Hello-hello, my dears)
A lot of thanks go to Samui san my great, cool beta!
As usual if you have any question about the universe and can't find answers to them in the 2 part (Some explanation or a Brief description of the universe "Ashes") feel free to ask. I'll be happy to give you answers andexplanations).
And, please, comment)) we will be glad to hear how our tandem is doing so far))) we try to make text better and better)))
His body seemed weightless, like...
John tried to move, but the spell of rest, familiar to every Healer, lit up around him. Such spell also extinguished any extraneous sounds, making him focus on the wraith that surrounded him. Around him was a wonderful world. Rays of light made their way through the water, and John was surrounded by this beautiful illusion, watching the turquoise and blue spashes as if he was within an ocean of light.
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
The beating of a giant heart, invisible and treasured, remaining in the most profound of memories, granting peace and calming silence. Security.
Thump. Thump thump. Thump.
He wanted to grab, snatch these few moments of peaceful quiet for a bit longer before he would have to face reality. John did not want to leave this deceptive depth, but he also had no idea how long he been in this healing sleep, and how serious his situation was. As soon as he began to think about the world outside of his safe cocoon, his obsessive anxiety began to destroy the skillfully created illusion.
Thump. Thump thump.
Thump.
The heartbeat began to die down, until John was not able to hear it at all. The wraith was finally dropped, and he was able to look around. The room was drowned in the shadows, so there was no way to estimate its size. Something like this was what John had expected from his surroundings from the start – dark and quiet. Built up for years while he was in the military, his instincts shouted that darkness could hide anything. Or anyone. At least, he did not feel any shackles limiting his magic. In fact, he could not feel anything at all.
His body felt clumsy and made of cotton. The spell allowed him to restore some of the energy lost after his major Burst, but he was still very weak. John struggled to sit up and stand from where he had apparently been resting for at least a day, which turned out to be a comfortable couch.
"Your recovery took two days, Mr. Watson." The quiet and confident voice barely surprised him. The presence of another mage was expected and natural. What he did not expect was that his condition been monitored not by a Healer, but by a Necromancer. John shuddered. His past encounter with a Necromancer had not ended quite the way he had expected it to.
An expensive suit, a wedding ring, and manicured hands with beautiful long fingers. In the dim light John was not able to make out any facial features clearly, but the mage's presence was vaguely familiar. And he was sure would never confuse a Necromancer with any other class representative. Their gloomy dark magic was difficult to be mistaken as something else.
Two days. The realization that he had fallen out of reality for two whole days was comparable to a magical vortex. The same feeling of helplessness, disorientation and the annoying inability to affect something affected him. Two days, and he was not even sure that anyone was worried about his absence. There was a faint hope for dear Mrs. Hudson; he tried not to think about Holmes.
The silence was not uncomfortable. John saw that he was studied carefully and with interest, but he was in a losing position on all fronts, so he did not dare to ask any questions as he sat in front of the Necromancer. A sense of danger and excitement itched under his skin, and he had not felt so ready to commit any desperate actions in a long time. He had almost nothing to lose, and if the Ministry truly had considered him a renegade, he would not have awoken in the inner sanctum, but instead in the hospital with a guard at the door of the chamber-if he was lucky. Or in prison, if he was unlucky.
"It's a pity that we have to meet in such a circumstance, but it is dictated by necessity. Mr. Watson, please give me quite a bit of your time. And no, I'm afraid that you cannot refuse."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Not at all, former Healer Watson."
"Then can we get straight to the point?"
Thin lips stretched into a pleasant smile, but bright eyes remained cold.
"What is your connection with Sherlock Holmes?"
The question was not a surprise to him. John had realized that by dealing with the one and the only consulting dark mage, he had condemned himself to not only a lack of understanding, hostility and scorn, but also a future full of these kinds of meetings and dubious acquaintances.
"We have signed a contract of partnership. Information about this, no doubt, has been recorded in a proper register."
"Unexpected, is it not?"
"Why am I here and not in the hospital?" Answering a question with a question was not very polite, but John decided to forget about etiquette for a while.
"When someone is trying to escape the attention of Sherlock Holmes, he has to learn to be careful. Hence, this place." The stranger was quite a distance from John, but he still managed to push with his aura. "But you do not look scared."
"You don't look frightening," here John was not very honest. And perhaps it only seemed so, but the stranger's laughter sounded truly sincere. John really did not like to be a source of entertainment.
"Yes. The bravery of a soldier. Bravery is another word for stupidity, don't you think?"
But more than being laughed at, John did not like it when he was mocked. So he glared instead of replying.
"I'll repeat my question. What connects you with Sherlock Holmes?"
"Nothing except the contract. I barely know him. We just met."
"You have recently met, and he invited you to move in with him. Can we expect a joyful announcement at the end of the week?"
John frowned. The conversation had suddenly taken a strange turn.
"Who are you?"
"An interested party."
"Interested in Holmes? I don't think you are friends."
"You're right. I'm his enemy. If you ask him, he would say...his archenemy . Sherlock does like to dramatize things."
"Thank Gods you're above that," quipped John. The situation began to resemble tragicomedy to him. And why should everything in his life now revolve around Holmes? It seemed now wherever he went, whatever he did - everything was bound to be associated with the dark mage.
Suddenly he felt sick, fighting the strong desire to jump up and leave. He needed time to think about everything carefully, to devise a strategy and develop a course of action that was best suited to the circumstances.
"An amazing phenomenon - a mage waiting for a Mark suddenly shows unprecedented potential. The Ministry of Magic, of course, would be very interested in this fact."
"You do not look like an Agent."
"I occupy a minor position in the Ministry."
"Nowadays do all minor positions include a personal cabinet and hot witch secretaries?" The question was rhetorical, but he would have still been interested in hearing the answer.
"Some people are lucky, others - not. Speaking of luck- you know, I would be happy to pay you a large sum on a regular basis to make your life easier."
"Why?"
"Because you are not a wealthy man. And I know that you need money."
John began to feel worse as he listened to the words the man spoke, he could hardly force himself to concentrate on them. It was not a suggestion or a manipulation, but a very strong feeling of wrongness towards what was happening, as if he was being drawn somewhereelse instead.
"In exchange for what?"
"Information."
John stubbornly pursed his lips. The circus. What was happening began to remind him more and more of the circus.
"Nothing special, nothing that would cause you ... inconvenience. Just tell me about Sherlock's plans."
"Why?"
"I worry about him. Constantly."
"That's nice of you."
"But for many reasons, I would prefer that not to be mentioned to Sherlock. We have, as you would say, a complicated relationship."
"No."
"I did not mention…"
"Do not bother. I'm not going to agree. And if you're so concerned about his well-being, then it's in your best interest that I get permission and be allowed to do legal magic."
"You are setting conditions?" The archenemy of Holmes looked surprised. For the first time during their conversation his mask of indifference and calm cracked.
"And what does it look like?"
John continued to feel worse and worse. And if not for the protective barrier with a faded Healing Circle, in which he had been put for recuperation, still protecting him from any external influence John would have thought the necromancer was trying to force his will on him. Without any rituals, amulets and runes, with only sheer force of will. But magicians of such caliber had not been born in the UK for more than three centuries, and even the strongest of them in their time had not been able to accomplish such things without a Source.
"What did you give me? I feel strange," John pressed his palms to his flaming cheeks. Something was not allowing him to concentrate, confusing his thoughts and spinning his magic in uncontrollable whirlwind.
"Oh!" The necromancer put his hands to his chin in a familiar gesture of prayer.
John's magic swirled as a wild luminous flow, trying to break out of the circle. He fell back into the illusion of cool water, which refracted bright flashes of light as if it was an expensive crystal. Around him orange, green and blue flashes blazed. Crimson alternated with blue to immediately ignite with gold. This time there was no soothing beating of a giant heart, only an echoing silence in which he imagined he could hear Holmes's voice.
"What…. What's happening?" John cried in silence as he tried to escape from the luminous darkness, but again and again he was drawn back to the bottom, in the depths where his magic glowed with light.
"... John. John…. John …" He could hear his name. Persistently and impatiently, someone was calling him. The voice became more insistent, until it rang in his ears like an alarm. John closed his eyes and did not even have time to cover his ears, or to get away from that call, as everything was suddenly over. Against his back he no longer felt a soft couch, just a hard floor.
John looked around, still not believing that he was lying in the middle of the living room at Baker Street, and not enclosed in a healing circle somewhere in the bowels of the Department of Registration. Holmes's face loomed as a white spot in front of his eyes. The gray eyes with hint of blue, that John only now noticed, were complacently looking at him.
"Merlin's beard! You opened a portal for me!"