Necessary Faith
By Alecto Perdita
Chapter 10 - Fight and flight
Rating: PG-13
Posted: May 13, 2012
They don't get anything out of the witch John knocked out. By the time they go to check on her, she's already dead. Judging by the dried vomit gathered at the corner of her mouth, she had committed suicide most likely through self-administered poison. The addition of another dead body both adds and solves problems at the same time. On one hand, it means no one's going to be coming after Mary again anytime soon or a living witness to identify him and Mary to the police.
On the other though, that also means they now have three bodies to deal with...
Once again thankful that he always carries a first aid kit, he has managed to clean and bandage the cut on his arm without difficulty (don't need to leave even more DNA evidence lying around). His checkup of Mary reveals her to be uninjured (great news as the last thing he wants to do at this moment is to monitor concussions).
John is pacing back and forth in the kitchen, cursing himself for not having paid more attention to some of Sherlock's ranting. He really had hoped he'd never need to call upon Sherlockian methods (well, theories really; they're only theory without practical application first) for body disposal.
At least he and Mary are still wearing gloves—a necessary precaution practiced by most hunters. They're not going to be leaving fingerprints behind. The house is clearly abandoned by its previous owner, fallen into complete disrepair before the coven moved in and started doing their rituals here. And John had not seen any other residence in sight when he was outside—just the cliff, the sea, and the moors. So it can be days or even months before the bodies are discovered.
He glances over to Mary, who hasn't moved or spoken since she planted herself in a seat at the dingy kitchen table. He does a double take. Her hands are trembling.
John kneels down by her chair and rests a hand softly on her knee. "Mary, are you okay?"
Her entire body jumps at his touch. A thin sheen of sweat has broken over her pale white face and he can see the fluttering of her rapid pulse in her throat. When he realizes she's staring vacantly at the spots of blood dotting his glove and sleeve, he quickly withdraws his hand from her knee.
"Mary, I think you're in shock."
She nods stiffly. "Probably. That's what usually happens after you shoot a person, shock, right? Oh God, John, I actually killed someone, a human being—not something, but a sodding human being! I know they wanted to hurt us, kill you, but... I shouldn't feel bad, I don't really, I think I may even feel good for avenging Will. But my hands won't stop shaking and my head hurts. All I can think about is how I just killed another person! I'm a murderer now!"
And that's the crux of their problem. The witches, though not-good in any definition and on the side of demons, had been utterly human. Unlike everything else he and Mary had hunted before—unlike the multitude of spirits and creatures that dissolve into nothing at the end—these humans leave behind utterly human lives from which they may be missed and tangible corpses that can be studied, scrutinized, and combed over for evidence.
John isn't going to let Mary take the fall for doing what had been necessary—for saving their lives.
He grips her gloved hands and steadies them. "You're in shock, you'll be okay. I'm sorry, Mary. I should have killed her right when I first came in. You shouldn't be the one with blood on the hands. I won't say that you did the right thing, because I don't know if it was. But you do need to know that you did what was necessary and that's just as important."
Her blue eyes are bright and teary. "How do you do this, John?"
How do you live with this?
"Save the guilt and remorse for better men and women, save it for those that actually deserve it, yeah?"
She squeezes her eyes shut and chokes back a sob.
He helps her onto her feet. "Come on, Mary. I know you're strong, be strong. We still have work to do. Then we can go home."
She swallows and stills for several breaths. When her eyes snaps open again, some of the old fire has returned, even if just a bit subdued. She nods and says in a tight voice, "I'm ready to go home."
It takes them several hours to drag all three bodies out into the moors and to bury them about 10 meters away from the house (John turns his back while Mary takes several moments to mutter a prayer over their shallow graves). It takes the two of them just as long to find their way back to the car. The sun starts peeking over the horizon while they pack their hiking packs into the back.
In the light of dawn, he finally gets a good look at the two of them and grimaces at the sight. Mary is drenched in sweat, covered in dirt and grass stains, and generally the picture of death warmed over. John imagines he doesn't look any better, especially with the addition of dried blood that has starched the fabric stiff. He plucks the keys out of her trembling hands and commands her to get some rest in the passenger's seat. She doesn't argue with him.
Inside the car, he discards his stained jacket and gloves, throwing them at the foot of the back seat. Mary curls up against the window with her face turned away, looking twice as small as before. John chews on his lower lips and struggles to find something to say. His heart plummets when he realizes there's nothing for him to say or fix.
-x-x-x-
Except for the quick stop for petrol, coffee, and a lukewarm and pre-packaged breakfast that they each end up picking at, they drive for hours without stopping and in complete silence. Mary is still pale and distracted, her eyes often glazed and distant. But she sleeps most of the way, and John is relieved for small miracles.
Four and a half hours later, he's forced to stop when they reach Glasgow. He needs sleep and doesn't fancy dying in a reckless automobile accident after escaping a coven of murderous witches. Mary will feel better after resting in a real bed too.
He manages to procure a room with two beds, as he's not keen on letting her out of his sight any time soon and she doesn't appear to appreciate physical intimacy at the moment. He tucks her into one of the beds with a heave and a sigh. She continues not to speak, but the lingering touch on his elbow when he tries to pull away says enough.
Thank you.
The curtains are drawn over the window and the lights are switched off. After a moment's consideration, he sheds every article of clothing except for his pants before climbing into the other bed. Despite his exhaustion, John doesn't fall to sleep right away. It's almost 1 in the afternoon and the sound of daytime traffic is difficult to block out. He stares up at ceiling and waits for his mind to quiet. Turning his head, he is greeted by the sight of Mary's back and her blond hair spread over the pillow like waves of gold.
He hopes she'll be okay. Taking another person's life is never easy—shouldn't be easy.
There are so many things he wants to ask her too. He knows he'd only overheard parts of a much larger conversation between Mary and the witch.
No, those are all things he can worry about tomorrow. In the morning, they can shower, eat a full meal, and discuss where to go from here. London, probably. It's just another six hour drive from Glasgow. Yeah, they can be back in London by tomorrow evening. John has to admit the thought is more tempting than he expected. Even after a year away from the city, John cannot seem to escape its gravity completely.
He once told Mike Stamford that he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. But the shadow of Sherlock's demise had cast a dark shadow over London.
Yeah, he can go back to London for a while. He should go see Sherlock again.
-x-x-x-
They don't talk about what happened in Skye until they're safely back within the walls of Mary's home. Not until they are miles and miles away from the small house on the moors and its horrors. What Mary does recount for him makes little sense: Lucifer's cage, breaking seals, and ushering in the end of days.
It certainly doesn't sound good.
But they don't find anything concrete in their initial research frenzy after arriving back in London. After throwing out a few line of inquiries with other hunters and the rest of the network, they are still at a loss as to what happened. But someone has been predicting the end of the world since its beginning, so he and Mary try to live their lives in the meanwhile—with one ear constantly against the ground.
What Mary does resist talking about is her experience shooting the witch in Skye and the witches' involvement in her fiancé's death. She also refuses to leave the house until absolutely necessary. Any further attempt on John's part to broach the subject in conversation is quickly shut down by Mary. On one spectacular occasion in which they had their first proper row, she smashed a mug on the kitchen floor and walked out of the house for several hours. So John stops trying to bring that up, just like how he doesn't mention how she's been losing nights to insomnia and pacing in her room.
In contrast, John can't help but feel like a caged animal. He's unused to sleeping in the same bed for more than a week at a time. He finds himself disconcerted to wake and see a familiar ceiling overhead. The routine they shared on the road becomes grating, and there are days when he cannot stand to be in Mary's home without the mad frenzy of adrenaline to feed him. He wonders if this is what it felt like for Sherlock when the lull between cases grew too long.
He's stuck in some hellish limbo in Harrows.
They quickly grow distant from one another in that first month back in London. They stop hunting after the second week back. Mary spends her time locked in her bedroom or study, and John takes day-long excursions to central London with no real destination or goal in mind. There are days when they don't see each other at all and John wonders if he should be making the decision to move out.
Then one day, Mary announces that she's looking for work as a substitute teacher. For a moment, John feels the insane urge to argue with her decision (God, it's her life, what is he thinking?). Then any word he might have said dies in his throat when he catches sight of the bracelet around her right wrist—the string of pearls that they bled for over the course of the last year.
"John, I want to thank you for everything that you've done. You have no idea what your support has meant to me." She fiddles openly with her bracelet now that she has his attention. "I know these last weeks haven't been easy for either of us."
Slumping back into his seat, John scrubs the back of his neck as the last of his irritation recently building dissipates. "We've had this conversation before Mary. You've done just as much for me. I—" he licks his lips. "I was barely living before you came along."
"I can't keep doing this."
John has suspected so over the last few weeks.
They're finally ready to address the crux of their problem.
Mary doesn't want to live this life, at least not full-time. At least not right now. The last year has taken a toll on her mentally and emotionally, even if she (brilliant and resilient Mary) tries to hide it. She wants to go back to teaching and finding her life's joy in children. He knows she will never abandon him if he just asks, but John doesn't dare begrudge her that. She wants him to stay in London—in South Harrow; he can tell.
That's where they come to an impasse.
But John isn't ready to leave this life behind either. Not while he can still run and chase and hunt. Because if he stops for too long, he might remember being left behind.
They will remain friends and allies, brother-and-sister-in-arms (because once a hunter, always a hunter). But she deserves to be happy. She deserves to know if she will ever find love again like that with her Will.
For John, there was only one consulting detective in all the world—and he was no longer.
She sees that (patient, wonderful, loving Mary always knows). Instead of asking him to stay, she gifts him with her father's car, the vast majority of her weapons arsenal, and the guest bedroom that he will always be welcomed to use between jobs.
They will go their separate ways for now. But John knows it will only be a matter of time between he once again finds his way back to London, his mentor, and Sherlock's grave. He cannot forever escape the city's gravity anymore than he could Sherlock's.
So I miscounted last time. We're actually more than halfway through the story.
As suggested by their confrontation with the witches, this part of the fic coincides with season 4 of Supernatural, where Lilith is on her quest to break the seals on Lucifer's cage. Mary could have been used to fulfill one of the criteria for one of the many seals holding Lucifer.
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