The Apprentices of Baker Street
Chapter 1

There are legends told throughout history…

Some are based in myth. They have a specific morality to them, a purpose of teaching some philosophical meaning which is universal in it's application. Others are rooted in truth, often becoming skewed as power and history change hands. As time passes on, it becomes more and more difficult to determine truth from myth, especially when there are few who even remember the facts. Thankfully, some stories are documented through time, backed up by empirical evidence or recorded events, but sadly these stories are not the exciting tales.

No, the best tales often go unrecorded, passed along by memory, held in secret, and dying upon closed lips of their witnesses… doomed to survive only in the realm of mystery and murmur.

I'm sure that by now, many of you have heard about the extraordinary exploits of one Sherlock Holmes and his partner Doctor Watson…

Unfortunately for all of you, what you have heard from the pen of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is nothing short of complete rubbish. The only mystery he was ever faced with was how to locate his next meal, and the only action he ever saw was when two men came stumbling out of a smoking building, past his luncheon table… all he caught were their names, "Holmes" and "Watson", as they were bickering. Yes, I'm afraid you have all been victims of a bored man's wild imagination… which, grievously, isn't as imaginative as the actual events.

For example: Holmes was not a detective, and Watson was not a doctor... quite the contrary; you see… Holmes was strangely, a bit of a pervert, and Watson was… oddly enough… rather the ruffian. They made for quite an unnatural pair, but, between the two of them, they managed to accomplish some exemplary feats, which allowed the world to function as if nothing were wrong at all.

And believe you me, something is always going wrong with the world. You wouldn't believe what goes on outside your own window.

What's that you ask? What were Holmes and Watson, if not for what Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle said they were (for you see, he wouldn't have been knighted if not for Mr. Holmes… and he was not a knight before their obscure meeting)… pray tell, what were they you wonder?

Ah, that would be bringing you in on quite a secret, and I'm afraid that would be putting you at terrible risk. You don't care, though, do you? No, of course you don't… you wouldn't be in a place like this if you actually gave a damn about anything. Had you anything to care about, anything at all, you would be out there in the world doing it… and not listing to an old woman such as I.

Alright then, I suppose for a few coppers I could tell... what? You don't know what coppers are? Farthings… no, I don't suppose they exist anymore. Time seems to be getting muddled the more I stay here. Alright, listen well… because I'm only going to explain this to you once:

These lips open for payment, and nothing short of a solid ten pounds is going to get you another word…

Ah, you're a smart one. This'll do me nicely, that it will… now, I'm still warning you: what I'm about to tell has gotten lesser men killed.

Uh… let me see…

It was in the middle of the nineteenth century, height of the Victorian Era it was. I remember London, booming from the Industrial Revolution they call it now… booming was a good word for it, smoke and soot everywhere, the night sky lit up with coal fires burning from smoke stacks… the thick, hot smell of industry. Ah… I couldn't have imagined England at a different time. It was an age of gentlemen and scholars, beggars and nobles, Queen and Empire… there never was a brighter age in the history of man...

...And there never will be again.

Thursday, May 12th, Midday
Glasson Row, London, England
Year of Enlightenment: 1875

The sound of the taxi rattling by was enough to cover the silent slice of a knife through a coin-purse. The owner of the coins didn't hear a thing, and hadn't even noticed the missing coins. Not before the boy managed to sneak away with them, pulling down his tattered bowler and ducking into a side alley. He'd been doing this for years, taking what he could to survive and sometimes taking a little bit more if it meant he didn't have to go hungry... or cold.

He was a cut-purse, and a damn good one. All you had to do was ask him and he would tell you just that, proclaiming it loudly in the right circles, but denying it quite cleverly if the local Bobby were to come asking around. Keeping inconspicuous, that was the key to surviving the streets… specially if you were an orphan.

Picking good marks, the unknowing sods, that was another necessity. See, if ya picked a bad mark… then you got caught. It was simple as that.

He never picked a bad mark, not ever; that was why he'd survived on these streets for so long. Yeah, he was only nine years old, but he'd been surviving since he was four. That was longer than most. He had no memory of parents, only flashes, quick images of being happy, and then everything being dark. The past wasn't kind to him, but he didn't need the past. All he needed was himself, his wit, his lightning fast hands… and he'd get along just fine. Just ask him.

Once he was a good, few blocks away from his mark, the boy stopped and took a look at his take. It wasn't much, only a few tuppence and a brass farthing… it wouldn't even buy a loaf of bread, and he wanted more than bread. If he was to eat at all, then he'd have to find another mark, a better mark… a rich mark.

He exited the alley onto one of the nicer streets in London: Keats Avenue. He hadn't even realized he'd been walking so far, not that Glaston Row was an incredible distance, but still… he'd managed to make it to prime territory without thinking about it. This was good fate, though he'd have to be careful. The Bobbys were more watchful around those who paid their salaries, and there was more competition for the take here as well…

"I don't know, Ita…" a man in a black, silk top-hat and a fine suit whispered urgently, not even paying the boy mind, "Why don't you just give the Archon the ring? He can sort this out."

"There is not sorting this out, Jack!" another man snarled. He was wearing an expensive looking black silk traveling cloak, embroidered with red thread… a prime target if there ever was one. "You don't sort these things out… you just take what you can get and vanish."

"But the ring?" the man called Jack nearly squealed, "They won't stop hunting you!"

How lucky. They were both so preoccupied; they would never see him coming. The boy made himself look busy, carefully watching for sign of this "ring" they kept speaking about. Even if it were a cheap piece of gaudy, the could still sell it for hock… it would pay enough to feed him for two days at least. All he needed was to see the goods, then he could take it and be gone.

"That's what I need your help for," the man in the cloak said, bringing his voice down as he leaned closer to Jack, "I need to know who is after me."

"Right now they've only sent one Magarium," Jack cautioned, "But there will be more."

The boy scrunched his eyes together. This was why he didn't like the rich… they used words he didn't understand. What's a Margarium? Probably like the Magistrate he saw when the Bobby tried to cart him off to that orphan home. He'd lied through his teeth and managed to make it look like he had parents… and the Magistrate had just let him go. Yeah, the boy determined, they were probably talking about some other kind of police officer. Maybe they had stolen the ring? Then, if he stole it again, no one would ever come looking for him.

"Who?" the cloaked man urged, "I can't defend myself if I don't know who!"
"Holmes," Jack said, visibly sweating.
"Damn!" the other man swore, "He's back?"
"Apparently. He finished the trip to reasoning in record time," Jack nodded.
"Well it doesn't matter. As long as I have this, he can't touch me."

The man pulled something out of his cloak, and the boy's eyes widened. It had to be the brightest looking ruby he'd ever seen, and it was huge. It had to be worth a fortune, enough to set him for life, especially if there were a reward or something… yeah, people who owned stuff like that always offered rewards. Now all he had to do was watch, closely… left front pocket! Jolly on then…

Paying no more attention to their conversation, the boy made his judgments, formed a plan, and walked forward.

"Ouch!" the cloaked man shouted as something ran into him.

"Sorry, guv'nah!" the boy bowed low, scrambling backward, "It's me hat, too big for me head… can't sees where I'm going half the time, sir!"

"Get out of here you whelp!" Jack shooed .

The boy didn't need telling twice. He hot-footed from the scene and back down the alley he'd come from, clutching the ring to his chest tightly. Hade he been paying attention to his marks as they talked, he might have heard more about what they were doing and who they were, but sadly… his greed caused him to lose focus for the first time in his life. It happens to everyone at some point, though this mistake might have consequences he would have rather avoided.

[…]

It was dusk, and night was quickly falling over the city of London.

Smokestacks billowed as refineries continued to plow ahead and home fires began to get lit, warming up cold corridors for those returning from decent employment. Sadly the boy was not privy to one of those fresh fires, left instead to plow ahead into the cold night, hungry and still impoverished.

Not a single pawn man had bought the ring off of him, claiming that it was obviously stolen and that they "wouldn't tarnish their fine establishments with such thievery." Fine establishments indeed, all they did was swindle every person who walked through their overly embossed doors. Lamplighters were beginning their nightly vigil, walking the streets with their torches and lighting each of the street lamps one-by-one. The cobblestone roads and sidewalks were slowly cast in a flickering orange glow, and, as the boy moved through the night, he noticed the shifting from the golden light to darkness with each step.

Pulling his ragged jacket tighter, the boy turned down an alley, away from the lights. He had to get back to the hovel before his friends missed him. Not that they would come looking… too many of them went missing, either caught by the Bobby or killed by the weather. Only the tough survived, and only the smart stayed fed... and if you wanted to survive, then you stuck your neck out for no one. As if punctuating his failure, at that moment the boy's stomach decided to let out a loud growl. It looked like he was going hungry tonight. Curse his greed! He should have just taken the coin purse, like usual, and been done.

A loud, high pitched scream cut through the night, jarring the boy from his self-loathing.

The noise was unnatural; nothing he'd ever known made that sound. It was quickly followed by several similar cries, though they sounded farther away… and then another sounded, as if right above him, and the sound chilled the boy to his very insides. Shaking, the shivers coming from his fear as much as they did from the cold, the boy turned his head up… and he came face to face with a nightmare.

A creature hung in the air, latched to the wall by gnarled hands and feet. It had black, dry skin pulled taunt over a thin frame and tight bones… his mouth, where that hideous scream came from, had two rows of small, pointed teeth, a horrifying maw stuck onto a gaunt face. The hands, which held it to the wall, had dagger-like claws dug into the mortar and brick of the building it had latched to. It smelled of garbage, soot, and molten steel... and as frightening as all this was put together; it was nothing like the creatures eyes, or lack of in its case.

The monster stared had him with hollow sockets, darker than the night itself. The dark void froze the boy in place, promising horrifying things... things much worse than death, and, had his instincts not kicked in, that's just what the boy would have received. Only years on the street saved him, as he ducked just in time, barely dodging a swipe from a malicious, clawed hand.

It was a close shave, and the boy saw death much sooner than he would have liked. Deciding he would not like to have a second meet, for fear of it being a permanent visit, the boy fled, dashing down the corridor as if there were fire on his heels. An ear splitting screech told him that the creature had not given up; on the contrary, it told him that the monster was right on his tail.

Ducking, weaving, and using his vast knowledge of the London alleys, the boy put as many obstacles between him and the beast as possible, but it didn't seem to slow at all. He turned, darting through a hole in a building, and hoped to gain some sort of hiding place… but only succeeding in trapping himself like a mouse. He'd ducked into an abandoned warehouse, which meant he was in the factory district... and, unlike most of these warehouses in London, the owner had decided to clear everything out. There was nowhere to hide and no visible exit.

The creature landed before him with a snarl, those vile teeth clacking together as it crawled ever closer, reaching out those deadly hands.

The boy backed up until there was nowhere left to go, pressing himself against the cold, damp brick and willing himself to just sink through it and out onto the street outside, but he had no suck luck. The monster was almost on him… he was dead for certain, no chance of seeing another birthday, even though the parties were droll and he never got presents. Bracing for death, the boy squeezed his eyes shut, praying for it not to hurt.

"Erk…snk!"

There was a bright light, so bright that it managed to pierce through the boy's eyelids and still almost blinded him. Then everything was strangely silent.

Curiosity soon got the better of him, because he quickly realized he wasn't dead… which meant something had happened. Tentatively opening one eyes, the boy saw yet another odd and unexplainable scene.

A man was standing before him, dressed in a white duster and top-hat, a silver pinstripe vest and matching pants, and holding a fine ivory cane with a silver handle… and this was not the odd part. The odd part was that he had the cane speared through the creature's skull, and the cane's shaft was emitting brilliant blue sparks. The man sharply withdrew the cane, and the creature fell to the ground before literally disappearing into something resembling soot… it definitely looked like soot, and having grown up in London his whole life, the boy recognized soot.

The man twirled the cane with a flourish, before touching it back to the earth and leaning upon it with delicate ease, like any gentleman would, seemingly unaffected by the moment's events.

The boy stood and gaped, mouth open in shock.

"Trust me, my boy, you do not what to be inhaling that… thing," the man spoke with an extremely proper accent, which was kind of grating.

The boy looked up at the man, fully taking him in for the first time. He looked rich, like a proper mark should… but he also looked dangerous, which made him a bad mark. The boy didn't much care for bad marks.

The man wore an eye patch, covering his left eye, and a dark grey scarf which covered most of his face… so the only real visible part of his features was one eye, which was pale blue, his nose, and a few, spiky tufts of gray hair that couldn't be constrained by the top hat. All-in-all, the man was the epitome of elegance, and yet he looked lethal, and that was not because he'd just put a walking stick through something's skull either; though the boy found himself worried for his own head all of a sudden.

"What the hell wasdat?" the boy asked.

The man raised his visible eyebrow, "A skreeling…"

"Neva heard of it."

"No, I don't think you would have," the man shrugged, "They are creatures formed by powerful, dark magik… paid in blood, normally some poor bloke who didn't know what he was getting into. Sad really..."

The boy just looked confused.

"Oh, I am terribly sorry," the man said, "This is all going over your head. Just do me a favor and listen well, yes?"

The boy nodded.

"Good. Now, put your back to the wall and keep you eyes open. If you see one of those things, let me know immediately."

"There are more of 'em?" the boy exclaimed, looking around terrified.

"Oh yes, they never travel alone… normally groups of four or six…" he looked down at the soot, "I'd say, four this time. The residue seems right."

There was a high pitched scream, and without even looking, the man swung his cane in a backwards arc. An explosion of blue light caused the boy to squint his eyes, but he saw the cane skewer another monster like a morning sausage. The man drew his cane back, and the skreeling exploded into cinders, none of which got on the man's white clothing… something the boy found completely odd.

"I told you to keep your eyes open," the man sighed, "You aren't slow are you?"

Before the boy could register, a screech from above brought terrifying chills to his bones. Looking up, the boy saw one of the dark-skinned monsters detach itself from the ceiling, coming directly for him. Letting out a cry, the boy fell backwards onto his rump.

The man flicked his cane outwards, yelled something, and a bolt of blue light struck the skreeling... destroying it before it even got close to the boy. Then, the man spun elegantly, his ivory cane still glowing blue, and he sliced through a fourth creature as it appeared, cleaving through it like warm marmalade. Next, the man touched his cane to the ground, before the dust had even settled, and a bright pulse of blue light erupted in a shimmering shockwave, turning the empty building into a spotless, immaculate space. It almost seemed to sparkle with cleanliness.

[…]

"There, that's much better," the man said, adjusting his top hat so that more of his silver hair was visible, "Now they won't be coming back."

"They're gone?" the boy asked, getting back onto his feet.

"Yes, as gone as any magik can be."

The boy gave him an odd look, and the man just laughed. This seemed to irritate the young lad quite a bit.

"Who ya be, guv'nah?" the boy asked.

"Oh, such dreadful dialect," the man sighed, "The proper phrasing is: who are you, sir? Please repeat."

"Who are you?" the boy growled.

The young scamp left off the "sir", but it was best to let some things slide. Smiling warmly, he bowed to the boy, "Kakashi Holmes, at your service lad. I do say, you've gotten yourself into quite a predicament… um, I'm afraid I don't know your name?"

The boy scoffed, "My name t'isn important."

"But it's only polite, since you asked for mine."

Pulling his hat off, the boy dusted a hand through unruly locks of golden, blonde hair… hair that was oddly familiar to Kakshi, "Mah name's Naruto… not that it matters much to you."

"Naruto?" the man cocked his head to the side, even the name was familiar. "What, by any chance, might your surname be?"

"Dunno," the boy shrugged, "Don't got no family to give me one."

"Curious… I swear, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were the spitting image of my late friend, Mr. Minato Watson. Poor man went and got himself killed while I was gone…" Kakashi frowned, "Terrible business…"

"I'm sure, guv'nah, but it's got nothing to do with me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that…" Kakashi said with a twinkle in his eye, "You did something to make someone very angry."

"I ain't done no such thing!"

"Oh, then... how do you explain the skreelings?"

"I don't!" the boy said indignantly, crossing his arms, "They's gone anyhow."

"Only a powerful magik user can summon a skreeling pack… and even them they only serve one purpose," Kakashi leaned over to lock eyes with the boy, "They hunt down thieves. So… what did you steal that could cause someone to break several laws which are older than this city?"

"I don't know what yer talking about?"

"Do I need to explain how many ways I can tell that you are lying?" Kakashi asked with a chuckle, "Or should I just find out for myself?"

Deciding that this was his best course, Kakashi flicked the white-gloved, index finger of his free hand. Invisible energy took hold of the boy and rummaged through his pockets, shortly bringing forth a small golden ring that was set with a large, brilliant, red stone. The ring hung in the air between them, sparkling brightly as it hung outside of gravity's reach. Kakashi stared at the ring with a mixture of surprise and slow-building anger, which crept into his voice, "Where did you get this?"

"Easy on, guv'nah!" Naruto said, taking a step back, "I only stoled it from a man on Keats Avenue… he didn't even notice me do it."

"Oh, he noticed…" Kakashi muttered, feeling no need to bring up the skreelings as proof, "This man, what did he look like?"

"Fancy fella," Naruto squinted, trying to remember, "Wore an s'pensive looking cloak…"

"Black with red embroidery?"

"That be the one, sir!" Naruto nodded, "Can I go now? I'll even let you keep the ring, guv'nah! Token of good will and all."

"I think you might want to come with me," Kakashi mused, speaking out loud for the boy's own sake.

"And why would I do that," Naruto asked defiantly.

"Because…"Kakashi gave him a wink, "I can give you a bed, a hot meal, and a warm place to sleep for the night… plus, I believe I was best friends with your father."

Naruto did a double-take at each announcement, particularly on the statement about his father… and the bed. He'd never had a bed. Once he'd slept on a soggy mattress that a hotel had thrown out, but then one of the larger street urchins had beat him until he gave it up, which had only taken about three punches for Naruto to realize it wasn't really worth the trouble.

"Why would you be saying that?" Naruto asked skeptically.

"Because," Kakashi said, reaching into his coat and pulling out a photo. He handed it to Naruto, "You look just like him."

[…]

Naruto gasped at the picture in his hands. It was him… well older, cleaner, and better clothed, but the man in the photograph looked identical to him. The man in the photograph was standing next to Kakashi, and they were both smiling. Surprisingly, Kakashi's face was still hidden in this picture, but you could tell his was smiling as well. The blond haired man's smile was so warm, Naruto could almost see the color in his cheeks and the sunlight in his hair. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Naruto felt something familiar about that smile, and he also recalled a deep, rich laugh. It was unsettling to be looking at someone who mirrored him so closely, as if he were seeing the future.

"Where did this come from?" the boy looked at the photo with extreme interest.

"Photolimetry with film..." Kakashi smiled, "So much cheaper than what they do today... I swear, in a few years, everyone will be using it!"

"This… is my father?" Naruto asked breathlessly.
Kakashi nodded, "I believe so…"
"Who is he?"
"My dear friend, Minato Watson."
"So… he's dead, then."

"Sadly," Kakashi nodded again, and the tone to his voice indicated that this fact was very troubling for him, "I believe that the man in the cloak is his murderer… and that he was killed for this ring, which you stole."

"The ring?" Naruto focused on the shining piece of jewelry which still hung suspended in the air. So much was happening so quickly, so much information, it was easier to just focus on the things he could be certain of.

"Yes," Kakashi said, his voice hard, "It's an extremely powerful artifact which was entrusted to your father… only his blood and his kin are supposed to be able to use it effectively, but it's never been tested. The fact that you could touch it without any magical protection only offers further proof to my theory that you are indeed his son."

"So… this ring… and your cane… and those… things," Naruto spoke slowly, "They are magic?"

"In the broadest sense of the word…" Kakashi sighed, "They are all inherently connected to magik."

"That's what I said," Naruto growled.

"We're not going to argue semantics," the older man smiled, "You'll learn in time."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean that your father would have wanted you trained," Kakashi said plainly, "And I fear it is partially my fault that he's dead and you were left without a home… had I not been so invested in my own research, had I never left, I might have been able to prevent all of this…" There was a long pause, where Kakashi looked off into the distance, his eye focusing on something, "But then again, the differing of fate is not something to contemplate at the moment. What I can do now is make certain you are taken care of, educated, and properly trained… it's what Watson would have wanted."

Naruto gave him a blank state, having lost understanding about ten words in, and given up interest after the second sentence.

"Yes…" Kakashi sighed, "I fear you are a bit slower than I would have imagined… you must take after your mother."

"My mother… is she?"

"I'm afraid you are indeed an orphan," Kakashi said apologetically, "But you will become my ward, and I'll fix what I can."

Naruto nodded sadly, his last hopes of having a parent completely erased.

"Come now, lad, chin up…" Kakashi offered brightly, "Only moments ago you didn't even know who you were. You can mourn later, after you are fed and rested…"

Naruto nodded again, but he couldn't shake the feeling of sadness in his gut.

"There's a good lad," Kakashi's eyes twinkled as he smiled, "Now, shall we get going?" Kakashi plucked the ring out of the air, muttering something as he pocketed it, and he then he held a hand out to Naruto.

"Um… isn't th' door that way?" Naruto pointed.

"Too time consuming," Kakashi yawned, "And too dangerous considering who may be looking for the ring."

"Then how…?"

"By saltractus," Kakashi said simply. Naruto gave him a stupefied look, and Kakashi let out sigh, "A space-jump…" When Naruto still gave no sign of recognition, Kakashi gave up, "Look… without giving you a proper lesson… just know that it will send us from here to my house instantaneously."

"That I can dig, guv," Naruto grinned.

"You're awfully cheeky," Kakashi commented.

"Yep!" the boy laughed, "So whats we gonna do when we get to your house? Do ya have a cook?"

"I do indeed have a chef," Kakashi raised an eyebrow, "But I think the first order of things will be teaching you how to properly speak… shall we say that each proper sentence will earn you a meal?"

"What!" Naruto exclaimed, "But that's so 'arsh, guv'nah!"

"Then you'll learn quickly won't you? Kakashi smirked, raising his cane. He whipped it up in a flourish and brought it down on the ground, tapping out a pattern. Every time his cane hit the stone floor, a pinpoint of blue light appeared, shining brightly. A series of five touches formed a tetrahedron image on the ground, and Kakashi pulled Naruto close to him as he stepped onto the icon of blue light. The man spun on his heel, and the world around Naruto blurred as if it were wet paint which someone doused with water.

As quickly as it blurred, the colors sharpened, coming into focus as an entirely different scene. They were standing on the sidewalk of a fairly well-to-do neighborhood. All of the houses were at least two stories, with iron fences, which blocked off their courtyards and property. Most of the houses looked to be fairly well maintained, the street was full of bustling automobiles, elegant horse drawn carriages, and a flock of well dressed pedestrians… all prime marks for a clever cut-purse.

"Keep your tendencies to yourself, boy," Kakashi warned, "They'll be no pick-pocketing allowed here."

Naruto nodded, realizing that if he played his cards right he'd never need to pick another pocket as long as he lived.

"Good, then allow me to welcome you, m'boy," Kakashi motioned with this cane, "to Baker Street!"

Thursday, May 12th Night
Docking District, London, England
Year of Enlightenment: 1875

"Are you sure this is what you want to do, Ita?"

The man turned towards his friend, pulling his black cloak over his head, hiding his face from view, "Yes, Jack."

"But… it's not fair. Let me come with you!"

"No."

"But…"

"I said, no," the cloaked figure silenced his companion, "Holmes has the ring, and there will be more Magarium after me before an opportunity arises to reclaim it. My only option is to leave London and search for… other means of obtaining the power I need."

"But…"

"No matter how many times you say that word," the man said coldly, "It changes nothing. I cannot go back, not after what I've started."

"Then what do I do?"

"That's easy," the cloaked man smirked, "You're Jack Deidara, famous surgeon… promising mage… you get yourself promoted."

"And what about you?" Jack whispered, hope in his voice.

"I'll figure something out… and I'll be back. And when I do return… I'll be paying Holmes a visit."

Ah! *cough* *cough* Uh, sorry 'bout that... but I'm afraid that your ten pounds has run out. My throat's a bit dry, if you understand what I'm saying, good visitor? No? What do they call it these days... we called it greasing a palm, bribes are what they call them now. Yes, a bribe...

It's very simple, this story don't come free; in fact, I'm telling you this at great risk to my own personal well-being! So, if you want to hear any more... well I'm not opening my mouth with another word until I get another ten pounds!

Are we clear?

~A/N~

Ah, this was so much fun to write. I particularly like trying to convert my native accents into words... which is quite a challenge, but an enjoyable.

The narrator is probably my favorite character at the moment (though that won't last for long) but she's booking for reviews. Did you catch that? pound = review. :P
Haha, but I'm not going to hold my story for ransom, though it would be nice... (bwahaha!) So please let me know what you think, what you have questions about, because I suspect there are a great deal... but know that everything is going to be explained, especially the lore (haha, inside joke with myself for the time being) and the setting. If you are itching to read more, I suggest Naruto: Kurashio (or any of my fics) or... go find user Kreatyve and read her story Lets Play a Love Game (because it's amazing).

Much love to all my readers!
~Sara