A/N: We're still alive. Imageofmadness was at Tsubasacon last weekend without her faithful blogger but check out her tumblr for pics and video!

KABOOM.

Black smoke rolled off from something on the kitchen table that was not on fire nor had it been exposed to any sort of heating element. Sherlock was plastered against the far wall, his very, very confused expression was blackened and his hair blown back. Anything that hadn't been in cabinets or fixed down had toppled over with the force of the blast.

John jerked awake, his heart in his throat, hand reaching for his rifle before he remembered where he was. "Sherlock?!" Stumbling from the sofa and tripping over the duvet, John made his way to the entrance of the kitchen where he froze, staring at the debris that used to be dishes, beakers, and various cooking utensils. His eyes found Sherlock and he rushed to the man, "You okay? Jesus, what have you been doing?"

"I'm...fine." Just confused. Very confused. "I was following a recipe and, well, it didn't turn out." It should have been so simple, though! Very simple chemistry. Confusion turned to a frustrated pout.

John looked around at the smoky kitchen once more before turning back to Sherlock. "Following a recipe? Sherlock, you can't make toast. What the hell were you trying to do?" With a sigh, John opened a drawer and pulled out a tea towel. Wetting it under the faucet, he offered it to Sherlock.

"I can make toast, I just refuse." He took the tea towel and started to wipe his face with it. "I was trying to craft a spell following a recipe that was in that journal. Obviously it didn't work. I don't understand why...why? It's all very simple chemistry! There wasn't even a heating element involved or any volatile materials!"

Gesturing at the kitchen again, John didn't bother voicing the obvious. Clearly something had been volatile. "Well, what was it supposed to accomplish? Are you sure you followed the directions correctly?" John rolled his eyes as Sherlock's sour look. "You obviously missed something!"

"I did! Down to the milligram!" Now he was becoming confrontational. "It was intended to grant second sight, not...ugh!" Gritting his teeth in utter frustration and humiliation, Sherlock threw down the tea towel and stomped to the bathroom.

"Sherlock!" Pulling his hands down his face, John stared at the mess and sighed. There was no way he was cleaning this up without a fight. He walked down the hallway and knocked on the door. "Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. I was startled. Would you come out? Tell me what happened, maybe I could help?"

"It. Exploded. That's what happened, John! A very simple concoction with very simple measurements that during the ritual incantation exploded. That's what happened!" The sound of running water.

John leaned his forehead against the door. "Okay, so it must've been the incantation. What did you do?" He raised his voice over the water and groaning pipes.

"Voiced the incantation exactly as it was written!" Sherlock's voice was garbled somewhat when he washed his face.

Thinking back to his experiences earlier, John found himself asking, "Did you pull the right strings?"

"What?" The door opened. Sherlock was shirtless with a towel slung across his neck. "What strings?"

"The-uh, the strings...the lines. I don't know. Earlier..." John tried to explain, "Earlier I could feel them. Like an instrument, or… or one of those things used to work puppets. I had to touch the right ones, they each did something different. One for the light, one for the energy..." John trailed off. This was ridiculous. Here he was going on about magic strings and lines of power when a week ago he would have been laughing aloud at the very idea.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Strings." Even more frustrated. "No, there were no strings. I felt energy being focused and then...BOOM!"

"Maybe that's what happened then. You didn't channel it right." John bit his lip. This was almost worse than not being able to do magic; being able to do it better and not explain it properly. "Sherlock, was there anything in the journal about transfers or umm... two people connecting?" Realizing what he said, he flushed suddenly, "I mean, so I could maybe show you what I see..."

"Well, the closest thing I have read so far was connecting to someone's mind while dreaming. There were some more advanced sections on directing someone's actions, but as for connecting two people, I'm not certain."

John nodded, disappointed. "If you come across something in your other book, let me know, alright? Would you like to try the recipe again? Maybe with...with my help?" John didn't want to push the apparent fact that he had a better understanding of magic than his flatmate, but at the same time he really didn't want Sherlock to keep blowing up the kitchen.

"I'll have to gather more ingredients." Sighing, Sherlock closed the door again and went to shower to get the rest of the soot off from himself.

John rolled his eyes and went into the sitting room. He grabbed Sherlock's book from the coffee table and flipped through it, wondering if there was a table of contents, or at least an index of some kind. He stopped at a sleeping spell, interest piqued. This could be useful. He read on… very useful indeed. Easy enough, a few words and a tug at the right line and Sherlock would sleep deeply without dreaming. John frowned, remembering. Much better than the other night. Sighing he continued through, jotting down notes as he found things that interested him.

Sherlock returned, re-dressed like he meant to go back out right then and there. Why not? He felt fantastic other than the frustration and simmering jealousy he felt. How on earth could John be so much better at this than him? So much more attuned! "I'm going to go and gather more ingredients since I burned through a lot there. No use cleaning up the kitchen until after the second attempt in case that one decides to explode as well."

John nodded, intent on the small book. Belatedly he looked up, "Yeah, alright, Sherlock. Could you-uh grab some things for me as well?" John sheepishly held up a small piece of paper with his scribbled writings on it.

Sherlock snatched the piece of paper and looked it over. "...Certainly. Interesting." He stuffed the list into his pocket and nodded, getting his coat and scarf on, grabbing his phone and his wallet. "I'm taking a different route this time. In the case I see a vampire, I'll ring you." He held up his phone to display he had it with him and then was out the door.

Grunting acknowledgement, it was a moment before Sherlock's words sank in. "Damnit!" John shoved his feet into his shoes and raced down the stairs after his flatmate. "Sherlock, the hell you are going anywhere alone!"

"Why? Do you absolve me from competence?" Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, Sherlock walked faster so that John would have to have to also walk faster to keep up. He would have preferred to go it alone, but there was no deterring John after last time.

Jogging to catch up, John huffed out a breath and answered sarcastically, "Yes Sherlock, that's why I'm coming with you; not because you nearly died less than twenty-four hours ago." Really, you'd think he was Mycroft the way Sherlock was acting. Oh. Oh. Sherlock was more upset about John's ability than he had let on...that's why the mood. "Sherlock, I'm not going apologize for being decent at what we're doing. It's probably only because I have a spell on me that I can feel anything different from you. All right?"

"Why should you have to apologize?" But he didn't look at John and kept walking. "It's rather brilliant, don't you think? The fact that all you have to do it look at a text and seconds later have the ability to cast flawlessly." It was. It really, really was. Sherlock did have to admit to himself that he was amazed by John's abilities in addition to being resentful.

"I shouldn't Sherlock, that's why I'm not going to." John heaved a sigh, "I wouldn't believe it was flawless...I don't even know if it was my work at all, or just the geis stepping in." Sherlock was being childish, but pointing that out would do John no good.

"No, you are going to. There's no reason why you shouldn't." Even if he was resentful, John had a very powerful skill. It shouldn't be wasted. "Geis or not, you have the ability."

Mentally tossing his hands up, John followed the detective, making a face at the man's back. He couldn't win. "Fine, Sherlock. Whatever you want. Where are we going?"

"Hopefully not into a vampire's lair. There's a specialty shop that we're going to be visiting. Very out of the way and inaccessible after a certain distance by taxi. We could hail one now or walk."

John shivered though the air was warm. "Let's get a cab. I don't want to be out here any longer than we have to be. And would you stop talking about vampires? You're giving me goose bumps."

"Very well." Sherlock stepped up to the curb and hailed a taxi the same way he always did, having some sort of magical ability all his own to get the first cab that passed.

Except this time the cab kept going. Sherlock frowned, took a deep breath and recited the law of averages in his head. No matter, he'd just wait for the next one.

Staring as the cab drove by the two of them, John straightened his shoulders and looked around. Something was off.

Sherlock hailed the next cab he saw as well only to have it pass also like it hadn't even seen him. Huffing, Sherlock started walking again. That was never something that happened to him. Never.

John felt again the sudden dread he had experienced the night before. He hissed, "Sherlock, come on. We're going home. We'll get supplies later."

"What? John, don't be ridiculous. We can take the alleys; it will be a shorter distance." Sherlock was too disgruntled to pick up on anything amiss.

"Sherlock. Now." John grabbed his friend and tugged him back the way they had come. "Something is wrong."

Sherlock dug in his heels, narrowed his eyes and jerked his arm back from the tugging. "What, just because the cabbies are blind? You can't honestly base a suspicion on that, can you?"

John replaced his grip and continued dragging the detective back along Baker Street. "I'm not basing it off that, I'm basing it off the geis. Now, come. On." John spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes darting around and the dread still heavy in his chest.

"And what are you feeling, John? ...Stop pulling me!" Sherlock was all but ready to fly off into a rage. It had not been a good day for him. "Why are you insisting that we go home right this instant? Upon what evidence do you base your suspicion?"

Releasing Sherlock immediately, John whispered furiously, "We're not safe. I don't know what it is but we need to get back inside. I'm feeling the same feeling I felt last night when you were being attacked. You're in danger, we're in danger, now would you just listen to me?"

"These are the same streets we travel every night. What if every time we venture outside you get this feeling of dread because someone, somewhere is plotting my demise or having ill intent towards us? We would never leave!"

John was about to continuing arguing when a shadow detached itself from the wall behind them and rushed Sherlock. "Get down!" Gun in hand, John fired off two rounds hitting the thing point blank.

Sherlock didn't exactly get down, but he did duck and brace himself. If there was one shadow he'd need to be sharp in case there were more. For some reason, though, his senses felt dull. Usually he could sense someone watching or following him but today he was only aware of what he could see. What was wrong with him...?

"John! Behind y- !" There had been another one behind John. Sherlock had been unaware that there was yet another until he found himself slammed into a brick wall, reeling. He tried to see around the shadow that had gotten to him to see if John had been attacked.

Hearing Sherlock, John turned quickly and fired again. What were these things? Is this what happened to Sherlock? John's frantic mind decided that they didn't look much like vampires. Or at least not what he expected vampires to look like. Turning, he found Sherlock pinned against the wall and lowering his gun, John took a deep breath and muttered the phrase he had memorized to help Sherlock, then, eyes glowing brightly, he put a hand on the shadow and it collapsed into unconsciousness.

John stumbled a little as the glow left him and fatigue washed over him. "Sherlock…Sherlock, are you all right?" He grabbed at the man and made a face as his hands came away thick with a viscous goo. "What the..?" John peered closer and realized the substance wasn't actually corporeal. He tried to brush it away from Sherlock's face, only to have it flow back into place around the detective. "Come on Sherlock, let's go." He put the taller man's arm over his shoulders and helped him back to 221B.

"I'm..." Oh...oh, vertigo. He was going to say that he was fine, only stunned but... where had this come from? He heard a high pitched hum in his ears and when he looked up again, John had helped him halfway up the steps already. He hadn't really been injured. Bruises at his back and maybe a bump on the back of his head, but nothing that would cause this. "John...John, what's...what's happening..."

"I'm not sure, magic. I'll fix it Sherlock, just stay calm. Stay awake." John hauled him the rest of the way up the stairs and set him on the floor by the sofa. Kicking the coffee table away, he then ran into the kitchen and grabbed a large bag of salt from Sherlock's ill-fated trip the night before. Spilling it in a large circle around Sherlock, John grabbed the small tome and stepped inside the circle, crouching down and flipping through the pages furiously.

"That's always your answer..." Stay calm. Stay awake. Sherlock stared at the ceiling and watched the shadows creep around, almost certain that he was hallucinating them. He felt drugged. His vision blacked out for a moment and when he came to again, he looked at John's face and thought he saw electric blue lines in the air. Still hallucinating. "John..." He couldn't help it. He blacked out just as a shadow dripped down from the ceiling to perch behind John outside of the salt circle.

Shit, shit, shit. John found the chapters on healing, but there was nothing like this described. Then he saw it: a cleansing spell. Perfect. He glanced through the needed supplies and felt his heart drop. Looking up, he saw the shadows swarmed around the circle. His eyes darkening with determination, John set his shoulders. He would manage without the ingredients. The doctor read the words to himself, then read them again aloud, one hand on Sherlock's chest and the other on his forehead through the goo that was not there. Feeling the lines thrumming with energy, John followed one of them to Sherlock and flicked it carefully. The cloud of magic surrounding his friend dropped away suddenly and John took a deep breath. He repeated the exercise a few times, making sure everything was clear and that Sherlock was breathing deeply. The exhaustion hit John and he collapsed over the detective. Still outside the circle the shadows hissed in anger, flurrying together and disappearing, leaving the two men alone in their flat surround by salt.

When John awoke next, he was still on the floor, though Sherlock was no longer under him. Instead, he was supported by pillows and covered with the duvet. There was an even larger salt circle around him...and around Sherlock, who seemed to have given up on being stubborn and subscribed to John's methods. He was curled up behind John on top of the duvet, dozing with the book in his hand.

Blinking away the tiredness he felt, John sat up and put a hand to Sherlock. "You okay?"

"Fine." Sherlock turned over to face John, scanning him. "Are you?"

John took a moment to check himself over. "Tired. Very tired. Very hungry." He looked around the flat. "How long was I out? Are you sure you're feeling alright? Do you know what happened?"

"Approximately five hours." Sherlock sat up and stretched, demonstrating that he was as fine as he said. "I'm not certain what happened. I recall trying to hail a cab and failing...and then waking up with you atop me and with the distinct feeling that I should not leave this salt circle. I widened it."

"We were attacked. By what, I'm not sure." John frowned as he remembered. "There were at least three of them. Dark shadows. I shot two, knocked one out, then got you up here. You had some sort of spell on you. I don't know when it happened, but I think it was hiding us from other people. And it was certainly messing with you." He eyed the detective, still not sure if he could trust the man to tell the truth about his well-being. "I-I managed to get rid of it, or at least, I think I did."

"Someone very much doesn't care for us." Ignoring John's scrutiny, he rose and stepped carefully out of the salt circle and into the disaster area of a kitchen. "We don't have much in. What would you like?" What Sherlock hadn't revealed yet was his current hypothesis: that he would have been useless to a magical being. It was John they must have been after. Not enough data to reach a conclusion.

"Sherlock! Are you sure you should be out there?" John stumbled to his feet and hesitated at the edge of the circle. "I don't care, anything. Biscuits? Crisps? An apple?"

Raiding the cabinets, Sherlock produced packets of crisps, two apples and a banana. Casually, he made his way back into the salt circle. "Not to worry, John." Crouching, he handed the food items over. "The entire time you've been unconscious, I've seen nothing."

Nodding his thanks, John dove into the food. Worries forgotten as he strove for a full stomach. "We need to tell Mycroft. He'll know what they are and why they want you." John mumbled around his food. He offered the banana to Sherlock, "You should have something too and don't tell me you've already eaten because I know you haven't."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Peel it for me." Again, neglecting to mention his hunch that it may have been John they were after.

John rolled his own eyes in response but enjoyed the sunshine feel as he did as Sherlock asked. He handed the fruit to Sherlock and watched the other man until he took a bite. Pleased, John gave a short nod and went back to his own food.

"I hate these," Sherlock commented, peeling the little strips of bitter off from the fruit. "They have such a strange texture." He popped as much of it into his mouth as possible at once to be finished with it more quickly.

"If you had told me, I would've given you an apple." John swallowed. "What were you thinking about earlier? And you didn't answer; don't you think we should tell Mycroft?"

"You didn't phrase it as a question; I didn't feel obligated to answer. And apples are tedious." Another sigh. "Don't you think it's a bit strange, John? Whatever they were, they were trying to make certain that I was incapacitated." He waited to see if John followed the line of thought or had a different opinion. Sherlock didn't like to speculate without evidence.

Snorting, John listened to Sherlock and paused in his eating. "You're doing that thing. You know I hate it when you do that."

"All right. What do you believe they were trying to accomplish?"

"I imagine they were trying to either kidnap you or kill you. I don't know why. Possibly something to do with Mycroft." He narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, "What do you think they were doing?"

"Not certain. Not enough evidence to suggest anything other than wanting me or wanting me dead –except - curious that they didn't try to incapacitate you first."

John frowned. "They probably would have, the geis just gave me an advanced warning." He looked up at his friend for confirmation, "...that's not what you think though."

"Even without a warning. They had me before they touched me. I felt it." It was slowly coming back to him. "...don't you find it odd? Maybe I'm not the one they were after."

Sherlock's conclusion dawned on John. "You-you think they were after me? Why on earth...?" He relaxed his hand onto his knee, staring at the apple as if it had betrayed some secret they shared. "Why would they want me?"

"Because, perhaps, you have something powerful weaved into your very soul. I have nothing to offer them in that respect, that is, unless they were trying to get to Mycroft or trying to use me to get to you."

John felt cold all of a sudden. "You think they want me because of the geis? Because of the power it carries?" John stomach twisted in on itself and he tried to cover his realization. He would have to leave. That was the only way Sherlock would be safe.

"That's the hypothesis. The problem is I don't have the evidence to support it fully. They may want both of us." Sherlock saw the look on John's face and went through John's usual line of thinking... "...meaning we need to stay together."

Nodding, John wasn't listening to Sherlock at all. He was planning. He'd have to talk to Mycroft. Leave a note, maybe. John shook himself back to the present. "Okay, so where do we go from here?"

"You should go to bed." Sherlock offered John a hand to pull him up with. "I'll think of something and send a message to Mycroft."

Covering a yawn, John shook his head, " 'ot 'unna leave you again."

"Would it make you more comfortable if I stayed in the room with you?"

John couldn't work up the energy to blush, so instead, he nodded. "Have you slept much? 'Cos I learned a new trick..."

A new trick? One that would let Sherlock stay awake while staying perfectly rested? "A new trick?" Helping John up and taking the canister of salt, he led them to Sherlock's bedroom, dragging the duvet along.

"Mmmhmm..." John waited until Sherlock had finished the salt circle. "Would you like to see?"

"Certainly. You've done nothing but impress me with your abilities thus far."

John smiled at the praise and patted the spot next to him. Sherlock climbed up and sat. "Ready?" If John had been more awake, Sherlock would've noticed the glint in his eye or the slightest twitch of a smirk.

As it was, John was too tired to give anything away.

Sitting cross-legged much like a boy about to be told a story, Sherlock nodded. He had every intention of going back to reading the book once John had shown him the trick and then gone to sleep.

John hummed a little and then thought back to the words. He said the phrase in a sing-song tone, then placed his palm on Sherlock's forehead and the younger man immediately dropped into a deep sleep. Smiling contentedly, John pulled the duvet over them both and adjusted Sherlock so the long-limbed man was lying more comfortably. Then, the doctor huddled into his detective and fell back to sleep.

Dead to the world entirely, Sherlock acted as John's personal space heater. With his brain completely switched off like an old TV set, it was difficult to say when he would wake up or if a magic reversal would be needed to get him awake. The good news was, whenever he did wake up, he would be well rested.