Eighteen years later...
John opened his eyes, squinting against the bright morning sun. He couldn't bring himself to get out of bed right away. Instead, he just rested under covers for a moment, ignoring the ever present ache in his shoulder and the sound of Teine snoring in the next room.
He cringed, picturing how cramped Teine was. He needed to find a new flat desperately. Unfortunately, there were very few places in London within John's price range that could accommodate a ten foot tall, fire breathing dragoness.
So before that he needed to find a job. And before that he needed to find a way to let Teine in and out of the flat without much hassle, so she could spread her wings in his absence.
Oh, and he needed to get a bigger fridge. It was difficult to feed a dragon on a Corp pension, especially considering he couldn't just take home an entire cow.
John thought, not for the first time, that it would have been better in Teine had just agreed to find a new Captain. But after eighteen years together, she outright refused to fight with anyone other than John. The Corp, with an enormous amount of protest only silenced by the fact that the beast they were arguing with was capable of roasting them alive, finally released Teine into John's care, although she hadn't technically been discharged.
But things had happened the way they had happened. Teine was still thickheaded and stubborn, she chose John years ago and refused to see reason.
So now John had a dragon that wasn't actually legal and no place to keep her.
Find a job first, John reminded himself. He rolled out of bed and got dressed. When he entered the sitting room, he crawled over Teine's coiled body, horribly cramped in this depressingly small flat, and navigated his way to the tiny kitchen to make breakfast.
He was halfway through eating his toast when Teine cracked open an amber eye.
"Where are you going?" she asked, shifting as much as she was able to. God, John wondered how the hell they managed to get her into the flat in the first place.
"Need to find a job," John said, brushing the crumbs off his fingers. "Do you remember Mike? He's working at the Rookery. I'm getting coffee with him today. I'll see if they have any openings."
Teine snorted unhappily, releasing a small cloud of sulfurous smoke. "I don't like the thought of you working with other dragons."
John rolled his eyes, because really. He had been nothing but working with other dragons since he was discharged.
"Jealous?"
"No," Teine insisted petulantly. "Most dragons are idiots and you shouldn't be subjected to them. Besides, what if I get bored when you're gone? It will be horrible, John. Absolutely horrible. The whole world is so very boring and I don't know what to do when I'm trapped in this stupid flat."
John reached out to stoke her nearest coil of body. "I know, love. Don't worry. I'm getting the job so I can afford somewhere better for us. And hopefully the Woman will have something interesting for us to do again. Maybe we can do some reconnaissance flying. That's something to do, right?"
Teine snorted disdainfully and shut her eyes again. "I refuse to wake up until there is something worthwhile for me to do."
"Please eat something while I'm gone," John begged.
"Eating is boring."
"I'm leaving some food out, and if it has gone bad by the time I get home, we are going to have serious words, Missy."
"Go away," Teine snapped, pretending to try to sleep.
"I'll be back soon," John promised, climbing over her to get his coat. He worked the door open, trying not to disturb the 'sleeping' dragon too much, and headed to the Rookery, hoping that he looked like a presentable candidate for a job and praying that he didn't smell too much like a dragon.
… …
Sherlock and Vivaldi loved the Rookery. Loved it with a passion that rivaled their love of solving puzzles. Well, Sherlock's love of solving puzzles. Vivaldi preferred to praise Sherlock's puzzle solving ability and watch with rapt attention.
As the center of dragon research and medical treatment, the Rookery was the best equipped place of Sherlock to conduct his experiments and increase contacts for his work. He could have spent his whole life in their laboratories (specially modified to accommodate dragons, so Vivaldi was also able to spend this time with him).
Although, it would have been better if he had explicit permission to use the labs, and wasn't constantly relying on the excuses made by other sympathizers to keep him there.
"Are you nearly finished, Sherlock?" Mike asked, glancing nervously at his watch.
"Somewhere you have to be, Michael?" Sherlock drawled out, amused by the man's discomfort.
"Meeting an old friend for coffee," Mike responded. "So what are you working on anyway?"
"Various things," Sherlock responded, bored. "Something to neutralize dragon scent, for one." Vivaldi gave an offended sniff at this, which Sherlock ignored.
"Can I ask why?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Dragons have a strong smell. Sulfur, fire, manure, rotting meat. We've gotten used to it, but surely you remember that the first time you got a whiff of adult dragon was an unpleasant experience."
Mike shook himself and nodded.
"Exactly. I'm trying to find a flatmate. Can't even begin that search unless I can do something to get rid of the dragon smell in the flat."
"You're looking for a flatmate?" Mike asked incredulously.
"Yes," Sherlock sighed. "That's what I just said. It's an annoying endeavor. Even after getting rid of the dragon smell, who would want me for a flatmate?"
Mike didn't say anything, although he obviously agreed.
"You are a bit of a pain in the arse," Vivaldi added affectionately. "Although if I haven't tried to kill you yet, you can't be too bad. Maybe."
"Thank you for the input," Sherlock sighed. "Now smell this. What does it smell like to you?"
Vivaldi gave a sniff and made a face. "It smells like fish. And also somehow like snow and petrol."
"Getting close then," Sherlock declared.
"So if I leave for a bit," Mike interrupted. "Do you think you could keep from setting the lab on fire?"
"Vivaldi is an ice breather," Sherlock reminded him. "We're more likely to render it to subzero temperatures."
"Right," Mike said, looking uncomfortable. "I really do have to leave, though. So...good luck with all that, I guess."
Mike booked a hasty retreat. As soon as he was gone, Vivaldi fixed Sherlock was an expectant look.
"What?" Sherlock asked, playing dumb.
Vivaldi did the dragon approximation of rolling his eyes. "Go on. I know you're dying to show off."
Sherlock leaned away from the microscope and allowed himself a small grin.
"Mike's wife is expecting their third child, although she hasn't told Mike yet. She's waiting until the stress of his upcoming board meeting has passed. He's meeting someone he knew back from when he worked as a dragon surgeon in the Corp. Most likely a fellow surgeon or a captain whose dragon had been injured at some point. The 'old friend' is just using coffee as an excuse. He's trying to find a new job and is hoping that Mike will put a good word for him in at the Rookery."
"Brilliant," Vivaldi said, sounding content. "I still have no idea how you do that, but good on you."
Sherlock smiled at his friend. "It was a bit more difficult to figure things out about the friend, but Mike's posture said a lot. Also, he pulled out his phone twenty minutes ago to text the man, named John Watson according to the contact information. I caught a glance at the content of some of the messages. This John fellow is definitely looking for a job and attempting to be subtle about it. He's not doing a very good job though, and will probably make a blunder before they even get their drinks."
"Do you think he could be one of ours?" Vivaldi asked.
Sherlock shook his head, but shrugged after another moment's hesitation. "Maybe. Not likely. Not if he worked with the Corp as a soldier. The higher ups are far too good about keeping their secrets. As medical personnel, it's possible."
"Well, Mike will send him our way if he's a rebel," Vivaldi said with a yawn. "Are you going to be testing much longer? I could use a nap."
"Sleep away, darling," Sherlock said absentmindedly. "I'll be here for a while yet."
… …
"Sorry John," Mike Stamford said, looking a bit uncomfortable. "We just don't have any openings right now."
John sighed and nodded, knowing that it wasn't the best of chances anyway. "It's fine, mate. I'm not the best candidate for a job anyway, what with the leg and the tremors."
"Still bugging you?" Mike asked, nodding to John's leg.
The ex-aviator shrugged. "Don't need a cane anymore, but it will seize up now and then. Listen, do you know of anything, any work near here that I might be able to get?"
"I'm not sure," Mike said, staring at his coffee. "Do you mind me asking why you're so desperate anyway? Aviators have got a good pension, I've heard. Most captains are set for life."
"If their dragon dies," John added. "Teine is fine. They're giving me my pension for being invalid, but I can't manage more than this shitty little flat that she can't even really fit in. I need a job to find somewhere better."
"Have you thought about getting a flat share?"
John laughed at that. "Really? Me? I've got a fully grown fire breathing dragoness with the temperament of a stubborn, cranky toddler. Who would want me for a flatmate?"
Mike looked a little surprised before laughing.
"What?" John asked, a little caught off guard.
"You know, you're the second person to ask me that today."
"Am I?"
"Yep. And he had a dragon too."
… …
Sherlock looked up as Mike reentered the lab, his 'old friend' in tow.
Interesting.
A sympathizer? No…? Maybe? Data Inconclusive. Standard aviator haircut, posture of someone long accustomed to military service. Distinct smell of...
Of dragon.
Sherlock blinked rapidly. That was...odd. And unexpected. Who was this?
"Old mate from the Corp," Mike said, introducing John to Sherlock. "John Watson."
"Hello," John said, giving Sherlock only a cursory glance before focusing his gaze on Vivaldi with open admiration. "And hello to you, too. God, you are a gorgeous thing." John turned to Mike. "Don't tell Teine I said that."
Scottish Gaelic. Teine=Fire.
Possibilities for name: red coloring, high core temperature, fire breathing ability, fire immunity, combination of the above.
Observation: No sign of ash on person. No sign of fire damage on clothes. Significant burn scar on right hand, over a decade (possibly two?) old.
Conclusion: John Watson, while invalid (obvious shoulder injury and psychosomatic limp), is still in possession of his fully grown fire breathing dragon.
John Watson just became very interesting.
And he didn't have the air of a sympathizer, of constantly sizing strangers up, trying to decide if they're on the same side. There was something much stronger to him, more confident. Like there was a core of steel holding him upright.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked after half a second's silence.
"What?" John looked slightly startled.
"The violin," Sherlock repeated. "I tend to play it when I'm thinking. I also own a rather large dragon, but I'm sure you've noticed that already."
"I'm sorry, what?" John looked confused.
Sherlock sighed internally. He obviously wasn't the brightest of the bunch.
"Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other," Sherlock continued. "I tend to experiment as well, and I don't talk for days on end."
"Who said anything about flatmates?" John interrupted.
"I did, about an hour ago. I told Mike that it would be difficult for me to find a flatmate, what with the fact that I live with a dragon the size of a sports utility vehicle with a tail. Then he shows up with an old friend, in need of a job and place to live that will be able to accommodate his fully grown fire breathing dragon named Teine. Personally, I don't think that there is anyone else in the London area more suited to my flat space than you, provided your dragon is under forty feet in height, though that won't be a problem since there are no known fire breathing breeds that large."
Sherlock abandoned the now-unnecessary experiment and started gathering his things. Vivaldi moved to his feet, stiff from his brief nap, and prepared to follow him out of the lab.
"I've got a great place on the edge of the city, plenty of room but it costs a pretty penny. I think together we should just be able to afford it. Let's meet there at six tomorrow and make the negotiations with the landlady."
"Wait a minute!" John interrupted, apparently finding his voice for the first time. "We barely know each other and we're going to look at a flat together? I don't even know your name."
Sherlock sighed as he tied on his scarf. He exchanged a quick look with Vivaldi, who rolled his eyes again. Showtime.
"I know that you're a Captain in the Aerial Corp who has been invalid out of service. I know that you are in possession of a fully grown Scottish Fire Breather named Teine that you have had since you were a teenager. I know that you were honorably discharged, but you let the Corp on poor terms, possibly because of the circumstances surrounding your injury, more likely because your dragon decided to join you in civilian life and refused both another captain and the breeding pens. I know that you're desperate for work, but only because you need to afford housing for your dragon. I know that the offer I am giving you is the best one you will receive."
Sherlock took a moment to get his breath back and enjoy the dumbstruck look on John's face.
"The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street."
With a wink that was probably unnecessary and a twirl of his coat that most definitely was necessary, Sherlock left the room, with Vivaldi trailing behind.
"Looking for a new toy, Sherlock?" Vivaldi asked dryly as they left the building.
"I'm looking for a flatmate," Sherlock corrected. "Don't be jealous. Besides, he comes with a fire breathing dragon. Don't pretend that it isn't fascinating, you know it is."
… …
"I think I like him," Teine decided, once John finished telling her the story.
"Well, of course you would like him," John grumbled. "You two were kindred spirits. I swear to God, I don't know if I could manage to deal with two egotistical geniuses telling me everything about myself."
Teine snorted. "He can't be that observant. He's not even a dragon."
"Humans can be hyperobservational as well, dearest. Although it isn't as common. The difference was that this guy was smart enough to know what to do with all the details. It would...be weird. We don't need him in our lives. He would figure out too much."
Teine shifted slightly, rearranging the coils of her body the best she could, her wings thunking painfully against the walls as she did so.
"You said he was friends with Mike. He might be like us, John. Mike is careful about who he introduces, you know that as well as I do. I say we give him a shot. Let's go check out the flat tomorrow, let me get a sense of him, and we can make our decision later. It's not like we're signing our souls away just by looking."
"Fine, you're right," John sighed, perching on her forearm. "You're always right. We'll just go see what he's all about. And if he's at least a sympathizer to the Resistance, I don't think we should have any problem staying with him."
"Was he a member of the Aerial Corp?"
"He didn't say, but Vivaldi sure as hell hasn't seen battle or the breeding pens."
"Then it's possible he's rogue. Although what a rogue civilian is doing in the labs of the Rookery is beyond me. If anything, I'm curious about this Sherlock Holmes. He sounds anything but boring, and that is exactly what I need."
John ran a hand over her warm red scales. "There's just one problem."
"What is it, Captain?"
"I don't know how we're going to get you back out of here. I'm still not sure how we got you in."
"We'll make do. And if something get's broken, they can take it up with the two ton Breather with, as you have so eloquently put it, a fucking nasty temper. I'm not in the mood for pleasing idiots. Now, will you put on some of that violin music for me? I'd like to get some rest."
… …
"I don't want to sound rude," Vivaldi started after dinner that evening. "But isn't letting an aviator live with us a stupid idea? I've given it some thought, and it seems like one to me."
"We're good at keeping secrets, love," Sherlock reminded him. "It's how we've managed eighteen years this way. If John Watson is exactly what he appears to be, we will take the appropriate steps."
"I can hear the 'but' waiting unspoken."
"But I don't think that will be the case," Sherlock said, his eyes bright, delighted. "John Watson is an enigma, wrapped in a puzzle, and shrouded in a facade. I'd give anything to peel those layers away. If he's more than what meets the eye, then he could be an extremely valuable asset."
Vivaldi yawned, looking unimpressed. "You should call Lestrade or find some way to speak to Obsidian," he suggested. "See what he knows about this Watson fellow. If he's been in the Corp since he's been with...Teine, you said? If he's been in the Corp since he's had Teine, then Lestrade is bound to have crossed his path. It might be a good idea to look into him before you invite him into our home."
Sherlock waved him off. "You sound like your brood mare."
"My brood mare is an appropriately cautious dragoness. She's managed to survive while serving your psychotic brother, she's learned a few things."
"I've never liked Neige, she's a viper."
Vivaldi let out a huff of icy air. "But she's not stupid. Look into this Watson fellow. Don't jump in blindly for the fun of finding your way out."
"Eh."
"I'd rather not get killed, Sherlock."
'You wouldn't be killed," Sherlock said dismissively. "You would get captured and forced into the breeding pens like your sisters."
"My sisters are dead," Vivaldi reminded him with a voice as icy as his breath. "They died in those pens, forced to produce egg after egg until their bodies gave out on them. They are why we are heading down this ridiculous path, as you have reminded me on various occasions. I don't want their deaths to have been in vain."
Sherlock took a deep breath, recognizing that he was about to edge too far into sensitive territory and needing to pull back quickly.
"Ophelia and Juliet were tragic losses," Sherlock conceded. "The irony of their names was not lost on me, nor was it lost on Mycroft. He regrets his actions, we all regret our actions. I promise you, I may not be capable of much on my own, but I will not allow anything to happen to you, darling. Certainly not for the sake a sad little soldier with a curious companion. It is still you and I against the rest of the world. That will not change."
"It better not," Vivaldi mumbled before getting up to search for food. "Remember to eat some dinner," he called out as he left. "I can't do much with you if you start to die of starvation than put you out of your misery. And I'd rather not."
"I'll be fine."
"Sure, sure. That's what you always say."
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