The sky ahead of her was darkening into a blanket of deep azure as the sun was falling farther below the horizon as Mila drove through the streets of Los Angeles. For what seemed like the hundredth time, a huff of laughter escaped her lips. What the fuck was she doing? Sure, it had all been for charity - Mila had been more than happy to put in a substantial donation to a worthy cause - but had she really needed to bid on John Krasinski? Well, that was a fan-fucking-tastic way to get the rumor mill churning away. The two of them had talked a bit. They’d joked around about a million things under the sun, and in the back of her mind, when she had bid on him, she hadn’t actually expected to win. She was more amused that now she could demand that he follow through with the two beers he owed her. Of course, they were long past that now, weren’t they?

“You’re fucking crazy,” she mumbled to herself as she pulled into the man’s driveway. Grabbing something from the front seat, she slipped out of her car, careful to not flash any... wayward squirrel that wanted a glimpse up her skirt. She glanced around her - a habit formed from too many years in the industry - and made her way to his front door. She stopped for a second. Seriously... she felt like an ass. With another roll of her eye and a self-deprecating laugh, she rang the doorbell and waited. She heard the footsteps a few moments later. Mila grinned as John opened the door. “Why good evening, good sir! Your chariot awaits.” Then she held out the object from the front seat of the car. “These are for you. I thought about a corsage, but... you know, that’s like... let’s-go-to-prom-together cheesy. Clearly this is better. Totally not cheesy. At all.” In her hands she held a bouquet of white roses. Because if Mila was going to make a fool of herself, she was going to go balls-to-the-fucking-wall silly.

Daria stepped into the large brightly lit room and stretched upwards knotting her fingers together above her head, feeling her limbs relax she smiled. She had arranged to meet John at the Revelations training rooms and was feeling excited about training with him. She had seen him around and had heard of his father but she hadn't put two and two together until the day they had talked for the first time. What is was that made her spill her story about her brother and his death she didn't really know. Perhaps it was the way he shared his equally heart-breaking story about his father, maybe it was his calm and easy-going demeanor, maybe it was the comfort she found looking into his big brown eyes. Whatever it was, she knew she felt comfortable around him. 

She was in her yoga pants and crop top and some Nikes. She strode over to the heavy red leather sand bag and began to bounce on her feet, she was light-footed and graceful as she moved, it was only when she began to throw punches using all the force of her body that anyone watching her would be able to tell that she wasn't as pretty and stereo-typically feminine as she seemed at first. The expression on her face was more of a grimace and the veins in her neck stood out. She was toned and had muscle definition but it was not overly masculine. 

Sherlock’s awakening wasn’t frantic or fearful, but simply as if he was waking from a dream--as he was. The blackness faded, and his senses returned to him one by one.

First, his hearing. He started to hear the sound of the TARDIS engines, and the sound of John’s even breathing from across the room. It was comforting to his still somewhat racing heart. He regained movement in his arms, and he felt around him. He was on his bed--or, at least, that’s what it felt like. He was back in the TARDIS.

Back with John.

He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, his vision adjusting as he stared up at the ceiling. Slowly, he turned his head to the side, and he let out a breath when his gaze found the still-unconscious form of John Watson.

He managed to pull himself out of bed, though he collapsed onto the floor before he could even take a single step, his body too weak. A glint of determination in his eyes as he looked up at John from the floor, Sherlock managed to pull himself across the floor, over to John’s bed. He pushed himself up and managed to climb onto the bed, where he settled in to sit next to John’s sleeping form.

They had thought that the world had been real, but when Sherlock had passed, he had woken up back in his world. It had all been a dream. As he stared down at John, he wondered if he was still fighting. He was strong, and Sherlock knew that if he wanted to, John could win the entire thing. He brought his hand up and traced his fingers down John’s cheek. When John woke up...he was going to tell him. He was going to tell him everything.

Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat when John’s eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. Was John...? No, surely, he couldn’t be. It was too soon. He couldn’t--

Sherlock’s stomach churned as a thought dawned on him. It was too soon for John to have been killed. There hadn’t been anyone in the close vicinity of them, so that meant...

It took a couple days before Sherlock overloaded. At first, he was able to keep up his barriers--even after the Hart boy stepped off the pedestal, and the Johnson girl reacted. But as more and more people were killed, it became harder and harder for him to keep the emotions out, and John became his lifeline to sanity. Then, finally, his defenses crumbled, and he felt everything; every ounce of pain and sadness, and it was too much.

Sherlock fell to his knees with a cry, his hands pulling at his hair, and his expression one of pain. He could hear John asking talking to him--asking him if he was alright. He was far from alright, and his brain was overloading more and more with every passing moment.

“I can’t,” he muttered quietly, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t do this, John.” He pulled at his hair before opening his eyes and glancing up at John as he crouched over him. Sherlock could feel tears pooling in his eyes, because he knew that his question would probably hurt John quite a bit.

John stood back, eyeing the apartment complex critically for a moment. It seemed quiet enough, even though the complaints had been for the night before. Well... either they were quick with the clean up, or the raucous party option was out. He shifted, and moved forward, shaking his head as he moved to knock on the door. Last night had been - rough, for several reasons, and he was just grateful that the only follow-up he had to do today was a complaint about the noise. If it had been something more serious than that today...

Squaring his shoulders, John knocked, quick and firm. Time to get this over with... at least civil disturbances didn't involve too much paperwork.

"Look, I told you to - " Josh's voice clipped off instantly after he'd tugged open the door. Not who he'd expected. Well, that was great. It would be his luck if another angel, demon, wolf, whatever was on his tail. That was always his luck. Apparently, it wasn't. The smell was normal. Human. Thank God.

And sporting a badge. Great.

"How.. can.. I help you, officer?" He squinted, read the name. Oh. Of course. This was his luck today, after all. Josh attempted to slide through the crack in the door, that just barely gave away the mess inside the apartment. He closed it instantly behind him. He, personally, was at least clean, even if his home was very much not.

John quirked an eyebrow, then smiled a bit. "Chief, actually. There was a call last night, reporting a disturbance. Said it was getting kinda rowdy in there..." He quirked an eyebrow, shifting a bit.

The guy didn't really look like he'd been through a party. If anything, it looked like he'd been sick recently.

"So, mind if I ask what was going on last night?" He hazarded, smiling easily at the young man, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Josh kept himself plastered against his door, back a bit too straight. His fingers drummed against wood, and he swallowed at the question. How did you answer that? He couldn't exactly tell him he'd wolfed out, destroyed a bunch of things, and the music was a way to keep anyone from hearing his screams of agony during the shift.

"Uh.. that's.. guess I had the music up too loud? It's a different place in Boston, y'know? Loud there." He wasn't so sure he was making a great excuse here, but he was trying. "It won't happen again."

His eyebrow creeped up just a little more, something slightly skeptical in his expression, but politely so. "Well, I guess so. I haven't lived in a big city, so I wouldn't really know." He smiled easily, watching Josh curiously still.

"Just, try to keep it down next time, alright?" He shrugged a little. "I'll let you off with a warning this time. Just remember that the neighbors here aren't quite as used to that sort of thing." He gave Josh a slight grin.

Josh cleared his throat, forcing himself to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from drumming incessantly on the door. He nodded, showing he understood well. He wasn't exactly looking to piss off the law in the town.

"Right. That's- yea, I'll make sure to do that. Sorry, about that."