(A/N: Whoa! What happened! Two updates in one go! Whaaaaaat?!)

A man watched as the two got into the cab. He still felt energized from that secretary. The boy's had been easier to control than the last few, but perhaps that was due to practice. The longer he wore the amulets, the easier it was for him to gather energy and the more he could store. In all his years, he never expected that he would get the chance to feel it again. That accident had left him scarred and broken and tore his life apart.

And if getting it back meant that a few insignificant people had to die every month, then so be it. The madman who had given him the amulets seemed to thrive on chaos. He would probably approve.

Now, at least, the man had found his next target. The tall dark-haired one seemed to shift with his own energy, despite his being utterly talentless. The short blond was barely worth a passing glance. He seemed as lifeless as his greying hair. The poor sod didn't even have all that much of an aura, even for someone talentless. Barely any energy to speak of. No, the tall one would do nicely. All that is left now is to plan an encounter.


The cab pulled up in front of a café called "Speedy's" and Sherlock hopped out, leaving John to pay. I hope this doesn't become a regular thing, he thought, digging into his pocket for some bills. After working his way out of the cab, John joined Sherlock at a door that read "221B" just above an ornate knocker.

Glancing around the area, John nodded in approval. "Prime spot. This must be expensive." And it was a good little place. The area seemed well protected with multiple spells cast over the buildings, preventing fires and infestations. They were old spells too, ones that were probably laid when the buildings were first built. The buildings themselves didn't look very old, but John could feel the years in their energies and marveled at the difference in what he saw and what he knew to be true. It certainly helped that there was an entrance to the Tube just around the corner and taxis seemed to pass by frequently.

"As I said before, the landlady owes me a favour. I'm getting a special deal," Sherlock remarked as he dug in his pockets. Pulling out a key, he quickly unlocked the door and let them in. The inside smelt of homemade biscuits and while the front hallway was a bit narrow, it quickly widened. John glanced past the stairs at the two doors, one marked "221A" and the other "221C". Sherlock began ascending the stairs and John quietly followed.

It was definitely a first for John, following a man into his flat, but he couldn't say it was the oddest thing he had ever done. Some of his army mates were the oddest blokes. John's train of thought was interrupted when he saw the living room of 221B. It looked as if a tornado had struck. There were papers everywhere, books were piled all haphazardly on shelves and desks, and there were pictures and coloured string covering the wall opposite the fireplace.

John chose to hold his tongue about the mess. Sherlock obviously preferred living on his own, if the state of the kitchen was anything to go by, but he was making an effort to convince John to move in with him. Instead, John snatched up a stray union jack pillow and placed it in a comfy looking red armchair before settling into it himself. Looking around the room once more, John noticed a white skull resting on the mantle.

"Is that the skull?" he asked, pointing with the cane he hadn't used since bumping into the tall man. Sherlock glanced at the head in question.

"Yes. Old friend of mine," Sherlock clarified with a flat smile. "Well I say friend…" He crossed the room and settled in a black leather chair that faced the red one John occupied. "So what do you think?"

John nodded slowly, eyes roaming over the room once more. "It's nice. Very nice." Whoever had built the building had planned for a family with children to inhabit it for the walls and ceiling and floors were coated in a spell that dissuaded stains from staying. However, they obviously weren't planning for Sherlock for they neglected to add protection charms that would stave off moulds growing or scents lingering or scorch marks. If John were to stay, he would have to remedy that. But I can't, John realised. Sherlock would notice the change.

It was true. While John's magic was undetectable, his spells and enchantments, once cast, were just as easily seen as anyone else's. More so, if colour was taken into factor. Everyone had an aura with an individual colour, seen only if a manipulator or sorcerer was aided by an amulet. If the person had talents, then when their power manifested, the aura does as well, encasing the energy with the person's unique colour. It was common to see colours that favoured reds or greens and orange or blue were usually seen on a manipulator of great power or a low ranking sorcerer. Shades of yellow and purple were considered rare. Emrys himself wore an aura of silver.

John knew his was golden, but only because he could see it when he cast his spells. It wasn't that John couldn't see auras. John was actually able to focus and sharpen his gaze in a way that allowed him to view the auras unaided. But no man could see their own aura.

"Hoo-hoo," a chipper voice called out from the stairs. "Sherlock is that you? Who are you talking to? Do you have a guest?" The voice grew louder as its owner slowly drew closer. Finally an elderly woman with short blonde hair appeared in the door way.

(A/N: Short, I know. But I wanted to give you that little bad guy bit, but that looked short on its own and I didn't want to tack it onto the last chapter. Anyways, review if you want. :3)