Bound Into the Fire

by Tara Laurel

"John sometimes compared Sherlock Holmes to the flaming beast in his mind...Not such a bad way to go, John mused. Being consumed by Sherlock. Dying in his fire. No. This was different. He was burning alive. Not figuratively. Not some flowery metaphor. Burning." The Empty Hearse spoilers. There was no two minute stay of execution. "Amazing how fire exposes our priorities."

3. Everyone's Tasting Fire

TITLE: Bound Into the Fire

CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Three/ Everyone's Tasting Fire

RATING: T (language, content)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Couple more chapters to come!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock. All credit to Doyle, Gatiss, and Moffat - and fire.

Chapter Three: Everyone's Tasting Fire

Catching fire in my throat
As I leave this place
The bitter taste of it stings my words
But then everyone's tasting fire
And higher
And higher we go
We learn as we go
The bitter taste of it stings our words
Everyone's tasting fire
And higher
And higher we go
We learn as we go
The bitter taste of it stings our words
Everyone's tasting fire
And there's no sympathy
Cause we're all
In the same place
Same place
Everyone's tasting fire
And higher
And higher we go
We learn as we go
Everyone's tasting fire
No water
Coming to save our lives
Like it was
Almost perfect
Before
Everyone's tasting fire
And higher
And higher we go
We learn as we go
Everyone was tasting fire
And higher
And higher we went
We learned as we went
That everyone's tasting fire
And higher
And higher we go
We learn as we go
But if everyone's tasting fire
Then who's gonna get the water?
Everyone's tasting fire
And higher
Who's gonna get the water?
Everyone's tasting fire
And higher
And higher
And everyone's tasting fire
But if everyone's tasting fire
Then who's gonna get the water?

Everyone's Tasting Fire by Maya Hanson

A cracking cough tore through the noise, ripping away at Sherlock's very being. It was the sound of his friend choking. Of John dying.

"John!"

Sherlock tossed a particularly heavy scrap of lumber aside, finally finding his friend through the hole. He didn't hesitate before leaning into the flames and clutching the no longer conscious man.

Dragging the doctor out of the bonfire and to safety, Sherlock nearly tore the coat right off the limp man. The jacket was now aflame and Sherlock cast it back toward the blaze. He was working his own coat off when he noted Mary already had hers at the ready. They quickly beat out the blaze that was terrifyingly trailing up John's leg and Sherlock used his scarf to suffocate the fire that had managed to cling to his friend's neck and face.

Sherlock didn't even notice when Mary started flailing her coat against the detective's apparently ablaze arm. Finishing peeling off his coat now that all the flames had been snuffed out and Mary's jacket was near shambles and ash, Sherlock draped the fabric over John's body.

His gloved hand came against the man's uninjured cheek.

"John?"

He could hear Mary echoing him, tears on her tongue. The woman moved forward, her arm extending past Sherlock and toward her lover. Sherlock watched as delicate fingers fumbled against the uninjured side of John's neck.

"He's got a pulse," she sighed with relief but still bend forward, head tilting toward John's lips. "Sherlock, he's not breathing!"

Breathing.

"Breathing's boring."

No. Breathing was certainly not boring. Not when it was John Watson who was the one breathing.

Or, as of right then, not.

John. Not breathing. Why can't I think? Sentiment! Stupid!

"Will caring about them help save them?"

This was why he turned it off. All of it off. When you care you end up losing. You get hurt.

Focus! CPR? Right? How many breaths? John's the doctor, not me!

Doctor. Nurse. Mary. Mary!

Sherlock watched as Mary Morstan began to breathe for John Watson.

That wasn't right. Not natural. John shouldn't need anyone to breathe for him.

Without moving his eyes from John's, Sherlock seized his phone and dialed the number without even thinking.

"Lestrade. Ambulance. Now."

The detective could prompt a much faster response time and Sherlock really didn't feel like dealing with some incompetent operator at the moment. He clipped off their location and situation with rapid fire speed, keeping his voice free of emotion. Like a verbal text message. Clear. Distinct. Detached.

"Oh Jes – John." He vaguely heard Greg cursing and shouting at someone. "It's on the way, Sherlock. Just – uh – hang tight. It'll be alright."

"Of course it will be alright," Sherlock snapped abruptly.

John will be alright.

The silent vow echoed between both men's minds.

Lestrade was surprised when Sherlock didn't immediately hang up on him after barking his orders.

Shock.

That was an odd thought. Sherlock in shock. But Greg knew to never be truly surprised when it came to Sherlock Holmes.

"He's still not breathing!"

Lestrade could hear an unfamiliar voice in the near distance on the other end of the line.

"Sherlock! I've lost his pulse!"

Greg launched from his chair as the obvious sounds of a mobile dropping greeted his ears. The DCI grabbed his coat, abandoning his attempt at cooking himself dinner for once.

Sherlock let the phone slip through his fingers as he listened to the nurse. He never listened to anyone. But this was about John's life. And it was Mary. If John trusted her, Sherlock had to too.

"His heart's stopped," Mary swallowed and swiped at her eyes, gasping for breath. "I have to – I have to do – chest –"

Breathing for John for so long, combined with the chase and emotional stress had visibly taken its toll. She lifted her hands to John's chest until Sherlock caught her wrist.

"Let me."

His voice was soft, yet strong, and Mary relented.

The nurse kept a clinical eye on Sherlock's movements and John's body. When it was her turn, she leaned in to give John yet another kiss of life.

"Come on, John!" Sherlock commanded his blogger, as if the man was lagging behind in a criminal chase.

"It's not working," Mary gasped for her own air. "Where's the bloody ambulance? John, don't do this. Please."

The strong nurse and sorrowful fiancé were battling for control. It was a power play of similar sorts that Sherlock had just experienced while amidst the flames.

"You're a nurse, Mary," Sherlock spoke without condescending, but command, in his tone, helping the woman win her internal war. "Think like a nurse."

Mary's watery glance caught Sherlock's serious gaze and he watched as she understood and swallowed resolutely, her eyes becoming fiercely focused.

"Straddle him."

"What?"

"Just do it!" Mary shouted firmly. "Now."

Sherlock swung his leg over John's thighs, careful to avoid his injured limb. Straddling the man, Sherlock continued compressions.

Another breath of life from Mary, more thrusts from Sherlock.

"John Watson, you are a solider and a doctor and are not allowed to die. Not here. Not like this." Sherlock spoke in a decisive tone as he pushed down. "Not when I just came back. Not after all I did to keep you alive. Not when you're going to get married. Now, get that heart beating and breathe!"

Instead of both hands, Sherlock's fist came down hard on John's abdomen at that last word. At that, the man underneath him arched and coughed suddenly and raggedly. John was still gasping and sputtering when Mary took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately, yet briefly.

"Don't you dare do that to me again!" She reprimanded with a laugh.

"Sher – lock?" John rasped, his eyes wandering wearily from his future wife to his flatmate. "Why are you – on top of me? Mary's my fiancé, she's – right here. People will talk."

"You're a medical man, John. Really. I was under Mary's instruction as it was merely to provide myself with a better –"

"Oh, shut up you two," Mary shook her head.

Sherlock smiled and repositioned himself on the grass on John's side.

"At least I did not kiss you upon your waking," Sherlock noted.

"People would've definitely talked," John chuckled and wheezed.

Mary made quick work of checking John's vitals and instructing Sherlock on caring for John's burns.

"Pupils dialated," Mary whispered, "how are you feeling?

John knew that tone and was aware she wasn't talking about the burns as she stared into his unfocused eyes.

"Concussion," John swallowed thickly. "Minor. Disorientation. Dizziness."

"Any memory loss?" Mary prompted.

"Yeah," John cracked a smile. "And you are?"

"Complete stranger," Mary replied readily. "Never gonna see me again after this."

"Good," John smirked and then frowned. "Back up."

Mary and Sherlock both saw the reason for the man's sudden cracked command in his face that was now turning colors and promptly pushed him on his side. The doctor's retching made both nurse and detective internally wince. John's throat was already raw. If the pained noises were any indication, the convulsions were far more agonizing than they could imagine.

Once he was finished, Mary wiped his mouth as Sherlock sat him up against his shoulder.

"What are - how did you –?"

"Facial burn," Sherlock answered John flippantly. "You need to sit up."

"Yes, I know why. How did you know? I thought I was the doctor." John chuckled through a cough.

"Yes, but I'm the detective who tends to start fires with my experiments. I've done the research. Now, do please stop talking. You sound like an elderly chain smoker. It's quite irritating."

Please stop talking. Rest your voice. Rest. Please. Just be okay.