Quick note (I hate these so you won't see them often unless needed) This is officially the longest story I have written to date!
Thank you all for your wonderful and uplifting comments they mean so much to me and I visit them on hard days
It was hot and there was fire.
It was dark, but he hurt.
The explosion made it hard to hear, hard to move, hard to breath. Everything hurt breathing, moving his eyes under closed lids, and most of all thinking.
His cognitive process was cut to a minimum very few thoughts were allowed to enter his cerebral cortex, the darkness, the filthy air, the dry grit beneath his fingers and caked under his neatly trimmed nails.
Dry
Hot
Pain
BREATH
A heavy gasp was heard in the quiet cave that was the hideout of the enemy.
The man knew better than to call out, knew better than to cry for the gladness that he was alive, was smart enough to know not to yell for the water that would stop the burning sensation in his throat.
They had other ideas.
"So you awaken." A man walks into view with a water in a rusty bucket, "I was wondering if you were not dead!" He laughed and threw the water onto the figure.
The injured soldier cried out in pain as the water hit raw tender flesh and carried away drying blood down the unnatural canals formed by the explosion.
"What-What do you want?" He hated to stutter, but his throat burned at any use and if the air had caused pain then actually speaking caused pure agony, not aided by the screaming.
"Do not try to speak, you are obviously in no condition to do so."
"Water." The injured man choked out as he rested his head against the rough stone wall.
"Did you miss the water you already got? Hard to believe that with the ruckus you put up." The enemy laughed and left the man bleeding out and silently scream against the harsh dry sand stone.
Maybe he had died.
Maybe this was Hell
"Lestrade, I know you have a case for me! Three killings in a closed off room with no prints! You know you need me for this so why am I not there?" Sherlock paced the apartment stepping over the coffee table and onto the couch.
"Because, Sherlock, you need time to gather yourself. I knew it was a bad idea before, but now I am sure that I am not going to be handing you anything!" Lestrade's voice was strained with the stress of the case and the pressure the public was putting on him to find the killer, "Look, I am so sorry about John-"
"Don't you dare say that." Sherlock cut him off, "Don't you give your condolences like some fan! Give me the case or let people keep dying!"
"Sherlock, what is this about? The case or your inability to cope? Because if it is the later than I am NOT going to give it to you!" Lestrade passed on the other end of the line and heaved a breath, "I consider you a friend even if you don't consider me one of yours and I am begging you to take some time to-recover before you come to me for a case."
Sherlock took a deep breath that seemed to cleanse his soul and clear his head.
"Greg, John left me a letter," He paused collecting the pieces of his fractured heart, "he told me to not stop taking cases just because he was-"
"If you are lying to me, Sherlock, may God help you." He paused for several moments, "Fine, you get this case out of my respect for John. I would ask for the letter as proof, but I won't intrude. Get down here and I'll read you in."
"Greg," Sherlock said quietly, "Thank you."
Sherlock hung up the phone and grabbed his coat running down the stairs to go and save people's lives.
Andrew had to go back to school, it had been a week and according to the school that was a long enough period of mourning and required him to return to classes.
So here he was, in the corner he always occupied before the start of classes, a week after he had lost his third parent.
"You don't have very good luck with parents do you?" Carter the Imbecile came up to Andrew, head on, leaving him nowhere to go. "I mean you've lost two dads and a mum! At this rate you are going to be an orphan again!"
Carter started laughing and so did his followers, but they received glares from people who would not have usually noticed the taunting. Andrew noticed this.
Sherlock Time
"I'd be careful if I were you, Carter." Andrew kept his eyes down cast and voice soft, but made sure his words carried to the bullies ears.
"Why is that, Little Orphan Andrew?" He earned snickers this time, "Are you gonna hurt me?" This got him laughter the rolled from the group's bellies, but it also claimed the attention of by standers.
"Look around you," Andrew moved his eyes to the left and to the right, Carter's eyes followed, "A crowd is forming. Teachers might wonder or a student might stand up to you."
"Why should that worry me? No one would dare and the teachers all love me. All the more people to laugh at you!" Carter gestured around him, but his sight only stretched to his own people's smiling faces and not the grim and disgusted looks from the students beyond. A student ran away from the scene and into the school building, "Little Orphan Andrew all alone in a corner. Who will-"
"Hey, leave him alone!" A girl called out to the bully, she took a step forward and leveled his gaze.
"What's this, Andrew? Need a girl to protect you?" Carter laughed and turned his attention the her, "Do you know who he is?"
"No." The girl responded evenly not moving as the mass of flesh took timed steps towards her.
"Then leave, girl," Carter gave her a once over before redirecting his attention to the once huddled, now standing, figure of Andrew, "Where was I?"
"Talking to me, if I recall, and my name isn't 'girl' it's Chloe."
Now there was a stand off between the two, a short red head girl and a tall muscular guy. Andrew was actually not sure who was going to win.
"Why didn't you call me in before this?" Sherlock asked frustrated as he looked over pictures from each murder, "If I had been there I might have more."
Lestrade's office had been transformed into a whirling tornado of pictures, newspaper clippings, notes scribbled on napkins, and maps marking routes each victim took before their death. Open on his desk were three file folders holding everything you ever wanted to know about the three victims; names, addresses, places of work,even favorite foods.
"You know perfectly well why I didn't call you in." Lesrtade scowled as his aching eyes scoured the same pieces of paper for what felt like the hundredth time. "You and Andrew needed time as a family to mourn and I wasn't going to interrupt that with a case! By the way, where is Andrew, surely not at home all alone?" Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat.
"No, the school board deemed that after only a week he was in an emotionally fit state to come back to school." The concerned father sat down and looked at his hands, "John's funeral won't be for another month or two, and then what's the point? There's nothing to bury except half melted dog tags."
Sherlock bit his lip as his tear ducts betrayed him and let a tear fall. God he hated this, this emotional state he had been thrown into. He was Sherlock Holmes! Emotions were for other people, the normal people! As much as Sherlock hated his showing of weakness he couldn't hate who caused it, or-he had to go before he humiliated himself farther.
Quickly standing and wiping away the stray tear Sherlock moved to leave, mumbling something along the lines of calling him later, but Lestrade stopped him and sat him down.
"You are not going anywhere until you talk to me, Sherlock," Lestrade stood in front of the door, arms crossed, "I tried to let you take care of yourself in your own 'Sherlock Way', but now I'm thinking that I was mad for thinking you could deal with an emotional shock by yourself."
Sherlock glared and made no move to speak.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" Carter laughed in shock of the brave girl before him.
"Not a clue, but I intend to deal with you." Chloe crossed her arms and stared at him as though he were nothing, but a math problem.
"You must be new here." He smiled and held out his hand, "Name's Carter, and to give you a heads up: no one wants to pick a fight with me. I always win."
"How much you want to bet on that?" Were the last words she said before screaming at the top of her lungs, falling down onto the ground, and covering her face with her arms.
Teachers came running at the yelling and the confusion caused by the scrambling crowd.
Andrew stood in his corner admiring Chloe's brilliance; everyone's brain was just going to implant a hit of some sort against the small girl.
One teacher made it to them before any of the others.
"Andrew, did you see what happened? Chloe, it's okay. Come on." The teacher helped her stand and motioned for Andrew to help Chloe get inside, "Carter, I will deal with you later."
Andrew smirked as he helped the "injured" girl.
"Thank you, sir, for helping me."
"Mr. Brook, Mr. Richard Brook. I'm actually a new teacher here in the English Department. Let me help you to my classroom."