A/N: I loved Season Three of Sherlock. But the comments made by both Mycroft and Magnussen in relations to 'dragon-slaying', and the fact that Benedict Cumberbatch plays the voice of a certain character in the Desolation of Smaug...well, I was inspired. So I came up with this. Enjoy!
"A necessary evil -not a dragon for you to slay." So says Mycroft.
Your brother. But he knows better of you. And you know too. You are a Dragon Slayer, the Dragon Slayer of London.
But just because you are a Dragon Slayer doesn't mean you aren't a dragon. You are most certainly a dragon. Yourself and three others you know of.
Each one of your kind different in tastes but all the same in what matters to people. Because you are too different from the rest of humanity. Lestrade and the Police Department, Mrs. Hudson, everyone has come afoul of this more times than you can count. And you can count so very high.
Each dragon observes the people around him. And oh, how boring are people. Ordinary ones, anyway, which are everywhere. You shudder just thinking about it. Knowing everything at a glance, doesn't mean everything. You have Mary to thank for that. And, you suppose, Moriarty, but he doesn't really count, being a dragon like you.
A dragon has a Horde. A Horde directs existence, for you can't rely on humanity on that.
Mycroft has power. Power of power, the most powerful in England. And perhaps, the world. Magnussen hunts power, though through knowledge. Knowledge is his creed. He knows every secret, every dirty thing one has ever done, no matter when and where. Moriarty wants amusement, the simple pleasure of being the best of the best. But power is his, he has always had power.
And that leaves you. Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective of all times.
What is your Horde?
You prize knowing, the satisfaction of solving a case. Even more so, at the last possible moment, which brings even greater thrill. You are, as John puts, a 'drama queen'. It's more than that, though. The crimes that hang John's life in the balance, no matter the thrill or strength of the puzzles, you hate. Because of one simple fact.
John is yours. If anyone dares to harm him, they deserve to get the worst of what you give. That's what you think, anyway. And it's true.
Everyone who has dared to harm John Watson has come to a nasty end, much to your satisfaction. Thanks to your assistance, much of it. Even fellow dragons have fallen afoul of you.
The Dragon Slayer.
But how do you kill them? Take out every enemy that is in your way, make sure they are gone? How do you do it? What is your power, Dragon Slayer?
Your power is your greatest strength, no, not your observation skills, that of any dragon. Your power is to play dead. To pretend to be the weakest of all, to roll up to expose your belly to the world. You glare at them, bleeding on the earth, as they smirk at your apparent weakness. Standing over you to rip out your heart.
As a claw, a knife, reaches forward to do the awful deed, your head snaps up. Your foe realizes too late that he has left his throat exposed, something that wouldn't matter when you are dying anyway. But you aren't going to die and you aren't bleeding out, just bleeding a lot, enough to convince them you're good as dead.
You tear out their throats and feast on their loss. Winning yet again, the same way you have every time, human or dragon, and yet they're too stupid to see it. Because dragons, no matter what they pretend, are silly in the basic ways humans are, sometimes.
You're still bleeding, though. To kill, you have to be injured yourself. And it hurts. You would whimper, but you're a dragon and dragons don't whimper. You lay there, head slightly dizzy with blood loss, and wait.
The footsteps come soon enough. They always do, no matter the situation. John Watson appears at your side and wraps your wounds with his mere presence. The fact that he lives, and the enemy is dead, is enough for you. You heal, like you always do. Not doing it alone, with John.
Sometimes you ask the universe how a man like John Watson is at your side. If you believed in such things, it almost seems like Fate. Meant to be. Watson and Sherlock. You don't understand the time Before Watson (because that's how you divide it now, time), since you are unwhole without him by your side. You don't know how it could have been, without Watson, though you lived it.
So John heals you, no matter the times you've mocked him, made fun of his reactions to 'life-or-death' situations, or driven away his girlfriends (before Mary, before marriage). He heals you, because like you, he isn't whole without you. He needs a dragon to provide the spice he needs after war and you know it. And provide it, quite well, thank you very much.
He's shorter than you, shorter than average. Looks everyday and average compared to your height and always present coat. Hands in his pockets, almost smiling in that way he has. A hobbit, to take a Lord of the Rings metaphor.
And yet, you, a dragon, need your hobbit.
Once, this would have worried you. But that was Before Watson, now, wasn't it?
You purr, though you would never admit it, being a dragon. You are the winner, the almost-loser, the detective with the funny hat, the not-dead person with a fan club. A dragon and a Dragon Slayer in one breath.
You are Sherlock Holmes. And you are just getting started.