Man on Fire

(named for the theme song of the movie Man on Fire)

Sherlock gasped. Rosie took his hand. There in the center of the square where he'd busked was a stake, like they made in the Renaissance, to execute heretics on. There were piles upon piles of firestarter wood stacked around one long pole. There were already chains affixed to it and a stairway of rubber tires for him to climb so high.

That wasn't why Sherlock had gasped. Rosie thought so at first. No, it would have been a tender world.

There at the foot of the stake were all the lonely people that had ever known or loved Sherlock Holmes. Raz was standing there with Annie. They had ancient Mrs. Hudson in a wheelchair. Even then, that was not why Sherlock had gasped.

Greg was standing there, hands twisting in a sweater he'd accidentally pulled off of a woman's shoulders. The woman was Rosie's Auntie Molly. She was older now. With graying hair, and tired eyes. But Rosie could see now what she meant when she'd told her all those long lost love stories. The person she'd loved all her life, that went away overseas.

"It was you." Rosie looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock who gaped as Molly stumbled to him.

"You-You were dead...For 10 years, dead. And then...And you came back just in time for me to say hello. So you could go again." Molly was crying now. Sherlock nodded.

"I can do this. I can win this game." John put up his fists. He was ready to play. Mary stepped forward.

"There has to be another way. I am the one…"Mary swallowed when the ginger turned on her. His teeth were gritted.

"Yes, dear. You are the one. This is what it's like to play a game where all the cards are against you. This is what it's like to lose everything and everyone you ever held dear. Because you can't...Neither of you can win this game, and your daughter will never forgive you. Not for the vows you've made and broken. Not for the end of her innocence. Not for the death of her saint." The ginger nodded to his companions. Molly reached out then and took Sherlock by the coat.

"Molly." He said her name with such reverence.

"I thought that...You'd never come back." Her lips were quaking as she touched his with shaking fingertips. He smiled.

"I was always with you, wasn't I, Molly Hooper?" He was smiling when they ripped his coat off of him. Tore his body away from Molly's admiration and Rosie's fond hand. They thrust him into John's arms.

"He was your sacrificial lamb. Take him up there yourself." The order was barked before it was processed.

"What? You godless piece of-"John was shaking his head. A gun was drawn on Rosie. Molly swept her into her arms before she knew to flinch. Sherlock turned to John whose face was green now. He nodded.

"It's not you...It's not you. She will forgive you, John. The innocence of children is far more resilient. Please...Do your best and fail me. It's alright. I won't love you any less. But don't fail her…"Sherlock nodded. John closed his eyes.

"It's not you, John."

"Shh…"John dragged Sherlock forward then. He climbed him up the stake, tears now falling rapidly down his face. His hands were shaking. Sherlock opened the manacles and placed his wrists in them.

"All you have to do is lock them. I'll do the rest." Sherlock smiled. John was hugging him now, head against his chest. Sherlock nodded.

"What a tender world it would have been, mm? You do what you can, but give her a chance." Sherlock waited patiently. John stood up. With a growl, he locked the handcuffs. Sherlock was suspended then in the nest of fire starter, tires, and chains. He grinned. Once again, he was high above them all.

John was shaking his head.

"Only a few days ago, I told you."

"I know and you still can. You might not save me, but you can win. That's why you need to live." Sherlock smiled. He looked sidelong at Rosie again. Then he looked back at his friend.

"The game is never over, John."

John was ripped unceremoniously away from Sherlock then, kicking and biting at the people who were doing this to his family.

"I bloody well will prove it to you. I'm going to save you this time. Mark my words!" John swung his fists, pointing at Sherlock.

"I know you will." Sherlock nodded.

"Now it's your turns." The ginger pulled Molly, who screamed and kicked, away from Rosie. Then, he pressed a bushel of roses in Molly's hands and a jug full of fuel in Rosie's.

"What's this for?" Rosie swallowed.

"You're going to pour it in his hair." The ginger grinned viciously. Rosie looked at Sherlock now, and she swallowed.

"Be brave, remember? It won't hurt me." Sherlock smiled. She nodded. Molly was crying into the roses.

"Come on, Auntie. It will be alright." Rosie took Molly's other hand. She led her forward.

"They're just being cruel...It's okay, you love him don't you? He's the one." Rosie smiled at Sherlock as Molly was compelled by the soldiers to stick the roses around him in the pyre. She was sobbing. Sherlock smiled, eyes following her all the way.

"You'll look after her for me, won't you, Rosie dear? In case this doesn't go well." Sherlock swallowed. Rosie was waiting her turn. By now her hands were shaking.

"I...I said I'd be brave. I'm not going to lie. I'm scared!"

"I know. But you can be brave anyway. Will you look after her?"

"Promise!"

"Then do as they told you." Sherlock nodded. By now, Rosie was crying.

"Rosie, remember what I told you? I never feel it. I only feel you." Sherlock smiled.

Rosie nodded. She fought with the cork of the fuel tub, squealing in frustration. Finally, Molly, with a little gasp, helped her. Rosie, annoyed, started to splash the fuel all over Sherlock.

"That's my girl." Sherlock smiled. Rosie took his face then, as the last bit of oil dripped in his eyes. She pushed that away with her sleeves.

"Well, here it is, mister. And I love you!" Rosie kissed Sherlock's forehead. He smiled.

"Brave girl."

Rosie stepped back, then she was torn back. She and Molly. To the foot of the pyre.

John and Mary had guns shoved into their hands. They were being led away with another team of gun-wielding freaks. Rosie nodded to her parents. They smiled back, scared out of their minds.

What could she do? She was a kid. She wasn't sure what influence she had.

And then like that, she just thought to do it. In that hour the strangest, she lifted her voice to sing.

When I find myself in times of trouble, my Mum Mary is there for me. And I know there'll be an answer. Let it be...

And from the pyre, even as it was lit, a voice sang back, for Rosie evidently, despite having hated rubbish singing once before.

And in my hour of darkness, an angel-standing right in front of me. Brave until tomorrow! Let it be!

That's when Rosie knew she could do this.