Chapter 2
The first thing he noticed was the endless network of magic runes on all visible surfaces. The walls, floor, furniture were covered with little glowing circles and signs. Elegant ligature throbbed with primal magic. If John did not know for sure, he would have decided that the house at Baker Street 221B was standing on the Source.
The amount of protection, security and outlet spells spoke about the incredible talent and strength of the magician, who inflicted them. And unlikely they have been created by Mrs. Hudson, though by first impression she was experienced, but a pretty mediocre witch. Well, if Holmes was a really powerful wizard, then he, John Watson, had a chance.
With Mrs. Hudson he got acquainted with when she finally let him in, after his long talk with the door lock, who did not want to knock first, and then knocked strange tune. He was desperate to get inside when the door suddenly opened and he was greeted by an elderly witch with low-luminous aura of a person at the sunset of life and magical powers. She kindly showed him inside while smiling little private smile. And if he was confused a bit by that he tried his best to look at ease.
John stood in the doorway, not daring to enter further. If he has properly read the runes on the doorjamb, uninvited guest could be thrown anywhere after even one step into the room. Although technically he had an invitation from a magician, who all this time watched him from the couch with mild curiosity, John decided not to risk it.
"Good evening, Mr. Holmes. I can enter?"
"Just Sherlock, please. And yes, be my guest."
As soon as he crossed the invisible line, wards began pulsing brighter. John uncertainly looked around. If not pay attention to the mess he was impressed. He had never seen so many artifacts collected in one place. Vaguely resembling a similar collection he had seen only twice in his life. Once - in the guarded museum in Dresden, and the second - in the darkened hut in Mongolia.
He walked over to a pile of books stacked casually near a chair. It seemed that similar publications he met only in protected section of the London Library. And that was the most complete repository of ever created magical books. Although he could be biased. But in his defense, he could say that when it was possible, he did not visit some restricted section. First, there was no time, and then no longer a necessity. When John decided to become a Healer, he did not think that his abilities will extend far beyond the scope defined by the class.
Yet the more surprising then the rare books were the runes. He barely resisted the urge to touch glowing circles and swirls. Never before had John ever seen anything as much concise and perfect. He was awed and even did not try to hide it.
"Do you like what you see?"
"I... I'm impressed. Amazing!" John gasped in admiration.
"Thank you. Have a seat."
John carefully measured the proposed chair, and the longer he looked at it, the less he liked what he saw. Under it on the floor throbbed not just a protective circle; the intersection of five pentagrams was truly dangerous. Once seated on the proposed char he risked to be captured in the Trap of Circles.
"Um ... I'd rather stand," why this Holmes had to check his ability to see traps, John could only guess.
"Oh! Let's keep him!" laughed the unfamiliar voice.
John snapped and looked around in surprise. Human skull on the mantelpiece, before peacefully lying between ancient candelabra and a pile of books, now shone dim bluish glow. Apparently, the new voice belonged to him. Well, John was not even surprised; to some extent it met his expectations.
John poked his cane in the direction of the skull:
"And is this a real skull? You know, it's very discourteously to say such things to a person, and even more - in his presence."
Suddenly skull flashed with blue sparks and fell silent.
"Hmm ..." Holmes folded his hands in a prayer gesture under the chin, "Interesting."
Surprisingly, John felt at peace with non-stop magic ripple around him. He expected to feel anxiety and worry. Due to his line of work he often had to encounter with a variety of dark wizards, and usually, it meant a lot of trouble. But this time it was somehow different.
Before the meeting, he brought some inquiries about this Holmes guy. Not many knew about him, more heard, but all flatly refused to talk about him. Well, from the reputation of a truly powerful dark wizard he did not expect less.
"I come to you privately", said John, "I want this visit to be as discreet as possible. Particularly to the Ministry."
"You have so much tracking spells on you that I wonder how you're still not jingle while walking. You can't be a Healer. There must be some sort of mistake."
Holmes suddenly rose; a coffee table with an unpleasant screech rode away, when the magician strode to John. They stood frozen in front of each other.
"And yet I'm the Healer," he had to raise his head to be able to look into the magician's eyes.
"Any good?"
"Very good in fact."
Holmes examined him with undisguised interest, probing the air around him with a searching look. John decided to try to see. But all two attempts that he dared to implement without attracting attention did not succeed. Space around Holmes was throbbing while thickening, but he still saw only a smoky cocoon.
"You won't find any answers in the books."
He himself knew that. John did not want to ignore the obvious, but even all his experience as a Healer could not help him deal with his own uncontrolled magic. He knew from the beginning that flipping through dusty old volumes would lead to nothing, but sitting and just waiting was not in his character. He had his own assumptions and theories, but no confidence if he was or right or not.
"Is it a curse?"
"No. But a very near thing"
John was surprised; he thought until recently that it was a curse. Strange not definable, but still a curse. That was the main argument in his dispute between sanity and hope, or there would not be any reason for him to associate with a dark mage. Working with them always meant trouble.
In any case, if nothing else he could get answers to his speculations:
"Spell or Ritual?"
"Ritual," Holmes, producing the impression of a man who loved listening to your own voice, now for obscure reason has decided to use monosyllabic answers.
"Are you able to help me?" sighed John.
"Yes."
Unwavering confidence was pouring from a magician. Holmes suddenly stretched out his hand, but never touched.
"Your cane. It is very unusual. Rare tree, knob with carvings usually created in Central Asia. Most likely, a gift. If not for this thing, you would not even be able to walk ..." Holmes suddenly stopped talking.
If not for the old shaman that found him thrown to die in the midst of nowhere, he would not have even this dubious chance for salvation. To break the silence, John finally decided to address the delicate issue of payment.
"I really can't give you much, but I'm skilled in crafting. And also a Healer. We can have a deal."
"No."
"You must have felt very strong artifact that I carry. I'll give it to you in exchange for your help."
"And if you are truly any good you may have noticed that I do not need."
Of course, he noticed. It was hard not to pay attention to all the artifacts, amulets and crystals that produced wave power. With such a rich collection, as expected, John had no luck in offering the single powerful item he had.
And of course he knew where so obviously Holmes was leading.
"What can I offer to you then?"
"Unpayable debt."
John visibly paled. This was serious. After agreement, he risked becoming dependent to the magician, which he knew practically nothing about.
"Do all of your customers owe you this much?"
"No. Only the interesting ones."
Holmes stepped closer. His close presence forced spells, that blocked his magic, pulse and tremble. It looked as if the mage was not familiar with the concept of personal space, but John did not come to educate him on this topic. Such close presence made the spells on him throb and tremble as if they were tested for strength.
"If the Ministry wanted you to be free of this curse you wouldn't be standing here... But they only put tracking spells and returned you to civilization. You light so bright. Nothing can put away this spark," Sherlock whispered, leaning toward him.
Gray eyes looked in his in fascination. John was ready to answer in agreement, when at the last moment caught himself in mid-sentence.
"I ag ... I ... I need to think," John threw stupor and took a step back. It was too much to handle the towering presence of mage, who did not even try to look guilty about brought wraith. "I need time to think everything through."
In fact, he had to decide only one thing: if he should believe Holmes and more - trust him with his life.
"John," Holmes's words caught him on the threshold. "Think about why in all the time of our conversation, you forgot that you can stand only with the help of a cane."
