"I'll be in touch."
"Ritual sacrifice wasn't mentioned in the books we have. Thus far, anyway. Ritual sacrifice, speaking in general, carried the purpose of appeasing gods, spirits and yes, even attempts to summon demons." Sherlock continued walking, rubbing his thumb against his nose and swallowing to suppress a sneeze. "I do not think the happenings of last night were coincidence."
"So what's the plan then? Research? Can we get supplies first?" John looked at his partner curiously,
"Supplies, then research." Sherlock's mind was going through ritual sacrifice in history, sticking on Aztec culture. Strange.
Nodding, John hailed a cab. "What about the rest of the symbols? I remember the one for darkness, the one for blood, and the one for strife..." He frowned to himself. None of those were words he particularly wanted in any close contact with himself or Sherlock.
"Mm. Darkness, blood, strife, contract, strength, control." He slipped into the cab alongside John, going through the rest of the symbols in his mind. "No particular religious affiliations present although the symbols and the arrangement all pointed to darker magicks."
"Contract, strength, control..." John muttered the words to himself. Damnit. Control and strength could very easily be about the geis. About him. But did that mean the other symbols were for Sherlock? He shook his head. No use worrying yet, they had no idea who did this or why. Better to get supplies, get back to Baker Street and figure things out from there.
"Are you going to follow me to get our supplies this time or are you feeling any other strange premonitions?" Because this time he was willing to listen if John started to feel anything off. Sherlock rubbed his nose again and then tucked his hand into his coat.
"I'm certainly coming with you to get supplies, but no, I haven't felt anything all morning." Thank God. "Did you ever talk to Mycroft? Find out what he knew?"
"Mycroft is being patently unhelpful in this matter," he replied. "He said he didn't know."
John, who was looking out his own window, sighed. Mycroft had started all this, it would only be decent of his to have any idea of what was happening. "So, what do we know? There are witches, vampires, Mycroft told me there's a dragon somewhere. What else? Shamans?" Rubbing his eyes, John watched the normal world go by outside.
"A dragon? Really." One of Sherlock's eyebrows perked.
"Hah, I know. That was my reaction too."
Sherlock sat back and watched the buildings until it was unfeasible to continue by cab. "Just here, please." Fishing out his wallet, he passed a few notes to the cabbie and let himself out. It didn't look like a friendly part of town but there was no sign of anyone. "We're taking the alleys."
John followed Sherlock out and kept his eyes on the late morning shadows. "All right. Tell me if you notice anything, yeah?" He kept his gun at hand and repeated the focusing spell in his mind, ready to use it if needed.
Once they hit the alleys, it was like the sun had been blotted out. Still enough light to see by but barely. "I doubt anything will be out this time of day but I'll alert you if I see something. Once we reach our destination it would be best not to touch anything or show overt interest and text me if you do see something interesting. The shopkeep is not the most approachable of women."
John nodded his understanding and the two walked in silence for nearly ten minutes. Then Sherlock stopped at a door John hadn't noticed and knocked twice. It opened and John immediately felt the power in the room. "Good God..." He looked over at the younger man, wondering if he felt it too. Then he lapsed into silence as Sherlock greeted a sour looking woman and they were led into the shop, shelves and cases filled with all manner of herbs, books and stones.
"It's good to see you again, Madame."
"Mister Holmes," The obese and tattooed lady purred, her sour countenance changing immediately. "Who is this man with you?"
"This is my colleague John." Sherlock didn't seem very interested in conversation, but was trying to keep her engaged all the same. "We're researching some things. I've come seeking more of your quality ingredients."
"I see..." Her eyes followed John like she was looking through him for a solid three seconds before winking at him. "And what are you looking for this time?"
"Actually..." Sherlock presented her with a list. All the things John had wanted and more that he needed for his own research.
John smiled politely at the woman but didn't like the wink she gave him. He followed close behind Sherlock, eyeing the various packets of herbs, seeds and animal bones. Interest piqued, he did finally step away from Sherlock to check out some more of the tomes lying haphazardly around. He grabbed one and read the spine aloud, "Healing Majiks and Poultices, hmm..."
Sherlock tensed his jaw and rolled his eyes, trying not to audibly release a sigh. He should have ordered John not to touch anything.
"Oh, you like that one do you?" The woman became infinitely more interested in John.
John's phone jangled with a message. [You're paying for that yourself when she negotiates a higher price than it's worth. SH]
"Just a moment," John pulled out his phone and sent a quick reply, [Now you're free to look around. Don't worry I won't get anything. JW]
"So yes, can you give me any more information on this?" John asked the woman, eyebrows raised in a hopeful charade.
"I could, yes." She gave a fake smile and tilted her head just so. "Information ain't cheap, though."
Sherlock peered into a glass case full of crystals and gems, looking them over before moving on to bottles of liquids marked with symbols and vials of different ingredients. He started to pick up a few of them, a pouch of this and a vial of that...
"Ah…well." John frowned and set the book back down. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around elsewhere. Sherlock had not been kidding about this woman. She followed him around the shop like he was some fifteen year old punk with a couple of ASBOs. After a few minutes, he couldn't stand it and he moved next to Sherlock.
Sherlock, who had used some sleight of hand to spirit a few of those vials into his sleeves unnoticed. Other purchases were held in his hands in plain sight. He made his way to the counter. "Madame, if you could take a look at this list for me and see if you have the things we require, I'd be most grateful."
"Sherlock, my dear man, of course. What do we have here..." Looking at the list, she started to pull items off from the shelf. "Ooh, this one's going to cost you."
"Oh...that's too bad, then..." Sherlock put on a disappointed face. Acting. He looked over the items he wanted to purchase like he was trying to decide which ones to put back. "How much?"
"Aw, don't pout, don't pout. Maybe we can make a deal." She got a little too close and a little too friendly, trailing a hand over his chest. Sherlock started to play shy, even forcing himself to color a bit.
"I don't know, Madame..."
John watched the exchange and felt an entirely different burning in his gut. He frowned darkly at the woman and tapped his foot impatiently, not wanting to interrupt Sherlock's game but very much wanting to pull the man away from the seedy woman.
"We could do a little...exchange?" The woman was taking a few more liberties than Sherlock would have normally been comfortable with, taking him by the scarf and starting to undo the buttons of his shirt.
"M-Madame! Please, I... I don't know... it wouldn't be right. Could I treat you to a meal for a discount?"
"Oho! Old fashioned! I love it! How about a kiss as a promise, my sweet little man?"
"I...uh...I...well...I don't know..." Bashful didn't suit Sherlock. He didn't have to play surprised when the woman grabbed his scarf, pulled him in and kissed him.
"It's a promise, then." She had a dreamy look in her eyes when she pulled away. "You and your friend can take your goods and... we'll start a little tab, hm?"
"O-oh...thank you...thank you, Madame...John, could you...?"
John grunted and, looking darkly at the woman, he signed his name at the bottom of the list of items and prices. "All right, are we done here?" He eyed Sherlock expectantly as the detective pulled out some notes and pushed them toward the woman despite her protests. John grabbed a couple of the items from Sherlock's hands and shoved them into his pockets, stalking towards the exit.
Sherlock kept up the shy and embarrassed routine until they were outside. When the door shut and the door-chimes rattled loudly behind the door, Sherlock made a face of disgust, wiped his coat sleeve across his mouth and briefly entertained the idea of burning it. "Well. That was easy enough."
When he was sure John was watching him, he slipped the vials he'd nicked out of his sleeves with a smirk.
John frowned, still a little bit angry for a reason he wasn't certain of. "Yes, very impressive, Sherlock. You stole her heart easily enough as well, hm? Was that really necessary? Now we have to go back there and I am not going on a date with you two." He kicked at a bit of rubbish.
"Would you rather have been kicked out for being inquisitive or charged twice as much for showing any interest in an item?" He didn't understand John's disgruntled attitude. It was all just playing a part to take advantage of human nature. "Besides, we needed these things. Now we have research to do."
John didn't answer, still watching his feet and frowning. Incredibly, his answer would've been yes. He told himself it was because he didn't like Sherlock taking advantage of people, or that he didn't trust the woman as far as he could throw her. Neither of these were true, but it's what he told himself.
"Do you know what we're looking for?" he sighed, trying to refocus himself on the case at hand.
"We're looking up rituals for one. Aztecs used to remove the hearts from their sacrifice victims because they believed it contained a piece of the sun and its power. This did not seem Aztec in nature, however."
"Fine, so back to the flat?"
"Do you have somewhere else to be or something else you need?" Sherlock was leading them back the way they came. The alleys seemed to stretch on forever, though, and they never seemed any closer to the street.
"No, I'm good. We'll just..." John had kicked at another bit of rubbish only to realize a second later that it had been the exact same rubbish. "Sherlock. Something's wrong." The geis hadn't warned him of anything...so no immediate danger? "We're going in circles."
"So it would appear," Sherlock replied calmly as though he had known the entire time. "Walking helps me think, though." He stopped and looked down an adjacent alley, narrowing his eyes and changing direction to walk down it instead.
John stumbled after the man muttering in a poor impression, "'Walking helps me think', brilliant. Let's just walk around until we get attacked then. You're a genius, Sherlock, a proper genius." Then louder, "Where are you going?"
"A different way. Obvious." Pulling a piece of white chalk from his pocket, Sherlock extended his arm and dragged the piece of chalk along the brick as he walked to mark it in a line. "Let me know if this line starts to overlap."
Rolling his eyes, John followed, his eyes on the chalk line. A few minutes later, he saw the line blur into two, "Sherlock. We've been here before." What the hell was going on? His stomach tensed and he wondered if it was the geis or just his owns nerves.
The alleyways suddenly seemed like catacombs. Hmming to himself, Sherlock looked this way and that, trying to figure it out. "So we have. Very well then." Rolling the chalk between his fingers and them putting it back into his pocket, Sherlock stopped moving. "Bravo. We can't seem to leave the area. You have us effectively caged." He waited for something to happen. No one might have been there at all, but he looked around even still.
John looked around, watching for any moment, any response. Even so, he was surprised when the witch from the coven stepped out from the shadow of a doorway.
"Sherlock," John hissed at the man, subconsciously putting himself in between the witch and his friend.
The witch grinned at him and waggled her fingers in a hello. John paled, remembering the last time he had seen her. He swallowed thickly.
Sighing, Sherlock relaxed his posture and stepped forward. Of course it would be an inconvenient time. "What would you have of me?"
"We have need of a detective. One of our coven was killed last night. And, you, Mister Holmes, are going to find out who did it and bring them to us." She walked up to him, tilting her head back to look him in the face.
John clenched his hands into fists but managed to stay still while the witch invaded Sherlock's space. Why did women keep doing that?
"Approximately what time last night? And how were they killed? Can you show me a body and evidence?" Sherlock was ignoring the proximity. "As for bringing the murderer to you, that may be tricky."
"You have seen the body, Mister Holmes." She raised a thin eyebrow. "Or did you really think the events were unconnected?" She clicked her tongue at him.
"Perhaps we would be better off with a different detective," she teased, giving him a smirk. Then she pulled a folder from the folds of her skirt. "Everything you need to know about the victim is in here. You will bring the killer to us, Mister Holmes. Tricky or not." Her gaze turned dark and John felt magic rising around her. He stepped between them again, pushing Sherlock back.
"Alright, thank you. We'll get right on that," John said hastily.
Sherlock stood straighter. "New Scotland Yard has become involved in this case. Wouldn't it be best to turn the killer over to them when we find out who performed the impromptu heart surgery?" He didn't bother trying to impress her. If she knew he'd seen the body, chances were that she would know what he'd said at the crime scene about the murderer.
Suddenly furious, she hissed at him, "Watch your tongue, Mister Holmes, or we will make sure you never need to again. You will bring him to us. Only then will your debt be settled." And then she was gone.
John saw Sherlock looking around but he focused on an energy that was fading quickly. "She disguised herself..." What had the book called that? "Veiled." He looked at Sherlock, allowing his heart to return to a steady beat, "Can we go home now?"
Sherlock wanted to comment that the witch was being awfully dramatic in response to an honest question but he thought better of it since she could still be listening. This was going to be a long case. Time to get started. "Yes. Going home." As he moved down the alleyways this time, he found that he wasn't stepping in his own tracks any longer. So the murder victim had been a witch... but what had the attacking shadows been? He looked for a common factor. "Thoughts?"
John was relieved the witch had gone and even more relieved that they were actually making progress toward the street. He thought for a moment, then answered Sherlock, "Well, she was obviously close to the victim, she nearly took your head off back there. I don't know though, you'd think the coven would be better off figuring it out by themselves so they could do whatever vigilante justice they felt like." He rubbed his nose and groaned with realization, "Lestrade is going to be furious if we take his suspect."
"Thank you John, though do leave out the obvious bits, there's nothing wrong with my observational skills."
Rolling his eyes, John answered, "Well, how am I supposed to know which bits are the obvious bits, Sherlock?"
"Anything you've worked out can be considered in the scope of the obvious."
"Oh wonderful, thanks for that." John muttered to himself.
Sherlock blew out a sigh and stepped out to the sidewalk to wait for a cab. "I'm looking for a commonality between both events. The murder and the shadows attacking us." Technically speaking, he was working three cases at once. "Motivation...motivation is everything. Why kill a witch in a powerful coven in a ritual sacrifice and along the way summon little demons to go after a consulting detective and his blogger?"
John smiled at Sherlock's title. "I don't know, Sherlock. Revenge? Power? Money?" He scoffed at the last. This was the weirdest case he'd ever seen, why would the motivation be straightforward?
Sherlock was thinking. Overclocking his mind, running it at full capacity to go over every morsel of evidence they had. John and himself were commonalities for these events. Something or someone was trying to either kill them or get their attention...or any number of other things since they were aware of magic now.
"Power seems like the name of the game lately," Sherlock mused aloud. "Still, the murderer must have known how much attention from the coven this would bring him..."
As a cab pulled up, the duo climbed in. John straightened his coat as Sherlock gave the cabbie instructions, then the doctor attempted to theorize. "So someone's after power. But it's also someone powerful enough to not worry that they've annoyed an entire coven. Or," John tilted his head, thinking, "Or it's someone who wasn't powerful, but expected to be or is now after the ritual. But what connects everything? The sacrifice, the witches, the attacks on us..." A sudden thought smacked John over the head, "It's us, isn't it? We're the connection?" He turned to Sherlock for confirmation.
"Mm," Sherlock acknowledged, inclining his head in the barest nod. "That is a solid theory...one I have been coming back to. It still eludes me why we would be the connection. What or who would want us so badly? For what purpose?" Of course there was the geis. If a powerful magic user was at it, they should have been dead already if murder was their intent, though.
John frowned. It's like they're playing with us...Oh God. "Sherlock. You don't think...he might have something to do with this?" Moriarty was never far from mind and it was reasonable to assume if Mycroft and Sherlock knew about magic, Moriarty would not be far behind.
A light sigh came from Sherlock's nose. Of course he'd entertained the thought, but... he closed his eyes and sat back to indulge in a micro-nap. Two minutes later he was awake again and ready to respond. "It certainly is a flashy affair, isn't it? ...And we haven't been killed. If someone wanted us dead, as novices, we would have easily been beaten by someone who truly wanted us out of the game."
The cab pulled up and John stepped out, talking over the roof at Sherlock, "So you think it's possible then?" That's just what they needed. If Moriarty got either of them in his power... The thought made John shiver and pull his jacket tighter around him. Once up the stairs to 221B, John tossed himself into his chair and watched Sherlock take his own.
"Possible, yes...likely? Not certain." He sat back and steepled his hands, going through each event to look for the hallmarks. Like a bloodhound, he sniffed through each piece of evidence they had starting from the day Sherlock had learned magic was real. It could have been an hour later that he came out of it. "...have you noticed anything that would be his style? Any pattern?" Sometimes simple minds were the best to give a fresh perspective.
John waited for Sherlock to elaborate. And waited. Finally, he stood up, made sure he had the tome and went to his room to read. Ears perked, maybe forty-five minutes later he heard Sherlock talking in the sitting room. Sighing, he stood up and walked down the hallway, an exasperated look plastered on his face. "Sherlock, I was in the other room. What did you say?"
Sigh. Tedious. "Patterns. His style. Have you noticed anything? It's hardly my fault that you left the room."
"Well, it would be nice if you would at least notice that I left the room." John rubbed his brow and tried to think, "Umm... No, no, I don't think so. No riddles or puzzles other than the case. Though it has been other parties doing the attacking. So far it hasn't been the same, first vampires, then shadows..."
"I'm not certain if the vampires were related, though once again if they had wanted me dead, I would have been dead." He couldn't find enough evidence of Moriarty to consider him a factor in all of this. Yet. He could just be toying with them if this was his work...
A surge of anger forced it way through John and he clenched his fists, "You nearly were dead, Sherlock. You seem to keep forgetting that. You nearly died in an alleyway in the middle of the night. They had done pretty good work from where I was standing."
"I'm certain they could have come up with a much more effective way of killing me had they actually wanted me dead. Leaving me the little bit alive that they did is evidence enough that they weren't sent on orders to kill me outright nor had any real intent to make sure that I was dead."
John shut his eyes tight and took a breath. In his opinion, a 'little bit alive' was close enough to dead. But of course, Sherlock had to nitpick. "Fine. They didn't want you dead." He let out his breath slowly and tensed when the doorbell rang. The two of them heard Mrs. Hudson answer and after a few moments, Mycroft stood imperiously in the doorway, umbrella in hand.
Sherlock looked Mycroft over with a bit of distaste and then raised an eyebrow when he didn't evaporate under the intensity of his gaze. "What?"
Mycroft stepped in, a long suffering sigh leaving his lips. "I did tell you, Sherlock, that I would be stopping by. I assume I should be glad you are here at all, despite the advance warning." The elder Holmes tipped his head at John in greeting, "Hello, Dr. Watson, I hear you've been attacked by shadows?" His raised eyebrows implied an explanation was to be given.
"Uh-yeah, yes, actually. We were just a couple blocks down Baker Street and at least three ganged up on us. We managed to escape and came back here." He gestured at the mess of salt on the floor, "A circle of salt kept them at bay but I-uh, I didn't see when they left."
"With your immense wealth of knowledge on the subject of all things magic, perhaps you could enlighten us as to what we were attacked by and why." Sherlock leaned back in his chair, presenting a clear challenge. If Mycroft couldn't rise to meet the challenge...well, then there was no reason for him to stay. Useless.
Mycroft turned and narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. Then he smiled. "Luckily for you, I do in fact have an immense wealth of knowledge at my disposal." He turned back to John. "After I hear what you intend to do on the matter of your geis. There is still near twenty-four hours left of your," he smirked, "'trial period' and I wish to know whether to alert my associate to prepare for the removal."
John looked from Holmes to Holmes. "I-uh. I'm going to keep it, for the moment at least." He nodded firmly.
Mycroft's smirk faded at the qualifier. "This is not a 'phone me when you'd like it off' situation, Dr. Watson. It's much more of a 'limited time offer'." He looked to Sherlock. "And do tell, what are your thoughts on the matter, hm?"
An eyeroll. Mycroft was avoiding answering the question which meant one of three things: he didn't know, he wanted Sherlock to earn the answer or he was saving it all up for a dramatic crescendo.
"I hardly see why my thoughts on the matter are relevant. You're once again being of no help to us. I am starting to question your scope on this. ...Also, what are you actually here for? You could have kidnapped John or phoned him just as easily if that was all this visit was about."
Mycroft frowned, almost pouting. "Your thoughts on the matter are relevant, Sherlock, because whatever you wish, he," He tilted his head at John, "must do. And I do have information for you. I merely wished to fully understand the situation in which you find yourselves. Now answer my question and I shall answer yours." Mycroft tapped his fingers against the handle of his umbrella and waited, eyebrows raised.
"My thought on the matter," Sherlock stated simply, "Is that John is of his own free will to keep or rid himself of the geis. As I'm not well known for making the correct decisions for myself, I don't feel I should choose for John. There. Now answer mine."
Sighing, as though disappointed, Mycroft turned his eyes to the floor. "How very simple of you, Sherlock. The creatures that attacked you are called 'The Darkness'. This refers to both a singular being and a group, though a group is very rare. The Darkness are not often seen together and are considered to be, by most accounts, a non-threat. However, the analogy has been drawn that this is only because they are solitary and tend to stay aware from humans. Although when one does venture into a city, much like a rouge tiger wandering into a village, there will almost certainly be bloodshed. The Fay informed me that there have been whisperings of the Darkness gathering but this is the first they had heard of an outright attack."
"Simple of me? Oh, because you didn't actually need the Fay or several other magical contacts to conjure that information for you. Must have been innate, how good for you. If only you could also develop an aversion to sweets." An eye for an eye.
Sherlock continued, "So, when I break down what you have just told me into its base components, the answer is 'we don't know'. Brilliant. Thank you for the useful information. At least the enemy has a name, although that could have been texted to me..."
Mycroft stiffened, "I'll have you know also, that vampires are usually solitary creatures yet you claim to have been attacked by five at once? And this murder that Lestrade is looking into..." Mycroft spun his umbrella up to his shoulder, "Do be careful, Sherlock. We may not know what exactly is going on but we know it is not good and that you are somehow at the center of it." He turned and dipped his head at John, "Good day, gentlemen." And he departed with one last withering glance at Sherlock.
Sherlock sighed; glad to be rid of his brother. Perhaps he should have asked him about ritual murders to see if the symbols meant anything to him or to the Fay... no. Mycroft would probably try to take over the investigation to 'protect' him.
"It doesn't make much sense, does it?" He flopped over on the sofa, trying to find the answer. Why? Why would all of those big, bad, solitary creatures be banding together to attack him? "They're trying to keep me from something...what are they keeping me from?"
John returned to his chair and stretched his legs. "Someone's getting the big bads together and sending them after you. I don't know what it means, Sherlock, but I sure as hell don't like it."
"Someone...you think is banding them against me?" Still... why wasn't he dead? If whoever this was had wanted him dead, then he would be dead and in several pieces by now. Meaning someone didn't want him dead... someone was playing with him. Symbolism hit him and made his eyes widen... suddenly he leapt up and went to the kitchen, all but tearing the baggie of ash out of his coat and tapping it out into a shallow dish to examine.
John hummed his agreement, "All I know is that tigers don't rally themselves...Sherlock?" John jolted in his seat as the detective flashed out of the room and into what was left of their kitchen.
Microscope would be useless as it was covered in soot. No matter. He sifted through the ash with the tip of a clean syringe, sorting it out fastidiously by color of ash. When that was done, he ducked down into cabinets, tearing through chemicals and solutions, muttering 'where is it, where is it'.
Up and into the kitchen went John. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing?"
"Looking!"
"Stop a minute would you? What are you looking for?"
"Where are the acids?"
Sighing, John stepped around the detective and pulled open a smaller drawer to the side and gestured to Sherlock, "They're here, now what are you doing with them?"
"Examining ash." Snatching the acids he required as well as two pipettes, he went back to the small piles of ash intently. The darker ash he dropped one acid onto...the other he dripped onto the lighter ash. Then he watched.
Swallowing back his questions, John stood behind the man and watched also, certain that Sherlock would tell him what was going on eventually.
"These ashes have none of the chemicals in them that a cigarette would have. Nor cigar." Back up again, he was circling the dish to see the reactions at all angles. "They were left as a deliberate clue." As the seconds ticked on, Sherlock seemed more and more excited/agitated. "It's ash from the remnants of human tissue."
"You mean like a cremation?" John pulled a face. "What's the clue there?"
Suddenly, Sherlock's hands were on either side of John's head. "Think." His eyes were wide and manic. "What was missing from the corpse?"
"Well it was the heart... Oh, God no. He said-Moriarty-he'd said he'd..." John swallowed and stared at the ashes with renewed horror.
John understood. Sherlock maintained intense eye contact, his very much intact but threatened heart starting to pound. "It's him."