I Don't Want To Believe

Falling Is Just Like Flying

"Stop right there!" one of the guards yelled, running in a sort of daze from the blow to the head. Sherlock scrambled to the control panel and John smashed another one of the guard's head into the wall, making the man crumple on the spot. John felt two hands grab his arms from behind, but with a roar of rage he smacked the guard into the wall as well. The hands loosened and John escaped from his grasp, that's three down... John turned to see one of the guards, spear raised, ready to kill...
"Well, Magnussen doesn't need to have all the fun." He decided. John tried to jump out of the way but as soon as the guard started to thrust the weapon a steak knife impaled itself into his throat with perfect accuracy. John stood, stunned for a moment as he watched blood squirt from the man, collapsing lifelessly onto the floor. He only had time to look at Sherlock, who looked nearly as shocked as John was, before the other guards recuperated.
"Get the baby!" Sherlock insisted. John snapped back into action, ducking a poorly placed punch from one of the only remaining guards and scooping the tube up from the floor, the baby still floating unknowingly around in its yellow liquid.
"What are you planning on doing with that?" yelled one of the guards as he took a small breath, jumping back into the game as soon as John had the tube in his hands. Obviously they were getting tired, knocked out, and in one's case, killed.
"What's it to you?" John insisted, kicking him in the stomach and running towards the large hole in the floor. He was tired as well, but he didn't need them knowing that.
"Are you ready?" Sherlock asked from the control panel, his hand hovering against the big red button. John nodded, clutching the baby to his chest and looking down nervously. It was going to be like a waterslide, he wouldn't plummet to his death, no, Sherlock knew what he was doing, John was going to float carelessly to the ground in a human field of corn. It would be fine, nothing to worry about.
"Ya, I'm ready." John agreed. Sherlock took a deep breath, smacking a large red button. The floor underneath John dropped out, but as soon as he was sure he would plummet to his death, a pale blue light enveloped him and he started to float. It was the same thing that had brought him up, but now it felt a little bit unnerving, considering John had no idea how trustworthy this thing was. But as he started to look around, and as the hole in the ship started to close, another dark shape came plummeting out of the ship into the light. At first John thought it was a very determined guard, but it was moving fast and a cape was flowing out from behind it. It was Sherlock.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John insisted as the alien moved farther down the light stream.
"I'm not leaving you!" Sherlock yelled in a determined voice, his skin illuminating the blue light and making it seem like he was glowing himself. What did he think this was, some romance movie? They had a job to do other than improve their relationship status. Nevertheless, it was somewhat pleasing to think that Sherlock couldn't bear the thought of losing his human. The ship loomed above them, massive and shrouded in shadow, blending in with the night sky. John looked around below him, seeing the lights from the town, seeing distant rooves and specs of cars moving along the roads. Human life never seemed to inviting. But then again...
"Sherlock, the guards, they're going to turn off the..." he didn't have time to finish, because as soon as the thought popped into his head, the light disappeared. Suddenly the two of them found themselves freefalling hundreds of feet, plummeting towards the cold, unforgiving Earth. John could only scream, there seemed to be no better option at the moment, suddenly there was nothing holding him up, only the cold rush of the air as the lights got closer and closer... Suddenly he felt Sherlock's arms wrap around him, twisting in midair so that Sherlock would hit the ground first, John hugging the cylinder to his chest. If they had wanted to live as a family, they would certainly die as a family as well... John could feel the ground getting closer, he couldn't see it, but it was bound to be there, so close...John felt the impact, like a thousand football players all smashing into him at once, knocking the wind out of his lungs and sending him sprawling into what tasted like mud. He couldn't see, his ears were wringing and every part of his body hurt, but somehow, miraculously, he was alive. It was all dark, the tube had bounced out of his hands and was now who knows where, most likely cracked and spilling its unearthly contents all over the crops...Sherlock...John groaned, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything, crawling through the crushed stalks to where he felt a limp figure. John could only groan, his voice couldn't work, for all he knew he had bitten off his own tongue, but it didn't matter, not anymore.
"Sherlock..."John groaned, pulling himself onto the black lump, somehow, weakly, he felt his chest rising and falling, he was alive....how could he possibly be alive? "Sherlock!" John insisted, blinking rapidly and letting his eyesight clear up a bit more. John's entire body ached, but Sherlock had broken his fall, John had only gotten the shock waves, Sherlock took the impact. John could see lights, a dull, yellowish glow near the edge of the corn, the tube...the stars, twinkling innocently above them...the lights of the houses in the distance.
"Sherlock we need to go." John croaked, shaking his throbbing head. "We need to leave." Sherlock didn't move, all John could feel underneath him was his slow, almost impossibly small breaths. He was only barley alive. John could see now, blue light, the very light that had lead them to their deaths, appearing from the ship, it was bringing down guards to recapture the runaways, they weren't safe on earth anymore. John forced himself to his feet, nearly screaming with the effort of supporting his weight on his struggling bones, his sore muscles, he must've broken every bone in his body yet he was still standing. John grabbed Sherlock's limp body by the arm, dragging him through the corn, which had all been crushed by what remained of the blue light. It was flooding the field right now, they were coming, and John could only run so fast while dragging Sherlock along, and that was like a moderate jog. With one arm John grabbed the cylinder, with the other he used all of his strength to drag the man that had saved him to safety, he had to do this. He had to protect Sherlock like Sherlock had protected him. Finally they made it into the corn, but he heard voices, they were closer now, they were coming. John pulled Sherlock through the rows of corn, they couldn't be far from civilization, John saw lights from porches, heard a dog bark faintly, the motor of a car, the sounds of human life, it was so close but it was so far.
"Sherlock, please, come on." John muttered. The blue light vanished and he heard footsteps on the corn, voices, calling for the people to search around, they were going to find them... John dropped back on top of Sherlock's broken form, hiding the best he could from the guards searching the area. He heard the boots, the footprints, the rustling of corn as they moved throughout the filed. John pressed his face into Sherlock's leather clad shoulder, holding the tube and the man as close as possible, knowing that if they were found they would all be killed. This was his family now. John could hear footprints coming closer, he was too weak to fight, and that would certainly give their position away. If John could even hope of fighting one guard, the struggle would definitely tell the others exactly where they were. So he just lay there in defeat, slowly accepting his own death, feeling the soft breaths of Sherlock underneath him. Well, there were worse ways to die. If he could die, he'd want to be with the ones he loved, and here he was, with an alien and an unborn hybrid fetus, floating in some yellow liquid, but he even felt like he loved that as well. His son. And he loved Sherlock, this idiotic, childish alien that had nearly killed himself to make sure John was alright. This boy that had tried to confess his love but was all too late, who had never heard a response...John clung to Sherlock even tighter, tears starting to fall from his eyes, falling onto the muddy earth, falling onto Sherlock's pale, beautiful skin. This was the end of it all.
"Over here!" called a guard, but his voice sounded distant, far away. The footsteps broke into a run, heading away from John's fetal position, they had found something else, someone else, this was his chance. John poked his head up over top of the corn to make sure all of the guards were headed in the opposite direction. As promised, he saw many helmeted heads running away from them, as if something much more interesting had sparked their attention. Maybe they were chasing down some deer, or a crow, or even a scarecrow that was waving in the wind, it didn't matter, as long as they weren't chasing John. So John took up his load once more, dragging Sherlock through the muddy earth as fast as he could, the guards wouldn't be occupied for long, this was his one and only chance to make it so safety. It was so close, he could see where the corn stopped, he could see houses, streets, cars. The guards were still making plenty of noise from the other end of the corn field, probably on some wild goose chase, but John wasn't complaining. He grabbed a tighter hold of Sherlock's wrist and continued his trek; feeling like this cornfield was going on forever and ever until finally he broke free. John wanted to collapse; his throat was so dry he was sure spiders were now making a nest in his esophagus, his legs felt shriveled, his arms feeling as though he could lift no more. But he recognized this street; this was only a street away, a couple of houses down. If he could make it home without the aliens tracking him, he'd be free; he could rest, hydrate, and eat. Even more importantly Sherlock could get the medical attention he needed, and this stupid baby would finally be able to float around in its lemonade in piece. So John struggled on, through the seemingly normal backyard of a presumably normal family. There was a swing set, a couple of scatter baseballs and soccer balls, a bike strewn carelessly on the grass, and John was dragging his nearly dead alien friend against their recently cut lawn. Funny how life could be so different between people. Thankfully it seemed to be late, there were no lights on in the houses so no one could poke their head out of their window and wonder what that crazy Watson boy was doing with a corpse and a science experiment. John dragged Sherlock onto the road, looking around for something he could use as a sort of sled. Unfortunately there were no actual sleds, which would terribly convenient it not a bit noisy. But no, there was something even better, a little red wagon. Obviously left here by children in someone's front yard, but there was no better sight than that stupid little red wagon. It was an emergency, and besides, John could always return it, if they didn't mind alien blood all over. Whatever, it would just blend in with the paint anyway. So John rolled the wagon into the street, using the last of his energy to heave Sherlock's limp body into it, making sure his arms and legs weren't dangling along the pavement, and carefully placing the canned baby beside him. They looked cozy. So John pulled the unconscious family along in a stolen wagon, through the paved streets, through the dark houses, so tired that he couldn't really cope with that fact that he was no longer on that never ending white metal spaceship. He was home, on earth, his family was waiting for him, his parents were probably looking for him, they'd be hysterical. Greg was probably asleep not a mile away, John could see him right now, tell him all the stories if he really wanted to. But then again, he dint want to, and he couldn't, so he kept trudging along, the squeaky wheels of the wagon going around and around. Finally his own house was in view, that beautiful structure that looked like home, with his family asleep inside, his entire life between those four walls. John could help but smile, no matter how much he was wishing for a quick death, the thought of his family, the thought of his life before this alien abduction, it was enough to bring just a little bit of joy to his day. A piece of paper scuttled down the road with the soft breeze, with staples clinging to the sides as if it had fallen off of something. At first John thought it must be a yard sale sign, or discarded newspaper, until he saw a very terrible picture of himself staring up from the paper. John picked it up quickly, before it could blow away again, and saw that it was a missing person sign. There was a picture of him smiling, one from a soccer game or something, the rest of the team cropped out, with a large Have You Seen This Boy at the top. It was rather odd, thinking that this entire time they probably thought he had been kidnapped, when he was actually having quite the space adventure. John stuffed the paper into the wagon on top of Sherlock, who might be able to hold onto it a bit better than he could at the moment, and finally wheeled his wagon up to the sidewalk of his house, pulling him along the last couple feet before finally collapsing onto the doorbell, ringing it so many times that he was sure his family couldn't sleep through it. John leaned heavily against the familiar brick wall, his face smashed uncomfortably against the grainy texture, but he didn't care, the world was already going fuzzy, he had reached his goal, he was home...His legs were starting to give out, dots appearing in his vision...the door opened and his mother appeared, wrapping her bathrobe around herself before her face lit up in surprise and glee.
"JOHN!" she screamed, pushing through the screen door desperately. John wanted to croak out a simple hello, anything to explain where he was and why he was back and what he had in his wagon, but as soon as he saw his mother's smile he toppled over into the flower beds, nearly destroying his mother's tulips.