Fic: Let This River Flow; John/Sherlock, Dean/Castiel; NC-17 - Epilogue
Title: Let This River Flow - Epilogue
Crossover: Sherlock
Type: Slash, Gen
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: John/Sherlock, Dean/Castiel, Sam, Kevin, Charlie, Harry, Mycroft, OCs.
Warnings: Violence, sex, language.
Author's Note #1: Post-Reichenbach, and set post-S8 of Supernatural.
Author's Note #2: Title comes from ‘Let This River Flow’ by Soilwork.
Author's Note #3: Written for sncross_bigbang. Link to the gloriously wonderful artwork by the talented finnickodair can be found here. Thank you again, m’dear. ♥
Summary: In the year 2014, after an unknown disease decimates most of humankind, John and Sherlock are left doing their best to just stay alive, scraping out an existence in the quarantined city of London - until they stumble into the lives of two brothers and a fallen angel, who talk of the Devil as though he’s a real being, and who have a name - Croatoan - for the virus that’s torn the planet apart. From then on, John and Sherlock find themselves caught up in the epicenter of the battle, and it’s going to take everything they have to make it through with their humanity intact.
- - -
In the end, they delay the bombing by three days.
It’s not an easy process. John, Sherlock, Mycroft and Harry are kept in quarantine for nearly twenty-four hours, with Mycroft and Sherlock - hands and feet chained, and Sherlock looking like it’s taking everything he has to keep from spitting venom across the table - seated across from military officials, government members, and countless scientists and doctors, discussing blood samples and virus incubation times. In the end, it’s the original samples from months back that save them - the infected samples Sherlock had studied, as compared to their own clean blood - but John knows damn well that, if they hadn’t had Mycroft with them, they would have been gunned down before they got anywhere near that dam. Is reminded, again, of why Sherlock had introduced his brother as, He is the British government. Reminded again of just how much power Mycroft Holmes holds, even - or, perhaps, especially - in a world that’s fallen apart.
Of course, that power isn’t enough to save London completely.
Mycroft tries. He sits in on more meetings in a two-day period than should have been humanly possible. Talks to more government officials and military leaders than John can count. John and Sherlock and Harry all try, too - they talk to anyone who will listen, Sherlock citing facts and statistics and rational reasons to preserve the city, with John and Harry doing something that he damn well knows is begging, as they try to appeal to basic humanity - but it doesn’t work. The government agrees to send in a rescue mission for the people at the prison - and only those people; agrees to dispatch several boats to bring them down the river to the dam, as originally planned - but as soon as they’ve been evacuated and quarantined, safely removed from London, the rest of the city is to be flattened under a series of strikes that won’t leave anything standing.
The night that London gets bombed, Harry takes refuge in her own room, and John lies with his head underneath his pillow, unable to stop the tears as he listens to the bombs fall; and Sherlock disappears completely, only re-appearing the next afternoon, looking exhausted and haunted, and completely unwilling to talk about it. Their one saving grace is the quarantine zone that the evacuated prison dwellers have all been locked into - several hundred lives; a small amount compared to the dead, but still a victory, nevertheless - and Mycroft eventually gets permission for John and Sherlock to visit. Gets them passes into the building - yet another prison - where everyone is being held while the hundreds of blood samples are tested; but no matter how many cells John and Sherlock go to - a chorus of gratitude following them as they walk by, and, god, John can’t stop his skin from burning, because if anyone should be getting the thanks for saving these people, it’s Mycroft - there’s no sign of Dean or the others. It’s like they’ve just disappeared, and John’s fighting down a horrible sense of rising dread - what if, somehow, they hadn’t made it out? - by the time they find Jasmine, whose eyes light up at the sight of them, as she jumps to her feet and grasps the bars between them, grinning so bright it’s nearly blinding.
“Heroes twice over, you two are. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You should be thanking Sherlock’s brother. He’s the one who got us out.”
“And you’re the ones - the two of two, and Harry - who were right there him in that boat, so. None of us’ll ever forget that. You deserve knighthoods, the whole glorious lot of ya.”
John can’t stop another flush - can’t quite figure out even to say to that - but Sherlock gives her a small smile - one that looks completely genuine - before his expression slides back into the same slightly concerned, slightly puzzled look he’s been wearing almost since they got here, and John remembers exactly why. Isn’t sure he wants to know the answer, but knows he has to ask.
“Dean and the others. Cas, Sam, Charlie, Kevin - we haven’t seen any of them. Did they -”
Jasmine cuts him off with a snort of laughter, her eyes glowing a bit brighter as she grins at them through the bars, and John frowns nearly as hard as Sherlock, not understanding where this is going.
“What’s - why is that funny? Did they -”
“Oh, no - they made it out of the city just fine. They were on the ships, same as everyone else.”
“Then what -”
“Charlie once hacked into NORAD, so. If anyone could break out of here, I bet it’d be them.”
“But why -”
“Something about shape-shifting monsters wearing their faces? Something nuts like that, anyway. Whatever it was, Sam, and Dean, and Cas, well - they’re all wanted men in America, so. I’m not surprised they didn’t hang around long enough for the British police to figure it out.”
John is distantly aware that his mouth is hanging open - though what’s getting to him more, the idea of shapeshifters being real, or the idea that anyone could ever break out of such a tight quarantine, he’s not sure - but Sherlock makes a noise that sounds almost amused, before he nods his thanks and moves away from the cell, John steadying himself long enough to give Jasmine a small smile before he turns to follow - but he’s only gone a few steps when Jasmine calls out again, the amusement gone from her face when John and Sherlock turn back around.
“Oh, and, Sherlock - do me a favour and thank that brother of yours for me, alright? He might not have been able to save our city, but there are several hundred folks here still breathing thanks to him, so - thank you, truly. To all of you. From the bottom of our hearts, more than I can say.”
Her voice is loud enough that several people in the surrounding cells hear it - there’s a general murmur of agreement, voices raising around them as people stare at John and Sherlock through the bars, everyone looking exhausted and still terrified but somehow managing to smile - and Sherlock pauses for a moment, glances around at everyone, and then nods at Jasmine, voice soft.
“I will tell him.”
She simply smiles one last time, and Sherlock glances around at everyone again before he turns and walks down the hallway in silence, his dark coat billowing around him, and John follows after him, unable to speak, everything inside him aching with the sudden bone-deep gratitude that the people in these cells are still alive. The destruction of London will be something that the country never recovers from - but these few hundred, at least, have the chance to go on living.
- - -
Three months later, Harry has become a permanent resident at Mycroft’s base - along with Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and Molly, who had been ecstatic when Sherlock and John had made it back alive - and Sherlock and John are standing on the high wall around the compound, staring out across the green emptiness in front of them, a sea of green fields broken by only a few trees.
The sun’s nearly down - stars beginning to dot across the sky - and Sherlock has his arms wrapped around John, who’s leaning back against him, rifle in his hands even as he lets Sherlock hold him in place. Sherlock had spent the day in the lab, as always - working with the best minds Mycroft could find, all of them desperately trying to discover a cure - and John had taken to working the sundown shifts, keeping an eye out in case anything should try to get too close; and the result has been these shared moments in the evening, with Sherlock breathing against him, and nothing but the empty countryside around them. It’s deceptively calm, even - John knows very well that, at some point, the destruction of the rest world could easily spill into this safe haven - but it’s something he does his best to not think about; and as Sherlock tightens his grip, he’s reminded of exactly why. Someday, somehow, Sherlock and the others are going to find that miracle cure - they have to. And then he and Sherlock can grow old together - can spend many more years together - even if that means having to scrape out a brand new existence in a post-apocalyptic world. As long as John had Sherlock beside him, there are no monsters they can’t beat.
Crossover: Sherlock
Type: Slash, Gen
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: John/Sherlock, Dean/Castiel, Sam, Kevin, Charlie, Harry, Mycroft, OCs.
Warnings: Violence, sex, language.
Author's Note #1: Post-Reichenbach, and set post-S8 of Supernatural.
Author's Note #2: Title comes from ‘Let This River Flow’ by Soilwork.
Author's Note #3: Written for sncross_bigbang. Link to the gloriously wonderful artwork by the talented finnickodair can be found here. Thank you again, m’dear. ♥
Summary: In the year 2014, after an unknown disease decimates most of humankind, John and Sherlock are left doing their best to just stay alive, scraping out an existence in the quarantined city of London - until they stumble into the lives of two brothers and a fallen angel, who talk of the Devil as though he’s a real being, and who have a name - Croatoan - for the virus that’s torn the planet apart. From then on, John and Sherlock find themselves caught up in the epicenter of the battle, and it’s going to take everything they have to make it through with their humanity intact.
- - -
In the end, they delay the bombing by three days.
It’s not an easy process. John, Sherlock, Mycroft and Harry are kept in quarantine for nearly twenty-four hours, with Mycroft and Sherlock - hands and feet chained, and Sherlock looking like it’s taking everything he has to keep from spitting venom across the table - seated across from military officials, government members, and countless scientists and doctors, discussing blood samples and virus incubation times. In the end, it’s the original samples from months back that save them - the infected samples Sherlock had studied, as compared to their own clean blood - but John knows damn well that, if they hadn’t had Mycroft with them, they would have been gunned down before they got anywhere near that dam. Is reminded, again, of why Sherlock had introduced his brother as, He is the British government. Reminded again of just how much power Mycroft Holmes holds, even - or, perhaps, especially - in a world that’s fallen apart.
Of course, that power isn’t enough to save London completely.
Mycroft tries. He sits in on more meetings in a two-day period than should have been humanly possible. Talks to more government officials and military leaders than John can count. John and Sherlock and Harry all try, too - they talk to anyone who will listen, Sherlock citing facts and statistics and rational reasons to preserve the city, with John and Harry doing something that he damn well knows is begging, as they try to appeal to basic humanity - but it doesn’t work. The government agrees to send in a rescue mission for the people at the prison - and only those people; agrees to dispatch several boats to bring them down the river to the dam, as originally planned - but as soon as they’ve been evacuated and quarantined, safely removed from London, the rest of the city is to be flattened under a series of strikes that won’t leave anything standing.
The night that London gets bombed, Harry takes refuge in her own room, and John lies with his head underneath his pillow, unable to stop the tears as he listens to the bombs fall; and Sherlock disappears completely, only re-appearing the next afternoon, looking exhausted and haunted, and completely unwilling to talk about it. Their one saving grace is the quarantine zone that the evacuated prison dwellers have all been locked into - several hundred lives; a small amount compared to the dead, but still a victory, nevertheless - and Mycroft eventually gets permission for John and Sherlock to visit. Gets them passes into the building - yet another prison - where everyone is being held while the hundreds of blood samples are tested; but no matter how many cells John and Sherlock go to - a chorus of gratitude following them as they walk by, and, god, John can’t stop his skin from burning, because if anyone should be getting the thanks for saving these people, it’s Mycroft - there’s no sign of Dean or the others. It’s like they’ve just disappeared, and John’s fighting down a horrible sense of rising dread - what if, somehow, they hadn’t made it out? - by the time they find Jasmine, whose eyes light up at the sight of them, as she jumps to her feet and grasps the bars between them, grinning so bright it’s nearly blinding.
“Heroes twice over, you two are. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You should be thanking Sherlock’s brother. He’s the one who got us out.”
“And you’re the ones - the two of two, and Harry - who were right there him in that boat, so. None of us’ll ever forget that. You deserve knighthoods, the whole glorious lot of ya.”
John can’t stop another flush - can’t quite figure out even to say to that - but Sherlock gives her a small smile - one that looks completely genuine - before his expression slides back into the same slightly concerned, slightly puzzled look he’s been wearing almost since they got here, and John remembers exactly why. Isn’t sure he wants to know the answer, but knows he has to ask.
“Dean and the others. Cas, Sam, Charlie, Kevin - we haven’t seen any of them. Did they -”
Jasmine cuts him off with a snort of laughter, her eyes glowing a bit brighter as she grins at them through the bars, and John frowns nearly as hard as Sherlock, not understanding where this is going.
“What’s - why is that funny? Did they -”
“Oh, no - they made it out of the city just fine. They were on the ships, same as everyone else.”
“Then what -”
“Charlie once hacked into NORAD, so. If anyone could break out of here, I bet it’d be them.”
“But why -”
“Something about shape-shifting monsters wearing their faces? Something nuts like that, anyway. Whatever it was, Sam, and Dean, and Cas, well - they’re all wanted men in America, so. I’m not surprised they didn’t hang around long enough for the British police to figure it out.”
John is distantly aware that his mouth is hanging open - though what’s getting to him more, the idea of shapeshifters being real, or the idea that anyone could ever break out of such a tight quarantine, he’s not sure - but Sherlock makes a noise that sounds almost amused, before he nods his thanks and moves away from the cell, John steadying himself long enough to give Jasmine a small smile before he turns to follow - but he’s only gone a few steps when Jasmine calls out again, the amusement gone from her face when John and Sherlock turn back around.
“Oh, and, Sherlock - do me a favour and thank that brother of yours for me, alright? He might not have been able to save our city, but there are several hundred folks here still breathing thanks to him, so - thank you, truly. To all of you. From the bottom of our hearts, more than I can say.”
Her voice is loud enough that several people in the surrounding cells hear it - there’s a general murmur of agreement, voices raising around them as people stare at John and Sherlock through the bars, everyone looking exhausted and still terrified but somehow managing to smile - and Sherlock pauses for a moment, glances around at everyone, and then nods at Jasmine, voice soft.
“I will tell him.”
She simply smiles one last time, and Sherlock glances around at everyone again before he turns and walks down the hallway in silence, his dark coat billowing around him, and John follows after him, unable to speak, everything inside him aching with the sudden bone-deep gratitude that the people in these cells are still alive. The destruction of London will be something that the country never recovers from - but these few hundred, at least, have the chance to go on living.
- - -
Three months later, Harry has become a permanent resident at Mycroft’s base - along with Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and Molly, who had been ecstatic when Sherlock and John had made it back alive - and Sherlock and John are standing on the high wall around the compound, staring out across the green emptiness in front of them, a sea of green fields broken by only a few trees.
The sun’s nearly down - stars beginning to dot across the sky - and Sherlock has his arms wrapped around John, who’s leaning back against him, rifle in his hands even as he lets Sherlock hold him in place. Sherlock had spent the day in the lab, as always - working with the best minds Mycroft could find, all of them desperately trying to discover a cure - and John had taken to working the sundown shifts, keeping an eye out in case anything should try to get too close; and the result has been these shared moments in the evening, with Sherlock breathing against him, and nothing but the empty countryside around them. It’s deceptively calm, even - John knows very well that, at some point, the destruction of the rest world could easily spill into this safe haven - but it’s something he does his best to not think about; and as Sherlock tightens his grip, he’s reminded of exactly why. Someday, somehow, Sherlock and the others are going to find that miracle cure - they have to. And then he and Sherlock can grow old together - can spend many more years together - even if that means having to scrape out a brand new existence in a post-apocalyptic world. As long as John had Sherlock beside him, there are no monsters they can’t beat.