A/N: Once again (winces) I'm so, so sorry about this delay! Again there were massive decisions that I had to make. Plus my head was… preoccupied several times over. But now I'm FINALLY back! Hooray…?

First, though… THANK YOU, so very, very much, for all your reviews, listings and love for this story! So many of you have stayed along through it all. So thank you!

Awkay, because I highly doubt that you're all that interested in my ramblings… Let's go! I really hope that this'll turn out worth the wait.

Knights Without Armours

Kitty Riley knew, all too well, that she'd made a lot of mistakes in her life. Falling under the spell of the so called Richard Brook, joining the force of nature that destroyed Sherlock Holmes piece by piece, was without a doubt one of the biggest. Some journalist she was, swallowing down a fake story like that. Helping the downfall of a good man. Perhaps not a pleasant man, but a good one, anyway.

But for once in her life she had the chance to fix her mistake.

And so, her fingers far from steady, Kitty began to type her story of the baffling day's events. Of how a highly dangerous terrorist group, one that claimed several lives, had been discovered and stopped. It'd been hiding carefully until… well, it wasn't. And she, of course, typed that once again the Hat Detective and his loyal blogger had been found from the centre of it. Along with a mystery man no one seemed able to name. She wrote, with as much detail as she could and hoping that she wasn't relying on her own imagination, how John took a bullet trying to save a life. And how Sherlock, in a moment where he would've had every opportunity to respond to fire with fire, triggered a different kind of change instead. She'd heard one of the police officers, Philip Anderson, describing those events with bafflement, wonder and a touch movement. Sherlock brought it all to a peaceful ending. For John.

After thinking about it for a moment Kitty decided that this time she'd include a small column, her own opinion, underneath the actual story. She wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath, then wrote the most honest words she'd ever uttered. She sealed it with another deep breath.

'In times like these our world needs protectors more desperately than ever before. Sherlock Holmes is our own Dark Knight. Facing those the rest of us are too afraid to look at. Diving to the dark so that we won't have to. He strives doing so. And I'm sorry that I once doubted him.'

Kitty read her article once more. Then nodded to herself and sent it to her boss. A few moments later she lifted her head to see her reflection on a nearby mirror. She smiled at the sight of the Deer Stalker on her head.

The first minutes following John's awakening were full of chaos. Faces that seemed blurry at first but soon became clearer. Hands groping at him, forcing him to use all his willpower to not throw a punch. He'd barely overcome the physical and emotional shock over having the tube pulled from his throat before they were already asking questions.

Although, to their credit, they did have a fairly good reason to be so shocked. If John gathered what they were all trying to tell him correctly he'd been dying just some short minutes ago. And now… Now he was suddenly breathing on his own, wide awake and talking.

Well, 'trying' was, perhaps, the operative word there.

"Enough!" Sherlock's voice was filled with even more irritation than John's head. Was the detective… growling? "Don't you idiots see that you're overwhelming the patient? You've seen that he's awake and lucid. Now kindly get out." It didn't sound kind.

One of the nurses had the nerve to frown in protest. "Mr. Holmes… You need to understand…"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I'm not wasting my time on listening to the instructions of someone still expecting their lover to leave their spouse after six years of an affair", the detective snarled. "Now stop exhausting the patient and leave. Unless you'd rather have this conversation with my brother." Things had to be horribly wrong if Sherlock was desperate enough to use the 'Mycroft card'. Now that John would've minded much, especially in his current condition.

The younger man's threat did the trick. The room cleared at a remarkable speed. Save Sherlock, of course.

As soon as he could be sure that the pests wouldn't come back Sherlock focused on John. There was a line of what could only be worry on the man's face. And those eyes held nothing short of panic. How… oddly touching. "Alright?"

John nodded slowly, still a little stunned that he actually could. "Yes, yes. Fine. Just…" He frowned, exploring his friend's face for answers. He found none. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell happened? I was…" He licked his lips and had to look away all of a sudden. The few memories he had… weren't strictly speaking pleasant. "I was shot. It should've…" … killed me, was something he could've never, ever voiced in front of the detective. He could never be that cruel. "How am I… here?" Alive?

Sherlock offered no reply. Instead the man stared at him almost wildly. As though not quite believing that he was there. Honestly, in those long moments John had no idea what was going through his friend's head. A pair of slightly widened, sharp eyes stared at him while the rest of the detective remained tense and frozen still.

"Uh… Sherlock?" John frowned again, waving a hand in front of his friend's face. No reaction. "Sherlock, you're starting to scare me a little."
And then, completely without a warning, a pair of arms wrapped around him. John wondered, briefly, if Sherlock had ever hugged anyone willingly because the gesture was hard and uncomfortable at best. But it was very much real and clearly something that the detective needed, even if the man would've never, ever admitted as much out loud.

John gasped at the unexpected contact and remained frozen for a few moments until his body relaxed, slowly but steadily, to the embrace. Gently, as though afraid of breaking or disturbing something, John wrapped one arm around Sherlock, then another. And that was how they remained for a remarkably long moment, two British men trying hard not to show too many emotions.

You almost died!

Yes, but I'm still here. I'm still alive. It's alright.

In the end Sherlock withdrew, doing a remarkably good job at looking like nothing had happened. John had to bite the inside of his lip to keep himself from chuckling.

That was around when John's head became clear enough to remember just what happened. "Mary… She's safe, right?" Where was she, anyway? He had a faint, feeble memory trace of Sherlock telling him that she'd already given birth. Was it all a dream? "And the Doctor… Was he really here? Is he alright? Did anyone else get injured?"

It was impossible to read Sherlock's expression. To see if the man was about to lie. "Mary should be here soon. And yes, the Doctor was just here and seemed fine to me. Now get some rest. This has all been tedious enough without you overexerting yourself."

For the second time since waking up John had to hide a smile. Thankfully he knew Sherlock well enough to read what the man was trying to say without it being voiced. So instead of pressing the matter and making things uncomfortable for both of them he shifted. That was when his attention was pulled towards the wound.

Perhaps it was macabre curiosity. But at that moment John just couldn't hold himself back. He shifted his hospital gown cautiously, revealing the bandaged wound on his stomach. Of course it was stupid, childish and at least highly unprofessional. But before he could stop himself he poked at the damaged spot softly with one finger. There was no explosion of pain, no matter how fresh the injury was. Barely even a jolt of pain. No amount of pain medication should've been that affective.

It was around then Sherlock, who'd lingered deep in thought or perhaps wandered around his Mind Palace, seemed to notice what he was doing. The man's eyebrows furrowed. "John, stop that."

But John was in no mood for listening. And before the detective could make a move John had grabbed the bandage and pulled at it. What John discovered made his eyes fly wide and his heartbeat spike up.

He'd seen gunshot wounds before. Bloody hell, he'd had one! But the sight facing him… It was nothing familiar. Perhaps it'd been a bullet hole, once. But at the moment all there was left was a some skin damage that'd scar but didn't reach very deep. It was the shape of a star, or perhaps a supernova.

John's eyes were still wide and full of demand when they met Sherlock's. "What the bloody hell happened to me? What did the Doctor do?"

The tension inside the TARDIS could've been cut by a knife as Martha checked the Doctor's vitals with badly shaking hands. Somewhow she even managed to pull out a tiny flashlight. Once she was done she unleashed a choked sound, wiping her eyes. "He's… He's unconscious. Deeply. I… I'm pretty sure that he's in a coma."

Donna nodded slowly. She appeared several degrees paler than usual. "Well how are we supposed to help him?"

Martha shook her head. Never in her life had she felt as helpless as she did right at that very moment. The infuriating burning sensation refused to leave her eyes. "I don't know, alright? I don't…" She took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know enough about his anatomy to do much. We just… We have to wait. At this point it's all up ot him."

Fate, apparently, decided that things weren't quite badly wrong enough yet. Because all of a sudden the TARDIS was moving. "What the bloody…?!" Donna cried out.

Martha's eyes were wide as she looked around. Seeking an explanation that wasn't there. "I don't know. This… This must be an emergency protocol of some sort."

"Brilliant!" Donna scoffed. She leaned closer to the Doctor without noticing it, as though trying to shield him against an unknown threat. "Another thing the bloody idiot forgot to mention us."

It seemed to take foerver before they landed and throughout the flight they remained nearby the unconscious Time Lord. Protecting him, just in case, although they knew that the TARDIS was also doing everything she could to help him. It wasn't until the journey ended and the women emitted a collective sigh of relief they realized that they'd been holdings their breaths.

Neither wanted to step away from the Doctor for too long but they knew that they'd have to find out where they'd ended up. And so, after making sure that he was as comfortable as possible, they made their way towards the door and opened it. Donna's eyes widened immediately at the sight.

Martha gave her a curious, if not a little worried, look. "Donna? Do you know this place?"

Donna nodded slowly. For some reason there was a bizarre sensation in her eyes. "This… This the Bad Wolf Bay." Clearly sensing the need for a clarification she went on. "This is the only place where he feels close to… her. The only place where he can heal."

Much later that night John sat in Mary's hospital room, guading her well deserved rest while staring at their newborn baby girl. Some cookies from Mrs. Hudson were still present on the nightstand, along with flowers from Greg and Molly. Sherlock was snoring softly on a very much uncomfortable chair nearby the room's door. The detective was bound to earn himself a sore neck and a even more pained back but John didn't have the heart to wake him. Not when he was sure that it was ages from when the madman last rested.

It felt incredibly right, all of it. Their whole bizarre, impossible family was right there in that room with him. It shouldn't be possible. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around it. If it wasn't for the Doctor…

John sighed contentedly, brushing his daughter's cheek with one finger. She responded with a happy, sleepy sound that would've melted even the stoniest of hearts. "This has been quite an adventure, love", he whispered. "I think that I've just met the most bizarre man in the universe. And one day… One day I'm going to find him so I can get all the answers that I need. Because I want to be able to tell you the story properly when you're old enough to hear it. Which, by the way, won't happen until you're at least eighteen." He pulled her closer. The baby was almost fast asleep already. "And that case, Willow Rose Watson, is going to be 'The Adventure With the Doctor and the Beast'." He lifted his gaze towards the night sky, focusing on the stars that seemed to shine oddly brightly. "It's about a man who saved my life but didn't even tell me his name."

Time passed by. One season changed to another. Deep wounds turned into scars. And on a atypically sunny Thursday morning a swooshing sound could be heard in London. Such that hadn't been heard anywhere in the universe for months.

The Doctor grinned widely as he stepped out and inhaled deeply. He was very thrilled to discover that the gesture didn't bring him unbearable pain anymore. "Good old London!" he sighed happily. He was pleased that the TARDIS had decided to take him to a rooftop because it gave him a proper chance to look around. To see all the comfortingly familiar buildings, the steady stream of life spreading below. His eyes softened and for a few stolen moments they didn't seem a thousand years old. "Still in one piece and vibrant as ever."

Donna was smiling as well while emerging and taking a stand beside him. "Someone looks happy to be back." She gave him a stern, warning look. "But don't get too excited, Spaceman. Just a little while ago you had a gaping hole in your chest, remember?"

The Doctor groaned. But in full honesty he didn't seem very irritated. "You've spent too much time with Martha."

"And whose fault is that?"

The Doctor was about to start directing the conversation elsehwere until he sensed that they were no longer alone. He tensed up a little and turned around slowly. To meet someone he really hadn't expected to ever see again. "How did you find me?"

"A friend helped." John Watson had a stern look on his face. The man was most definitely on his soldier mode. "I know that I have no right to ask you anything, after what you did for me. But… It's been seven months. And I need to know." The man took a single step forward. "Who is Rose? And how can I still be alive? And…" The former army medic's jawline tightened to what looked like a painful extend. "How much… did me keeping my life cost? What kind of a paradox did you saving my life create?"

TBC, for an epilogue

A/N: Is this possible? Is everyone really going to live until the end? Am I REALLY growing this soft?

We've got only an epilogue left, folks! I still can't believe that this story's coming to an end. (sniffles)

Sooo… Thoughts? Comments? It'd be INCREDIBLY awesome to hear from you.

I REALLY have to head to bed now. But, who knows. Maybe I'll see ya all at the conclusion…?

Take care!

Guest: I'm taking that as a MASSIVE compliment! (BEAMS) I really hope that what's to come will please you as much.

Colossal thank yous for the review!