TITLE: Bound Into the Fire
CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Four/ Out of the Fire
RATING: T (language, content)
A/N: Three chapters in one night. I am such a kind human being, aren't I?
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock. All credit to Doyle, Gatiss, and Moffat - and fire.
Chapter Four: Out of the Fire
Hidden is the flame that burns,
outward the inward turns;
What was lost and uncreated,
becomes a pillar, strong and plated.
Glowing toward the upward sky,
in the journey to reach on high;
Finding what tempers the steel that survives,
is the mystery in strengthening our lives.
In the fire of life we create,
building on a twist of fate;
When the final days of living call,
our new life constructed will not fall.
Life was taken to new heights,
out of darkness of days and darkness of nights;
The goal was reached, the light was found,
finally the new life will abound.
Out of the Fire, Into the Sky by Bill King
"Don't just stand around like the idiots that you are!" Sherlock suddenly addressed their audience. "Someone get cool water."
"We'll need compresses," Mary added. "Bandaging, dressings, anything if anyone can find some."
A few people hurried in opposite directions while a young girl hesitantly approached the trio. She was struggling against her father's hold until she finally broke away. Sprinting forward, the girl with the funny hat – the screamer, Sherlock deduced – handed the detective a small water bottle from her jacket pocket.
"Here."
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and took the gift, giving it promptly over to Mary. He tried to ignore John's hitched hiss at the feel of the liquid against his burns.
"Come along, Sally," the girl's father began pulling her away once more.
"So you started the fire?" Sherlock turned his head to the man.
"I – yes – but I didn't know. I swear."
"Oh, don't have a heart attack. The good doctor is currently out of commission and the nurse here is busy trying to save him. We really don't need another patient at the moment. I believe you." He bit back his deductions of the man to exactly why he believed him as time was of the essence. "I want you to take the names and contact details of everyone here tonight. I want descriptions. Details. Who set up the bonfire? Was it left unattended? When and for how long? Any suspicious strangers. Everything. Do it. Now."
The man thankfully didn't question his orders and ran off toward the crowd with his daughter firmly in his grasp.
A teenager and middle aged woman returned just then, both carrying collected water and scraps of cloth for compression.
"These were in the church," the recently widowed mother of three spoke as she handed over some bandaging and a first aid kit.
"I had one in the boot of my car," another mother approached a kit. "Kids, you know."
Mary offered their thanks when Sherlock didn't and the two made quick work of doing what they could for John with their limited supplies. The soldier kept a stiff lip, visibly holding back cries of pain and probably tears. The pair could also see how hard the doctor was clawing at consciousness as well. He had been lucid, but the concussion, poisoning and exhaustion were all fighting for claim over his mind. It wasn't long before his lids faltered and fell.
"Stay awake, John," Mary urged gently.
"John," Sherlock added when the man's eyelids wouldn't obey. "Open your eyes, John. Right now. Focus."
"Look at me," Mary commanded considerably calmly. "Just keep looking at one of us. Alright?"
"Guess I'll – need a – cane again." John huffed.
"Yes. Congratulations. You have succeeded in getting a non-psychosomatic leg injury. I do hope that wasn't a personal life goal of yours.
"Make for rubbish wedding photos," John snorted.
"You have to ask me first before there can be a wedding," Mary reminded him playfully.
"Ask you to marry me?" John scoffed sarcastically. "But you're a stranger. I don't know you."
"You didn't know me and you killed a man to save my life," Sherlock reasoned, actually allowing himself to play along in the couple's game.
"And I did just save your life," Mary added.
"We," Sherlock corrected. "We saved your life."
"Well I'm bloody well not marrying the both of you," John shook his head and grimaced at the flare of discomfort from the action.
"Fine," Mary nodded, a wry smile creeping into the corners of her lips, "congratulations, Sherlock."
"No, wait, what?" John spoke as Sherlock's head snapped toward her.
"John, I think you should ask her now before something strange happens that will definitely make people talk," Sherlock smirked.
"Ask her?" John coughed. "I don't even have the ring with me."
"Yes you do," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You carry it everywhere. Front left pocket of your trousers."
John glared up at his flatmate before smiling and snorting.
"So, this is how I'm gonna propose? Half my body burned and you holding me?"
"You will never forget it," Sherlock teased.
John began to squirm, attempting to reach for his pocket, and groaned as his whole body throbbed.
"Need – a little – help."
After all the time John had reached into Sherlock's pockets for his phone or keys or wallet – or a victim's ear that one time – it almost gave the blogger a sliver of satisfaction when the detective huffed and began fishing for the small box in his jeans. Sherlock retrieved it, thankfully not stolen or damaged in the night's events, and placed it in John's somewhat shaking hand.
"Right," John cleared his throat – twice. "Well, then. Hm. Mary." He nodded to himself and paused. "I honestly practiced this 100 times and every time I actually try I don't know what to say. Or my friend comes back from the dead to interrupt me."
"Sorry," Sherlock whispered shortly,
"Mary, we – it – we haven't been together long, but – being with you – you make me so happy. You make me laugh. You were there for me when –" he cut himself off, not desiring to mention those many morbid months in front of the man responsible for them. "You're amazing, Mary. The best woman that I've ever known. And the only woman I can see spending the rest of my life with. I promise I will spend the rest of my life being everything I can for you. Loving you."
"Well, then, you bloody well better not die before we get you to hospital," Mary laughed. "Not much of a promise, then is it?"
"That's it," John nodded. "You caught me."
"Oh, you two are ridiculous," Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Oh, be quiet Sherlock and let me say yes," Mary grinned at the detective and then at John. "Yes. Of course. I love you."
The pair kissed, Mary leaning over to catch John's mouth while the man was still being partially cradled by Sherlock. Once again the detective let his eyes go in a circle.
"Oh please. Of course she was going to say yes, John. She'd already introduced herself to Mrs. Hudson as your fiancé. Please don't tell me your arranged this little life or death experience to win her over when it was already done."
"Uh, no," John breathed. "Definitely not. And at least I don't take a bloody poison in a pill to prove I'm clever."
"It wasn't the poison," Sherlock straightened. "I chose correctly. As always."
"You guessed and you still don't know which one it was." John argued.
"Actually, I do." Sherlock paused and was suddenly serious. "I ran lab tests after the case. I, I was – wrong. You did, in fact, save my life."
"And now you saved mine."
"We," Mary corrected, playfully echoing Sherlock from earlier.
"I must've really nearly died if Sherlock Holmes is telling me he was wrong." John mused, hiding a moan.
"Yes, and you will not being do so again."