Epiphany's Scourge

by Servant of Fire

The alternate sequel of Epiphany's Child( I deleted the first attempt). 3 months since Lord Moran loaded Sherlock into the back of an armored truck, and hauled him away from John. Now on the verge of insanity our beloved Doctor Watson must face his own Hiatus, scouring the world, as he promised ,to find Sherlock ,when he is captured ( along with Sherlock) by the Ghost People,

12. Chapter 11: I Will Fear No Evil

Chapter 11: I Will Fear No Evil~

There would be a pause that lasted about an hour, between the first wave and the second. The Teacher explained to his colleges that he was calling them "Disturbia's Tides".

John praised God for a momentary reprieve ,to remind himself that this was NOT real, that it was just like Baskerville.

Sherlock would not be so fortunate. He had fallen unconcious,and would wake to terror again, just as he had been doing ever since that fateful day he fell out of the sky.

John sighed, and gently ran a hand over his head, sizing up the damage by feel. Blood encrusted the back of his raven curls,slicking them down, as if he'd put some sort of product in it.

"The kind of hell you've been living in...all this time...Trying to save me..." John muttered, watching his alabaster face, as it did not change.

At least for just a fraction of time, Sherlock could fall into forgetfullness. At least ,if he couldn't gather his thoughts, and somewhat calm his mind, at the very least he would be empty. At least he would be hollow ,and still, and silent ,for just a fraction of a moment, the ground -to- fine- powder flakes,like fairy dust, which may remain of his soul, allowed to settle in his stomach ,like glitter in a snow globe.

John leaned closer yet, studying his face, studying every vein that could be seen through translucent skin, imagining the agony of the blood that still ached on its way through those dim-lit passageways to his roasted heart, like trains moving down hot iron tracks of a post-nuclear world.

"My turn." he whispered,voice barely rustling the feathers of sound.

"Tell you the truth, you might be scared. You might have a good reason to be. But I'm not."

He felt his bones harden in him, like Antartica's will.

"They can tear me limb from limb;I'm not afraid. I have no remorse. Made you a promise, and I will keep it. So there."

Sherlock didn't stir. If anything, his emptiness expanded,and John could hear his words echo back to him off the other side, sealing his vow.

Oh, but why did it always feel like he was talking to a stone?...