(7) A Walk In The Past

John pulled his coat a little more tightly around himself. He had broken into a run the moment he was away from the door. Now, he had slowed down in a grove of alders that were growing in a large hollow of the ground. Manicured greying lawn rose up about him on all sides. John walked through the trees & up the other side, which was a bit higher than the part he had come down into the trees by. He stopped at last & looked around.

The castle rose up a ways behind him, the forest running up a steeper hill on its right-hand side. With daylight, John could see how it was shaped, like a large L-plan, with one arm, the Titanic hallway leading to the smaller dining room he was in earlier, touching the woodland guarding the cemetery's path. The grounds opened up behind it, running down towards a white sanded beach.

Apart from the forested hill leading away into the cemetery, the grounds spreading out on all sides were made of open meadowland, marred only by a large willow tree or fountain with a garden here & there. John was currently near one & from what he could see in that one alone was enough for him to guess the rest. The various gardens were filled with every flower from Amaranths & Birds-of-paradise to Sunflowers, Lilac trees & Wisterias; just about every flower John could think of. Most of the bushes no longer bore flowers, or had a few dried up ones. The plants were slowly falling asleep. Sunflowers hung their grey heads, seeds ready for picking. Small songbirds happily helped themselves.

Though the dark storm clouds remained, threatening more rain, rays of sun shone through gaps, illuminating parts of the grounds. Other parts were shrouded in mist, a light rain. John could see large animals in the distance milling about in a field covered with a thick low cloud, either cows or horses. Sherlock had a riding crop. Possibly horses then. Shrouded in another cloud stood a far-off building, detached from the castle. It looked large, square or rectangular. The barn no doubt.

A wailing cry sounded in the distance, answered by something close to him. There was a flail of wings & a blue & white partial albino peacock came into view, landing on the ground nearby.

John turned to his right a little, his eyes following the driveway back to the road, or so he expected. The driveway went through a tunnel of beech trees stretching back for almost a mile & disappeared around a bend. A few more peacocks of various colors strutted about on the lane. "Where am I?" The place was stunningly beautiful, even now. Overwhelming. John shook his head. If it looked like this now, he could only imagine how it would appear in the late spring. The Holmes had this place for over a millennia. They'd have the time to work on it; though, it was the last thing one would expect vampires to own. A big dark castle? Yes, with lots of stone. Not this.

John looked towards the cemetery again, thinking of the painting of wolves he had seen in the bedroom. Wolves. Lycans perhaps? Wait, Watsons of old? Even worse. No wonder Anthea led him to that particular room. With a scowl, he picked his way around the castle, giving it a wide berth, heading for the beach he had seen from the top of a hill. He stepped out onto it about twenty minutes later. The white sand was glaring & he had to shield his eyes for a while until he got used to it.

SS. Leda floated along a single pier nearby. She was a large blue & white yacht with gold railing. After a moment past, John wondered somewhat darkly if it was real gold. He walked by. Several white & two black swans swam away in disgust at his intrusion. They headed further into the bay, bobbing over the surf crashing in, heads turned back glare at him. ("He didn't even bring any breadcrumbs!" John could just imagine the complaints running through all their heads. "What a moron!")

"Well sorry!" John sassed back at the stupid birds, even though they were probably too far away to hear him by now. He called out to them. "Hey look! Shark! Ha." John stomped off muttering incoherently under breath.

Leaving the beach, John turned upwards into a copse of walnut & hazel trees, nuts still on the branches. He pushed through a few low branches, coming out beside what he had earlier thought was the barn. It wasn't a barn but seemed to be an old building for a church or school. He rounded the corner.

"Finished running away yet?"

John glanced around. "Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

"My place. I go where I want," Sherlock uncrossed his ankles & arms to stand straight away from the side of the building. "I saw you coming up from the beach."

"That's nice," John grumbled, walking away. Sherlock put his hands behind his back & followed annoyingly close. John stopped. "What do you want?"

"Come inside," Sherlock grabbed his hand & tugged him back to the building. "The rain is moving in here." They paused a moment as two horses blocked the way temporarily, pretending to trot by. Sherlock gave the closest one a smack on its rump to make it actually move.

Up close, John noticed that these weren't regular horses. They were riding animals but yet larger than what one would usually expect, with thicker necks & wider bodies. They seemed bred for power, but they weren't the usual Draft horse either, such as Belgian or Clydesdale. John wondered where he had seen these kinds of horses before. Something was very familiar about them.

Once inside, Sherlock released John's hand & turned on the light. The place seemed to be a museum of sorts. He saw a few original paintings from various eras. Under glass lay a copy of Beowulf's poem. Or could it be the original, considering the language it was in? Looking ahead & through a glass wall to the right, John saw a very old car, the first one ever made apparently, according to Sherlock. Several original items from both wars were here to, from an old army bike (complete with sidecar & machine gun) to helmets & even a small tattered Swastika. Doors & archways at the ends of halls led away in all directions. John wondered just how many artefacts were here.

Thunder suddenly vibrated loudly & the next moment, rain could be heard coming down in bucketfuls. Sherlock was right, a storm had been rolling in.

"Well, it looks like we're stuck in here a bit," Sherlock said, sitting down at a wooden picnic table in the center where several books lay. "You canines love water. Bats? Not so much."

"You're a bat?" John half-laughed.

"Everyone associates vampires with bats," Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know why. Must be the wing form."

"As for me," John sat down. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I just can't believe I'm a wolf."

"Well, you're not really," Sherlock tried vaguely to comfort him. "It's been dormant so long that it shouldn't affect you. Unless..."

"I kill another Lycan."

"Exactly," Sherlock nodded. "You being a soldier, it could happen. Not likely with your sister though."

John sighed & stared out the window on the far wall near the door they had entered. Sheets of water washed over it so that he could hardly see anything. It lit up momentarily, a lightening bolt, then went back its dull grey color. The wall the window was in had another mural painted over it; an old battle of Knights on their warhorses. Destriers as they were called. Extinct now. John thought again of the horses outside. He looked around behind him & saw chainmail for a large warhorse arranged on a wooden horse. It was surrounded with glass. The rider's chainmail was on a stand nearby with a lance leaning against it. He thought again of the horses outside & turned to catch Sherlock's eye. "Sherlock … those horses out there. What are they?"

"Destriers."

"They're extinct!"

"Are they? I never knew."

John rubbed his hands through his hair. "Like walking into the past."

"Time travel is impossible."

"So which way does Earth go around the sun?" John shot back with an evil smirk.

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

Sherlock stood up, annoyed. "That was mine," he waved a hand to the glass box of horse & rider's chainmail. "A few centuries old now of course."

John cast a shocked glance at the display & then at Sherlock. "You're a Knight?"

"I was of the Knights Templar," Sherlock shrugged.

"A Templar?"

"We all were. I was even at the Round Table once or twice."

"Isn't that myth?" John asked.

"Most of it is. There's even confusion of whether it was from the 9th century or 12th. But it's really a bit of both. It started in the end of the 9th century. So much history has been lost but the main things are still known. Such as the Round Table. That sword in that display over there?" Sherlock indicated another glass box with horse & rider's chainmail. A long sword stood in place of a lance. "Mycroft's. Crossed steel with Excalibur on more than one occasion. Friendly, of course. Training. Men fooling around."

John stood up so fast he nearly toppled himself over the attached bench of the picnic table. "Sherlock! Is...is Excalibur here?"

"No, she's at the bottom of some lake not even I know," Sherlock stood up as well. "Fights within that family. The blade got cast around. Finally, it was better no one have it so it was thrown away into hiding."

John put his hands on the table for support. "Aww man! This is a lot to take in. Vampires. Werewolves. Last Titanic survivor. Destriers. Excalibur lost." He closed his eyes & sighed.

"Would you like to step back even farther?"

"What do you mean?" John asked.

Sherlock led him over to a small stand. Under glass & lying on white satin was quite possibly the largest nail John had ever seen. About nine inches or so. It had a dark color from its point half way up. "That is one big nail."

"It's a crucifix nail." Sherlock walked away without another word.

John stared at it for several minutes as that sunk in. He stood straight. "...N-no...can't be." He glanced around. "Sherlock? Sherlock!" Finding himself alone, John looked again at the nail. "Oh that really, can't be! Sherl—OH! You're here."

"From the right hand of Christ, yes. John!" Sherlock grabbed him as the doctor wavered on his feet. "Ok, I think that's enough for one day." He laughed softly, patting John's shoulder.

"Yes," John gasped weakly. "I think it is."

Sherlock helped John back to the table to sit down. He moved off to check out the window, looking for an end in the torrent outside. John watched him through half-closed eyes, still weak from absorbing everything. He did not see the Consulting Detective he was used to & from now on, John knew he never would even if they went back to that life in 221B. Sherlock Holmes was so much more than that now. An ancient yet timeless creature; one who had walked with Christ himself it seems. Well of course, John mentally kicked himself. Sherlock's time was 33 years before that. Every Holmes here had seen so much. John felt suddenly young again, but not in a good way. He could never hope to see even half as much as even one Holmes had. Humans—werewolves—were not immortal.

Sherlock suddenly turned to him. "What do you think you can do for Enola?"

"What? I uh," John scratched his head. "No idea. Besides, she doesn't want me around so I can't examine her."

"We've tried everything," Sherlock went on. "Don't add false hope."

"I won't," said John. "Isn't Christ a healer?"

Sherlock came back to the table & sat down. "It happened during the ending of King Arthur, long after Merlin disappeared so he couldn't help us. So it was after we were with Christ, but He had once told us things happen for a reason. To everything there is a purpose."

"That's a Bible line," John said. "But I was referring to Vampirism it self. You all were turned 33 years before Christ was born. Why didn't He just cure you all of it?"

"Oh He asked us about it," Sherlock replied. "We never even told Him but He knew. After some consideration, we declined. Sherry's idea. We … didn't want to give up being able to fly."

"Oh," John laughed. "I probably wouldn't either."

"We've all become used to being vampires," Sherlock went on. "It's just Enola's eternal wound that worries us all."

"Well," John stretched himself, arms over his head for a moment. "All this blows the theory that vampires are evil & can't be around anything sacred right out of the water. I mean, walked with Christ. Can't get more sacred then that."

"We're all God's creatures," Sherlock shrugged. "Some are good, some are bad. Besides, as you said, He is a healer & it's just a disease. When the time comes, we'll be cured of it."

"Hang on, isn't Judas Iscariot supposed to be the first vampire?"

"No," Sherlock said. "he was human. Same with Vlad Dracula; well Dracula was a vampire but not the first even thought he's another one thought to be the first."

"Dracula is real?" John gasped.

"Was. Horrid fellow. No one wanted to be near him, no matter what species. He was as cruel as people say. If there was ever a more evil creature to walk this Earth, it was him," Sherlock lifted his chin a little over steepled fingers. "I've had the dreadful displeasure of meeting him. He almost turned me to ash, but not before a day of torture that I will never forget. One of Mycroft's friends rescued me."

John looked away. "Why did...Dracula...capture you? What did he want?"

"Nothing. Simple amusement is all. The world's greatest killer & he just happened to be vampire as well. Fortunately, he has been destroyed. Quite recently in fact, in the last two hundreds years only. He was over five thousand years old."

John shuddered & quickly changed the topic back. "Who is the first then?" After a moment, he added, "Oh, is it one named Micah de LaCie?"

"Don't mention that name!" Sherlock snapped. "No. No one really knows. It's always been around."

"There is a Bible book with that name," John mused. "Is this vampire that saint?"

"Absolutely not," Sherlock shook his head. "I met Saint Micah once. Nice guy. Human. It's a common name. Just don't mention it when referring to that vampire."

"Alright," John half smiled. "I just had to ask. We're all Catholics here after all."

"None of the saints, fallen ones included like Judas, are vampires."

John suddenly tossed his head, trying to clear it. "Great. I now have Lady Gaga's 'Judas' stuck in my head. Wonderful!" Sherlock burst out laughing. John scowled. "I hate her! Why that song?"

"Sorry my dear fellow, but you're on your own here." Sherlock was still laughing.

"Oh look. The rain's stopped," John changed the subject, still scowling. "We should get back."

Sherlock led the way to the door. He held it open for John to leave. "Feel free to come back here any time. There's a stairwell near the Nail. The basement has plenty more history, a lot of it British. But there's other things as well from all over the world."

"Will do," John muttered. "Where are we anyway?"

"Up past the Cheviots," Sherlock replied. "Almost at the Scotland-England border. Near Berwick-upon-Tweed."

"Far from home," John whistled. "Well, I mean your modern home. When are you coming back to London?"

"Probably a week or so," Sherlock fell in step beside him as they headed back to the castle through the wet grass. "Mrs. Hudson already knows I'm coming back. I talked to her yesterday."

"Does she know you're a vampire?"

"No," answered Sherlock. "No one else will know about that. Not even Inspector Lestrade. The story they'll hear is that it was just a stage trick. The ground was padded. I was drugged up with morphine. I'm fine. Alive & well. Would you like to come back & be my partner again?"

"Definitely!" John didn't hesitate to answer.

"Good. I'll let Mrs. Hudson know you're coming," Sherlock smiled, happy to be picking up their old life together.