A follow-up to Burn. For miabicicletta, who gave me the first two lines and set this sequel into motion. Thank you! I hope you like it.

'No such thing as heroes, he said.'

'Shut up, John.'

John's smirk dropped when Sherlock spun around with a scowl and pushed past his friend, straight-arming his way out the door.

'Anything else, Dr Watson?' The pathologist asked.

John smiled at the man and shook his head. 'No. No, we're good.' He gave the body one last glance, memorizing the image of the permanently dead Moriarty laying on the cold slab. A vicious gratitude rushed over him that this particular demon would not be rising from the dead ever again.

He walked toward the door, but paused when a thought occurred to him. Turning his head, he asked, 'Actually, just one thing. What was the official cause of death?'

The pathologist blinked and glanced at the body. 'Self-inflicted gunshot wound.' He frowned. 'Dr Watson, I don't mean to pry, but weren't you th-'

'Right, of course. Self-inflicted,' John cut the man off and backed out of the door. 'Good day, Dr Kuchick. And thank you.'

The doors fell shut on the pathologist's confused frown. John turned around and strode down the hallway, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

oOo

It wasn't difficult to locate Sherlock after his abrupt departure from the morgue. John stepped out of the elevator and onto the 7th floor of the burn ward. Winding his way through the now-familiar halls, John slowed at the sight of his friend standing outside room 733 and staring at the door as if it had personally offended him.

'Sherlock?' John drew up to his side.

'I don't know how to handle this.'

John looked at the door, behind which lay one of his dearest friends. 'Is this about-'

'She almost died. She will have physical and mental scars from this, a constant reminder that associating with me puts her life at risk.' Sherlock blinked and a look of confusion crossed his face. 'Logically, this should put me off any relationship of any kind with her, even professionally.'

When he didn't continue on, John prompted, 'But?'

Sherlock sighed. 'I have always felt a level of protectiveness for my friends; for you, Mary, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade. Even Mycroft, when he's not being annoying. And Molly, of course. But when I realised she was in that building, when I saw her tied to the chair while the fire closed in on her, on me, it is as if something was borne inside of me, a level of protectiveness and desperation I'd never reached before. Of course, my mind was still racing with calculations of smoke inhalation, weakening floors and beams, the decreasing likelihood of both of us escaping. But for the first time, I could ignore it. I could focus on one thing: her. And everything else fell into place to reach the sole purpose of saving her.'

John knew exactly what Sherlock was struggling with and smiled in understanding.

'I should leave, let her live a safe, normal life.' Sherlock scowled, then admitted, 'And yet I want to go in there, be with her, protect her. And destroy anyone who tries to hurt her.'

'Yeah,' John chuckled and slapped his friend on the back. Sherlock turned to look at him and he took a deep breath, saying with a wry grin, 'That's love, mate.'

Sherlock blinked. He turned to the door and his lips parted in surprise. He looked back at John.

'That's exactly how I feel about Mary, and how I know she feels about me. The only person either of us would ever choose to protect over the other is Rosamund. Not even you, I'm afraid,' he smiled wryly.

Sherlock frowned in thought and resumed his staring at the door. 'I...I seem to be of a similar mind.'

John nodded. 'What are you going to do about it then?'

He didn't wait for Sherlock's answer. He raised his eyebrows knowingly and stepped around the detective, knocking on the door as he opened it.

'How's the patient?' He greeted genially. From her place by Molly's bedside, Mary rose and greeted him with a kiss.

Molly smiled. 'Better every day.'

John returned her smile and plucked the chart from her bed. The burns on her hands and arms were healing and she was still suffering the after-effects of smoke damage to her lungs. Her hair had suffered quite a bit from the fire, to her dismay, and they had needed to chop off the singed locks up to her shoulders. But the sparkle was returning to her eyes and the doctors were optimistic about her being released in another day or two.

'What have you two been up to these past couple days?' Mary asked lightly, but John heard the underlying question in the way her nails dug into his arm.

Is he gone for good?

'Putting to rest any immediate danger to my pathologist,' Sherlock declared. He walked deeper into the room and caught Mary's eye, giving her a single nod. She relaxed slightly, but her grip on John's arm was still worryingly tight.

'Molly,' Sherlock greeted her with a brief smile, standing at the foot of her bed with his hands clasped behind his back.

Self-consciously, Molly tucked her hair behind her ear, grimacing a bit at the stretch of the burn on her bandaged arm. 'Hi, Sherlock.'

John looked between the two and slid his hand into Mary's. 'I could do with a sandwich. How about you, love? Come with me to the canteen?'

Mary followed his eyes and smiled. 'Only if you're buying.' She leaned over and kissed Molly's forehead. 'I'll be back this afternoon with Rosie, okay?'

'Sounds lovely,' Molly agreed. 'I'll see you then. Bye, John!'

'Bye, Molly. Sherlock.' John gave his tall friend one last knowing look before pulling Mary out into the hall.

They hadn't gone more than three steps, before Mary pulled him to a stop.

John turned with a frown and his heart dropped at her pale face.

Her voice shook as she spoke. 'He's gone? Properly dead this time? Please tell me, I need to know.'

John immediately gathered her into his arms and held on tight. He didn't know what she'd done before she became Mary Morstan, but he knew Moriarty played a part. And to see the terror in her eyes, to see the fear that monster instilled in his strong, brave, extraordinary wife, shook him to his core. 'Yes, he's gone. Properly and permanently.' She relaxed into him and sniffled into his shoulder. That fierce protectiveness rose like a wave inside him. 'Sod the sandwich, I'll sneak you in to see his body and you can put as many rounds into it as you like. Sherlock put in the one that counted, obviously. But a few more wouldn't hurt, just in case.'

She laughed and pulled back to wipe away the tears that had fallen. 'Oh, God. Yes, please!'

'You have your silencer on you, right?'

'Of course!'

Smiling fondly, John tucked her into his side and lead her toward the lift. 'That's my girl.'

As the doors shut and the lift shuddered, he closed his eyes and breathed in deep. It was scary, downright terrifying at times, to live in the knowledge that someone from their pasts could put an end to all of this in a moment. But for right now, they were safe. And he would do everything in his power to keep her and their daughter safe from whatever storm was approaching.

Mary's arms wound around his waist and he held her tight as the numbers flashed steadily downward.

He only hoped it would be enough.