Hey guys, I got a few notes and reviews asking about historical accuracies and plot points, and I just wanted everyone to know that I'm sticking as close to the movie plot as I can. I'll tamper/manipulate certain plot points, of course, based on gender and character, but otherwise, it's all going to be fairly on-movie point as I can get. Thanks for reading guys!


Chapter Four: You're Warning Me?


The candle light flickers menacingly across the face of the Curator as he sits in contemplative silence in his office. Before him, standing partially in the shadows, stands three of his best trackers and assassins, ready to lay down their lives to serve their sacred duty. It hurts him to think of what this has come too, but what must be done, must be done, in order to protect the entire world. It must be carried out. These men will see it done. He will not be further involved in this, or further invested. He only hopes he can be forgiven in the after life for sentencing Sherlock and his brother to death.

"He must die." He says quietly, and the candle flickers harder at his words. "There is no other way around it."

"He's like all the others, and will die in the desert." The one with a rusty hook for a hand says, shrugs, before picking at something on his clothing. "Why call us?"

"Because he has seen too much! He knows too much." Dr. Queens sighs again and slouches a bit, head in his hands. "I allowed this to go too far. And now he must be dealt with."

If there is fear in his voice, no one mentions it.

The man huffs.

"You do not understand. Not only does he have the map, but he also has what I'm fairly certain is the lost key. It is what contained the map." Suddenly he has everyone's attention again, and they all look at him in horror and fear. "They leave on a boat in the morning. If you are swift, you may catch up to them in the dark of the night into their voyage and do what you must. He must be stopped, or it will be the end of us all."

"Then we will kill him, and we will kill all those with her. The whole boat will go up in flames." The man promises darkly, and he and his brothers swirl their cloaks tightly against themselves in preparation to leave. "No one will survive."

"Burn what remains of the map, and retrieve the key. I will see to its dismantling and scattering. I will not allow any to come this close ever again, as is my duty."

"It will be done. We will kill them all, destroy the map, and bring back the key."

"That is all I can ask."

xXx

The port is swarming with life as Sherlock and Greg make their way through, their bags bumping into people as they rush by, or shifting them away as cattle and their herders maneuver through the small walk ways. Hawkers and buyers are doing business on all seeming points, small boats and carts lined up and being gone through in search of the best goods. All around them are small groups of other explorers and scientists, each gearing up for their own trip, oblivious to the world and others around them. Behind them, the river sparkles brightly in the morning sun, more quiet then all the activity going on around them. Sherlock marvels at the beauty briefly before Greg urges him along, a gentle hand at the crook of his elbow.

"Do you really think he'll show up?" Sherlock asks finally, the question weighing heavily on his mind. He'd paid a decent amount to have him released on top of the initial promise of a percentage from their voyage, after all. "Mr. Watson, I mean."

"Undoubtedly. I know the breed, and while he may be a cowboy, his word is his word." Greg reassures him. "He'll stick to his promises, no worries."

Sherlock scoffs at his brother's words, rolling his eyes. Yes, the day a man like that is bound by his word alone will be the day that Sherlock strips nude and runs through the marketplace. No, Sherlock didn't trust him. Not one bit.

"Personally, I think he's filthy." He pushes on after a short pause, undeterred by his brother's words. "Completely rude and a scoundrel to boot. I don't like him one bit."

"Anyone I know?" Watson says as he saunters up.

Both Sherlock and Greg turn at his voice, expecting to see the man they'd saved the day before from Cairo's prison, but instead there stands someone completely different. Watson has walked up with a swagger in his step, and he is completely clean shaven and showered. His hair is done back neatly, combed and styled, and his clothing looks to be brand new, as the shirt he's now wearing is crisp, starched, and white. It is such a difference from the man the day before that Sherlock feels his mouth fall open slightly, a small gasp at such a drastic change. He's suitably impressed, and Watson looks dashing. Handsome, even, as clean and polished as he now is.

"Oh... Um, hello." Sherlock stutters. "Good morning."

"Morning." Watson says to them both, nodding at Sherlock, smirking when he notices the slight flush that's crept up his neck. "Everything ready to go?"

"Yes! We're ready! Smashing day for the start of a grand adventure, eh, Watson?" Greg says with nearly shouted enthusiasm. "Good weather, better company, delightful start indeed!"

"Yeah, sure, smashing." Watson replies, but his eyes haven't left Sherlock's face. "As long as you're both ready to go."

"Mister Watson, can you look me in the eye and guarantee me this is not some sort of flimflam? Because if it is, I'm warning you-"

Watson steps up closer to them both, eyes narrowing at Sherlock as he makes his weak threats, nearly invading both their personal spaces as he draws even closer. Sherlock doesn't back away, and Watson doesn't back down. They hold their ground equally, wills doing silent battle.

"You're warning me? Look, my garrison believed in that city so damn much, that without orders, we marched halfway across Libya and into Egypt to find it. And like I told you before, when we got there, all we found was sand and blood."

With that, Watson pushes by them both, walking up the gangplank of their ship without looking back even once, leaving a speechless Sherlock and an exasperated Greg in his wake. The passenger boat sways only slightly in the water before Watson is out of sight, leaving a still slightly flabbergasted Sherlock and Greg standing down below.

"Yes, yes, you're right. Filthy, rude, a complete scoundrel, with nothing to like about him at all." Greg is teasing, but it only irritates Sherlock more, especially when Greg slaps him on the shoulder. "Stop fussing Sherlock. Let your hair down! You might actually have a good time on this trip, if you do."

Sherlock just gives him a stern, hard look, and Greg continues to just grin as they stand there together, arguing silently. Sherlock is just about to retort sourly when he is brushed past and sent semi-stumbling into Greg, whose entire face shuts down and turns into a scowl all of his own. There, standing to Sherlock's left side now, is Warden Hassan. He's dressed in what Sherlock is sure are his best clothes, though hardly any of them match, and he's carrying a traveling bag tightly in one hand, and his raggedy, rotten hat in the other. He tips his head towards both of them when he comes to stand with them, a smile on his beady little face.

"A bright good morning to all."

"Oh no, what are you doing here?" Sherlock asks rashly and without thought, the anger getting the best of him.

The Warden bristles for a moment before sneering at Sherlock, tipping his head again before walking towards the gangplank. His face is set into a sneer as he turns.

"I'm here to protect my investment, thank you very much!"

And up the plank he goes, like a rat scurrying up the rope to the top of the ship, disappearing from view just as quickly as he came. Sherlock and Greg share a dark look before they too walk to the gangplank, adjusting their grip on their baggage before starting the climb up themselves, careful of their footing as they go. This, Sherlock thought, was going to be the start of something great, he was sure of it.

It had to be.

xXx

The moon is full that night, and brightly illuminates the passenger barge they had chartered to take them up the Nile. It plows on quietly, gliding through the river as they make their journey towards Hamunaptra, just as quietly as a small, unseen skiff does on the dark river below it's side. Both move in tandem with the other, one knowingly, the other in ignorance. The Medjai arriving on the small skiff were going to insure that the quiet of the night wouldn't stay that way for very long. Or they'd died trying.

Meanwhile, on deck, Watson comes out onto the main floor from the stairwell leading from a few of the lower cabins and deck, carrying his gunny sack, looking for both Greg and Sherlock. He needed a word with them about their safety on this trip, about all their safety really, especially when they started off into the desert. It wasn't safe out there in good conditions, but now... Now, with whatever evil was out there and under the sands, it would be even less safe. And despite how rude Sherlock was, John was was rather beginning to like him. Spirited is what he was, John had decided, just too spirited for his own damn good.

He finds Greg sitting at a small table with the group of Americans also on this journey up river, a game of poker laid out before them, a series of chips scattered around. Greg is down more then the other players, but he's still smiling, chatting amicably with the rest. Behind them, a small, mousy woman and another man sit together, discussing the merits of some book or another in moderate tones. Each have a book and a stack of papers out and are comparing their writings, so John assumes they're academics of some sort. Teachers, maybe, at a prestigious university, or doctors of some field or another. But they're all the same here, each and every one of them. They're all looking for something here in Egypt, out in the desert. John bets they've got some recently discovered tomb they're going too, escorted by the wildly adventurous Americans in their midst. That is, if they're even traveling together, but John's willing to be they are. The woman's ring matches one of the men's at the same table as Greg's, and there can't be anything but a marriage there. Not with how close they are sitting, despite being at separate tables.

Greg's head rears back as he laughs at something one of the men said when he spots him across the deck, waving him over with a huge, genuine smile and a boisterous wave. John likes Greg, likes his open personality, and he thinks that if he does botch this up, then at least Greg will still like him at the end. Sherlock, on the other hand, would probably attempt to set him on fire with his eyes alone. He'd caught the other man glaring at him throughout the day today from around corners where Sherlock was inevitably set up in a chair or at a table with several books, and a half-burnt piece of parchment paper that John had never seen before. Whenever he'd see John, he'd stop his work, and stare him down until John grew uneasy or bored and left. He never invited him to sit down or join him.

"Watson, hey, sit down and join us!" Greg pats a chair next to his own. "We could use another good player. Rather boring with just the three of us."

"I only gamble with my life, never my money."

"Never?" Says one of the men, eyebrow raised. He looks a lot like Sherlock, John realizes, in his build and face, though his complexion is much darker and his hair is a sandy shade. "What if I were to bet five hundred dollars says we get to Hamunaptra before you?"

He sounds cocky, and his body language says confident, but something about this man says that this is his first journey out into the desert. Maybe even first journey far from home, and John can see it. He gives himself away so easily, so quickly, and it shouts to him like the man had stood up and told him himself. He's not as experienced as John is, no, not even close, despite the gun at his hip and a nearby knife sheath lying out in the open. Plus, he's traveling with his wife, who has by now turned around to listen in to their conversation. But she says nothing, and neither does her academic companion. Watson returns the cocky look with an ease of familiarity.

"And who says we're going to Hamunaptra?"

"He does." They both say together, both pointing at Greg, who grins and shrugs sheepishly. John should have known.

"Alright then, you're on."

"What makes you so confident?" The other man says. This one is just as quiet as the woman has been, and is wearing dirty bifocals and dusty clothing. "Or is that just how you normally are?"

"Well, what makes you all so confident?" John fires back.

"Because we've got a man who's actually been there, of course." The first man replies. "That's why."

John's poker face goes back up, and he feels himself stilling even as the other man shuffles his cards again, grinning up at John like he's got some great advantage. Whoever is taking them out there is either out to steal from them and then leave them for dead, or someone from his garrison must have survived besides him. Considering he was pretty sure he was the last of them, that only left the first option. Poor suckers, he thinks.

"I say, what a coincidence, because Watson here-" John kicks him roughly, and Greg takes the hint, quickly changing his tune. "- whose deal is it, anyways? Is it my deal? I thought I just dealt."

They all side eye him before both of the other men turn back to watch him, curiosity flashing in their eyes. John isn't here to quench it. He doesn't care much at all about their curiosity, actually.

"I'm Henry Knight." Says the second man without prompting, and holds out his hand to shake John's own. John doesn't offer his hand back, and Mr. Knight lets his hand drop. "And this is my friend Tom Birch, his fiancé and wife-to-be, Miss Molly Hooper, and the last of our group, Dr. Philip Anderson."

John inclines his head to all of them. As he'd thought, they were all together.

"Well, as you all know, I'm Greg Holmes! And this here!" He says, standing, putting his hand on John's shoulder, despite the death glare John was shooting him. "This here is John Watson!"

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Watson." The woman, Molly says softly. John nods in recognition before nearly shoving Greg back into his chair. "And what brings you out to Hamunaptra?"

"Gold, of course, and treasure." John replies easily, though he's not sure if it's a lie or not. "And you?"

"Knowledge, actually." Is her reply. She waves at Dr. Anderson who is bristling beside her, fuming at being left out of the conversation. "My research partner and I are here to find some artifacts and finish up our book. My husband-to-be and his best friend are here for adventure and treasure themselves."

And that, John thinks, sets the whole tone for the rest of their journey.