Fic: You Better Stop And Rebuild All Your Ruins - 11/12
Title: You Better Stop And Rebuild All Your Ruins - 11/12
Author: RubyChan05
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, Watson/Mary
Word Count: 1342
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 11
Throwing his dressing gown on over his pyjamas, Holmes rushed out of his room only to run straight into the butler who’d evidently been coming to get him.
“What’s happened?” He demanded, grabbing the other man by the shoulders to prevent him falling over.
“Sir Harry forgot to put his candle out sir, and knocked it over in his sleep. The west wing’s already on fire and the rest of the house is catching fast!”
“Ah. I think a swift evacuation may be in order then?”
“A wise decision sir.”
Joining the throng of servants hurrying out of the house and onto the relative safety of the far lawn, Holmes spied Sir Harry standing next to his sister. Both of them were pale, gripping onto each other’s arms like their lives depended on it.
“Sir Harry!” Holmes called, battling his way over. The baronet looked up, relief instantly passing over his face as he saw that the detective had got out safely.
“Oh thank god, you’re alright! I was worried you may be a heavy sleeper so I sent Smith to get you.”
“Yes, I bumped into him on my way out, but thanks for the thought.”
“It’s just terrible. How could I have been so stupid?!” Sir Harry exclaimed, wringing his hands miserably. Eleanor pulled him into a hug, face drawn and haggard without her usual make-up.
“It’ll be alright Harry. Anyone can make a mistake.” She soothed, pressing his face to her shoulder and rocking him like a child. Footsteps from behind made them all turn to see Smith standing there, looking distressed but in control.
“All servants present and accounted for, sir.” He announced. Sir Harry let out a moan of relief, passing a hand over his brow.
“Thank god.” He breathed. “Has word been sent to the town?”
“Hamish and Alan have gone to get help, though I believe the blaze is sufficiently large enough to have attracted attention by now.”
“What about Watson?” Holmes suddenly interrupted, glancing round the lawn. He’d been looking for a while now, but had yet to catch sight of the other man.
“Sir?”
“Joseph, man, Joseph!” He barked, growing increasingly concerned.
“I…I haven’t seen him, sir. I’ve been counting the servants since I escorted you out.” Smith stammered, turning pale. A quick glance at Sir Harry and Eleanor’s stricken faces soon proved that they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Joseph either.
“Oh God, he must still be in there!” Sir Harry realised, eyes wide. As one they looked back at the burning manor, wincing as the chimney pot chose that moment to come crashing down.
“We have to go back in there.” Holmes announced, tightening his dressing gown belt and rolling up his sleeves. Suddenly aware that no one else was moving, he turned back impatiently. “Well? Come on now, we haven’t got all day!”
“Are you mad? Can’t you see how unstable the place is? It’s suicide!” Sir Harry gasped. Holmes glared, unable to believe that the same man who’d professed to care so much about his newfound companion was willing to let that same companion die in the flames.
“You’d rather he died?”
“Look man, it’s impossible! If you go back in, neither of you will make it back outside alive!” Sir Harry cried. Holmes snorted, shooting the baronet a careless smile.
“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” He took off running, ignoring the cries of protest from behind and the servants who made a grab for him as he sprinted past. On reaching the door he threw up an arm to protect his face, a sheen of sweat instantly breaking out across his forehead as the wall of heat hit him.
The air was dry and hot, making it hard to breathe, and the wooden beams creaked ominously as Holmes dashed up the eastern staircase. He wondered vaguely how much longer the old supports would hold, before wisely deciding that he’d rather not know.
“Watson!” He bellowed, kicking the door to the other man’s bedroom open. “Joseph! Damn it old boy, answer me!”
“Sherlock?” Joseph asked woozily from his seat on the floor, and Holmes cursed. The smoke had obviously got him before he could get out. Slinging an arm over his shoulders, he hauled Joseph to his feet and began moving them down the corridor, more than slightly relieved as Joseph seemed to come round a bit and put more effort into walking for himself.
Somehow managing to stumble down the stairs without either of them breaking a leg, Holmes looked up at the loud metallic screech from above and cursed. Planting his feet solidly against the pine floor, he pushed Joseph as hard as he could.
* * * * * * * * * *
Joseph cried out as he was given a hard shove forwards, tripping over his feet and crashing to the floor. Rolling over to demand what the man’s problem was, he gaped at the wall of rubble behind him. A lethal concoction of chandelier glass, wood and tiles, it was obvious that the burning beams had finally given up the ghost and broken, sending the roof crashing down upon them.
Scrambling to his feet, Joseph laid a hand on the blockage, jerking his hand away with a hiss at the scorching heat.
“Sherlock?!” He called frantically, hoping desperately that the man hadn’t been crushed by the falling rubble. “Sherlock!”
“I’m fine!” Sherlock yelled, voice muffled by the mass of debris in the way. “Get out of here, I’ll find another way!”
“Don’t be ridiculous Sherlock, you don’t have time!” Joseph snapped, desperately trying to clear the blockage despite the agonising burning.
“Get out!” Sherlock yelled, pausing as Joseph let out a yelp of pain. “Move it, for god’s sake!”
Joseph ignored him, pulling the superheated tiles away and beginning to tug at one of the beams. Arms suddenly wrapped themselves around his middle, and he struggled as the owner started pulling him outside.
“No!” He cried, kicking desperately as he was dragged away. “No, we’ve got to get him out of there! We’ve got to…”
“The whole place could collapse at any moment.” Harry hissed, refusing to let go even after they’d made it to the lawn, rightfully concerned that Joseph would just make a dash for the manor again. “He didn’t risk his life just for you to get crushed three feet from the door!”
A gasp rippled through the crowd, and the pair looked up to see Sherlock appear at a second floor window, kicking the glass out to make room for him to climb through.
“See, he’s in Eleanor’s room.” Harry soothed, finally letting go of Joseph as he felt the fight drain out of him in relief. “Now all he has to do is climb down the trellis…”
Joseph ignored him, watching the scene intently and swearing as he realised that Sherlock had stopped still with only one leg out the window. The man was looking back into the room, seemingly captivated by something, and Joseph heard Eleanor breathe in sharply beside him.
“Lord help us…I don’t think I turned the gas lamps off in my room.” She whispered. Joseph jerked, eyes widening in horror as he watched Sherlock shift to look back at the crowd.
Even from this distance, Joseph somehow knew that Sherlock was looking straight at him. And that he was smiling.
“No.” He whispered, suddenly realising that the reason Sherlock wasn’t moving was because he already knew he didn’t have time. “No!”
Sherlock inclined his head.
“Hoooolmes!” Watson roared, throwing out an arm in warning as the room exploded behind his friend, sending pieces of burning debris flying throught the air. Falling to his knees he punched the ground, doubling over with a furious roar at the agonising realisation that he couldn’t do anything. Trembling, he lifted his head, staring desolately at the burning wreckage of the manor and beginning to laugh.
Of course. How fitting that the moment he remember everything be the moment he lost Holmes.
His eyes were wet, but only a single tear escaped.
Chapter 12
Master Post
Author: RubyChan05
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, Watson/Mary
Word Count: 1342
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 11
Throwing his dressing gown on over his pyjamas, Holmes rushed out of his room only to run straight into the butler who’d evidently been coming to get him.
“What’s happened?” He demanded, grabbing the other man by the shoulders to prevent him falling over.
“Sir Harry forgot to put his candle out sir, and knocked it over in his sleep. The west wing’s already on fire and the rest of the house is catching fast!”
“Ah. I think a swift evacuation may be in order then?”
“A wise decision sir.”
Joining the throng of servants hurrying out of the house and onto the relative safety of the far lawn, Holmes spied Sir Harry standing next to his sister. Both of them were pale, gripping onto each other’s arms like their lives depended on it.
“Sir Harry!” Holmes called, battling his way over. The baronet looked up, relief instantly passing over his face as he saw that the detective had got out safely.
“Oh thank god, you’re alright! I was worried you may be a heavy sleeper so I sent Smith to get you.”
“Yes, I bumped into him on my way out, but thanks for the thought.”
“It’s just terrible. How could I have been so stupid?!” Sir Harry exclaimed, wringing his hands miserably. Eleanor pulled him into a hug, face drawn and haggard without her usual make-up.
“It’ll be alright Harry. Anyone can make a mistake.” She soothed, pressing his face to her shoulder and rocking him like a child. Footsteps from behind made them all turn to see Smith standing there, looking distressed but in control.
“All servants present and accounted for, sir.” He announced. Sir Harry let out a moan of relief, passing a hand over his brow.
“Thank god.” He breathed. “Has word been sent to the town?”
“Hamish and Alan have gone to get help, though I believe the blaze is sufficiently large enough to have attracted attention by now.”
“What about Watson?” Holmes suddenly interrupted, glancing round the lawn. He’d been looking for a while now, but had yet to catch sight of the other man.
“Sir?”
“Joseph, man, Joseph!” He barked, growing increasingly concerned.
“I…I haven’t seen him, sir. I’ve been counting the servants since I escorted you out.” Smith stammered, turning pale. A quick glance at Sir Harry and Eleanor’s stricken faces soon proved that they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Joseph either.
“Oh God, he must still be in there!” Sir Harry realised, eyes wide. As one they looked back at the burning manor, wincing as the chimney pot chose that moment to come crashing down.
“We have to go back in there.” Holmes announced, tightening his dressing gown belt and rolling up his sleeves. Suddenly aware that no one else was moving, he turned back impatiently. “Well? Come on now, we haven’t got all day!”
“Are you mad? Can’t you see how unstable the place is? It’s suicide!” Sir Harry gasped. Holmes glared, unable to believe that the same man who’d professed to care so much about his newfound companion was willing to let that same companion die in the flames.
“You’d rather he died?”
“Look man, it’s impossible! If you go back in, neither of you will make it back outside alive!” Sir Harry cried. Holmes snorted, shooting the baronet a careless smile.
“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” He took off running, ignoring the cries of protest from behind and the servants who made a grab for him as he sprinted past. On reaching the door he threw up an arm to protect his face, a sheen of sweat instantly breaking out across his forehead as the wall of heat hit him.
The air was dry and hot, making it hard to breathe, and the wooden beams creaked ominously as Holmes dashed up the eastern staircase. He wondered vaguely how much longer the old supports would hold, before wisely deciding that he’d rather not know.
“Watson!” He bellowed, kicking the door to the other man’s bedroom open. “Joseph! Damn it old boy, answer me!”
“Sherlock?” Joseph asked woozily from his seat on the floor, and Holmes cursed. The smoke had obviously got him before he could get out. Slinging an arm over his shoulders, he hauled Joseph to his feet and began moving them down the corridor, more than slightly relieved as Joseph seemed to come round a bit and put more effort into walking for himself.
Somehow managing to stumble down the stairs without either of them breaking a leg, Holmes looked up at the loud metallic screech from above and cursed. Planting his feet solidly against the pine floor, he pushed Joseph as hard as he could.
* * * * * * * * * *
Joseph cried out as he was given a hard shove forwards, tripping over his feet and crashing to the floor. Rolling over to demand what the man’s problem was, he gaped at the wall of rubble behind him. A lethal concoction of chandelier glass, wood and tiles, it was obvious that the burning beams had finally given up the ghost and broken, sending the roof crashing down upon them.
Scrambling to his feet, Joseph laid a hand on the blockage, jerking his hand away with a hiss at the scorching heat.
“Sherlock?!” He called frantically, hoping desperately that the man hadn’t been crushed by the falling rubble. “Sherlock!”
“I’m fine!” Sherlock yelled, voice muffled by the mass of debris in the way. “Get out of here, I’ll find another way!”
“Don’t be ridiculous Sherlock, you don’t have time!” Joseph snapped, desperately trying to clear the blockage despite the agonising burning.
“Get out!” Sherlock yelled, pausing as Joseph let out a yelp of pain. “Move it, for god’s sake!”
Joseph ignored him, pulling the superheated tiles away and beginning to tug at one of the beams. Arms suddenly wrapped themselves around his middle, and he struggled as the owner started pulling him outside.
“No!” He cried, kicking desperately as he was dragged away. “No, we’ve got to get him out of there! We’ve got to…”
“The whole place could collapse at any moment.” Harry hissed, refusing to let go even after they’d made it to the lawn, rightfully concerned that Joseph would just make a dash for the manor again. “He didn’t risk his life just for you to get crushed three feet from the door!”
A gasp rippled through the crowd, and the pair looked up to see Sherlock appear at a second floor window, kicking the glass out to make room for him to climb through.
“See, he’s in Eleanor’s room.” Harry soothed, finally letting go of Joseph as he felt the fight drain out of him in relief. “Now all he has to do is climb down the trellis…”
Joseph ignored him, watching the scene intently and swearing as he realised that Sherlock had stopped still with only one leg out the window. The man was looking back into the room, seemingly captivated by something, and Joseph heard Eleanor breathe in sharply beside him.
“Lord help us…I don’t think I turned the gas lamps off in my room.” She whispered. Joseph jerked, eyes widening in horror as he watched Sherlock shift to look back at the crowd.
Even from this distance, Joseph somehow knew that Sherlock was looking straight at him. And that he was smiling.
“No.” He whispered, suddenly realising that the reason Sherlock wasn’t moving was because he already knew he didn’t have time. “No!”
Sherlock inclined his head.
“Hoooolmes!” Watson roared, throwing out an arm in warning as the room exploded behind his friend, sending pieces of burning debris flying throught the air. Falling to his knees he punched the ground, doubling over with a furious roar at the agonising realisation that he couldn’t do anything. Trembling, he lifted his head, staring desolately at the burning wreckage of the manor and beginning to laugh.
Of course. How fitting that the moment he remember everything be the moment he lost Holmes.
His eyes were wet, but only a single tear escaped.
Chapter 12
Master Post