Title: The Weight of a Soul
Fandom: Empire of Corpses
Rating: SFW
Length: 1585
Content notes: Warnings for Mild Violence, Mild Necrophilia, and some Vivisection. Set after The One's demise but before the end of the movie where Friday is shown fully revived.
Author notes: Also doubles as a fill for HC Bingo's 'Runaways' prompt. I haven't read the novels, so bear that in mind also. Spoilers for the movie.
Summary: John is on the run again after some of Friday's relatives corner him for grave robbing. With a little luck and some help from his new partner, he manages a quick getaway with Friday in tow. The incident only serves as a reminder of what he's been reduced to because of his belief in his work, in Friday's legacy, and he couldn't happier with the decision to cling to those beliefs each time another human emotion resurfaces from his friend.

"What have you done with our precious nephew?!" demands the stout woman, clutching the rosary around her neck as if it were the only tangible link to her sanity. A creak, creak echoes down the steps and she turns to stare with wide eyes. "M-My God…It's true. Y-You reanimated him."

Her nephew, the once bright-eyed and intellectual Friday, stands on the step with a blank expression painting his lovely features. His skin is pallid and his limbs willowy, bones easily visible.

John isn't about to explain the promise he made with his friend while he was still alive, nor would he delve into the passion behind Friday's theories and research into Necroware. Short-sighted fanatics like Friday's aunt and uncle could never understand his reasons behind such endeavors.

"You'll be tried and hung for this!" bellows Friday's uncle, a military veteran with a harsh manner of speech and appearance. He motions to the policemen standing behind him. "Desecrating a grave, illegal corpse experimentation, and necrophilia are but a few of the crimes you've committed, boy."

Click.

The policemen encroach on John and Friday with their rifles at the ready. Lumbering forward, Friday steps in front of John and reaches for the revolver stashed in a holster strapped around his chest.

"You turned my beloved nephew into a slave for your own pleasures and you dare call yourself his friend?!" cries Friday's aunt, hiding her face in her hands after.

"I want the corpse presentable for re-burial," orders Friday's uncle, moving to stand behind the policemen with his wife. "Do what you will to the other boy; the Queen Herself would like his head mounted on Her wall, I'm certain."

Queen be damned, all John cares about at the moment is protecting Friday and making a quick getaway. Taking human life isn't something he can casually consent to, but the situation demands extreme measures.

"When I give the signal, open fire," barks Friday's uncle again, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders. "Say your prayers, John H. Watson, and may the Lord have mercy upon your filthy soul."

John slowly pulls his own revolver from a holster strapped around his waist and concealed by his trousers.

"Ready…"

Friday lifts his hand and aims for the forehead of the man barking orders to the policemen, hellbent on harming his friend and benefactor.

"Fire!"

A loud boom resonates throughout the alley and suddenly the wall beside the fallen policemen has an enormous hole in it. John grabs Friday by the wrist and catches him in a clumsy embrace, carrying him to safety beyond the broken wall.

"Impeccable timing, Holmes, really…" he mutters as he stumbles past his other friend and partner, a detective of renowned intellect (and superior luck.) Grunting, he picks a precarious path through the rubble of Holmes' spectacular explosion and follows the man to a carriage waiting on the other side of the building. "If you had been any later, I would be wanted by the Crown for murder."

Holmes flashes a charismatic grin back at him and shrugs, "It's a lucky thing that my moral compass is a bit looser than yours, then. You should have more faith in me, old man." He takes Friday's hand and helps him into the carriage like a true gentleman. "Don't I always pull through when you need me most?"

John slumps in his seat and sighs. "Yes, but I could do without the stress and suspense caused by your frequent tardiness."

"Friday never seems to mind," remarks Holmes as he moves to tuck his fingers under Friday's chin, lifting his head some. Curious, he gently rubs the tender spot and chuckles as Friday leans into his touch. "Your research is really coming along! See how he responds?"

"Flirting with Friday isn't something I approve of, Holmes," quips John playfully, pushing Holmes' hand aside to grant poor Friday some reprieve. "Speaking of Friday, we'll need a moment alone tonight."

Holmes crosses one legs over the other and smirks, whistling. "Oh? Another forbidden tryst with crystals, corpses, and candlelight?"

John can't help smiling at his jest. "He needs another transfusion." A slight gasp escapes him as Friday leans on him, head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Anything you'd like me to investigate while I'm out?" asks Holmes, his smile softening at the sight of them. "The Marquess invited me to the Science Museum's grand opening. Have you need of any materials?"

"Aragonite and spodumene," recalls John from the top of his head, staring into the roof of the carriage in thought. "With the ancient Necroware I have now, even the salvaged remains of Charles Babbage aren't much. It still needs some fine tuning."

The carriage stops at a two-story apartment house with an identity plate near the door that reads '221 Baker Street.' Holmes exits the vehicle first with a revolver in hand, peering around the carriage door and checking the surrounding area before gesturing to his partner.

"Come on, Friday," John whispers and pulls hood of his friend's cloak over his head. "Take my hand."

Friday obeys without question, placing his small, frigid hand in John's and allowing the man to lead him inside the apartment house. Even after they're safe from harm and away from prying eyes, his hand remains in John's gentle grip.

Holmes flops into his favorite armchair and heaves a deep breath. "I'll instruct Mrs. Hudson to leave your dinner in the kitchen tonight. Be sure to eat it this time, Doctor."

"And you be sure not to hit the bottle too hard tonight," John fires back at him and grins. "I'll be spending all evening with Friday, so I won't be able to drive you home."

"Ha! I'll be busy myself, what with escorting the lovely Marquess and guarding her precious jewels." Holmes reaches around the side table for his pipe. "So go about your work and leave those materials to me. I'll see you in the morning."

John bids him a silent 'goodnight' with a nod and a smile, tugging Friday along behind him as he approaches the staircase. A large grandfather clock on the second landing serves as a door to his crude laboratory, and upon turning the clock's hands, John opens the case and ducks beneath it to stagger inside.

It's a lot like the hole in the wall that he shared with Friday while he was alive; endless scrolls of papers with random numbers printed onto them litter the floor, crystals both salvageable and useless clutter the desk and bookshelf, and the restructured remains of Charles Babbage lie encased near the Necroware machine.

"Argh. I'm exhausted," John groans and plops onto his bed. Running sweaty hands through his hair, he brushes his bangs from his eyes and turns to look up at Friday. "Just a little longer and I promise, we'll restore your soul to you. Believe me."

The human soul, according to the extensive research of Victor Frankenstein, weighs approximately twenty-one grams and is lost when the mortal vessel ceases to function. However, the nature of that peculiar twenty-one grams is still very much a mystery, but after his encounter with Frankenstein's monster, John is convinced that Friday's theory proves to be true.

Speech precedes though and thought presents the existence of will, the human soul. It's this basic thing that eludes John in his mission to restore his best friend to the warm, vibrant man he once was.

"We'll analyze the Fifth Passage of Victor's Notes tonight,"says John to his friend, pulling some of the crystallized sheets of metal from the desk nearby. He gestures for Friday to sit at the machine and his friend does so without hesitation. John plucks a scalpel from the table and moves to slice open the back of Friday's neck.

"I'm sorry for causing you so much pain," he murmurs and inserts the splicer after he makes the incision. "I truly am."

The corpse turns his head slightly and his lips twitch. He reaches behind him and lets his hand settle heavily atop John's head as if forgiving him. As the Necroware whirs and drills into Friday's spinal cord, John circles around to the front of the machine and kneels, holding Friday's hands in his.

"This is what we've been reduced to," he continues and stands again to gently grip Friday's face between his palms. "Fugitives of the law, enemies of both State and Church, and all because we simply wish to be reunited."

Painfully, he recalls Nikolai's demise and the final words of his brother before he suffered the same. A wry smile thins his lips as he leans down to push his forehead against Friday's.

"But it's too late to turn back," he rasps and kisses the top of Friday's head, "and even if I had the opportunity to do so, I would not."

Friday opens his mouth and a little squeak escapes him, eliciting flutters in John's chest. The candlelight gives his dark eyes a cheap imitation of a lively glow, and as the typewriter taps away random numbers and code, Friday presses his forehead into John's.

"I know," John acquiesces with another kiss to Friday's temple, soothing him. "I know you wouldn't abandon me…the same as I will never leave your side."

Lips curling slightly, Friday reaches up to brush his bony fingers against John's cheek.

John catches his hand before it can fall limply at his side and holds it fast against his cheek, tears springing from his eyes.

"I love you, too."