The ride to the castle was more of a blank memory to John than anything. He had dozed off a bit despite the humid conditions the broken air conditioner filled the room with, the sharp stops that snapped him awake when the metal pierced his back, and the loud mumbling Sherlock was doing beside of him; and he /had /stayed asleep for quite a while after all.
They were headed towards their final stop, a pale orange house with a bit of chipped paint around the white window frames, when John eventually woke up. As the small, frail woman made her escape off the death trap of a bus, John opened his groggy eyes and yawned. It took him only a few seconds to completely awaken from his nap but he eventually sat up in the uncomfortable chair and looked out the patched up window to his right.
They were at the very edge of an expanse of looming pine trees which seemed to have a sort of village near it that they were stopped at. After the woman got off a couple young men and a mother and child made their way off. At this loss the bus seemed eerily quiet, besides the eternal running of the loud engine. It sounded as if it would die at any given moment. John still didn't feel safe on this damn bus.
After everyone was off, Sherlock shot up out of his seat and towards the driver of the bus. John looked up at him in shock and surprise and he quickly noted that Sherlock probably knew him, as he didn't normally seem too eager to speak to people.
"Mr. Bateson, so nice to see you again." he smirked as he sat down on the very front seat to the right. The man turned back to him and smiled, almost like someone who had a secret that he wanted to keep hidden and as such made such a small smile that no one would question him further. John felt uncomfortable in his presence.
"Ey jus call me Pól." he grinned back at him. "But ah, Sherlock," he said in an unmistakably deep Scottish accent, "Quite nice ta be on ole' Veronica again ain't it?"
Sherlock nodded quickly and said "Yes she's as nice as ever." in his most clipped, yet oddly nice, tone.
John rolled his eyes as the old man let out a chortle of laughter, "Oh boy I know she ain't like she used ter be, but she runs." he gave the steering wheel a pat that had dust flying into the air.
"Um, excuse me, but are we going to go soon?" John asked anxiously.
Pól looked at him pointedly through the large cracked mirror above the dash and gave a snort, "What are ya being impatient fer? Jus calm down." he shook his head as he pulled the buses lever into drive. Sherlock shot a look at him that he took as annoyance, but he didn't actually care as he sat on the other seat to the left, behind Pól.
"So anyways where ya going this time Sherlock?" Pól asked as he slammed on the pedal and had the bus rocket forward through the trees. John was prepared and stopped himself from slamming into the seat in front of him as Sherlock answered Pól's question.
"The old castle? You know how bad that place is Sherlock! It's got-" he cut himself off and let the roar of the engine overtake his sigh.
"What is it Mr. Bateson? Tell us about the Mayfair castle." he said excitedly.
Pól shook his head exasperatedly, both at the formality in Sherlock's statement and the statement as a whole, and with a deep breath he began his story. "Well, the castle's name is Farroway. It's said ta be connected with another castle somewhere in Germany, which used to be Prussia, named Brennenburg. Bad things happened years ago in that castle. The Prussians used to say it was haunted. That soldiers that left their posts turned inta terrible monsters cause their souls were so twisted and were doomed to live ferever in the forest. And some guy named Agrippa just up and disappeared one night into the forest, never to return. Then there's the immortal baron of Brennenburg who had seemed to live over three hundred years back in the 1800s. His family was secretive about lineage and heritage an his death and birth were never fully recorded. They said he was a member of the Black Eagles too but I tell ye that's probably a load a bologna. Then there's that stupid guy that picked up some orb in Africa and unleashed a monster. So basically, Farroway is connected by some orb an Englishman picked up all those years ago in Africa and brought back ta London with him. Then he went ter Brennenburg and left the other orb here while the baron had the other. The towns historian found the orb and left it in Farroway. That means both castles are connected by those damned orbs. But even though all this happened hundreds o years ago ya both don't need ta be pickin at it ya hear me?" he finished his speech as they both stared at him through the mirror. John had a look of pure terror on his face and Sherlock just the opposite, with bright eyes and a grin.
"Sherlock!" John shouted in abhorrence, "Why would you think this is a good idea?! We're going to be messing with evil things if we go to this castle and I'm not having any of it!" he shouted as he crossed his arms and shook his head.
"Im not going to go to some evil castle with monsters and barons and orbs! We're not- Sherlock? Sherlock are you even listening to me?!" he shouted angrily.
Sherlock's grin just got bigger and bigger as the story went on and when Pól had finished he turned his head to John and said "John isn't this going to be amazing?! We might make a national discovery by visiting this castle, Farroway, Farroway castle!" he exclaimed.
"No Sherlock you aren't listening to me! I'm not going in that castle.
"Why are you scared? Monsters, barons, really now?" he asked monotonously in his quick little arrogant way that made John want to punch him.
"No it's just, Sherlock you remember that case in Baskerville. We were both scared because we thought that hound was real. This could be the same thing. And we'll both be scared. Alone. In a decrepit, evil castle in the middle of the woods with no way to get home." he explained with gritted teeth.
Sherlock seemed to deflate a bit and opened his mouth to talk when Pól let out a loud whistle and said "Wouldja look at that view."
They both turned to look and saw a beautiful view of a wide blue lake with flickers of the dying orange sun in it's depths. They were turning right down a rough dirt road with the view of a gorgeous lake and the old castle of Farroway with its roof caving in and broken windows reflecting the Farroway Lake and the sun as well. Besides this, the sun was setting right behind the castle making it seem to glow with a mysterious aura that was oddly inviting. Everyone was in awe at the sight. Then the bus sputtered a bit on the road as it turned into mud and grass and the wheels began to spin.
"Shit!" Pól cursed as he smashed his foot on the gas pedal. The bus slowly moved forward through the mud until a sudden jerk and gurgle showed that it couldn't go any farther. Pól hit the palms of his hand down on the steering wheel and let out a loud sigh as the bus died.
"Well, guess this is as far as we get ha ha!" he laughed looking back at the two of them.
"Time fer ya both to go examine this hellhole." he said pulling a lever and opening the creaky door.
"Thanks Mr. Bateson" Sherlock said as he made his way off the bus.
"Don't mention it Sherlock! Be careful and make sure ya come see me again if ye gotta get anywhere!" he waved him off. John nodded his head, following Sherlock as he got off.
"Thank you Mr. Bateson, uh, I mean Pól."
"Ey, yer welcome. Make sure he doesn't get inta any trouble wouldje?" he said worriedly to which John let out a little laugh and said "I'll try my best Pól." before leaving Veronica the Antichrist bus to be dealt with by her owner.
When he caught up to Sherlock they were just a few feet from the ominous, looming castle of Farroway.
"So, we're really going to do this?" John asked as they skirted a large puddle of mud.
"*hmph* Of course John. Why do you think we road that bus all the way here?" Sherlock let out a snort.
John didn't reply and instead put his hands in his pockets to try to divert the chilly fall air from them as he stared up at the immense castle.
They got up to the large wooden door and a thought suddenly occurred to John, well, one among countless others.
"Sherlock how are we going to get inside?" he asked surveying the bolted door. Sherlock stared at it for less than a second before he turned his head to the side and began looking around the edges of the windows.
"The door is a decoy John. Only used when the owner needed. He had a normal door. But the chances of finding it are slim. We might as well get in through a window." and with that he threw off his scarf and began to wrap his right hand with it carefully.
John watched on, a small pit of worry forming in his stomach. Sherlock walked up to one of the tall windows on the very left, pushed the glass just a bit with his unwrapped hand, then lifted and slammed his other hand into the old glass.
It broke apart quite easily, shards flying into smaller pieces which they themselves shattered into smaller bits. The window was so tall, almost like a stained glass one you may find in a church so the pieces rained down their colourful shards in what seemed like a rainbow. It was almost hypnotic.
Sherlock had, thankfully, jumped out of the way quick enough to avoid the glass and had began to climb into the castle.
"John, are you going to come along?" Sherlock snapped as he daintily pushed himself over the window pane and into the castle.
"Oh, oh yeah." he replied shaking the hypnotic feeling from his head. He made his way over, trying to avoid the glass as best as he could, and hopped over the windowsill just as the sound of a bus starting up and reversing as quick as it could was heard in the distance.