(A/N: This is sort of a spiritual crossover with Naomi Novak's In His Majesty's Service series, colloquially known as the Temeraire books. The concept of the Aerial Corp was taken from that series, as well as most of the dynamics of dragons in society. I didn't put it in crossover because those are literally the only things borrowed, this story does not take place in that universe. The poem in the beginning is Robert Frost's overused 'Fire and Ice'. I took my title from the poem, obviously, and thought I would include it. This work is not beta'd, any errors are my own.)
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
John heard the commotion before he saw it.
He pushed through the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of what was causing such an enormous spectacle.
Was that...?
Jesus, it was.
"Johnny!" Harry's voice broke over the din. "Johnny, come over here!"
John tore his gaze away and located his sister in the crowd. He elbowed his way through until he was standing next to her.
"What is a dragon egg doing in the middle of campus?" John asked her. "How long has it been here?"
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "It was sitting here when the dismissal bell rang. No one has had the guts to touch it yet."
"Why?" John asked.
Harry looked at him like he was an idiot. "In case it's a Spitter, of course. Really, John. Duh."
John rolled his eyes. Of course, a Spitter. A dragon known for spraying acid when threatened. The shells of their eggs were coated in an enzyme that was capable of rapidly dissolving anything organic. No one wanted to risk losing a hand.
"Mrs. Ross alerted the Aerial Corp," Harry informed him. "They said they'd be here in about an hour, and you know, try to find a captain for it."
John's gaze wandered back to the red dragon egg. God, it was lovely. And huge, about a meter tall and nearly as wide. The surface was faceted, like that of a ruby. Absolutely gorgeous.
John's fingers twitched, itching to reach out and touch...
Before he really realized what he was doing, he had pushed to the front of the crowd. The students had instinctively left a good two meters of space around the egg, but John stepped forward until he stood right in front of it.
"Get back Watson!"
"What are you doing, you idiot? Get back here!"
"It could be a Spitter!"
But no one actually moved to pull him back.
"Hello," John said softly, able to make out slow, tiny movements beneath the shell. "My name is John. You must be getting cold. London isn't exactly known for its warm autumn."
The dark shape within the egg twisted more energetically as he spoke. Without thinking, John shed his jacket and sat on the ground next to the egg. He bundled it up in his coat and pulled it into his lap.
"What do you think you're doing, Watson? Do you think you're gonna be its momma?"
"Don't let the Aerial Corp see you do that. They'll be pissed."
Still, no one could bring themselves to move forward.
John ignored the voices and curled himself around the egg.
"Don't worry," he told the little hatchling inside. "I'm not scared of you. And I'm here now. It's okay. I heard you calling and I'm here now."
While John couldn't explicitly remember hearing the egg call for him, he knew that the statement was one hundred percent true. The egg had asked him to come forward, and he had obeyed.
Someone else took a tentative step forward, intending to reach for the egg, but John instinctively pulled back, putting himself between the egg and the student.
"Stay back," he warned, cradling the egg protectively. "She's mine."
… …
Sherlock crept into the study, his heart hammering in his chest and excited fear coiling in his stomach. He wondered if there was any way for him to get into more trouble. He honestly didn't think that there was. He was fairly certain that committing murder would have less severe consequences than what he was about to do.
"Neige stopped brooding," Sherlock informed the nest sadly. "She won't take care of you anymore. You're going to be sent to the Aerial Corp and be made into soldiers."
The crystalline eggs were silent. The diamond-like exterior reflected his own face back at him, the facets showing a thousand pairs of silver-blue eyes.
"I never liked Neige," Sherlock confided of his brother's dragon. "Your brood mare is volatile and unfeeling. She only desires her own advancement. Personally, I think she was just waiting for the chance to abandon you three."
One egg began to shift. Sherlock focused his gaze on that one, the smallest in the nest.
"I don't want to be a soldier," he told the egg. "But I was going to join the Corp for the dragons. I love them. They're endlessly fascinating. If you want to come with me, we don't have to fight. We can study and research and learn all day long and no one could stop us."
The dark shape within the egg shifted again. Sherlock reached for the egg without thinking about his actions. He pulled egg, about a meter tall and a meter and a half wide, towards him, wrapping his arms around as much as he could.
"I would get in trouble," he told the egg. "Mycroft would never forgive me for stealing you. We would have to run. We would have to hide. Civilians aren't supposed to own dragons, we would never be safe." He felt is best to be honest with the egg. There was no point in this if the dragon eventually left him.
The hatchling shifted energetically within the confines of its shell.
"Excited? Do you like danger? I do." Sherlock let himself smile as the egg began to rock back and forth slightly. "I choose you, if you choose me. We could solve crimes together. No criminals would be safe from us, the consulting detective and his dragon. We would be unstoppable partners. And best friends."
Sherlock was breathless as the egg continued to rock. "This is going to be brilliant," he informed the baby dragon.
… …
"I'll take care of you as long as I can," John told the egg as time passed. "But the Aerial Corp is coming. I won't be able to stay with you."
The egg began to rock back and forth. The crowd surrounding him gasped in unison.
John's heart thudded, his jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you...are you hatching for me?"
The egg started rocking more violently. Sharp tapping noises were coming from the inside.
Dragons chose their captains. Everyone knew that. Newborn dragons would only let those they deemed worthy put a harness on them. But John had never heard of a dragon hatching for a person.
"Come on," John urged, breathless with excitement. "Come on, I'm right here. I'm right here for you. I'll take care of you.
A small crack appeared on the surface of the egg. Another sharp tap and it grew. Then, finally, a long black claw broke through the shell of the egg. The claw pulled back for a moment, but it was soon followed by the hatchling's head as it decided to just ram its way to freedom.
"Hard headed," John joked quietly. "No wonder you like me."
The hatchling's body followed the head, pulling itself out of the shattered remains of its shell. Her shell, John realized in the back of his mind. The hatchling was female.
And she was gorgeous, deep scarlet scales, a long, thin, graceful tail, a stockier, stronger body, big amber eyes, long, spiky ridges running from snout to tail tip, and shorter but extremely graceful limbs ending with four toed feet adorned with exceptionally long black claws.
She had no wings that John could see, but he knew that it took some dragons years for their wings to fully form.
She shook like a dog, flinging slime through the air.
"You're bigger than I thought you would be," he informed her, cringing back slightly from the projectile slime. "Much bigger. Jesus, you're the size of a Great Dane! How did you fit in that egg?"
She didn't respond. Instead, she started coughing violently, hacking goop out of her lungs until a small tongue of flame flicked out of her mouth. She froze, as though shocked with what she just did.
"Oh, you're a Breather," John gasped. "Oh, I am going to be in so much trouble for taking you."
… …
Cracks started appearing all over the surface of the egg, and Sherlock watched impatiently. It would have to hatch quickly, before they were caught. If Mycroft found them...there was no telling what would happen.
"I've got you," Sherlock assured the egg awkwardly, not quite sure how to go about this. Should he be giving comfort? Should he have set aside some food for the no-doubt-hungry hatchling?
His worries soon became irrelevant. A small horn broke through the surface of the egg. The impact caused a chain reaction, causing the shell to completely shatter like glass.
A very dazed silver dragon blinked up at him.
"Hello," Sherlock greeted him. "You're rather gorgeous. It's nice to meet you. My name is Sherlock Holmes."
The hatchling blinked his luminous blue eyes again before abruptly hacking up an astonishing amount of fluid from his lungs.
"A bit early for you to hatch," Sherlock muttered. "But I appreciate the haste. Don't worry, I'll take care of you."
The dragons was long and snake-like, a graceful, coiling body interrupted by absurdly gangly limbs and tiny, useless wings. His head was more narrowed, triangular, less squared off and brutish like many dragons. He had neither spiky crests nor an arrow head tail. The small horn he had used to break through his shell had already fallen off, its task completed. He was smooth from snout to tail tip. Sherlock examined his three toed claws for a moment, noting their short, translucent nails and the size of his feet relative to his body.
"You're going to get rather large, aren't you?" Sherlock commented more to himself than the dragon. He was already the size of a golden retriever, although considerably longer. "Too dainty for war, but the Aerial Corp would love you for breeding. Horribly dull existence, that. When you learn to speak, you'll thank me for it."
The silver dragon blinked again and let out a small snort of icy air. Sherlock jumped back slightly in surprise as the air caught his sleeve and froze the fabric solid.
"Oh," Sherlock gasped in wonder. "Oh, you take after Neige. Shit, I'd get arrested for stealing a Breather. We're going to have to leave right now, or they'll take you away. We can't have that, you've already proven to be so very interesting."
… …
The Aerial Corp wasn't happy. Colonel Lestrade had to physically restrain First Lieutenant Anderson shortly after they arrived on the scene. Apparently, he was the one who was going to receive the egg and be promoted to Captain.
"This is ridiculous!" Anderson spit. "We're not going to let some brat get away with hatching a dragon, are we? That has to be a punishable offense!"
John held the hatchling close but didn't say anything in his defense. He knew he was ill equipped to deal with a dragon on his own. London was no place for raising one.
Colonel Lestrade sighed and turned to John. "Sorry, lad. We're going to have to take the dragon. You aren't qualified to take care of her."
"You will not," a voice as hard and cold as steel hissed.
Lestrade jumped in surprise and turned to face his dragon, a brawny black Enforcer with venomous fangs and a restless need to keep moving.
"Sid," Lestrade sighed. "It's protocol, or at least precedent. There is no way we're letting a civilian keep a Scottish Fire Breather. If we knew who left the egg here, we'd pursue them and get justice for this mess, but the best we can do now is find a capable captain for the hatchling."
The dragon (Sid?) abruptly moved between John and the members of the Aerial Corp. John flinched but remained crouched next to his hatchling, warily keeping an eye on Sid's lashing tail.
"If you want a capable captain, you shouldn't have considered Anderson," Sid commented drily, ignoring the subsequent protests. "I will not allow you to separate the infant from her Chosen. It is unthinkable and unholy. No dragon would do it."
"That dragon belongs in the Corp!" Anderson finally exploded. There was an unspoken She belongs to me! that everyone was happy to ignore.
John finally spoke up. "I'm eighteen," he pointed out to the rather annoyed group of officers. "And I was going to enlist in the army. Why don't I just join the Aerial Corp?"
There was a beat of silence.
"It's irregular," Lestrade sighed. "But it might work. Let's get you home for the evening while I speak to my superiors. If you're really willing to make this choice, it would make everything much easier."
"I want to," John declared with more confidence than he really felt. "It would be an honor to join the Corp, sir."
… …
"Keep still, friend," Sherlock urged the hatchling, zipping him up in the ratty old duffel bag as the bus came into view. "If they suspect something is off, all of this has been for nothing."
The hatchling was perfectly still. Sherlock hoisted him over his shoulder, using all of his strength, and tried to conceal the effort it took to carry the bag as the bus stopped and its doors opened. Sherlock paid for the ride and took a seat near the back. He set the duffel in the seat next to him and pretended to go to sleep.
Before too long, they would be in London. And from there, they could fade into obscurity. Sherlock was tall for his age and, hopefully, no one would question why he was alone in the city. From London he could keep moving if need be, or settle for as long as he could.
But he had done it. The bus moved through the night and Sherlock was free. He would never be forgiven for what he had done, but it was necessary.
He finally had his own dragon.
"Dearest," Sherlock sighed, setting a hand on the bag. "This is going to be a most fantastic adventure."
… …
That night, John curled up in bed, his hatchling lying next to him. His parents hadn't taken the news of his immediate enlistment well, although they had been a bit stuck on the fact that there was now a baby dragon in their flat. Harry took it personally, having watched John choose the egg over some semblance of a normal life.
"I was right there, Johnny," she had cried. "I was right there and you just walked away. You didn't say a word about what you were going to do. You didn't think about me or this family for an instant!"
Well, that was true. But John hadn't really thought about anything, just about helping an egg that shouldn't have been left alone.
"And how did you get there?" John asked the hatchling. She cracked open a sleepy gold eye but didn't say anything. Lestrade said it would be a few days yet before her speech came in.
"Are you alright with this?" he asked her. "Are you alright with joining the Corp?"
She seemed to shrug. John wriggled closer to her.
"You need a name," John sighed.
She looked at him as though that was an obvious conclusion that she had made a good long time ago and that John was being an idiot.
"Right fine. Well, you're a Scottish Fire Breather. My grandfather was Scottish. He used to grumble at me in Gaelic. I had to pick up a few things to understand what he was ordering me to do, so maybe I could give you a Gaelic name." John paused. "Teine. Your name is Teine."
Teine looked pleased with this and closed her eyes to sleep.
"Teine," John sighed thoughtfully. "Teine. Fire. Not the most original but it does suit you."
John closed his eyes and slipped into a deep sleep, warmed by the living furnace curled around him.
… …
"We've done it, darling," Sherlock sighed, laying a hand on the hatchling's back. They were lying on the roof of an abandoned building in the heart of London, looking up at the stars. It was a frigid autumn night, but the hatchling was more comfortable in the cold, and Sherlock was bundled up enough to be safe. "We've escaped. We will live a good life together, I know it."
The hatchling looked over at Sherlock with admiration and loyalty. Brilliant, his gaze seemed to say. Sherlock flushed with pleasure at the thought.
"Vivaldi," Sherlock said suddenly. The hatchling blinked and Sherlock explained. "Vivaldi is a composer. His famous piece the Four Seasons had multiple movements, one of which was titled Winter. You remind me of that movement, of Vivaldi's winter."
The hatchling cocked his head to the side.
"So that's what I'm going to name you," Sherlock decided. "Not Winter. No, I'm not nearly that dull. I'm going to name you Vivaldi. We can call you Viv if you're a nickname sort of dragon, but personally I prefer the full thing." Sherlock thought to ask the dragon's permission. He rolled over on his side to face the creature. "Sound good?"
Vivaldi nodded, and that was that.
"Good," Sherlock sighed, lying on his back again. "Sherlock and Vivaldi," he said with a sleepy smile on his face. "Bit of a mouthful, but it works. Goodnight, Vivaldi. We begin in the morning."
(A/N: Teine is pronounced Chen-nuh and is Scottish Gaelic for Fire. Or, at least, that's what Google told me. I don't know any Gaelic speakers, but I'm doing my best here. You can follow me at .com for updates, excerpts, the rare ficlet, and just to know what other things I'm working on, if you're interested. Please review honestly, and feel free to drop me a PM if you have any questions or concerns. Thank you.)