Summary: Mysteries are solved and John's being the wonderful knight in shining armor he is.
Author's Note: Let me begin this three part apology by saying the obvious: I'm sorry. I haven't updated in, like, forever and though i do have many excuses, that really doesn't matter. I don't know where the story is heading so i'm going to try my hardest to keep everything in order and not fall off the edge of the world again like i did. I'll try to update but with college kicking my ass, i don't know what will happen. Here's the new chapter. I hope you enjoy it.
Note:
*C rotation over face= search in sign language
Chapter 13: It usually is
Lestrade tried to keep his face in check. John had gone to sleep over three hours ago and left him alone with Ablean on the porch. He hadn't gotten much out of her. The woman was quiet and reserved to a fault. He sighed. He wished he'd gone on that perimeter check with Donovan and Anderson but he couldn't leave John alone. So he'd stayed behind. If Sherlock knew that he'd left John home with suspicious people, he would have killed him. Lestrade ignored the sadness welling in his chest. Sherlock would have already figured out what they were up to. Lost in his own world, Lestrade only resurfaced when he felt an overly familiar chill crawl down his spine. He looked over to find Able staring at him, a soft smile on her face. He forced himself to smile back. At one point that smile had seemed sweet, kind even. But now, it was just creepy. She smiled too often.
Gravel crunched ahead of them as Hans came up the driveway. He smiled at Lestrade. Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. The man had his mother's smile. Lestrade listened as Hans spoke Able.
"Mum," Hans said. "Patrick and I are going on a supply run. Jacob will be back with the others after the perimeter check. We should all be home in time for dinner."
Able nodded and Hans patted her hand. He smiled again at Greg.
Greg smiled back. He watched the man pass them and into the house. A few bumps later, he came back out with his backpack and gun. "Bye mum." he said before kissing his mother's cheek and disappearing down the drive.
Greg sighed in relief. Two less people to worry about now.
"Is something wrong dear?" Able said.
Greg shook his head. "Just a little tired." He wasn't lying. He was exhausted.
Able gestured to the door. "Then you should take a nap."
Lestrade shook his head. He didn't like leaving her by herself. Something about the woman put him off. "Not that kind of tired." he said.
Able nodded. "Oh," she said slowly. She looked out into the morning sky. An uncomfortable silence fell over the two. Greg sat internally screaming. To his relief, Able broke the silence first. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know how to respond." her shoulders sagged and for the first time, Greg could actually see the age on her face. She stood up from her chair, dusting imaginary dirt from her dress. "We're all tired."
Lestrade following her inside. He closed the door behind himself and turned to see John coming down the steps. Lestrade held out a hand and John stopped. Looking into the kitchen, Lestrade spotted Able cleaning off an onion, her back turned to them. Lestrade locked eyes with John and twirled his finger hoping John understood what he meant. He hadn't seen enough military movies for this. John raised an eyebrow and Lestrade cursed. He held his hand in a C formation and circled his face twice*. John gave him a thumbs up and crept back up the stairs. Lestrade rolled his eyes. Of course John knew sign language. "Let me help you with that." Lestrade said loud enough for John to hear.
Springing into action, John pulled off his shoes tucking them under his arm and started at the door at the furthest end from the stairs. Brushing it only slightly, he waited for someone inside to move. Only silence greeted him and after a second, he looked inside. It was one of the boy's bedrooms, Jacob's from the looks of it. Scanning quickly, he shut the door behind himself.
He stopped at the next door and repeated the process. Again, no one was inside. He continued down the hall, room after room. Sally and Molly's room had been clean. Molly was inside, sleep. The only reason he knew was because he'd almost fallen onto her in all his effort to be sneaky. It wasn't his best sleuthing moment. For a moment, he let himself imagine Sherlock behind him chuckling. But then that moment hurt too much and he buried the thought.
Patrick's room was clean as well. So was Hans's. John checked the rest of the rooms and then looked a second time. He couldn't understand it. Something had to be going on. They just didn't seem right to him. A big happy family in the midst of an apocalypse? Unlikely. Sherlock would have seen it coming from a mile away so what was he missing?
He moved slowly downstairs, testing each of the creaky steps before he put too much pressure on them. The last thing he needed was for Able's hawk hearing to pick up the sound. John tried to search the living room nonchalantly. At least in there, he could make an excuse as to why he was looking around. He stepped into the hallway careful not to be seen.
It was a hallway, nothing too crazy about it. A stand held a handmade bowl with a pair of car keys and few other boring objects. John looked around the back door. Terence was outside cleaning and gardening. Nothing out of the ordinary. A family hanging rug sat against the wall. It was an interesting rug to say the least. He hadn't noticed it before. The rug looked new, all the threading still strong and slick under his fingers. It was a wide rug, out of place in the small area but fitting with the decor. John turned up one of the corners.
A door sill came into view.
He lifted the entire rug. They'd hidden a door behind it. How had he missed that? Sherlock's voice flooded into his head. 'You see, but you don't observe John. Try to keep up, will you?' John chuckled softly to himself as he turned the handle. Locked. He wasn't surprised. That would have been too easy. Looking out the back door, Terence's back was to him. John rummaged around. He found a bobby pin in the handmade bowl. He picked the lock quickly and slipped into the darkness below.
o.O.O.o
Lestrade looked around the room. The smell of warm meats and vegetables clung to the walls of the kitchen. He watched his fingers as he cut through a piece of tomato. He'd nearly cut himself twice with his shaky hands. He couldn't understand why he was so nervous. He was a police officer dammit, he could handle an old lady. His mind quickly went to Miss Hudson and all her wrath. He wondered if he actually could take Able if it came to it.
"Is something wrong?" Able said. She'd been saying that a lot. "You look like you've smelled something foul."
Lestrade shook his head. "No it's nothing, just thinking about an old friend."
Able nodded, chopping through an onion. "Don't think too hard, it's not good for you. Worry lines and all."
Lestrade nodded rolling up his sleeves and grabbing another tomato from the basket.
Able looked out the kitchen door. "Is John up yet?" she said more to herself than to Lestrade.
Lestrade answered anyway. "No, i think he's still asleep."
Able hummed a reply. Her lips pursed. "Really." she chopped through an onion with a bit more force than necessary. "I thought i heard a door open upstairs."
Lestrade raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Last i checked, he was still asleep." he could feel the tension rising in the room. "He'll come down when he's ready." Lestrade turned back to his tomato. "And when he does, we should be done cooking. What are we making by the way?"
Able smiled again. "Meatloaf." she said.
Lestrade relaxed. The tension broke and they continued quietly. Able hummed a cheerful tune as she continued to cut peppers and onions. Setting down her knife, Able reached into the cabinets. "Greg, can you hand me the basket?"
He nodded grabbing it. "Here, what-" Lestrade's voice caught in his throat as pain shot through the back of his head. He fell frowned into the basket.
Able frowned. Whipping off the scarlet liquid from the bottom of her cast iron pan, she finished off the rest of the ingredients and put the meatloaf in the oven. Able looked down at her destroyed basket. "I liked that basket." she said. Nudging Lestrade's head with the tip of her shoe, she sighed. "You're going to pay for that."
o.O.O.o
John cursed as he bumbled around in the darkness. He groped the wall searching for the light switch. His hand dipped into wetness and he yanked it back. Rubbing the liquid between his fingers, he smelled it. It smelled metallic. Cold seeped into his stomach and he stiffened for a second. Reaching out again, he found the light switch. His eyes adjusted to the blinding light and he stared at his hand.
Blood.
His hand was covered in blood.
He stepped back from the wall splattered in crimson and stared at the table in front of him. He'd only seen tables like this in slasher movies, covered in dripping scalpels and bloodied rags.
"...John…"
John froze. He turned slowly to the sound of his name. The word came pouring out before he could think of it. "Sherlock?"
Sherlock smiled weakly. His head tipped forward, sweaty black locks falling into his pale face. "48 hours." his voice was barely a mumble. "You're getting sloppy." A soft mumbled came from behind him and Sherlock froze. "Mycroft?" He thrashed against the restraints on his wrists. "He's awake. Help him."
John didn't need to be told twice. He all but ran to Mycroft. His feet skid through a pool of blood as he finally reached the bound man. His nose was bent slightly out of place and a bright purple bruise bloomed over his left cheek. John untied him quickly and Mycroft swayed dangerously to one side. Blood trickled from his lips and onto his red stained suit pants and torn shirt.
"Mycroft, stay awake. You have a concussion." John said.
He looked over Mycroft's chest and legs finding scratches and cuts but nothing too bad. He looked over his arms and hands next. He froze staring at his left hand and gagged. "Where's your finger?" he managed to say.
Mycroft looked over the bleeding void where his left pinky had been. He tried to speak but only a few gurgling sounds and a handful of words broke through. It sounded like he was talking through a mouth of cotton. Speak impediment. Definitely a concussion. John grabbed a cloth form the table and applied pressure to Mycroft's hand. He quickly untied Sherlock and the two lifted Mycroft slowly. Sherlock's own legs shook slightly. Mycroft mumbled something and John looked up.
Sherlock grabbed his brother's arm and swung it over his shoulder. "He said Anthea. Where is she?" Through blurry vision, he followed John toward the door.
"I don't know. When did you last see her?" John said.
Mycroft's head bobbed to Sherlock's shoulder. "Finger…" he managed. "When finger…"
"He tried to stop them from taking her. He hit the father. They nearly took his whole hand." Sherlock panted. Walking was getting difficult for him.
John helped Sherlock sturdy Mycroft and the three hobbled up the stairs. Kicking open the door. John pulled them into the hallway. Terence stood in the back doorway, shock written over his face. He quickly grabbed a cultivating tool he'd been using outside and swung at John's stomach.
John dropped Mycroft's arm and grabbed Terence's. Using his weight against him, he tossed the older man over his shoulder. He tumbled down the stairs with a sickening crack and laid there, his neck bent out of place.
A scream sprang out and they all snapped over to the front of the hallway. Able screamed as she tried to run past them. Sherlock grabbed her arm pulling her back. "Where is Anthea?" he said.
Able blinked at John through teary eyes and ripped her wrist from his grip. "Ask John. He saw her at dinner last night." She ran down the stairs.
John paled. Sherlock slammed the door shut and locked it. He grabbed the both of them pulled them down the hallway. The front door opened and Jacob looked around. "What the hell is going on-" Sherlock head butted him. Jacob fell to the ground unconscious. Sherlock staggered a bit, catching himself on the wall.
Donovan came into the house first. "What the hell are you doing?" she stopped when she saw Sherlock. "Sherlock?"
Molly ran down the stepped. She froze seconds before the bottom. "Oh my god, Sherlock."
He swatted her hands away. "Medical supplies, now. Mycroft." he managed between pants. He'd been cut up pretty badly but he wasn't the one dying of blood loss. Yet.
Everyone snapped into action. Anderson walked into the house confused but quickly caught up. He ran into the kitchen clearing off the table. He looked underneath. "I found Greg." he yelled. "He's unconscious but alive."
"Way to be helpful." Sherlock yelled. He held his head. John guided the brothers into the room and started on Mycroft. Molly scrambled down the steps with the medical kit.
Sherlock pushed past Anderson who was busying himself collecting supplies. He looked over John's shoulder. "Is he alive?"
John pulled at Mycroft's sleeve and looked over the damages. It wasn't a clean cut by any means. He quickly disinfected it. Mycroft's eyes snapped open and he tried to stop him. Sherlock held down his other arm and John quickly stitched up the hand. Wrapping it, he pulled Mycroft up. "Get him to the car out front. The keys are in the bowl in the hall." he handed Mycroft off to Molly. "Lay him flat, raise his feet about 12 inches, and cover him with a coat or blanket. We can't have him going into shock."
Molly nodded and with Donovan, the two carried him out. John looked over Sherlock next. "Let me see." he said.
Sherlock tried to push him away. "Check me later, we need to go."
John caught his hands and opened what was left Sherlock's bloodied shirt. He sucked in a breath. Red welts and deep cuts covered his skin. John pushed him back. "How the hell were you still standing?" he said as he began disinfecting.
"Adrenaline and determination." Sherlock's voice was getting weaker. He grunted as John stitched up the cuts and helped him up.
Sherlock smacked Lestrade in the face. "Oi?" he smacked him again. "We're leaving. I'm not dragging you out of here." he said. Lestrade got up slowly and stared at Sherlock. He pulled him into a hug. Sherlock sighed pushing away. "Not the place Graham."
"It's Greg."
Sherlock turned on his heels. "Let's go." John had to help him out of the house. They piled outside quickly and jumped into the car parked out front. Molly looked around. "What happened to Anthea?" she said.
"She's dead." Sherlock said. Anderson was the last out carrying four bags full of food and supplies he'd managed to snag. "Good thinking." Sherlock said, resting his head against the window.
Anderson helped Lestrade and Donovan get Mycroft situated in the back. He looked over to Sherlock and then to John. "He must be really out of it."
John turned the ignition as a blood curdling scream came from inside the house. "Go." someone yelled in the back and John backed up reving the engine. They kicked up dirt as they made their getaway down the abandoned road.