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.
Last chapter. An epilogue will go up shortly. Thank you so much to Elvendork for her betaing and support, PipMer for her endless support (and poking), Rin and Rye for encouraging me that people were reading when I was beginning to lose hope and anyone who has read this at any point. You're awesome.Thanks to Elvendork for her betaing.
They were all frozen for a moment, voices ringing in their ears before John gathered his wits and raced to the bodies crumpled in the middle of the room. Behind him Carolyn was trying to make sure Douglas didn’t drop Arthur in shock while also trying to follow John to the bod-people on the ground.
Moriarty was the closer body. It was clear he took the brunt of the fall, a broken neck the most obvious cause of death though John was sure there’s a dozen other fatal injuries. But he didn’t matter. John kept moving, headed for what could be the body of his friend and found himself deaf to all other noise but the beating of his heart.
He knelt by the body’s side and carefully rolled it over. It wasn’t Sherlock and John found himself starting to breath again.
But it wasn’t Martin either. It was Mycroft.
“Mycroft! Mycroft! Mycroft-” Sound returned with a rush and John looked up and met the eyes of his silent but distressed friend who was standing beside a screaming Martin.
Then Martin took a step towards Mycroft and only Sherlock’s quick reflexes stopped Martin following his brother in a fall. The tug back cut off his cries and Sherlock pulled him into a tight hug.
John finally pulled his thoughts together enough to check for breathing. “He’s alive Sherlock. Get Martin down before he hurts himself.”
Sherlock nodded, and John now noted how pale his friend is. Nothing for it though, an ambulance would be here soon...should be here soon. He ran his eyes over Mycroft, before placing his hands either side of the man’s neck to immobilise the head.
Possible spinal injuries, definite broken rib or ribs. John glanced down and frowns at the blood on Mycroft’s leg. Crap.
“John?” Carolyn asked as she moved to stand beside them.
“Carolyn! I need you to find something-anything!- and hold it again Mycroft’s leg. He’s bleeding and it has to be stopped.” He noted her glance at his hands. “I can’t move, I have to hold his head still in case there’s a spinal injury.”
“I’ve got it.” Sherlock declared walking up to the group on the floor, Martin still clinging to him. John was sure he was the only one who noted how his voice was shaking.
Somehow, Sherlock convinced Martin to release him and latch onto Carolyn instead. She immediately started to run her fingers through Martin’s hair. Meanwhile, Sherlock pulled his shirt off, which earned him a double glance from Carolyn, and pushed it against the bloody spot on Mycroft’s leg. Even as he applied more pressure, Sherlock cocked his head.
“Wha-” Sirens sounded and lights began to flash outside. “Ambulance!”
“Police. Your call to Lestrade.” Sherlock countered, a claim backed up when the door burst open and armed police flooded into the warehouse.
“Don’t shoot us, we’re civilians.” Sherlock snapped as their lights fell on the group. “We need an ambulance now!”
When no one moved Sherlock raised one bloody hand. “Now!”
Arthur was carried directly to an ambulance by Douglas, who then refused to let go of his friend’s hand. The paramedics had tried to stop Carolyn riding with them as well but a well placed glare had shut them up.
Mycroft had gone to the hospital alone but only because once he was taken from John’s hands no one had had the chance to even speak to the paramedics let alone insist on being taken with him.
Which was a good thing as it was looking like it was going to take the combined efforts of Martin and John to get Sherlock to seek medical aid.
“Sherlock, you’re in shock. Get into the ambulance with your brother. Now.” John growled out as his friend tried to once again duck back into the warehouse. Inspector Gregson looked over from where he was directing the forensic team. He went to come over but John waved him away.
“No, I’m fine. Not in shock. I have to go...go look at the body and-”
Martin stood silently and tried to move away. “Where are you going?” A paramedic cried.
“I’m refusing medical attention.” Martin said softly but it was loud enough to attract Sherlock’s focus.
“What?” He said, moving to push Martin back into his seat.
“I’m refusing medical attention.” Martin repeated in a louder voice. “Until you get some of your own.”
Sherlock’s mouth and eyes widened in shock. “Oh. Mycroft.”
“You.” Martin corrected.
“I learnt it from Mycroft.” Sherlock shrugged and finally accepted the shock blanket.
“Now will you go to hospital?” A frustrated paramedic asked.
Martin nodded. Sherlock smiled and hopped into the seat beside him.
Somehow, someone with influence had managed to gain not only a hospital room with only three beds but had organised for all three patients to end up in that room. Martin only had to stay the night, to be sure that they hadn’t missed an injury.
Arthur was in for a longer stay, his head wound turning out to be far more serious than any of the other wounds. But the fact he was already responding to stimulus made the doctors very hopeful he would regain consciousness with no lasting damage. Physical damage that was, psychological was waiting until he awoke.
Mycroft wasn’t actually in the room. He was still in surgery and those awake in the room were awaiting news on him.
Currently, the people in the room far exceeded what should have been there, considering visiting hours were over. But one well placed act from Sherlock had talked the nurses into not reporting them.
He was currently sitting on Martin’s bed, Martin’s sleeping head in his lap. John had the seat beside their bed while Douglas was perched on the empty bed beside them where Mycroft was to end up. Carolyn was sitting beside Arthur’s bed, just holding his hand.
“He’s going to be fine.” Sherlock said, breaking the silence.
“That’s easy for you to say. You have your happily ever after. Martin is fine.”
Sherlock huffed. “No I don’t.”
Carolyn gave him a confused look. “But-”
“Mycroft is too stubborn to die. But it’s not a happily ever after until everyone is conscious in a room together. We’ll need your son awake for that.” Sherlock tilted his head. “Tell him I’ll make the coffee.”
Beside him John laughed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Sherlock shifted. “I might mean I’ll have John make the coffee.”
“Mr Holmes?” A nurse said as she poked her head into the room. Sherlock nodded at her to continue which she did after eyeing the amount of people in the room. “Your brother is out of surgery. He’s in post op now and will be moved here shortly. The doctor will be along to talk to you about his condition.”
“Is he going to be okay?” A soft tired voice asked and Martin lifted his head to look at the nurse.
“It’s looking very good for your brother, Mr Holmes.” With a smile, the nurse left.
“She called me Mr Holmes...” Martin muttered.
“Well that’s what you are.” Sherlock declared.
Smiling, Martin lowered his head to await the arrival of the last of his family. He was safe here, finally. Sherlock had come.
He would always come.