Summary: Murphy's law in effect. Nothing good will come of this.

Author's Note: I'd like to begin this apology by saying that you are all wonderful and thank you SO much for the reviews. I'm very sorry I didn't upload on Friday like usual. I'm also very sorry this chapter is short. I can't think of a single thing to move onto. But I'll keep going. I'm currently writing the next chapter and that should be up Friday if nothing bad happens. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 11: That lit the fire

Mycroft rested his head against the interior. The others were quiet, they had been for the last few hours. He'd expected the silence. They were actually taking it better than he'd planned. But he hadn't, in all his wisdom, anticipated just how silent it would be. It was starting to get to him. The whole world was silent now, he didn't want to add to the hush. His eyes darted over to Sherlock looked at him.

He nodded sitting up. Everyone turned to Sherlock. He opened his mouth to speak. The plane bucked sharply. Everyone gasped as the helicopter suddenly dropped. John latched onto the railing as his bottom left the seat. The helicopter hitched and caught itself. Second passed as they all waited.

Mycroft looked over to Anthea. Wide eyed and still a bit rattle, she nodded. She moved into the cockpit. The scarlet red curtain billowed as she stepped into the pilot compartment. Mummers could be heard from the front. Anthea stepped back into the room. "Turbulence."

Mycroft stiffened. "Turbulence?" Anthea nodded. He straightened his suit shirt, having abandoned his jacket hours ago. "Can you fly a plane?" he asked. He pulled off his tie.

Anthea nodded slowly. Mycroft turned to Sherlock who nodded. He reached out a hand and silently asked for Molly's pipe. She handed it to him. Sherlock handed it to Mycroft.

John watched as Mycroft peaked into the cockpit. "Sherlock?" he whispered. "What's going on?" everyone listened closely.

"He said there were turbulence."

"So," Anderson said. They watched as Mycroft disappeared into the front. "Airplanes have turbulence."

"Yes, airplanes." Sherlock said. He unclipped his seat belt and John followed after him. "Helicopters don't fly high enough for turbulence. We're definitely not high enough for them."

"But why would he-"

John's question was cut short as the helicopter pitched downward. Everyone felt to the back of the helicopter. Papers and objects flew around them. Anthea reached forward. "Sir?"

She pulled open the curtains. Mycroft came tumbling out. Jeffery was on top of him now as they slid toward the back. His face was placid and his jaundice eyes burned brightly with anger. He clawed at Mycroft's suit and snapped his jaw at the available skin.

Anthea pulled him back. Lestrade held him in place. Jeffrey growled and thrashed. Working against the decline, Anthea pulled herself into the front. The world spun around them as they made a straight dive downward. Jeffrey jumped at Lestrade and Donovan stomped his head into the cabin siding. She fell back as gravity moved against her. Thick brown blood coated the walls but his head didn't cave in.

Anthea reached for the next railing to pull herself into the cockpit. Jeffrey slashed at Lestrade. He pounced for Anthea and went for her throat.

Sherlock yanked hard at Jeffery's coat. He pulled him back. "Hold on!" he screamed. The helicopter door flew open.

Papers whirled around them and John shielded his face from the tornado of wind whirling around them. His feet came out from under him and he slid quickly toward the opening. Molly caught his arm and pulled him to the side.

They all watched as Sherlock fought against the sick that was once Jeffery. Sherlock's hair caught in his face and Jeffrey reached for him clawing anything in sight. Reaching out, SHerlock grabbed the closest railing. He kicked out hitting Jeffery in the base of his chest. Jeffrey fell backward and out the helicopter door. His head hit the side of the helicopter with a sickening crack.

Pulling herself upward, Anthea rolled into the cockpit. She pulled herself into the pilot seat and grabbed the wheel. "The down spin took out the left wing." She pulled anyway.. The helicopter bucked. Everyone slammed into the unforgiving metal.

"Anthea!" Mycroft's voice was taken by the roaring winds of the open door.

Sherlock looked around the helicopter before staring out the open door. He grabbed his bag. Reaching into the front, he caught Anthea's attention. She pulled herself from the seat and gravity didn't the rest as it hurled her into the back.

"Everyone jump!" Sherlock pushed them toward the door. One by one they filed out. John was the last to go. Sherlock grabbed his hand and together they jumped.

John felt nothing at first and then he felt water. It hit him like concrete. Every bone in his body screamed at once. His eyes clamped shut and his mouth opened to scream. He reached for anything to grab, But he felt nothing but bitter ocean water lace through his fingers.

John kicked his feet fighting against the current. He broke through the surface after what felt like an eternity. John forced his body to tread water as he searched for the wreckage of the plane. A thick smoky line in the sky was his only clue. Turning to his left, a blot of land came into his sight. He fought exhaustion as he swam toward land. The waves brought him in, slamming him against the merciless beach.

He gasped as the waves came over his head. Pulling out a sore arm, he dragged his broken body further onto the beach. T%he waved lapped at his feet. John turned his head looking down the beach's end. The last thing he need to see was sicks coming in from the trees. He felt his gun pressed into the side of his jacket. He'd kill himself before let them take him. Straining to hear over the ocean waves, he waited for the groans of the infected.

Nothing came.

No sick and no people people.

John wanted to stand. He tried to pull himself to his feet. He had to find his friends. But the gentle lap of ocean waves and the warm sun on his face dragged him kicking and screaming into unconsciousness.