MORE TO GO!
Take care!
