As mentioned on my tumblr, I was craving a Sherlolly/dragon AU and decided to write it for myself. It's mainly inspired by 'Tales from Earthsea' by Goro Miyazaki, my vague memories of the movie 'Dragonheart' and a little bit of 'Howl's Moving Castle'. Hopefully, you'll get some enjoyment out of it, too. Since this is very much a WIP, I'm not sure how quickly I will update. But I will finish this story, if only for my own pleasure.
The BBC characters aren't mine but I'm having fun playing with them.
The Flight of the Dragons
The Great Wizard Holmes
At the outskirts of the town, at the edge of the woods stood a solitary cottage. It saw few visitors, for its resident preferred his own company. He only ventured into town for necessities and the townsfolk had learned to avoid the usually curt man.
Sherlock Holmes, for that was the man's name, was a wizard, descendant of a long line of powerful and respected mages. Dedicated to the mysteries of magic, he had little interest in the humdrum life of the ordinary.
The only people who could be called his friends were the healer and his wife, the baker woman and the constable. They had the distinction of not being considered hopelessly boring by Sherlock Holmes. And he would willingly seek out their company when the mood struck, though this didn't happen often.
Most of the time, he was in the woods exploring and expanding his knowledge of magic. Magic was the understanding of the true nature of things. And for Sherlock, whose ego fuelled his thirst for knowledge, unraveling all the secrets of the world was his life's work.
For hundreds of years, this part of the country had remained uninhabited and no one knew why for sure. There was a vague legend talking of great winds and thunder making the mountains shake and the land inhospitable. But this was not the case, for the mountains were silent in the distance, the fields fruitful and the people who'd settled here prospered.
The woods were an anomaly, however, and one that had captured Sherlock's curious wizard mind. Filled with flora never encountered before anywhere else, it was bereft of any kind of fauna. No chirping birds, no rustling rodents. No mischievous little sprite nor solemn wood gnome.
Sherlock, who had grown up near a forest home to many kinds of creatures – be animal or fae – , found these woods very fascinating. He suspected that the absence of anything living, apart from trees and plants, was connected with the tales of old. Yet he was still to find any evidence linking the oddity of these woods with the legend.
Even the simple townsfolk had noticed the strangeness and avoided venturing into the woods too deeply. Sherlock, on the other hand, loved exploring them and would happily spend hours wandering about. There was always a new flower, shrub or weed to study.
Today, he had trekked further north, closer to the mountains. They loomed tall, grey and imposing and Sherlock intended to climb them someday. For now, he had found something exciting in a shallow valley.
It was a meadow of dandelion-like flowers, dark red in colour. From afar it had looked like a field of blood. Up close he could see it was a carpet of thousands and thousands of delicate little flowers he'd never encountered before.
What stirred his excitement even more were the marks of grazing and what looked like a creature had lain down for a rest. How fantastic, he thought, that he might finally find some other living thing!
He was inspecting the site more closely, noting the bent stalks and crushed flowers, when he heard a loud piercing wail. A great crashing sound came next. Immediately, Sherlock was up and running towards the source of the noise.
Exhilarated by the thought of finally meeting a creature of these woods, his feet swiftly carried him up the slope of the valley. He deftly weaved around the thicket and dense growth of trees. He pushed through to a small clearing and came to a sudden stop, arrested by what he saw there.
His first thought was that the storytellers had gotten it wrong. They always claimed them to be behemoths in size, but this was a small thing. It would hardly span the length of his cottage, and his cottage wasn't large by most standards. Neither was its colour the jewel tones in the descriptions, for it was brown and flecked, nearly blending in with the surroundings.
No, this was not the great beast he'd imagined them to be. Yet the creature, lying on its side and clearly in distress, could not be anything else but a dragon.
It opened its eye and it sparkled amber in the low light of the clearing. The slit of its pupil adjusted and the dragon turned slightly, to look at Sherlock. It was breathing heavily and a wing was wrapped around its front.
It emitted a low growl when Sherlock stepped closer. He held up his hands, to show they were empty. "I will not harm you," he said, extending his arms so the dragon could smell them.
It sniffed the air and tried to move back. It growled again, but this time it sounded more like distress rather than a warning. It huffed and then a shudder went through its body.
Sherlock dropped to his knees, to make himself look like less of a threat. "Let me help you."
It was obvious that it was hurt and Sherlock only wanted to aid it. After all, it would not do to discover an actual living dragon for it to die on him. This was a being that they'd thought only existed in the stories told to children before their bedtime.
The reptilian eye kept track of his movements as he slowly advanced towards it. It was still shaking but Sherlock sensed it wasn't in fear of him. He kept murmuring, reassuring that he wouldn't harm it.
The dragon suddenly stood up, its wings unfurling. Their flapping made the fallen leaves swirl around as it lifted off. Sherlock watched its ascent, mesmerized by its lithe body in flight. The skin, lit by the sunlight, glowed opalescent.
What a wondrous sight, he thought, following it. He tried not to run into a tree as he tracked it above. It was flying the way he'd come earlier and Sherlock headed towards the valley, hoping to get a clearer view from there.
He heard the same loud cry from before and the dragon abruptly dropped out of sight. Sherlock almost fell down the incline to the valley in his haste. In the distance, he could see something lying amongst the flowers and ran towards it. As he came closer, Sherlock got the second shock of the day.
Instead of the dragon he expected, it was a woman, her long, brown hair covering most of her nude back. And he knew this woman.
"Molly Hooper?" he exclaimed, thoroughly confused.