Title: Burning HeartsFandom: Cabin Pressure, SherlockGene: Crossover, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mystery, FluffCharacter/s: Sherlock, Martin, Mycroft, John, Douglas, Carolyn, Arthur, Lestrade, Moriarty, OCs and other minor Sherlock charactersRating: PG-13 Summary: Round Two. Only this time, the stakes have changed... and so have the players.Warnings: Violence. Bit of foul language. Spoiler for The Great Game.Notes: Sequel to Thicker than Water. Reading that first will help understanding this fic.Sorry for the wait. My beta has finished exams and I've got most of the fic written so updates should be more regular until the end.Thanks to Elvendork for her betaing.
“This is a ridiculous idea.”
“Have you a better one?”
“Oh you got me. God I hate this smell.”
“You should be used to it.”
“That’s why I hate it. I do not want to smell like alcohol ever again. Oh you do smile. I was beginning to wonder.”
“No you weren’t.”
“Course I was. You know you look like your brother when you give me that look.”
“Shut up now and act drunk.”
“With pleasure your highness. Oh look, another smile.”
John watched through a pair of binoculars as the pair walking along the street went from being his familiar flatmate and the collected pilot to a pair of stumbling drunks. Douglas threw his arm over Sherlock’s shoulders and began to sing. Sherlock joined in a moment later. They were slowly approaching the warehouse for Reichenbach Meats.
“Well?” Carolyn demanded from behind him. The pair of them were already in position, in the doorway of the warehouse across the road.
“They’re walking past now. Sherlock should fall about...now.” And indeed, at his words, Sherlock stumbled and ended up on the ground outside the warehouse. Without Sherlock to hold him up, Douglas followed him down.
John laughed slightly at the sight and passed the binoculars to Carolyn so she could laugh as well. John drew his gun while she looked, carefully lining up his shot. If anyone appeared at the warehouse door with a gun, he would be in position to shoot them before either of his friends were in danger.
And Martin’s friends were his now. That was an odd thought. But then, Martin was a Holmes... odd by definition.
Sherlock smirked as a man emerged from the warehouse without a gun. It wasn’t Moran but from the way Douglas stiffened, it was someone he knew. This should be fun.
“Oi, you two! Get moving before I call the cops.”
Douglas tried to stand up and Sherlock saw how he managed to trip himself so he fell at the man’s feet. Sherlock allowed himself to admire the skill there for a moment before he stood himself.
“But mate... we’re just standing here.” He slurred. “What wrong with standing mate? It’s just standing mate.”
“I’m nit standing.” Douglas said.
“Lazy bugger he is.” Sherlock said, moving into the personal space of the man. “Always laying when he should be standing.” The man gave him a look of deep disgust but didn’t move back. Perfect.
“Not lazy. You lazy. Lazy lazy stander.”
Sherlock aimed a kick at Douglas which he used as cover for his stumble. He placed his hands on the man’s chest, followed by the rest of his weight.
They went down ending up a pile of tangled limbs, Sherlock made sure of it.
“Now you’re the liar. Or layer?” Douglas commented. “Lying? Laying? Truth, no that’s a different word.” As he listed words, he reached for the man under Sherlock.
“Get off me you drunk!” Sherlock jerked out of the way of an errant knee and grabbed at his flailing hands.
“Gladly. Douglas, the ties?” He said, his voice now perfectly normal.
“Are in your left pocket. I’m not your slave.” Douglas crawled up and grabbed just under where Sherlock was holding. “Give him the needle while you’re at it.”
The door beside them opened with a sudden bang. Both men looked up and saw another man standing there with a gun. Pointed directly at Douglas’ head.
Then he dropped as John’s shot ripped through his shoulder, the gun falling with a clatter.
“Huh. Remind me never to upset your doctor.” Douglas commented and released the man’s hands as Sherlock inserted the needle full of sodium thiopental into the man’s vein.
“You didn’t realise that already? You’re more intelligent than that.” Sherlock said as John and Carolyn slipped across the road to join them.
“Oh I did, I’ve just never quite seen it in practice.” Douglas grasped the man’s ankles as Sherlock grabbed his hands. Between them, they got him into the alleyway beside the building.
“There goes the element of surprise.” John said when they returned. He was standing over the body and by the looks of the blood on his hands had checked for a pulse.
“We never really had it though, did we?” Douglas said. He eyed the body and stayed close to Sherlock.
“You know these two.” Sherlock declared.
“By sight. They were with my dear friend today, when I met him. ‘Escorted’ me out after.”
John retrieved the other gun and handed it to Sherlock. “Ready for trap springing then?”
Sherlock nodded. “I noticed a side window is open. We go in there. They’ll find the body in a moment.”
He was alone.
No, Sherlock was coming.
But Sherlock wasn’t here, was he?
Neither is Mycroft.
Because they took him.
He’s safe. No one can hurt Mycroft.
Arthur...Arthur. Oh God Arthur. Why did they take Arthur? ARTHUR.
Was he yelling? Did it matter?
Sherlock is coming.
No he’s not.
No he’s not.