Bruce continued to grow, to expand, the pale pigmentation of his flesh broiling and darkening into a harsh and enveloping shade of green. The grunts of pain stretched into agonised growls, climaxing as ragged screams that echoed with a low and roaring accompaniment that by the second took control. The scientist's eyes were squeezed shut, but the contortion of his features shifted from terror to rage in flickering, erratic moments.
The Doctor ceased backing away, stumbling slightly on a charred and smoking fragment of the ground, the burning residue of the explosion that had only seconds before taken place. The building complex was stained black with smoke, and chipped by shrapnel, but it appeared untouched; Moriarty couldn't have risked his machine it seemed.
Sherlock could only watch as the Doctor spoke, his hands outstretched towards Bruce's still writhing form. It was as if Bruce were trying to fight the transformation, trying to bite it down. Sherlock knew with a drowning feeling of dread that it wasn't going to change the inevitable, any more than the Doctor's tense but encouraging litany would sway the raw strength and anger that would be unleashed.
He had seen the videos, opened them surreptitiously while working, and the solid weight of his flatmate, still covering him, his chest heaving while also frozen by the sight of Bruce's agony, made the morbid curiosity vaporise in the wake of inescapable fear.
In the end, it was the release of pressure, the feeling of John hoisting himself sideways with a grunt, his hands clasping at his gun as he landed on his stomach in the dust and dirt beside the detective, and that made Sherlock inhale hastily. His mind was churning too slowly.
Sherlock forced himself up onto his elbows, and his hand darted out to grasp John's wrist, halting the upward motion that the barrel of the gun was making. John glared, his forehead creasing and his mouth opening and closing, but Sherlock just glared back. Now was not the time for rash action. As he wanted to reply, to tell John what to do, it was as if a predatory calm had fallen over the river's edge.
The air was still clogged with smoke, and his ears still rang, but Sherlock could no longer hear the choking guttural noises that had been emanating from the mutating scientist. Even the Doctor's incessant pleas of comfort had ceased. He turned his head, inches above the dirt, mirroring John's stiff tilt; what his eyes fell upon might well have made his heart stop, just for a fraction of a second.
Looming, practically shivering with pent up rage and frustration, metres above any stance that Sherlock could attempt, stood an enhanced, bulbous and primed creature that looked more a man than a monster save for the toxic green that invaded its every pore.
Feet away, the Doctor was standing frozen, and Sherlock was relieved to know that John was emulating him, as unsteady as his breathing may have been against the ground that he lay upon.
The creature – the 'Hulk', was clenching his fists, snarling soundlessly around as if finding his bearings. Sherlock closed his hand even tighter around John's wrist, and prayed inwardly that the Hulk would retain even a hazy memory of Bruce's apparent affection for his recently acquired allies.
"Sherlock…" John breathed, barely louder than a whisper of air through the trees, "Sherlock what do we do?"
It was difficult to tear his eyes from the Hulk, who looked ready to pounce, as if he were observing his surroundings, but Sherlock managed it. The rush of something, like the promise of safety mixed with an irrational panic filled his chest as he ran his gaze over John's strained face.
"Stay very, very, still." Sherlock muttered lightly; he chanced a glance at the Doctor, who met his eyes and nodded, his jaw set, and given the man's intuition, Sherlock assumed that he knew what the detective had decreed, "He might leave us be, he's supposed to be on our side."
"Are you sure?" John retorted sharply, nodding imperceptibly in the Hulk's direction, "Because he looks like he could smash us regardless."
"Of course I'm not-" Sherlock's voice locked in his throat at the sound of a violent exhale. His head snapped around moments after John's and he was greeted by the sight of the bulking figure blocking out the harsher rays of the sun as he stared furiously down at them, his teeth showing under his quivering lips.
There was something calculating in his eyes, drifting beneath the veneer of hostility, but Sherlock could barely focus on that when met with the crippling refusal of his limbs to draw him to his feet. If only John would rise he might have been less immobile, but they both remained struck dumb on the ground.
"Bruce, leave them alone!" the Doctor's voice shattered the tension that had been building as the Hulk apparently decided whether they were worth his time, and the green giant bore down upon the Timelord, a unchecked hiss escaping his jaws.
Sherlock took the opportunity to pick himself up, dragging John with him. The Hulk changed his path once again, but merely growled threateningly at the detective. John raised his hands in surrender, as best he could while Sherlock maintained his tight grip. He couldn't think properly – everything was eclipsed by thoughts of John, thoughts of Bruce losing control inside this raging monster, who had turned back to the Doctor, snarling but not attacking just yet.
Not to mention the thoughts that he tried to push to the back of his mind telling him that because of him, a madman and a god were probably going to kill them all.
"Bruce, you need to stop and think, I know that you're in there." The Doctor was saying confidently, but as Sherlock watched him twist and tweak his screwdriver, barely taking his eyes off of the Hulk as he edged backwards for every centimetre that the creature leaned, the detective couldn't help but see every crack in his façade.
The Hulk swung a clenched fist at the TImelord, narrowly missing him as the man leapt back, his nose wrinkling in disgruntlement. He didn't try again, but the Doctor remained on the tips of his toes in case he might have to move again.
John made as if to lurch forward, acting the hero, but Sherlock saw it coming and yanked him backwards. The detective placed his arm firmly in front of the doctor, holding him back. He knew that it would do no good should John make a valid effort, but for now it seemed to work.
Despite the desperate situation, as the Doctor tried once again to placate the Hulk, Sherlock gazed down at John with an unusually unguarded flush of tenderness. Also irritation, as the man was pouting, his own eyes burning his determination into the detective's with a stubbornness that Sherlock wished he could beat down for once. He couldn't allow him to die.
The sound of the ground cracking underfoot, and a sickening thud followed my an 'oomph' was the only warning that they received before the Doctor's crumpled form was thrown unceremoniously into Sherlock's side.
Once again, he found himself sprawled on the ground beside John and the irritably muttering Doctor, looking up through his own muted panic at the hulking green mass, which bared its teeth and growled.
"Bruce…" Sherlock tried, one last ditch attempt. He wasn't an idiot; he knew that given his own body weight and relative size it wouldn't take much more than a well aimed fist to cause irreparable damage to him or to John.
Any pity or calculation that might have lurked beneath the surface was lost, and the Hulk raised his fists to his chest, the muscles in his engrossed arms rippling and bulging horrifically, as his face contorted even further, and he let out an almighty roar. It was as if the atmosphere itself was shaken, and Sherlock couldn't have done more to shield John had he been in his feet and armed to the teeth. All that he could hope to achieve was to keep a tight hand clasped around John's while the Doctor muttered frantically to himself, still tinkering with the damned screwdriver even as the Hulk looked ready to tear him apart.
"Sherlock we need to run!" John snapped, pulling on the detective's hand and barely managing to make it to his feet with two other men sprawled beside him.
"Run where John? We can't move that fast!" Sherlock replied sharply, but he allowed himself to be led clumsily from the ground even as the Hulk closed the space, coming close enough that one swing would leave them incapacitated.
Sherlock swallowed hard as the green mutation raised its fist, and the blood was pounding so hard in his ears, his hand was throbbing so hard with the pain of John's grip, and his eyes had closed automatically with the fear of death, that it was a moment before he realised that it hadn't come.
He heard John exhale loudly and swear under his breath. When he opened his eyes, knowing that the Hulk was still there, that no heavy steps had been taken, and yet no tell tale whoosh of air had been created, it was to see the fist suspended in the air, and the Hulk's honed and monstrous head turned towards the denser city.
And then he heard it. The roars from the other creatures, echoing, bellowing as if in response to the Hulk's own roar. Unlike the Hulk's, these were animalistic, unrestrained, raw and wild. They sounded like they were fighting, winning or not, Sherlock couldn't tell. He hoped that they weren't.
The Hulk let his hand drop, and Sherlock choked out a breath that he had until that moment been unaware he had been holding. The Doctor too had stopped muttering, and was rising slowly to his feet before the detective and is colleague; he was peering into the city scape with a cold, unreadable expression.
Before he could be stopped, not that they would have been able to Sherlock thought, the Hulk turned completely, showing his bare back as he stumbled, and then ran, his feet pounding the ground and shredding the dirt as he raced towards the sounds of one-sided battle.
If the glint in his eyes was real, then Sherlock thought that he could have worked out that his team was in need of him. It was more likely that he had heard the cries of his like and decided to join them.
Sherlock felt John's entire weight slump into his side, and the warmth was only just enough to provide the comfort required to not curl up and walk away.
"We should go after him." John was the first to speak, and though Sherlock wanted to scold him and tell him that they would be returning home immediately, he didn't. The Doctor span around on his heel, flashing them a debonair smile that Sherlock hated on sight.
"I agree, Dr Watson." He remarked, and with that, he turned once again, and began running down the dented pathway that the Hulk had created.
To Sherlock's dismay, John's presence at his side disappeared, and his flatmate was following the Doctor, his shoulders set like the soldier that he was. He paused momentarily and looked back to the detective, extending his hand in a gesture that screamed far more things than Sherlock cared to try and decipher.
With a sigh, and the stifling of his own inner voice telling him to turn around, Sherlock dug his hands into the pockets of his coat and jogged to John's side.
One thought that kept spinning around his mind as they approached the denser part of the city, was that the Avengers had better have been keeping the creatures contained. He hadn't yet decided how he might deal with one should they meet head on.
Firstly, I'd like to apologise for the long wait for this pitifully short chapter. I've only just finished a ton of school work, and I'm not entirely happy with the writing of this, although I've got the story worked out now.
Apart from that, if you're still reading, I hope you enjoy