Chapter 10: The Dragon

Beware, the dragon.

The green smoke dissipated and Moriarty was able to distinguish every shocked figure in the crowd looking at him as if there had never been another thing of importance in the universe. James liked that notion, he believed that was exactly what all the people, all the stupid little things should think of him in the first place. "Missed me?" He said to the group standing at the dais, spotting some horrified familiar faces and smiling smugly at their surprise. Perhaps they had thought they would never get to see the likes of him ever again, but that is the problem with burying things when they are not quite dead yet.

"Moriarty." The former beast said, seeking affirmation as if attempting to delay the truth from existing the longer he kept putting off the inevitable. His wife grabbed his arm in support, twisting her pretty face in worry, but none of them seemed actually sure of what to do about him and his presence at their oh-so-cozy celebration, hesitant in fear at the very sight. Even the mighty Lady Hudson looked on in hesitancy and appeared lost without her trusty wand to aid her.

"Well, obviously." The criminal sighed in boredom at the situation and turned around to search for a more interesting reaction. The dark suit and skull-tie he wore reflecting all the light from the chandelier above them and complimenting his manic grin. Even the cathedral was playing by his rules now that he was free.

"Jim." He heard his name coming from the middle of the hall, spoken with so much animosity yet such recognition that it caused the man's smile to grow wider once he realised exactly who had called him. He slowly ran his gaze through the crowd and stopped once he saw a much more intriguing sight: Sherlock, standing defiant on the blue carpet leading up to the altar, holding a sparkling silver wand in one hand and clenching his fist at the other. A wild gaze over his opal eyes and his back flanked by the other two weasels that had come with him from the Isle.

Moriarty was delighted at the complete unhinged quality he sensed on him; it had been a long time since he had recognised something other than apathy in the younger man's expression and was certainly intrigued on how that would turn out. "Oh, Sherlock." He commented as he approached the teen, watching as the two other kids drew back slightly with every step he took. He failed to understand the cause of why Sherlock still kept them around. "I knew there were still some uses left for you." The words were uttered with care, enough to make them appear thoughtful but were, in reality, nonchalant in nature; it wasn't as if he really needed him all that much now that he was getting his due. "Now give me the wand." He ordered, but the boy's eyes weren't exactly on him, looking instead at some figure behind him which he could not be bothered to determine. The hesitation causing only to make him impatient on getting his way sooner rather than later.

Sherlock appeared to know this, but chose to ignore it, stalling some more and looking at the wand is if it were to suddenly provide answers to any undisclosed question he had. The boy shifted his gaze back to the criminal but a second later he flung the wand over said man's head and to the front, right at the centre of the platform, for the fairy to catch.

Moriarty had no time to think about such betrayal, since as soon as the object landed on the old lady's hands, she pointed it at him and started to recite an incantation in his direction. At that exact moment, Moriarty remembered he had brought Violet's scepter, so he bent over, gathered it in his grasp and gave it a powerful thrust into the air. All the sound seemed to seep out of the room at once as if in a vacuum, and several of the attending guests became catatonic. Spelled into immobility as the ones spared looked on in horror. Lady Hudson was still holding the wand with an expression of concentration over her face and suspended mid-spell.

Moriarty let go of the scepter, discarding it as a cheap trinket. He let out a breath and grinned. Jim walked mockingly around, his hands inside his pockets and his feet carrying a slightly playful spring. He approached the front party, most of which were trapped in his trick. He raised his hands and plucked the wand out of the woman's grasp. "Ooops," He gasped, his eyes lighting up in amusement. Pocking her arms with the pointy end of the magical object and turning around to gauge the reactions of the others present.

All around, the place was filled with roaring thunder, almost cartoonish in its appropriateness. Moriarty wandered among the waking frozen, tilting spectacles on noses and prodding the fabric of their clothes, amused that he knew they were completely aware of what was happening around them, yet not able to move a muscle. He approached a smaller blonde figure and just when he was about to reach out and shove him he heard a gasp coming from behind him. When he turned around, he saw the violet-haired boy looking at him with unadulterated hatred in his grey eyes. Interesting…

"Oh, no no no." The villain muttered in dismay at the other's expression. "Haven't I taught you anything?" He asked while the other remained silent. James grabbed the skewed crown on John's head and placed it on his head, feeling like its weight was finally where it belonged. He smirked when he recognised that hopeless yet enraged look over his pupil's face every time his hand came closer to the blue-eyed boy. "Or have you been letting all these ordinary people rub up on you so much that this rubbed off too?"

The boy was trying to appear indifferent, but Moriarty had known him for too long for him to be able to fool him. His fists kept flexing and the muscles in his jaw twitched in frustration. James ran his hands trough his sleek-back brown hair, feeling the satisfaction of power surge through him. His brown eyes flashed green at moments, proof of the magic he had stolen all those cycles ago.

He approached the beautiful Queen Mother next, and the guests stayed dead silent as they watched him disrespectfully regard the royal family. He ran a finger over the soft skin of her face, laughing in amusement at the pleasure. "In another time… in another time…" He muttered, not sorry in the slightly. At the end of the day, he may as well be in the presence of the kingdoms' most remembered heroes, but they were nothing compared to him. No, legends like him stayed alive forever.

"Pardon me," The man said giggling, as he purposefully bumped into the royals. "Excuse me," The look on the three teenagers down the hall delighted him. None of them dared —or could— do a thing to stop him, no matter how enraged or afraid they were of his dominance. "Ugh, mortals." The term of disdain came naturally to him, ignoring the fact that he, himself, was only semi-immortal thanks to the acquisition of abilities that had never been his.

Moriarty sighed, clearly tired of the activity by then. He stalked to the middle of the cathedral once more, all the time not keeping his gaze off from his apprentice. "We'll have to work harder with you." He assured, his disgusted disappointment apparent in his movements. "I know I've had cycles and cycles of practice, but you'll get there." The boy with the violet hair grimaced, it seemed like a very unappealing idea to become like him, just like he had wanted to no more than a few moon-cycles before. "Once you've rid yourself of those boring emotions."

Sherlock turned to regard one of his companions, sparing a brief glance of shared knowledge only to have terror mirrored back from that strong-jawed face. When he turned back to watch Moriarty his chest heaved with unshared wrath. "And what if I don't want to?" The boy asked, to which the criminal only smiled falsely, making himself deceitfully pleasant.

"You don't want to make me angry. My dear." The dip on his voice at those last words was enough to make the other physically back away the tiniest bit, but his resolve was still iron-forged. "Yes, back off." The criminal said, encouraging the other to take the smarter route and drop it. However, this seemed to have the opposite effect to the boy, making him shake his head and take a deliberate —if not a bit hesitant— step forward once more, leaving his uncertain friends behind as he challenged the threat on his own.

"Well, then-" James leaned his slim body back at that, as if to appreciate the scene in its entirety: Sherlock disputing his destiny, disputing him. The smirk that then painted the criminal's pink lips was venomous in its satisfaction. "Here we are at last." He muttered, the bored tone contrasting starkly against his meaning. "Our final problem." The thunders stopped suddenly, clearly Jim's magical doing. Silence stretched again over the atmosphere, and the dramatic signature was a tell-tale symbol of their nature. This is how they had always been: a scene perfect for their ultimate confrontation. The universe mockingly stopping in time to observe.

Sherlock closed his eyes, and his lids were twitching with the movement below. Moriarty could recognise a spell when he saw one coming; not to mention that the boy and his mother seemed to share the predilection upon shutting out the world in order to concentrate in their incantations: Rules of intent and all that mind-numbing lark. Just before the violet-haired boy finished, Jim aimed the wand at the sky and made the intention disappear from the other's brain. The magic that was already forming dissipating as sparkling dust and leaving the owner confused in their departure.

It took far less than normal for the kid to recover, he would give him that —Sherlock clearly had to be out of the ordinary for him to even so much as consider not attempting to murder him on the spot— and once he did, the frown over his brows deepened. He was obviously growing frustrated by the second, and it was starting to show. "Stop," He ordered, but the criminal had no intention, nor any capacity, of being intimidated by a teenager, specially not one that he had molded at his own will. "Just go back to the Isle." The suggestion was not unexpected, but Moriarty still let out an honest laugh at the absurdity of such notion.

"You're funny," Jim said cynically, awaiting for that moment where the other would react to his dismissal of his wishes. Soon enough, Sherlock failed to laugh along, just narrowing his eyes and tucking up his chin in a truth he was not able to deny. "Oh, you're serious." Commented Jim, not appearing surprised in anyway, despite his words. "Then where shall we begin?" James wondered while he tapped the silver wand on his chin in mock contemplation. The violet-haired boy in front of him rolled his eyes in irritation. "Oh, I know!" The mirth he showed at his previously thought strike was highly apparent in his body language. "Why don't we start by getting rid of this?" As he said that, he aimed the wand at the teenager and the ring he had on his finger flew off and landed exactly around the length of the magical object. "Perfect fit!" The two friends behind the boy gasped, as Sherlock looked at his naked finger, now devoid of any meaning.

As he was distracted, Moriarty figured it was the perfect time to make his first strike. He thought up something clever and directed the hit straight to the other's head, where his most valued asset —his mind— would be the first to take a shot. The spell rushed through the air as in slow motion, ready to hit the other right between the eyes, only for it to be unsuccessful by the boy ducking away at the final moment thanks to a warning coming from the front of the cathedral. "Sherlock, look out!" The voice said, and it revealed a figure that no one was quite expecting to emerge from behind the other government officials.

Mycroft Holmes. In all his ginger, and not-dead intensity stepping up to the entirety of the audience. Most of them would be able recognise him, but they would all be wrong in their guess. They knew him as something else, but the criminal was one of the few that had known him before he escaped and he never really imagined he would get to encounter him again, much less in a situation such as this.

After standing up and taking a moment to gather himself, Sherlock's kaleidoscope eyes searched for the source of his assistance, only to be rendered still by the sight that greeted him. "Mycroft?" He asked, a tiny and vulnerable voice making its way out of his lips in an uncharacteristical fashion.

Moriarty chuckled. When he had ascended the ladder of power on the island, he had been made aware by a very reliable source that the first born of Violet Holmes had not perished in the war, and was currently hidden away somewhere in the kingdom in order to avoid receiving the same punishment as his mother had, him being his direct descendant. The fact that the royals had still been set on finding him before the new King's proclamation was the only reason why little Sherlock, only three-cycles-old then, was not even spared a single thought. "Ugh, Violet's son." Jim commented, watching as Sherlock looked ready to fall over from the revelation. "Well, you all just spring up like weed, don't you?" He said, to which Mycroft just narrowed his blue eyes and tilted his head in warning, he may be completely out of practice, but his heritage shone through him as stronger as it did in the youngest of the Holmes' eyes.

"You're alive." The violet-haired boy stated dumbly, ignoring his friend's supporting hands on his shoulders and for a minute forgetting the threat looming over him. He was so shaken that he barely registered his feet moving until he was not more than three meters away from his long-lost brother.

Mycroft grimaced in guilt and murmured: "I'm sorry." His hands clutching that regal umbrella as a life-line. Finally, after all those cycles, the sight of his baby-brother, passionate and unruly as he had always been, had him smiling slightly despite himself.

This was, of course, when Moriarty had had enough of the nonsense. "Yes, yes, very toughing." He rolled his eyes, miming shooting himself in the head with the wand from repulsion. "But if you don't mind, we were in the middle of something." James' eyes turned darker, and the magical relic in his hand made the oldest of the two fall back in dismissal.

The teenager's rage level was rising, and Moriarty grinned at the sight. There was nothing he enjoyed more —aside from chaos— than riling people up, and Sherlock was just the perfect subject for that, he was so very amusing to watch. From the ground, the ginger man raised his upper body, attempting to stand. "Sherlock…" He muttered and the boy's sharp-edged gaze moved quickly from watching the Consulting criminal to assessing his brother, still reeling from the bewilderment. "Listen to me, his powers are-" Mycroft's advice was cut off by the surging incantation that rendered him composed completely out of ice. A crueler spell but still immobile like all the remaining spectators present —the others having already left in panic.

"No!" The violet-haired boy exclaimed, rushing to his side, Irene and Lestrade closely behind him. Sherlock bent down and checked the older man over, worried lines appearing on his young face when he realised he had no way of knowing wether it would be possible to bring him back. Rage surged through his system at the pain, the terrifying sadness he felt at losing him so soon after finding him.

"That's better," James said, contemplating the other's fate. "The Ice Man." The expression he got from the three of them making him feel giddy at his victory. "Sentiment is weak," His voice was deceptively soft. Mocking as if he were really sympathetic by his situation. It made the hate in Sherlock grow all the more. "You really think you can be capable of that?"

There was a slight change in the boy at the words, his demeanor growing dark, something slightly dangerous bubbling up underneath him. James reveled in the interesting turn up. "You don't know what I'm capable of." The rebel worded, a threatening sense of calmness underlying every letter he spoke.

"That's where you're wrong, my dear." Moriarty answered, casually he tucked his free hand in his pocket. "I know you." He wandered around across the hall, dodging all the motionless people as he basked in his imminent success. "You think you can walk away from this? You'd get bored within a week." He spoke, the truth hitting hard on the teen's chest, making his belligerent expression falter for a moment. Moisture gathering in his eyes from the frustration and denial. "You are this, without it you're nothing." Moriarty went on, ignorant to the fire he had just started inside the rebel. Placing his steps confidently in their new domain. "I made you."

The boy's hands shook as he raised his arm, and with all the strength and intention in his Mind Palace he could muster, he attempted to snatch back the wand. 'I command wand to my hand!' He ordered inside his head, closing his eyes and molding the energy of the magic to take it away from its current source of power and return to him the advantage.

The silver artifact in Jim's hand grew heavy, and for a moment nothing happened. But after a few seconds the wand started pulling at him the tiniest bit; trembling with the force between the both of them. Sherlock was clearly burning himself out, desperate to make the spell work, and James laughed delighted at the feeble attempt to take something from him. Then, something shifted, and the rebel opened his eyes as if in revelation, and in that exact moment, Moriarty's fingers tried unsuccessfully to secure it; but the wand had already gone flying out of his grasp, and landed in the possession of a very surprised Sherlock.

The criminal's face changed, and a deep frown of confusion appeared all over his expression. He never had imagined the little scrawny pest would have such affinity for fae abilities. Not taking into account his mother's skill. "Oh, Sherlock," He said, recovering for the blow he had been dealt, quickly picking up the scepter once more in compensation. "A tantrum, really?" This step back was nothing but insignificant to him, he had named himself the emperor of this hologram they called life, and he would do anything to gain back what he felt they had usurped. Somehow, the figure he painted was more powerful than it had been before. What did it say of an adversary when you take away his biggest advantage and yet he's still winning?

The girl beside the violet-haired boy, placed a supporting hand in his arm as the other just stared at the wand as if he were attempting to familiarise himself with a stranger. "Maybe you can still win this." She muttered, blind and moronic hope shinning in her eyes.

"Please," Jim chuckled, endlessly amused by their innocent naivety. "You're killing me." A venomous grin broke out over his face while he stalked towards them. The other —and taller— of the three chose that moment to rush to Jim and tried to take the magic scepter away from him. His strong arms held tightly onto the artifact, as Moriarty gripped it at the opposite end, a battle of strength in which the criminal took advantage in jestingly poking the other's muscles in contemplation. "Gaston should be jealous." He muttered, while the other tried to hold on, but even if he had quite a good grip on it, Moriarty did not seem overly impressed. His deep brown eyes soon grew swirling pools of lime green and it was so easy to get into the young man's head, also turning his irises into green, that the other let go of the scepter almost immediately after.

Greg looked helplessly at his friend, and Sherlock seemed to decide in a course of action. He aimed the sparkling wand in his hand at the him, clearly expecting the other to do the same with his magical tool. The criminal, however, just stared at him in exasperation and said: "Oh, don't be silly. That won't help you at all." He came to stand directly before the weapon, a bored and tired expression in his face, as if he knew exactly how the situation was going to turn out. "Now give me the wand." He coaxed, and the teen hesitated for a second, the wand wavering down a bit; not because he was doubting where his —very surprising, even to himself— loyalties lied, but because he knew he was cornered, running out of both time and options. "Give me the WAND!" Moriarty lost composure, startling Sherlock into almost dropping the wand from his hand; but he stayed put. Perhaps there was nothing he could do, but losing looked a much better option than caving in.

"Sherlock, don't-" Lestrade said, pushing himself off the floor unto which he had fallen after letting go of the scepter. The Woman also stood by him, raking her clever gaze over his figure and deciding they would do what they could to stop him.

Jim waited with his hand still in his pocket, impatient as he usually was for Sherlock to make up his mind in whether he was going to attack or stop being his annoying self with the whole betraying thing and give in.

After a few moments, the violet-haired contemplated the criminal's figure; a maniac with a crown over his head. His eyes darted back to the front of the hall, where his brother was still made of watery crystal, and John was frozen in that soft yet defiant expression, with one of his arms placed in front of his mother in protection. Sherlock stood up straighter, his decision made, and he looked at Moriarty with opal eyes of resigned acceptance. He confidently pointed Lady Hudson's wand in the direct path to his heart, completely aware of the looming doom that awaited them. Or perhaps even he had no idea.

"Wrong answer." Jim stated and thrusted both his arms up into the air. The green smoke in which he had arrived came back and the thunder outside roared more than ever.


A lime blinding light was shinning at the centre of the fog, and Sherlock saw it moving strangely, as if it had a form; twisting and coming together in something he thought he should recognise but just couldn't quite put his finger on. His mind was still reeling from encountering his brother, and he felt as if he kept missing something very important. Irene and Greg looked at the squirming smoke in confusion, and almost jumped out of their skins when a booming growl was heard coming from the smoke, and this time, when it dissipated, it left behind not only a man, but also a big translucent dragon conformed of glowing, green magic.

The creature extended its gigantic wings and raised it head to howl in intimidating volume. Sherlock had never seen its equal. He had not exactly been allowed to watch his mother summon the same particular magic when he was a stupid stumbling toddler, and now that he had, he felt he never would recover. The other two present —that could move— were stuck staring at it terrified; but Sherlock, however, was more afraid of the insane expression he saw on Jim's face just before he projected part of his consciousness into his creation. Shortly after, the dragon started moving his wings and thrusted out from the floor into the open air of the vast cathedral.

Its flight was elegant, and casted shadows over the almost-statues that lined the hall with its vibrant light. It opened its mouth and breathed a blaze of fire-shaped magic to the ceiling, causing it to disintegrate away as if it were made of steam, and vanishing from sight as easily as vapor returning to the atmosphere. The sky outside had been painted black despite the hour of the day.

Sherlock made a note of it to avoid being hit with its flame at all costs, lest he fancied being cursed for the rest of eternity. He ran back to the front, closely followed by his two friends. The creature soared the air and swerved the columns, but its size was enough to bring it much closer than comfortable to the teens in no time. A thick blanket of fear and panic coated the air from the horror of the ones spelled, who could see everything that was happening but were left helpless and vulnerable. John still stood there, crownless, witness to his life falling apart but not able to raise a finger to defend it. The violet-haired boy ducked away from a blast of raw magic as he tried to retrieve the reversal enchantment from his Mind Palace.

Irene took out her magic mirror from her pocket, but it was of no real use against the height of incantation that this creature was. For what the rebel knew from his extensive research, Violet Holmes had uniquely acquired the ability to create this spell, and it required a lot from a person; not only physically, but also mentally, as one needed to stay alert at both organisms simultaneously; controlling the winged-beast even while mildly aware of their body's reality.

Sherlock had to remember that it was really Moriarty in there surrounded by all that magic, despite how hard it was to believe it. And once he turned around and saw the creature's expression, looking at him as if it knew him, he realised he did believe it. Past all the draconian features, there was an unmistakable heated gaze that was impossible to not be recognised. The teen frowned and turned around, choosing not to distract himself from the task of finding a conjuration that would free John from his immobility.

Behind him, James was chasing at Lestrade, who had managed to piss him off by effectively ducking away every curse he breathed in his direction. "Oh, isn't it funny to watch him dance?" Jim —his human body— said, delighting in the panicked chaos he had bred.

Sherlock ignored the jab as Greg passionately yelled numerous of profanities back at him while continuing to escape, Moriarty laughed and the dragon rounded a column to catch him unawares. Sherlock closed his eyes and recited numerous spells he could remember, in the hopes that one of them would work, and it wasn't until he thought to combine it with movements of the wand that he was able to spark a chaotic purple flare off it and unfreeze all the remaining guests present.

The difference was significant. When before you could only hear Greg's abuse and the roaring of the dragon above their heads, now the room was alive; a sea of screams and terrified gasps filling the air as people attempted to get out, only to be stopped by magically bolted doors.

The rebel was not able to thaw his brother. But once awake, John ran to him, ignoring his mother's pleas and his father's orders to remain by their side. His eyes were wild with fear but the expression on his face looked determined. "What do we do?" He asked Sherlock, and the other could only gape at the blonde still trying to help him after the violet-haired had failed so spectacularly at containing a threat he, himself, had created.

John was right, they needed to do something. The only problem was that for all his extensive knowledge, he had little experience in magical abilities, and thus he was unequipped to find a way to stop this without setting everything on fire. The boy was weary of including the new king in anything he could concoct, and that must have shown in his face since John bit his bottom lip and frowned in frustration, clearly annoyed by Sherlock's reluctancy at getting any sort of outside assistance. At that moment, Irene arrived next to them, crouching down and making the most of the rushing figures to design how to proceed, while effectively hiding them from the dragon's attention for a few moments.

A plan. They needed a plan.

Sherlock looked around searching for anything that might aid them, but the truth was that this sort of threat was too nebulous, and he was having trouble deciphering what its weakness could be. His Mind Palace was proving useless too, and the tumultuous atmosphere did nothing to help his thought process. The creature chose that moment to fly above them, his eyes shining brightly and the movement of his wings creating a horrible draft that shook almost everything in his path, knocking over vulnerable things as it went by. "Sherlock?" They could hear the mocking voice of Jim calling for him, attempting to bring him out from his hiding place among the people; but the boy was not about to do that, of course, he needed to keep thinking.

'What could defeat a magical dragon?' He thought. 'Nothing, it's pure magic.'

The magic itself couldn't be controlled, or even created, yet the spells helped shape it and give it intention, so a direct attack would really do nothing to harm it. A beast such as that could dissipate and form at will, and any incantation that you could throw at it would be overpowered completely by the natural height of complexity of the spell.

Irene crawled closer to the rebel, and motioned to continued their way through the crowd until they were as far from the dragon's sight as possible. John followed her and grabbed a fistful of his purple blazer to tug him along as he plotted inside his head. The smooth marble flooring was hard on their knees but they kept going. Barely avoiding being trampled on and unsuccessfully swerving the obstacles that had been discarded in everyone's haste to get out of there; Sherlock already had bumped into a hard object of unknown precedence and something sharp had pierced his hand.

'Then how do you contain it?' Sherlock continued in his head. Running through the options available. 'Dark magic.' He pinpointed as the only possible chance he would have at doing anything against such an adversary.

"Guys?" Lestrade yelled, clearly getting tired of running around and being the sole point of attack of the flying beast. He sounded terrified and panicked at not being able to locate them. Irene looked at him then, her expression clearly worried for their friend, but resigned at knowing there was nothing they could do at the moment. Sherlock's eyes squinted and he sighed, then shook his head to rid himself of cumbersome thoughts and resumed his search. The three of them continued to move, ignoring Greg's calls and Moriarty's laughter in the background.

'Now, how can you get Dark Magic?' He pondered, as they moved through people's legs. Suddenly, the rebel bumped into a pair of very familiar shoes, an atrocity that could not be hidden no matter how long the hem of the wearer's dress was. Perhaps he had helped Molly with her hair but her fashion sense still needed a lot of work. And ironically, it was at that moment when the answer came to him, stemmed by that mundane notion. He ran his hands through his bright purple hair and gasped in revelation it provided, smirking when he saw the resolution staining his left hand.

He stopped, John taking a few more steps before realising Sherlock was not following anymore. "I have a plan." He breathed out, and it was followed by a relieved smile breaking over the blonde's face. John dusted off his hands and swiftly sat on his legs to await further information, which Sherlock was happy to provide. "We need to go back." He explained.

"And what are you going to do about him?" Irene asked, arching an eyebrow at him in incredulity and motioning the glowing dragon casting curses over the attendees.

The violet-haired boy smiled mischievously. "You and Lestrade keep them both occupied. Away from us." He ordered. She nodded, but didn't seem completely pleased with her role. "Also, I'm gonna need that lipstick I gave you." The boy said, and The Woman frowned in confusion —a look also shared by the royal— but shrugged and handed the item over. After that, they swiftly passed by to the trickiest places, rushing to return to the thick of it. Once all of them had reached a clearing where they could stand up without being seen —much— The Woman stood aside, waiting for them to dart away; the king gazed at the rebel with curious eyes. "And what do I do?" He whispered.

"I need you to paint." Sherlock replied as Irene's figure was slowly fading away by distance. "What-" John confusedly started to ask, but was cut off by his arm being yanked as the younger boy turned around with his hand on his wrist; the both of them racing away and getting lost among the crowd.


Sherlock seriously hoped what he had plotted would work —there was no way to be sure of the results since he had never had the chance to do something like this— because if it didn't he had no other idea how to even begin to challenge such a creature. And he din't mean the glowing flying beast made of raw magic, but the maniac man in a suit commanding it.

Sherlock continued crawling through the crowd, he had instructed John to paint the circle with the lipstick; it was a simple enough task, and the king would not disappoint him, there was not way he ever could; but still Sherlock was hesitant to hope everything would go as planned. There were too many variables that could make everything go up in flames, and there was only so much efficiency he could achieve with a circle drawn by a mortal and shaking hand.

He approached the middle, where there was a huge space clear of people around the rejoicing figure of James Moriarty. He had his arms up and stood victorious amidst the chaos. The violet-haired boy couldn't help but note how, despite the crown, Moriarty was more of a jester than a king.

"Just surrender," Moriarty coaxed, clearly bored of just chasing after one of his companions instead of the one he actually wanted to torment. However, he must not be completely tired since Sherlock suspected that, if he hadn't found him yet, it was not for lack of ability, but for lack of trying. "This is what you wanted."

Once he was just behind the powerful figure, the boy took a moment to breathe, having to admit that no matter how much he despised Jim at the moment, he was spot on, the complete truth of the revelation was almost enough to make Sherlock hesitate. This happening right then had been what he had planned, then why did it feel so unfathomable now? There was no time for pondering more on the subject, since at that moment he heard John call for him in the distance, the signal in which they had agreed as a call to action.

Sherlock crawled further into view and, reciting the words in his head, he reached out his blood-soaked hand to grab James' leg. The criminal may have stolen his powers from the greatest magical source in the realms, but the boy had something he didn't. The witchcraft Jim possessed was not his, and, as portrayed by his brightly coloured purple hair, Sherlock had actual dark magic cursing through his blood and just one touch…

Once his skin made contact with the maniac, the dragon let out an ear-piercing shriek and Moriarty growled enraged. The beast started falling from the sky and Jim turned his head in his direction, looking for the stupid being that dared to attack him in such a way. Sherlock smiled up innocently at him, "I believe you were looking for me?" He said, but the other didn't find it the least bit funny, for once.

The glowing dragon laid struggling on the grown, as if restrained to the floor by invisible chains into the hastily-drawn red circle on the marble. The curse in the boy's blood was eating away at the other's incantation like a disease, trying to bind it in the darkness of oblivion for eternity. It would not be able to, obviously, it wouldn't even contain it for long, but at least like this he had more time to devise what to do next without being cursed into the next century.

The criminal grabbed the boy by his wrist and yanked him up. Standing almost eye to eye in confrontation as the red hand-print was still burning on the older man. "Moriarty." Sherlock said, like a victim was prepared to acknowledge his executioner. His eyes squinting in earnest as he observed the monster in front of him.

The howl of frustration coming for the winged beast a mere backdrop mixing with the gasps and the worried mutter of everyone presently captive. "Haven't you had enough of this nonsense?" James asked, the exasperation painting his voice.

Sherlock took a second to let his silver gaze wander around, looking at the horrified expressions. The ceiling was gone and the dark sky was completely black, not a single trace of stars was present. The boy had lived most of his life with a night sky such as this, but know that he knew different; well, nothing else would ever compare to the real thing. "Ugh." James muttered in disgust, grabbing the younger man by the shoulders and digging his claw-like digits in his skin. "Why do you care for them?" He asked, not knowing how wrong he was.

"I don't care one single bit about them." Sherlock replied, a sneer present in his words. And while that may be true in most of the cases, he chose to omit the fact that there were a few —very few— exceptions to the statement, but Jim definitely needed to be kept in the dark about it. Moriarty's smile let him know how much he believed that and Sherlock grimaced but kept his head up, not showing one ounce of vulnerability, if he did, Jim would pounce at it at the barest of signs.

'Once the beast is contained, what do you do before it escapes?' Sherlock thought frantically, even if he didn't show outwardly. The rousing dragon was clearly close to freeing himself, and once unrestrained, he would be impossible to catch again. So what could he do to make sure that didn't happen? 'You defeat the person controlling it.'

In the distance Irene and Greg had stoped running, and were now watching their confrontation. They were smart, they knew there was nothing they could do, Sherlock wasn't even sure there was anything he could do. The violet-haired boy closed his fists and attempted to stay calm at the notion. He was running out of time, soon the dragon would come for him and consume him, and he was afraid of what would be left of him if it did.

"Who do you think you are to defy me, then?" Moriarty asked, as he tilted his head in consideration, hypocritically raising both his eyebrows to look down on him. His eyes shifted to the glowing draconian creature and Sherlock didn't need to turn around to know it must be moving, close to be able to thrust into the air and reclaim its place as victorious in this battle. The expression on the maniac's face was enough to have Sherlock panting from adrenaline. To his left, he could feel John's blue eyes watching him.

The rebel was swiftly rushing inside his Mind Palace, nothing there could help him. He wouldn't be defeated by something he had learned, he had to strip away all those facts and numbers, strip out of his skin unto his bones. Perhaps even deeper than that. All he ever knew was how to set things on fire, and plan what to do with the ashes as he watched the world going up in flames. Ruthless to a fault. It was the only thing that would work, to finish the hard and breakable as crystal relationship. This right now, was when he would finally come to know what remained of him when you took away everything else.

Because there was something he could do. He had tried to avoid it, escape from it, but it looked as if he had exhausted all other options, and it was time to make a decision. He closed his eyes and did just this, and just like that the fear, and the adrenaline, and the anxiety of his indecisiveness was gone. Replaced instead with peaceful acceptance. After weeks and weeks of questioning himself, up to the point where he believed he was going to become insane or tear out all his bright hair were he unable to find an answer, he finally knew. That is what he was made of, and it didn't matter who was responsible. The fire he had stolen was just his, and this, right here, was who he was.

"You're about to find out." His words were final, calm and seemingly without emotion. In no way confident in what the resolution of such statement would be, but accepting to whichever end it would bring him. Be it light or eternal darkness.

James stared at him for a moment, deciding whether if he was actually capable of finding a small creature such as the boy worthy of concern. After a few seconds of silence, he laughed. "You are such a moron, there's nothing you can do." The criminal said, sure of his imminent victory, ready to wonder what he would do to Sherlock once he did win. The magical dragon broke the chains, and came to stand behind his master. Shadowing him and spreading his wings to mimic Jim's movements.

The criminal's eyes became green again, and the violet-haired boy was able to feel the Dragon's spell inside his head once more. He tried to shake it off, flush him out, but the incantation was strong; and soon enough his kaleidoscope gaze stayed fixed on that colour too.

The reason why The Dragon's witchcraft was so dangerous and so effective, was due to its dueling completely with the subject's psyche, from the suggestion up to the physical manifestation of said internal magic —which came from the mind— into a sentient creature. And there was a way, something Sherlock had feared his whole life, not really knowing the reason. But now here he stood, living his old foreshadowed nightmare with his own personal ghost.

'How do you defeat them.' He pondered, staring straight at the manic smile and the glowing green eyes from the other. 'You don't.'

"But you made me, remember?" Sherlock said. Standing tall and not daring to look down, as if that would break the moment and make him fall from the tightrope. There was nowhere left to hide from the collision. The spell was strong, ripping at his thoughts, yet it had an offside, an emergency button if you went too far; Sherlock could attempt to trap him inside, not able to leave the premises of his own mind games ever again, but there was a price. There was always a price.

His eyes kept shifting between his imminent demise before him, and the blonde boy behind the looming figure. His kind and worried gaze was stripping him of every other thought he possessed. The expression he found in the other was almost enough to soften his resolve, but he was not allowed to falter now. He needed the monster, and monsters were not allowed that which he wanted. Muttering a silent goodbye, Sherlock felt cold run through his limbs, colder than he had felt in cycles, but he shrugged it off, not having time to dwell on it. Moriarty was ready to attack, and the boy could recognise this time there would be no dancing around the issue. If he didn't act now, he would never get the chance again. He had to do it: this atrocity he was born to do.

In the end, he always had the best teacher.

"So this is me, doing whatever it takes to win." He said as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He let the spell's demons grow in his head, let them eat away and consume everything in their path. He clenched his fists tightly, and opened the door to their unadulterated magic, all the while reciting the words he had learned. A searing pain rushed through him and the only thing he could see were angry green eyes before everything turned pitch white.