Perhaps in a Different Life

Apocalypse by Divine Intervention

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, blood, religious views

"Shit!" One minutes, he was a little medic doctor, returning from the war to a new civilian life and the next, the sky opened up and the ground started swallowing people. He didn't even know what happened to the rest of his unit. John would admit, he'd never been particularly religious, but with the world in ruins and the damned imps running about, he was slightly more open to the idea. It wasn't just the inhuman creatures, either. Humans were going absolutely mad. As a doctor, he did his best to help whoever he could and more often than not, it got him into a lot of trouble.

Such as today, for example. He tried to help a little girl climb out from under some rubble and as soon as she saw he had a first aid kit, her 'friends' jumped out of nowhere and promptly robbed him of it. As he tried to escape, he was shot. Which, John thought was a little unnecessary! What on earth could they make from shooting him? They already had his things. John didn't stick around to find out, darting down the street as quickly as he could. He was outnumbered and unarmed. He was brave, not stupid. With one hand firmly pressed on his bullet filled shoulder, he ducked behind an abandoned car.

It was dangerous to be out in the open like this and even more dangerous to be bleeding in the open. He might as well have stood in the middle of the street and waved a huge white feather for the demons to come and get him. At this rate, he wasn't sure what was worse. The humans with the guns or the things with the teeth.

"Hey!" The voice startled him and hazel eyes rapidly searched out to find it. "Over here, darling." The hushed tone said again. John turned to face the cracked door of the building behind him. An older looking woman peeked out and hurriedly motioned him in.

"Come on. You're safe in here." She promised. John didn't trust her, but inside was better than out. He darted inside and she slammed the door closed behind him, locking the stained red wood with too many locks to count. He pressed his back to the wall, taking note of the hoard of crosses lining the doors and windows. He wasn't sure if they actually worked, but the place only seemed slightly wasted.

"Oh. You're hurt. Come on. They'll fix you right up." She promised, ushering him up the stairs by his good arm. John followed. It wasn't like this day could get any worse. If he was lucky, they were good people. If he was unlucky, they'd end it quickly. He was met with quiet the sight. Two men sat playing chess, one tall and thin and the other short and surprisingly well dressed for the world to be ending. Another man sat at the window, also dripping with red which John now realized was blood, with gun in hand. A third napped on the couch, older and dressed as though he were with the police. The entire room's eyes were on him at once.

"Told you." The shorter male scoffed, removing a white piece from the chess board. "Mycroft isn't stupid enough, or kind enough, to help a child. It's your turn." His partner sighed heavily, giving a final look over the chess board before turning his attention to the wounded man.

"What's your name?"

"John Watson. I was a-"

"An army doctor. I can tell. Not that it really matters anymore. Do you have anything?" The man continued on. John pressed on his shoulder a little firmer, attempting to keep his blood in and consciousness.

"I have a phone. Some bullets, not counting the one in my bloody shoulder. Everything else was taken." He explained, though they seemed to already know. He didn't expect them to help him, but hopefully having something useful would warrant at least a swift kill.

"We're not going to kill you. Lay down on the table." The man jerked his head toward he little kitchen before rolling up his sleeves and nodding at the older woman. John would see the bandages around his arms and couldn't help but worry.

"Molly!" The older woman called as she hurried back down the stairs. A drink was shoved in his face and John gladly accepted it. Even if it would only numb the pain a little, it was better than nothing.

"We're not about to waste our meds on you. No offense." The man murmured. John simply nodded in agreement. He didn't need them that bad. He'd been shot at before and wounded only once, but it wasn't any better this time around. In fact, he was sure it was worse, but he couldn't complain. It was his own fault. He should have known she was drawing him in. Not to mention, if they did have medication, it was best saved for a life threatening emergency.

He lay back on the table a little, allowing the man to rip open his jumper at the bullet hole and examine his wound more thoroughly. Another drink numbed the pain a little more. John watched a shy looking woman hurry in with a little kit.

"Don't worry. Hooper here used to work in a morgue."

"I don't think that makes him feel better." The man at the window assured them. He was right. That didn't make John feel any better. He tried to calm himself down as he heard them rustle about. Finally, there were hands on him again.

"Alright. We're going to remove the bullet." He explained. John nodded, steeling himself for the pain. The male, younger than himself, held down his wounded arm to prevent him from moving about. She was obviously not used to working on live people, her hands shook as she began to dig out the lead piece. He bit down on his good arm to prevent from screaming.

"I'm sorry!" She yelped.

"Stop! Stop! You're making it worse!" John finally yelled back, clenching his arm against the man holding him down. Molly pulled away. She had no idea what she was doing. Thankfully, she stopped and John caught his breath.

"I'm sorry. Most people I work on don't move." She admitted. He supposed it was suppose to be some sort of joke, but John was in no mood for a joke. He flexed his arm against the man again, making sure she hadn't severed anything important.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But don't. Just don't. Promise me, you'll never try to help someone again. Please."John pleaded. She grimaced. He shakily took the tool from her hand with his good arm and forced himself to sit up a little. The man released his arm and he gently went to work extracting the bullet. When it was finally out, he proceeded to lose consciousness.

He wasn't out for very long. Long enough for one of them to clean and bandage his wound, thankfully. When he lifted his head again, the older man was hovering over him. Instantly, John checked his shoulder again and then went to ignoring it completely. The more he thought about it, the more it was going to hurt. He could only hope it wouldn't get infected.

"You okay?" The man asked. John only nodded and accepted another drink to drown his pain.

"Good. We could use a doctor, if you couldn't tell. Sorry about Molly. She's the best we have at the moment. Not, uh, not good with people. I'm Greg Lestrade. That's Sherlock Holmes," He motioned to the taller male who'd held him down. "Jim Moriarty," His shorter chess partner. "Sebastian Moran," The man at the window. "And the woman was Mrs. Hudson. You know Molly. Sally, Anthea, and Sarah live next door. We knocked down the wall downstairs connecting the two. Mycroft Holmes lives here, too, but he's out at the moment." The man explained. "You're free to stay here if you want."

"Why are you all still here? The city was supposed to be evacuated."

"To where, exactly?" Jim snorted. "If I'm going to die, I'm going to do it somewhere nice. If my bloody building hadn't come down, I would have, too." He complained.

"He means," Lestrade corrected. "It was pointless. This is happening all over the world. We might as well stay put and hope things get better."

"Or at least that we don't slowly starve to death." Sebastian murmured.

"It's not that bad. There's plenty of room. The demons leave us alone for now. The angels don't exactly help, but they don't make it worse. The only thing we really need to worry about are the Satanist and Sebastian is pretty decent at keeping them away. We go out for food every so often, scavenge, the like. It works." Lestrade shrugged a little. John finally managed to force himself up, examining the little room.

"Sarah was a doctor, but she got hit in the head pretty bad. Her hand-eye coordination is way off for now. She probably would have cut your throat on accident. That was what happened to the last guy." Lovely. John really wanted to know that. "She cleaned and bandaged your wound, though. You should be fine." He promised. John relaxed a little.

"Yeah. Okay. For now." He agreed. He couldn't exactly go anywhere in this condition and, he would hate to admit, they were right. If this was going on all over the world, then where was he going to go? They seemed to have it all figured out and until he decided what he wanted to do, he could help them out.

"Great. How exactly did you get shot?"

"Well," John started, allowing the man to help him into a proper chair. He pressed his back firmly against it. "I got back a couple days before it happened. I just wasn't religious enough to get raptured, I guess. The sky opened and people started hurting so I helped them out. There was this little girl. She was trapped under some wreckage from a building. I went to help her and when I did, some thugs came out and stole my bag and my gun."

"She have bandages on her face?" Lestrade motioned to the cheek and mouth area and John nodded.

"Yeah."

"Stay away from them. They're Satanist. They're humans who willingly help the demons. For every person they convert, they earn praise. If they can't convert, they kill. Humans all over the world are going with them. Since they got left behind, they think god forsake them and turn to, well, the devil."

"Lucifer, is the correct term." Jim added in.

"Whatever."

"And you guys?" John didn't exactly converse with the demons. He knew nothing about what was happening. Only that people were hurt and he could help.

" Neither." Lestrade assured him.

"Jim's a psychopath who believes he is the higher power. Sherlock is a sociopath that knows nothing about religion and is sure that there is a reasonable explanation for this. Seb is going to hell anyways, but he'd follow Jim to the grave. I have no idea what to believe. I'm just one of the crazy people hoping one day I'll wake up and this will all be gone."

John frowned. Not the best choices, but he was interested in choosing sides right now.

"Mycroft!" Seb called from the window.

"Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock passed on.

"Got it!" She yelped back. He wasn't surprised that the door required some time to get open. John wasn't sure if it helped, but it they were alive. He listened to the metal clicking down stairs and the quiet murmuring of the other Holmes. The taller, older male appeared at the top of the stairs carrying a large duffle bag. Once again, John found himself being scrutinized.

"We checked him. No mark." Lestrade assured the other man. John hadn't been aware he'd been checked. He wasn't even sure what they were checking for.

"He's not one of them, obviously." Mycroft dropped the bag on the blood soaked table. Whatever he wasn't, John was glad for that. The man might have been able to nonchalantly mention the psychopaths in the living room, but it was anything but forgotten. It was no wonder they were still here. The man rummaged through the bag, stacking up boxes of food, tea, and fresh water.

"No luck with the gardens, yet. Regardless, we're going to need more seed."

"Okay. I'll add it to the list. The tub's warm for you." Lestrade informed.

"Thank you. Give him some food," Mycroft instructed. "You probably haven't eaten in a while."

John would have refused, but his stomach reminded him that, indeed, he hadn't eaten in a couple days now. He'd been too busy to even think about it, not to mention he wasn't exactly going to risk going into buildings he didn't know were deserted or not. Who knows the kind of things he'd run into.

"You really don't have to do that. Food is probably scare and-"

"There's plenty. You can help collect tomorrow." The older gentleman responded simply. With that, he disappeared into another room and John turned his attention back to the friendly man.

"Don't worry. Stress and all that. Not that anyone here was socially competent before. I'll heat you up some food." Quietly, the man went to work with a little fire and what smelled like porridge. John would happily eat anything at the moment. He took another glance around, aimlessly flexing the arm attached to his wound. Sherlock and Jim playing chess, though it was more staring than anything else. Sebastian at the window, now smoking. And, of course, Greg cooking.

"What's with all the blood?" He finally asked. Lestrade glanced over his shoulder and then to the window.

"It keeps the demons away."

"And how does it do that?" Dare he ask. The man hesitated.

"You know how you could mix sugar or honey with poison to kill off some insects? It's kind of like that. They're fighting out there; the angels and the demons. They kill each other all the time and for whatever reason, the angel's blood burns. We don't really know if it kills them, though. So basically, we've pissed off just about everyone."

"You said honey."

"Oh. We mix in a bit of virgin blood to keep them from coming through the walls." John's eyes wandered toward Sherlock again, catching onto the bandages of his arm. Lestrade nodded.

"Yeah. Exactly what you're thinking. Just a little bit, though. And it's his idea."

"And that works?"

"I can't say why, or how, but yeah. Sometimes the imps will come around and start being nosy and the blood draws them in, they start touching it, realize it's poison, and runs off. Just like that. The demons are a little worse, but they're really not interested in us." The relief in his voice was almost painful. John wasn't sure if he could live like this. He wasn't sure if he wanted to live like this. He didn't have any choice. He could only hope he would be useful.

"Incoming. It's that brat again." Sebastian informed. He pushed the window open, giving a cautious look around before focusing on the ground. John watched curiously.

"Scram kid!" The man yelled out. "I'm tired of wasting bullets on you!"

"I just want to talk!" A voice came back. It sounded human. "Just let me in!"

"I said scram!"

"I'm just trying to help you! You can't be seriously enjoying living like that. You're tense. Look, I can get you some more cigarettes, a cold beer, some cocaine. I know you're bored in there. I can hear your frustrations. This is exactly what you want, James. To set the world on fire. Think about it. You can torture anyone you want and no one cares." The voice was getting closer, but Sebastian was still set to the same spot. No one seemed even the slightest swayed by anything he was saying.

"I ain't gonna warn you again!"

"Ooh! John Watson wants to play!" John's skin jumped. How on earth did he know he was here?

"Don't listen to him." Lestrade assured him.

"Come out, come out, I know you're suffering! I wonder how long you'll keep your arm. Infections are bad around this time. I know where your sister is. Where your family is. Do you want me to take you to them?" The voice insisted sweetly. John swallowed. He hadn't heard from Harry since he'd been back. He hadn't heard from anyone since he'd been back.

"Can he really?" He would admit; that was tempting. He was dying to know if they were okay. No matter what his sister had done before, it didn't warrant ignoring her now.

"I don't know." Lestrade confessed. "He offers all kinds of things, but we don't really know if he can."

"He can." Sherlock murmured. "He really does want to help. You should go with him if you really want to know."

"Sherlock!"

"He's kind. He'll probably get himself killed, anyways. Those people are still human, more or less, and at least they're alive. Don't bother sticking around if you're not going to be useful." This was a cruel man. He made sense, sure, but cruel none the less. John shook his head.

"I'll stay." He had no idea why they would do to him, but it wasn't that alone. He wasn't that selfish. "It would be pointless. Harry's probably dead already." It was painful to think about, so he tried not to. Unfortunately, that was working about as well as ignoring his arm was. "I'm more useful here. If you guys go out there on a regular basis, you'll need a doctor. I can scavenge and I do know some useful tips from being in the military so long." He explained. Sherlock searched him with pale eyes before returning to his game. Jim motioned to the man in the window.

"Shoot him."

"God dammit." Seb cursed under his breath. "I'm running low." Never the less, he took the shot and it went silent. John wasn't going to rethink his decision. He couldn't think about later right now, he needed to think about now and surviving was at the top of his list. Lestrade placed a bowl before him, the still bloody table, and John was glad he wasn't the queasy kind.

"Thank you." The room filled with silence besides the small movement of the chess pieces against the wooden board. He would have to be careful about his arm getting infected. He needed his first aid kit back. Eventually, he brought himself to question his new friends.

"Mind if I ask how you got here?" John questioned as politely as possible. Lestrade glanced over his face with a grimace. He sighed, though, and nodded.

"Yeah. Sure. I was a Detective Inspector for the Scotland Yard." He swallowed firmly, adverting eyes down. "They got my wife. We'd been fighting a lot lately, but I didn't want this. Not at all. A couple of us got boarded up into Barts. Sally and Molly and some others. They, uh, they didn't make it. Sherlock and his brother came and found us and here I am." He shrugged a little, as if he really didn't know why he was here.

"It was better than being alone and I- I don't want to die. I didn't want to die." Lestrade sighed and John held back the need to apologize for even asking. "It's pointless now. Even if we survive, there's not enough people left for things to go back to how they were. Things will never go back to how they were. I'm too old for this." Typical reaction. John hadn't been around a lot of people, but those that he had all showed the same signs of 'I worked so hard for nothing'. He wanted to say that things would get better, but even John knew that probably wasn't true.

"Don't worry. You'll probably be dead by the time this is over." Sherlock murmured as some sort of comfort. Very misplaced comfort, but there none the less.

"Great. That makes me feel better." Lestrade huffed, but in some bizarre way, it did seem to make him feel better.

"I was a consulting detective before this. The world's only consulting detective." Sherlock scoffed almost bitterly.

"He was bloody brilliant, too, when he wasn't being a prick." The use to be DI assured him.

"And I was your consulting criminal." Jim battered his eyes in a false sort of way.

"You stole that from me." His partner huffed.

"Oh. I was your archenemy. It was natural to the circumstances."

"I wouldn't say archenemy. Stalkish and a little creepy, but I hardly see how playing a little game with a little bit of explosive constitutes you as my archenemy. Besides, Mycroft is more of an archenemy than you were."

"Oh posh. Mycroft is your brother. He can't be your archenemy. Your brothers." John wasn't sure if there was any logic behind this argument and furthermore, if it would escalate to a physical fight. No one seemed worried, so there was no point him worrying himself.

"Jim liked to blow up buildings. It was fun." Seb snorted.

"It certainly turned you on, my little sniper man." Jim teased back. The taller man pinched the bridge of his nose almost pointedly.

"And Mycroft?" John averted the conversation away. Sherlock sighed heavily.

"He used to be the British government."

"Well, you have quiet the collection here. I- I don't suppose it's trouble to have three archenemies in the same house?" Considering he liked to blow things up, it seemed troublesome to have him near someone he didn't like.

"If you're insinuating that I am untrustworthy, you're very correct."

"He's completely tame, now." Sherlock murmured. "It's no fun if no one's chasing you and at the moment, there is no government to chase him, there are no people to terrorize, and as far as us being enemies, as much as he tried, I'm far too mentally stable for him to wrack and physical violence would only get him a houseful of angry people. Even his little pet over there would be in a run for his money."

Jim frowned dramatically.

"Despite being the root of all evil, and possibly made of leather and gold,"

"Oh god now. Gold is gaudy."

"Right, despite all of that, he is fairly useful. Between the three of them, we've basically gotten unlimited knowledge of generally useless things. Fortunately, some of those things include where things are and what we can and can't ear. Between the rest of us, we can manage not to let those two destroy anything." Lestrade chuckled mildly.

"They can't cook, make a fire, they're awful at scavenging, tend to get frightened like little girls when things don't happen the way they planned, have no idea how to build, sew, or anything else involving having to use their tender little girl hands." Both chess players pouted.

"As long as you stay out of the way when they start arguing, you'll be fine."

John could only offer a small nod. Such a strange little house he'd found himself in with strange people. He idly wondered what kind of trouble he'd gotten himself into, but the pros and cons of the situation were decent enough. He was alive, there was food and shelter, and people. Real, honest to god people. He'd do all he could to help and hope that he never had to be a doctor for these people. It was going to be a long, long time until the end of the apocalypse. He might as well settle down while he could and make friends in high places.