Chapter 2 I really hate quickenings…
The revived fighter let a plaintive cry at the sight of his dead comrade before he directed his vengeful gaze towards Sherlock and his friend. "You – you beat my student!" He pointed his sword towards them. "You both are dead men walking", he growled and advanced slowly.
Sherlock's friend let his sword swing gracefully through the air. "Then you should've taught him better", he sneered.
There it was again, this cold and detached voice Sherlock had trouble connecting with his friend who now engaged in a furious battle.
Swords clashed, the metal sound ringing across the open space. Both men were experienced fighters, and none of them was willing to yield. After a few minutes it was clear that Sherlock's friend had the upper hand. He worked his blade with deadly precision and his eyes held a frighteningly dark gleam.
Finally, he cut his opponent diagonally across the back of the legs right after ducking away from a heavy blow. The man fell to his knees, screaming in pain.
Sherlock held his breath. His friend raised his sword, held Sherlock's gaze and decapitated the other man with a final blow.
The detective stood there, frozen in shock, trying to process what he had just witnessed. The man he had come to know as Dr. Benjamin Pierce had just killed a man in cold blood…
Sherlock shook his head and blinked a couple of times, but it didn't help much.
"Get down!" Pierce managed to yell before the show started.
Glowing mist rose from the dead body and encircled the man who now dropped his sword and wrapped his arms around his middle while groaning in pain.
Crackling with electricity the mist swirled higher and higher, wind came out of nowhere and the whole vortex of wind, light and mist engulfed Dr. Benjamin Pierce aka Methos, the world's oldest immortal.
I really, really hate quickenings! Methos thought briefly before lightning streaks erupted inside the vortex and hit the old one over and over again. He screamed and broke to his knees, unable to run away.
"Ben!" Sherlock shouted in horror, but he couldn't get any closer. The lightning storm hit the building behind him and shattered glass rained down on him while he covered himself with his sturdy coat.
After a few minutes, the electric storm died down again and left a shaken detective cowering behind a heap of debris and a groaning immortal next to a corpse in the middle of dissolving vapour.
Sherlock finally jumped up and shook dust and crumbs of stone and glass out of his hair. Then he ran towards his friend.