It was a complete disaster. Not of it was actually Molly's fault, but she got blamed for it anyway. It turned out the man who sold Papa the jade pin and stolen it, and the original owners were far from pleased. Sending in a trained assassin seemed a bit of an overkill, since Molly was a reasonable girl. She had managed to avoid being skewered only by smashing throwing the tea into his face, blinding him a bit with the hot water. He had crashed into the heirloom china cabinet, however, so when the Matchmaker and Molly stumbled out of her house onto the time square soaking wet and gasping for air, the Matchmaker angrily handed out her verdict.
Unfit for marriage. Molly could hear the whispers throughout the village as she returned home to the estate, red faced and unable to look Mama in the eye. Waiting at home, proving once again the fate was determined to through Molly into her destiny face first, was a messenger from King Mycroft, calling all of the knights in the Empire to war.
"You can't go!" Molly insisted as her father received the summons. "Papa, you've been wounded. You'll die in battle."
"It would be nice," Papa said mildly, "To know my daughter had faith in me."
"There are plenty of men to fight for the King!"
"It is my duty," Papa replied, fixing her with a severe look. "You should learn yours." Molly stared at him before fleeing to her bedroom, tears in her eyes.
Every country estate had a small shrine, dedicated to the spirits and fairies that tended to wander into the woods. Molly's room overlooked the small area, the creeping vines and the silver birches framed directly across from her window. When she was younger, she used to stare out, watching for any spirits to creep through during the night. It never occurred to her that if she could see out, than they could see in.
Lestrade was a simple spirit, one that had looked over the entire area for hundreds of years. In pagan times he was regarded as a God of the woods, but the era of worship and sacrifices had long since passed. He still was in control of the area, of course, and looked over all who lived within it. His duties had consisted of keeping on eye on the land, resolving any disputes between different creatures, and making sure no one toyed too much with the humans. Overall, the woods was a happy place.
Until some idiot trapped Sherlock to what was now the Hooper household, that is. Now, Sherlock wasn't anything Lestrade was used to. He wasn't a ghost and he had never been human. He couldn't have been a nymph or a dryad, because he refused to be limited to trees or water. He hadn't ever been a deity, as far as Lestrade could tell, but he still maintained basic control over different elements. And whatever he was, he was clever. Lestrade quickly learned to personally patrol the borders to the land Sherlock was bound to, else he'd goad the local spirits into attacking him or even each other. And this was the problem, it seemed, because Sherlock had been living in Hooper's shrine for over a hundred years.
He was bored.
"Sherlock," Lestrade said, appearing outside the shrine, blocking his view of Molly's window. He was frowning, and his arms were crossed, (Oddly positioned, hiding the green stain spreading across his front, tiny bite mark on his wrist, not healed yet- must have gotten between the water sprites and the gnomes. Pity, that one might have been interesting.) "Did you have anything to do with-"
"Move," Sherlock interrupted. "You wouldn't have wasted any time coming here if you didn't think I was behind it, and no, I'm not sorry so I won't stop."
"Why are you watching the girl again?" Lestrade asked, glancing warily at Sherlock. "You're not planning on doing anything to her, are you?"
Sherlock's face pinched in displeasure. "Her father knows enough to make his time here unpleasant for me if I did anything. It's boring enough being stuck here with the inhabitants, much less being confined to the farthest area of it."
"You're supposed to be the house's guardian," Lestrade pointed out.
"Their grandfather thought if he bound me here, I'd use my mind to help the family," Sherlock snapped. "I didn't choose to guard anything. Besides, none of their problems are worth my effort."
"The family received a summon to war," Lestrade said. "The father is the only man in the household, but he'll die with his bad leg. Why don't you solve that?"
"He can ignore the summons. Boring."
"Stop making trouble in my woods, Sherlock," Lestrade pleaded with a sigh. "Go bother your humans for a while."
"The humans are all essentially the same," Sherlock called after the god's retreating back. "Useless extensions of the estate. Just because I'm bound to them doesn't mean I'm going to protect them."
"Then follow the father to war!" Lestrade shouted back before disappearing.
Useless. With that handicap he'll die within the month, Sherlock thought. The girl's the only one who could actually fight. But women aren't allowed into the army, despite the certain tactical advantages they possess. The quaint little notions of the humans are really quite-
"Oh," Sherlock breathed, a light coming to his eyes as a new idea came to him. "That could work." He grinned and stood up, staring eagerly at Molly.
Inside her room, Molly shivered, suddenly feeling a chill run down her spine.
