NEW UPDATE:
Edited this one as well, only minor things.

Enjoy))

Chapter 4

Rune reading was not very fancy, yet it was highly effective. It turned out in the end that he did not waste time in the Library: at least something worthwhile came of that venture in addition to dubious acquaintance with Holmes.

From the depths of an old canvas bag John drew ritual candles and bowls. Necessary runes that were carefully made of wood were also extracted from the bag.

Everyday walks through a dull neighborhood, quite tedious he might add, had been a part of his exercise regime and finally brought results. John was lucky enough to stumble upon a place of nature in the territory of one of the abandoned houses. Greens had won a place to call home from the dirty brick walls and cracked asphalt, and now were pleasing to the eye with their emerald hue. Rare trees reached thin branches towards the sun, and John could not help but admire such tenacity.

This place immediately came to mind when he was holding a little shabby volume and idly flipping through the yellowed pages. It was an almost perfect site for the rite. He only had to impose some spells to scare small spirits and seek all the necessary ingredients. Re-registration after so many years did not warrant any change in his situation, so it would not hurt to try his luck in the rite and ask Destiny. And for this he had only two days left.

John carefully drew a plain pentagram on the ground. He then stuck candles on the edges and set the bowls. They splashed with clear water, blood of the caught rat and red wine. In the fourth he put honey of wild bees. The hardest part was not getting Holy Water, as it wasn't that much out of his way to wander through a church, but the honey; the real stuff and not the pitiful excuse that was sold in Tesco. To get it he had to barter a luck amulet that he had made in Afghanistan, and now did not work for him.

In the middle he placed the big flat dish, throwing some soil on the bottom. After bowing in the four directions, John froze, only his lips began to move quickly. He asked for the blessing of the Norns of which, by Skuld (1), he wanted to be heard most of all. The blessing sign roused the air for but a moment, a portent that everything would go smoothly, and he would get his answers.

A small dagger with a burnt handle served him as the ritual knife. Long ago, dull metal flashed from the ashes of memory, he'd found it in a ruined shack on the outskirts of a broken house, drawing his attention with the shining of its small red semiprecious stones. He tenderly touched the black dents and made quick to ward off unwelcome thoughts. After the dagger followed other parts of the rite; a white falcon feather, the dried leaves of the datura-herb, and a yellowed wolf's tooth. All this he found on the shelves of a witches stall at Camden Market.

In the morning John had looked out the window, and was met with heavy dark clouds that covered the sky; ready to explode their cold drops of rain. The understanding then came that it was the right day. Nature was ready to wash gray houses and the streets of London. So he chose his new destiny and wanted to look behind the veil of the future; the rain was a good omen.

Candles spontaneously burst to life dispersing reluctant dampness. John leaned over the wooden runes and whispered words of the ritual, which was even known by elementary school students. He then dipped the runes in bowls till "colored." He calmly took the dagger in his hands; it flashed its reflections reassuringly at him. A short swing and tight drops of blood finally fell into the black earth from the fresh wound on his hand. John threw sharply and began to put together meanings of the dropped runes.

First came two runes: The Herald of the Horn, and the Eye; it came twice. It was telling that someone was watching him.
Next came the rune with a trunk, or the rune of ownership. It turned out that he had something to gain, but much to lose. The rune with an animal with horns and hump said that something will end in his life, but something else will begin. And then lastly, the runes that gave nothing as if they were silenced; divided into two tracks: on the one hand - all the good, on the other – all the bad. And there his path lay down the middle; dodging side all the time.

When he asked the most important question, came the rune that he got in the very begging, closing the circle. Man calling someone. He vaguely remembered that it meant only that it was somehow connected with the class of the Oracles. Not much, but it was something to count on.

"Calling Seer," John tried the words aloud, and found it was surprisingly pleasant. There was something new and unexpected in them. The Class of Oracles and Seers never held any sway of interest for him. He never liked the uncertainty and variability of the magic with which predictors usually worked. And the rather elaborate rituals made him quite despondent. But if one took into account the Subclass of Summoning, which was an indisputable advantage, he had every chance to learn something worthwhile.

Healing had always attracted John with its efficiency, simple spells and tangible results, which was very far from the changing nature of predicting the future. Besides, he'd never had a predisposition for visions, and it was still hard to believe that the curse had changed so much. He would have a lot to remember, a lot to learn, but the study of a new class was not a bad idea.

John meticulously cleaned up after himself, and even took the trouble to dispel ethereal reverberations. He was not afraid that he would get caught, reassured more from habit of being careful than anything else. He did not have so much power as to disturb anybody with the sudden Surge, and the ritual initially attracted him precisely because of its simplicity.

He could not shake off the oppressive foreboding. May be it was his new found Gift, although he found he believed more in his developed intuition that had often helped him in healing. Now intuition told him to be prepared for new problems. There was no hope in Re-registration, and he could not afford to lie to himself - the prospect of getting the Mark truly terrified him.

John always saw the magic in the world around him as a glowing rapid stream of pure energy, but now after what he went through, he only saw a wall as if made from dirty glass. Wherever he looked, he was surrounded by glass, sometimes thicker, sometimes quite subtle. As when he had visited Holmes, he had a feeling that everything around him distractedly lost half of its colors. And he had neither the strength nor the ability to break the damn glass.

A simple ringtone filled the air with strange animation. John hurried to take the call, returning the gloomy place its silence; only broken now by his rapid breathing and a distant voice from the speaker. He did not even have to look at the display to know who had called.

"Hello, Sherlock."

"John." The calm voice made his heart beat faster; disturbing his magic and making the invisible glass before his eyes more cloudy. "You …"

The world exploded with a million different colors. He blinked and tried to stand up not understanding when he had had time to fall. A sharp pain shot through the whole body, which seemed a bit empty and very light. When the walls were no longer dancing, changing places with the ceiling, and he was able to focus his eyes and look around, John saw that he was lying surrounded by an unbearable radiance. It was like a dome of clean uncomplicated magic closed him off to the world.
He could not even lift a finger from the shock, and just lay on the ground, trying to understand what had just happened. Watery eyes caught the familiar shape of a lasso that repeatedly slipped off the glowing dome. Someone had persistently tried to find him, John Watson, and had had no luck so far.

Gradually John got his hearing back. He was able to catch a vague melody wafting from the side. The screen annoyingly shone with name of the one and only consulting dark wizard, and John did not have the slightest desire to continue with the call. Especially now.

He gritted his teeth and rolled onto his side. The shoulder responded with unbearably aching; recalling the wound left by an arrow with a curse.

The reaction could not be the Recoil from the rite. But now at least he knew that his forefeeling did not fail him. His troubles and problems seemed only to continue to accumulate over time. And if a common search spell had such consequences, what would happen during the Re-registration assessment? Now that was something even he was afraid to predict.

(1) - Skuld or one of the Norns which in Norse mythology presents three witches, endowed with gift to determine the fate of the world, people and even the gods. Name Skuld means the future.