Chapter 2: Second Time Not to Die~
John didn't wait for a cab. He ran, all the way to the train station. Or more preciscely ,he flew.
The police had intercepted the situation. The car chase had been stopped. He could hear Greg shouting his name. But he couldn't stop, he couldn't.
Because he saw what the police had not seen. One stray black car had found it's way out of the line up ,and had found it's way onto the TRACKS.
John heard people shouting , he felt arms tearing at him, but nobody could hold him back.
For the new black motocycle ,that the Yard had chipped in to buy, was speeding, with its two riders still on it, straight for the back of the tube, that seemed to be fleeing the scene of the crime.
And the car was speeding ,until it was going as fast as it could. Sherlock half-way stood up on the bike, and Mary looked back. There was no out this they would be smashed into the train by the suicidal car, or the train would suck them under it.
John screamed, something unintelligible. He couldn't form their names ,or even a thought. His breath was sucked out of him, and his lungs felt like gas had been ciphened back into them, to burn away the oblivion left behind. He was about to watch Sherlock die for the second time, and this time Mary was going with him.
Only Sherlock, as everyone should know by now, simply is not killed so easily. He had ,apparently, learned a few tricks during his Hiatus.
He turned the bike on it's side,and somehow managed to slide it in the tiny space between the tube's wheels,and the tracks. The sleek black metal was suddenly throwing sparks, which is all that the policemen, the by-standers, and the reporters witnessed. John saw,-as if God had given him the gift of revelation- what nobody else did.
Sherlock managed to roll himself on top of Mary, and protectively pin her down, somewhere in the middle of the force of the swift moving train pushed them down the metallic stream, and sparks went up,a bike,and a blood-stained long black cloak, were spat back out, and were the evidence apoun which the others blamed the multi- murder of the Watson couple,and of Sherlock Holmes.
Because John's feet took off with him,as if swept up in the steel current,determined to pluck them free of the teeth of the railroad, when ever the train thundered on down the line. That is, IF they lived.
The car ,however, shattered like windows all over the line, and there was such a buzz of confusion,it was assumed John was killed when he tried to reach his friend,and his wife.
The train ,though, rattled on, and a buzz was going on with it's conducter, to stop it at a nearer station, for a police investigation. Somewhere in the middle, John was left, panting, because he couldn't shriek to summon banshees, having fallen to his knees beside the rail lines.
There was only one terrible moment, where he felt like the railway was like chains holding down the river of Life,that now ran through his dismal-shady hell. He felt anger boil in him like Vesuvius' rage, at Sherlock for doing this again, but not at Sherlock, because it was clearly not his fault. He felt like so many things were left unsaid. He wished he could run a hand through Mary's soft hair, ...one more time.
And then he snapped to attention. Had heard a sound. Of a cough. Of someone relaxing from a strained position.
"Aren't you glad your husband makes us wear these silly helmets?" said Sherlock, tossing them to the side. They were fryed anyway.
Mary coughed, Sherlock had been holding her down flush with the rail ,by her waist,and had smashed her lungs a bit.
"Clearly you have no idea how to hold a woman, Sherlock..." she whined.
"Ah, a bit awkward ,this." he agreed, and sat up, easing her to sitting.
They were both startled when John crowed,and ran to them both. Unable to decide which one to sieze in a smothering embrace, he fell on both of them, knocking them back into the position they recently occupied.
"I don't mean to uhmm...burst the emotional bubble, but..well, the lines really aren't the place for..."
"Sherlock! SHUT UP!" John gasped,and pulled him closer.
Mary giggled, "You're always the third wheel ,aren't you?" she said, poking Sherlock in the ribs, somewhere under John's arm.
"Oi, Mary ,you shut up ,too!" John gasped. " Just... both of you, hush,and let me catch my breath!"
And by that he meant, let him count their breaths, until he convinced himself they were breathing...