AN: You know I love you guys, right?

Sherlock's legs were burning. He's been walking for ages. He kept his hand running against the right wall.

"Oh, Sherlock," John's voice murmured from somewhere nearby. Sherlock ignored him.

There were three things Sherlock knew for certain, walking through this blasted maze. First and foremost: John wasn't here. Sherlock had yet to decide if John's voice was a hallucination or some sort of magic to lead him down dangerous paths. If Sherlock heard his boyfriend's voice from the left, he would go to the right. So far, he had yet to run into another fantastical creature that wanted to kill him.

Second: the maze was enchanted. That much was very obvious since its creation, but Sherlock was absolutely convinced of it now. His paths seemed to intersect or circle often. To test this theory, he'd hung his jacket on a particularly short stalk of grass and continued to walk. He passed the article of clothing thrice before he'd decided it was pointless and put it back on. In addition to his ever-repetitive dilemma, he recalled his attempt to scale the wall. He had been climbing steadily upwards for minutes, and yet only managed a miniscule distance.

The third and final observation was that this maze had undoubtedly been made for him. Sherlock didn't understand why; he had no magical abilities, nor would he amount to anything against another creature. He'd gotten lucky with the sphynx. If pitted against a banshee or a vampire, if indeed those things existed, he would surely die. Despite this, Sherlock had a gut feeling that the maze was for him. Why else would the archway close behind him, when it hadn't for Mycroft? Why was he hearing John's voice trying to lead him astray?

"Sherlock," the voice beckoned to him again, developing that familiar teasing tone that John would adopt when he'd try to persuade Sherlock into doing something-often the house chores or coming to bed at a "reasonable" time. Sherlock could feel his eye twitch. It was terrifying that whatever magic lay over this damned labyrinth knew John's tones of voice to coerce him into walking a dangerous path.

John. If there were to be another thing Sherlock would tack onto his list, it would be the absolute likelihood that he would never see his blogger again. He dreaded his fate if-and-when he should reach the center of the labyrinth. He probably wouldn't even make it that far. Chances were, he would run into a werewolf or something and get eaten alive. God, he hoped that wasn't Mycroft's fate.

His brother was another thing Sherlock was concerned about. While he knew that Mycroft had been in the labyrinth a few minutes before Sherlock joined him, he was certain that his brother should have been close enough to hear him the first time. Sherlock could only come to two conclusions: Mycroft was either incapacitated, or magic was restraining him from answering. The younger Holmes shivered and hoped for the latter.

For what seemed like the millionth time, Sherlock found himself approaching an intersection in the road. He stopped, waiting for John's voice to beckon him down the wrong path. For minutes, it was eerily silent. Sherlock remained at the intersection, waiting.

What he didn't expect, however, was to see someone dashing across his path- someone who looked an awful lot like John. He didn't even notice Sherlock as he continued to run. Sherlock only paused for a moment, bewildered and startled.

"John?!" he cried, running down the path after his boyfriend. "John! Wait!"

He turned a sharp corner and slammed right into a grass wall. He turned quickly. John wasn't there. He wasn't there, damn it! Sherlock lifted his hands to yank at his hair and let out a scream.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair! What was he doing here? Why was he here? He lowered his hands and leaned against the wall. It was hopeless. He was either going to die here or go mad.

"Ahem," a feminine voice coughed. His eyes snapped open, and the detective met the gaze of another woman.

This woman wasn't a sphynx. She had flowing, soft white hair and pale skin. Her eyes were a warm brown color. And she was staring at him as though expecting something.

"What..?" Sherlock breathed, confusion settling in his mind. The sphynx, he could understand. But what was a human girl doing here? She tilted her head.

"You are quite handsome," she told him, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. Sherlock flinched away. She froze and plastered on a smile. "I'm happy that I'm not alone here. I was very scared, and I heard you scream… Won't you stay with me?"

"I'm can't, I have to find the center," Sherlock told her truthfully, though a part of him also wanted to be as far away from her as possible. She pouted and stared at him, a meaningful look in her eyes. Sherlock only frowned and looked around her for a possible alternative path.

"I'm cold and scared," she continued. "I've been walking for an hour straight. Please, will you sit with me and hold me to keep me warm?"

Sherlock noticed that she was inching closer. He found himself with his back flat against the grass wall as she advanced. A few seconds later, and she was flush against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He could feel her breath on his neck.

"You're so warm," she murmured. "Please rest a while… Stay with me…"

"I can't," Sherlock told her again. She huffed and lifted her head to glare at him.

"Stay with me," she commanded.

"I need to continue walking," Sherlock said. She leaned in closer.

"Rest for a minute, please?"

"No," Sherlock refused. She only got closer. Sherlock could feel her breath on his lips.

"Stay with me," she breathed.

Sherlock couldn't help but feel as though he was closer to the center. The girl was easy to shake off, having grown bored with him after numerous failed attempts at seducing him. Her features shifted slightly before they parted, making her look more birdlike, and she'd stormed off.

Perhaps he would have been rid of her sooner, had he told her he was gay from the beginning. But nevertheless, the labyrinth seemed to determine that he was successful and opened its path for him. Sherlock knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Unfortunately, his success also meant that he would be hearing John's voice again. He wondered if he would see him running a second time.

"Sherlock," John called out to him. Sherlock sighed and followed the voice. It seemed as though his only option was to let his boyfriend lead him to danger. Any other choice would force him to walk in circles again.

"I don't suppose you could tell me what I should expect next time, could you?" he shouted. John remained silent. "Thought not."

"Sherlock?"

"That's my name," Sherlock mumbled. He shook his head and turned a corner-

-and collided with a running mass of flesh. The assailant fell backwards and was completely engulfed in the fog. Sherlock could still hear them groaning.

"Oh, for God's sake, you're probably the most miserable excuse for a vampire or a werewolf or whatever the hell you're supposed to be," Sherlock snapped at it. "If I can knock you over by complete accident, you're obviously not very strong. Or terrifying."

"Sherlock?" John's voice asked again. This time, he sounded much, much closer. The fog swirled around as the creature started to pick itself up. Sherlock noticed the blond hair, first.

"John?"

John stood up completely, rubbing his shoulder. Sherlock noticed that he must have landed on his bad side, which explained the groaning. Without thinking, he surged forward and yanked John into him for a kiss. John let out a muffled yelp and shoved him back.

Oh, right. Sherlock had been chasing John's voice throughout the labyrinth. For all he knew, this was some other creature that had John's face. It probably didn't even know that Sherlock and John were a couple, the miserable bugger. But this John seemed very real.

Sherlock watched as the not-John stretched his left arm and winced. Not-John sighed and rubbed his shoulder, lifting his gaze to meet Sherlock's. Not-John's eyes were incredibly accurate for a copy.

"What the hell are you doing here, Sherlock?" Not-John asked. It advanced on him, and Sherlock ended up backing into a wall- as he found himself doing often- trying to step away from it. "What are you doing in here?"

"I… Mycroft came in, we were attacked…" Sherlock found himself explaining. Not-John peered at him and lifted a hand to cup his cheek. Sherlock flinched.

"You scratched your cheek…" Not-John murmured. "You shouldn't be in here. How did you even get this far? I've run into a Blast-Ended Skrewt and an Acromantula so far. But I had the benefit of magic. These things could kill you."

Sherlock only understood part of that statement, frowning. Not-John was incredibly accurate. He lifted his hands and placed them on not-John's shoulders, forcing him away. Not-John winced again at the tight grip on his left shoulder. Now that not-John was distanced from him, Sherlock lifted his left hand. Not-John gasped.

"Where did this come from?" Sherlock asked, pointing at the ring on his finger.

"My… It came from the attic of my parents' house. Sherlock-" John looked at the ring and back at Sherlock, and then back at the ring. "I didn't… You didn't have to…"

Sherlock's face softened, and he pulled John back in for another kiss. This time, John kissed him back. When they parted, John cupped his cheek again.

"You left before I could apologize," Sherlock told him. "I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have tried breaking up with you without hearing your side, first. I pushed you away, and I know I don't deserve to keep you-"

"Shut up," John told him. "I left, too. I'm also to blame for this. And I can assure you we will be talking about this later. But right now, I need to get you out of here. I can't Apparate out."

"I followed your voice," Sherlock told him quietly. "If we make any wrong turns, we'll end up in circles. But I followed your voice, and you led me to the monsters, which led me to this path. I didn't expect you to appear- how did you get in? The archway closed behind me."

"There was an archway?" John asked absentmindedly. He looked up at Sherlock. "I Apparated in, accidentally. Thought I'd end up in Mycroft's yard… Don't know how I got here, honestly."

"This is Mycroft's yard," Sherlock explained. "The grass came to life. Mycroft went in to investigate. I followed."

John glanced up at him worriedly. "Then if someone made this in his yard..."

"Someone wants to play a game," Sherlock finished. He started to walk in a random direction, only to be stopped by John.

"Wait, Sherlock, we don't know what's out there. We need a plan. I don't know how you've been lucky so far. What monsters did you run into that you escaped so easily?"

"A sphynx and a girl," Sherlock answered, walking forward again. John stopped him again.

"A girl?"

"Yes, a girl. A very flirtatious girl. How she was a monster, I have no idea."

"Did you… kiss this girl?"

"What? Of course not."

"What did she look like?"

"Blonde, brown eyes, a light and annoying voice-"

"A Veela?"

"A what?"

John lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "How the hell did you get past a Veela? They're masters of seduction. Men fall prey to their charms."

"I'm a homosexual that's engaged to another man, I think I can resist the charms of a woman," Sherlock lifted his left hand again.

"Oh, like Irene?" John scoffed, glaring at him.

"Irene was interesting, but I wasn't interested in her."

"Right."

"And why do you care? We started dating maybe a month after she left."

"I don't."

"Is this where I sarcastically agree, now?"

Sherlock and John stood, glaring at each other. Finally, John sighed. "Let's just drop this. We can fight when we get out of here. We just need to get out of here in the first place."

Sherlock relaxed slightly and followed John as the shorter man started to walk away.

He felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He had John, and if he were to die in this wretched maze, that was all he needed.

He was breathing hard as he continued to walk. Part of his sleeve was singed. He knew his face was probably red and his hair a mess. He didn't know what happened to his boyfriend or his brother, and he tried not to worry as he walked steadily onward. He would find them, eventually. He turned a corner and found himself trapped in a dead end.

Something growled behind him. Mycroft turned, and in a flash of orange and black, his world went dark.