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[personal profile] prettybirdy979
  Title: Burning Hearts
Fandom: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock
Gene: Crossover, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mystery, Fluff
Character/s: Sherlock, Martin, Mycroft, John, Douglas, Carolyn, Arthur, Lestrade, Moriarty, OCs and other minor Sherlock characters
Rating: 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.

Thanks to Elvendork for her betaing. 

Carolyn walked into Douglas as he stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs.

"Douglas?" She asked in a frantic whisper.

"Shh. Listen!" It took her a moment but then Carolyn heard the footsteps rapidly approaching them.

"Into the office!" She said, pushing at Douglas' back until he began to move towards the office they had hidden in before. Carolyn didn't move, but stood her ground and waited.

"Carolyn!" Douglas called, fear in his normally unflappable voice.

“Hush! Get Arthur out of here when you can.” She eyed the floor around her and was surprised to see a piece of wood lying on the ground. It had a slight bend and small, dark stain but it was perfect.

Carolyn took a deep breath, positioned the wood in both hands behind her back and resumed her staring down of the approaching figure.

He paused for a moment, realised the figure before him was a little old lady and continued on his path. His gun was still in its holster.

“Hello.” He leered.

“Don’t hello me, mister. You took my sons.” Carolyn shifted her weight, ready to swing.

“Your sons? Oh the idiot? He was too stupid to screa-” Carolyn struck, swinging the wood and catching him on the side of the head with considerable force.

The man dropped, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“You do not have the right to call Arthur stupid.” Carolyn snapped.

“Carolyn!” Douglas called again from the office and she raced to help him with her son as footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her.


A flash of movement in the corner of his eyes caught Sherlock's attention as he helped Martin up the stairs. He froze when he processed who had been behind that flash of movement, the insane grin as the man turned and skipped away.

"Moriarty." He growled. He felt Martin's flinch. "Mycroft, help him." Sherlock said as he let go of his brother.

"No! Sherlock, where are you going?" Martin cried as he reached for his brother who was just out of his grasp. Mycroft stepped forward so he grabbed onto him instead.

"Where do you think I'm going?" Sherlock yelled over his shoulder. Moriarty was headed for the set of stairs Sherlock had noted earlier, the ones that led to the walkways above. As Sherlock reached the first step, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. His blood froze as he recognised Martin's gait. But he kept moving, following Moriarty into the dark walkways.

Behind him, Mycroft found himself chasing his youngest brother and for the first time actually meaning to be chasing that brother.


John was running low on bullets.

That wasn’t as dire as it could be as he was also running low on targets to shoot. Sherlock’s poor shooting had discouraged any of the men from sticking a head around the door to look where they were firing so John was able to land a shot in a couple of hands without risk of being hit himself. Then one had had the bright idea to peer out.

John hadn’t missed. Hearing voices still in the room beside him, he'd yelled at Sherlock to get out as he took a step back.

Another head. Another shot.

Only one man remained, by Sherlock’s count. He seemed smarter than the others, a given as he was not as dead as they were.

Nothing is going to be accomplished by me continuing to fire blindly. I need a plan. John fired another shot, then turned and fled into Arthur’s now empty cell.

The remaining man fired two shots. Then he seemed to pause and John closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of footsteps.

One step. Two steps quickly followed. John lined his gun up with the doorway. The footsteps stopped outside the door and John tried to quiet his breathing. He forced himself not to tense.

A gun poked its way into the room. John didn’t shoot but adjusted his aim. Finally the remaining man committed himself to entering the room fully.

John’s shot was right between his eyes. He paused over the body, comparing it mentally to the one of Moran Sherlock had shown them earlier.

He thought about saying something witty but it...well there were better things to do than be witty right now. Like finding Sherlock.


John emerged from the stairs just as Carolyn helped Douglas get Arthur through the office door.

“What are you still doing here?” John asked, moving over to help.

“There was a minor...delay.” Carolyn said with a nod towards the body on the ground. “What about you? What took you so long?”

“Minor delay. One of Moriarty’s minions had brains. Where’s Sherlock?”

“Gone already, if he has any sense.” Douglas commented, groaning slightly under Arthur’s continued weight.

Suddenly a man started to laugh. John froze as he recognised the voice. “Moriarty.” He looked around frantically, until Douglas nodded towards the roof.
John could see two figures standing on a walkway in the middle of the warehouse, one he recognised as Moriarty and the other wearing a dirty pilot's jacket. He fished for his phone, to give him added light. It had little effect but someone moved on the most distant walkway and John was sure he saw the white from a captain’s hat.

It didn’t matter though. John could see Moriarty had a gun. And it was pointed at the figure beside him.

“Well Sherlock. Look what I’ve got here.” Moriarty nodded towards the others. “So sentimental”

“Moriarty-” Sherlock said but John couldn’t see who had spoken. But the person beside Moriarty moved slightly and he raised the gun.

“No, don’t speak or I’ll shoot.” Moriarty paused. “Or will I shoot him.” He said, moving the gun.

The figure beside him took that chance. He lunged for the gun and Moriarty tried to swing it back around. It fired but that didn’t matter because Moriarty had lost his balance and was falling backwards.

And so was the Holmes brother beside him.

“Sherlock!” John cried just as Carolyn and Douglas cried “Martin!” John could hear a pair of voices call a name together as the two fell in seeming slow motion to land with a thump.

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