John was utterly exhausted, boost of energy from Sherlock or no, he'd still worked more magic in that timespan than he ever had before. The geis pulsed around him, sorting the energies into itself and John was completely unaware. Visions of bright lines of magic being knit together and the feeling of contentment he received from Sherlock blotted out any ill feelings or nightmares he might've had.

If left undisturbed, Sherlock might have slept for a full day and night. When he finally did wake, he opened his eyes slowly and groaned, deciding he'd like to close them again. His bladder and the absolute dryness he felt in his mouth were demanding he move, but he was loathe to do so. It was dark outside now. Sighing, Sherlock closed his eyes again only to wake five minutes later, groaning and pushing himself up. Bossy transport.

Frowning in his sleep, John rolled himself over to cuddle with the back of the couch. He was going to have a stiff neck in the morning but that was of no concern at the moment. The only problem unconscious John was having right now was that his warmth had left. He pulled his legs up and huddled into a surprisingly small ball of ex-army doctor.

After relieving himself, drinking a full glass of water and bringing another glass to set on the coffee table, Sherlock rolled back onto the couch in an awkward configuration next to John, not even really conscious of doing it. He'd been drawn back to John even if he did have a comfortable bed not so very far away. The moment he was back in the range of John's warmth, he pulled the blanket over the both of them again and went right back to sleep.

When John awoke, it was in a cramped position. Upon stretching his legs, the man realized Sherlock was still draped over him and he smiled, not quite awake. Taking a deep breath of air into his lungs, John pushed himself up onto an elbow and tilted his neck, trying to work out the knotted muscles. Seeing the glass of water, John reached awkwardly for it and managed to get most of the water into his mouth despite the angle with which he was working. Thirst quenched, he slumped back onto the couch and pulled the blanket up, content in the warmth and company of Sherlock.

When Sherlock woke a second time, John had shifted positions on the sofa and so Sherlock shifted as well, plopping down with his arms around the army doctor and half of his face pressed into the man's chest. As he spoke, his voice sounded rough: "What time is it?"

Smirking at the sight of Sherlock messy curls on his chest, John sucked in a breath, "Dunno for sure, nearly dawn I would guess, looking at the light." He gestured inefficiently at the window that looked out on Baker Street. John moved to sit up and winced, frowning at the unexpected pain at his temple. It burned just in the back of his mind and John was just barely unable to ignore it. "Hmm... Sleep well?"

Humming in acknowledgement, Sherlock rolled his shoulders back and craned his neck until it cracked loudly. "I'm not certain it was sleep so much as it was unconsciousness. I feel like I've lost time rather than slept." Still, he didn't feel like moving. A bone-deep exhaustion had settled into him and he despised the feeling of drowsiness that still threatened to call him back to sleep. "I wouldn't recommend doing something like that again." He yawned. Stretched again and repositioned his head, seeing nothing wrong with just lying there on top of John in what could be interpreted as an intimate gesture. "Are you all right?" Something didn't seem right, but he couldn't quite pin down what it was.

Stilling, John placed a hand on Sherlock's head and ruffled his hair absently. "Yeah... a bit of a headache." That had been exhausting. John echoed Sherlock's yawn and shifted so that his other arm was wrapped around Sherlock's torso. "And you'd better hope we don't have to do it again! Let me know when you're feeling up for another try; I'm curious to see if all of that actually accomplished anything."

"Mmhm. The moment I feel up to moving more than these three fingers, I'll alert you." To demonstrate, Sherlock wiggled three fingers on his left hand before closing his eyes again. If John let him, he'd probably sleep again through the morning and the afternoon.

John snorted then sighed. "We do actually have work to do, remember? Various supernatural agents out for us?"

With only some difficulty, John pushed Sherlock up, slid out from underneath him and dropped the younger man unceremoniously back on the sofa.

"Mmhm," Sherlock muttered sleepily as John moved out from under him. He flopped back down onto the warm spot John had left behind and seemed rather intent to stay exactly as he had been.

When John returned from the loo, Sherlock had not moved.

Sherlock slept again until he felt a hand on his neck and cool liquid being pressed against his lips. "Mmph." He woke up long enough to drink the water presented to him and then rolled away from John in protest. Transport did not want to wake up. It was like it was trying to satisfy the years long sleep debt Sherlock had accumulated.

John was honestly beginning to get a bit worried. This wasn't like Sherlock at all. What if in undoing the knot, he'd undone something of his friend as well? Would there be any way to put it back? Shaking his head, John went into the kitchen and started toast. While he waited, he picked up some of the larger debris from Sherlock's failed spell casting and tossed it, clearing off a clean space on which to prepare breakfast for the two of them. If only this damned headache would go away. He'd taken some paracetamol from the bathroom cabinet so he hoped it was only a matter of time.

Sherlock slept and slept, very much not wanting to wake up even with the smell of food and what he knew would be an impending threat of having that food shoved down his throat if he didn't wake up long enough to at least eat it. Ignored, one of the sofa cushions clutched more tightly. Sleeping. Sleeping, sleeping... until he felt something touch his face that was not John. The hand was too soft, fingernails too well manicured. The fingers were too thick, too masculine to be Mrs. Hudson. Grunting, Sherlock slowly rolled onto his back and opened his eyes to see who was bothering him now.

Coal black eyes were looking down at him from the smiling face of Jim Moriarty. "Are you just going to lie there all day, sleepy-head? Don't you have something rather important to do? Hm?"

"How did you... how did you get in here?!" Sherlock jolted back.

"That's just it, my dear." Jim leaned down close, nose-to-nose with Sherlock. "I'm not here at all."

Sherlock woke up and bolted upright with a gasp, eyes wide and cold sweat at the back of his neck and forehead.

In the kitchen, John felt a spasm of fear and an image of Moriarty flashed unbidden to his mind. Stumbling into the sitting room he saw Sherlock wake with a start. John rushed to him. What the hell had that been?

"Sherlock, you okay?"

Sherlock was searching the room with his eyes, looking over every shadow and surface to make certain that there was no trace of the consulting criminal. Carefully controlling his breathing to appear more composed than he felt, he sat up a bit more and rubbed his head. "Yes. Fine."

"It was Moriarty, wasn't it?" John stated more than asked. "Jesus..." Grimacing, he rubbed his temples and sat down next to Sherlock on the sofa. "He's not here, Sherlock, I promise."

Immediately, Sherlock became more guarded. How did John know that...? Oh. Their connection hadn't severed, then. Sighing, he bent forward with his head in his hands. No use hiding it if John would just feel it anyway. He didn't have the energy to put it all behind a wall. "So we appear to be linked, then... I suppose there's no way to know if it's temporary or permanent. Is this migraine coming from you or is it mine?"

"What?" ...Oh, that made sense. John hadn't even thought about how he knew Sherlock was in distress. "You don't have to be so pleased about it," John frowned. "Headache's mine, I'm afraid. Don't know what brought it on. I made toast. We're almost out of jam." Blowing out a breath, John pushed himself back up and headed into the kitchen.

Sherlock swallowed dryly and tried to block it out. Knowing that it was John's headache helped him distance himself from it a bit. Using what energy he did have, he worked on slowly erecting a mental wall. "In my dream, he was telling me to wake up."

John winced as he felt Sherlock building a wall to keep him out. He tried to ignore the part of him that hurt because of it. "Maybe just your subconscious agreeing with me?" He joked lightly.

A corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched in skepticism. He wasn't so certain that it had been his subconscious.

Returning a few minutes later, John handed the detective a plate of toast and jam and started in on his own. "You're still tired. Need a boost?" John waggled sticky fingers at his friend.

"I have never felt so exhausted in my life." It felt like something had just leeched all his energy away. Well...that was fairly accurate, he supposed. A boost would have been welcome, but he wasn't altogether certain that it would be productive.

"Sorry," John apologized out loud. He left the sofa and returned a moment later with clean and drying hands. Making a gesture, he asked again if Sherlock wanted some energy or not. "You don't think Moriarty was actually here, do you?"

"No, he wasn't." He'd said so himself in the dream hadn't he? Did he want energy from John? Would John have the energy to spare? "I'm going to eat that toast and return to unconsciousness unless you do give a bit of a boost, as you put it."

Relieved, John chuckled, then spoke the focus spell and pressed his hand against Sherlock's chest. Drawing some power from the geis around him, John pushed forward and sent the energy into Sherlock. Sighing heavily, John slumped back into the couch for a moment. It was a lot easier when it wasn't his own energy. He gave Sherlock a sidelong glance. "You still have to eat the toast, alright?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly. That felt much better. Though he still felt fatigue, he didn't feel like he would fall asleep halfway through eating a piece of toast now. "Mm. If I must." He didn't much feel like eating the toast but he knew it would help him to recover. As such, he took the toast and started to devour it in a way one would not eat toast in polite company.

"Thank you." John relaxed and put his hands to his temples, rubbing in slow circles. The paracetamol should've kicked in by now. He frowned. He wasn't one for headaches much less migraines. Maybe he could try a spell...

"It could be due to the amount of energy you absorbed from me," he suggested, sitting back and stretching his arms forward to pop a few more vertebrae. Apparently, he was getting impressions of what John was thinking too.

John nodded absently. "I didn't though...absorb the energy. I sent it to the geis. That's where your boost came from too. I just siphoned off some of the excess..." John rubbed at his own shoulders awkwardly, trying to find a spot of tension to loosen.

"I wonder if that was healthy for either of us." He doubted it. They'd upset the natural order of things that had been put into place before either of them had discovered magic. "...well. We have suspects to catch. Fetch me the book and clear a spot off in the kitchen so we can continue research."

Sensing Sherlock's doubt, John grimaced. He'd been thinking along similar lines. At least now Sherlock would be able to work magic without blowing up the flat...he hoped. "Right." John stood and grabbed the tome from his side table and handed it to Sherlock, then went into the kitchen. After clearing some space on the table and just before he was about to call in Sherlock, John felt a sudden relief wash over him. His headache vanished and he let out a surprised noise. Then his brows furrowed, What the hell?

Sherlock had felt it too and had a bit of a hunch... "John...put some tea on."

"What? Oh..." John bustled about for a moment and as he set the kettle on the burner, he felt another surge of pleasantness. A small grin plastered itself on his face, then faded, "Sherlock...are you doing that?"

"Put an extra sugar in my tea." Sherlock smirked, glad to have figured it out. "Come to think of it, I could have just ordered you to not have a headache, hm?"

John nodded as Sherlock entered the kitchen, plopping a third cube into the waiting cup and feeling the tension leave his shoulders. "This is because of the power I funneled into the geis, isn't it?" /Shit/. He should've left it alone. He'd messed with Sherlock and now it was coming back to bite him.

"Probably not the best idea." Sherlock gave a wry grin. "Get the ingredients we obtained from the magic shop and put them in the kitchen."

Exiting the room to find the bags of items, John called over his shoulder, "You know, you could do something too." Internally though, he was worried about the repercussions of undoing the knot inside of Sherlock. Also this mental bonding thing was bizarre. And now he was getting headaches? Damn damn damn... John reentered the room and felt his lips form a smile. It was hard to be worried when the damned geis kept reassuring him.

"Why would I want to do that when following my orders is relieving the pressure the geis is putting on you from all that excess energy you put into it?" Sherlock sipped his tea, hoping for a caffeine and sugar rush to at least get him through until bedtime. This must be what a normal sleep and food deprived person felt like.

John had to admit that he didn't have an answer for that. Heaving a sigh more for looks than actual frustration, John set down the items on the table and sat across from Sherlock. "Alright. So what's the plan? We leaning towards Moriarty somehow getting all these violent entities together...for what?"

"To get our attention." He started separating the ingredients as needed by different spells, opening the book to a certain page and downing the rest of his tea like a shot. "And to play with us."

"Brilliant. So we need to figure out who he manipulated into killing the witch...warlock? Wizard?...The victim, anyhow and what he hoped to gain by pissing off a powerful coven by doing so." Right. So as straightforward as always. John grabbed his notebook and started writing. He wrote the meaning of the symbols from the murder site, and the vampires and the Darkness, he wrote about the coven and he and Sherlock's connection to them all. Then he stared at the words for a bit and sighed, a hand to his forehead.

Something like search results from an online search engine populated in Sherlock's brain, each result branching out further and further to explore each option. Definitions. Geographical locations. Spellwork. Evidence from the crime scene. His eyes were ticking back and forth rapidly to take it all in, examining possibilities...

Leaning back in his chair, John went over everything he knew and suspected about Moriarty. Consulting Criminal. Dangerously intelligent and definitely insane. Flicking his eyes over to Sherlock, John realized not for the first time that Moriarty was what Sherlock might have been. The thought made him shiver. Okay, focus. Moriarty liked games. This one wasn't complete. John stopped. They didn't have all the pieces. Soon enough, Moriarty would come forward with something to dangle in front of them. Something important that either he or Sherlock needed safe or secret and Jim would threaten it; threaten to destroy it. Why? The answer came unbidden, because he could. John rubbed at his eyes. Wonderful.

"Thinking about his motives is useless, John. He's unpredictable. We know why. We need to know /how/ and concerning /whom/." John's thoughts were distracting him. Before he could do much of anything else, he needed to work on erecting his mental barrier or at least a filter. Closing his eyes and breathing calmly, he started to weave mental fabric together to start building.

John winced again as Sherlock began blocking him off. Pushing back his chair, he stood and grabbed his notebook. "I'll be upstairs." It was hard enough when Sherlock mocked his verbal comments, having the man scoff at his thoughts was an entirely new level of annoyance. And that damned wall he insisted on building. The mental equivalent of a slap in the face.

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to block out John's annoyance and all other outside emotions and thoughts. It was getting too loud in his own head for him to think. Once John was gone from the room, Sherlock looked over the book and wondered if he should try the scrying spell he saw there...that would at least give him a chance at getting a lead on their murderers...

Lying himself out on his bed, John realized he hadn't slept there in days. It was comfortable. He pulled a hand down his face and did his best to construct his own mental wall. Setting imaginary brick on top of imaginary brick, John smoothed out the mortar and forced the whole thing into place with a few lines of power. Sighing, John opened his eyes. His headache was already hovering in the back of his mind and with Sherlock's mental presence lessened...it was a bit lonely. While certain he should really be thinking about the case, John relaxed back. Sherlock was the clever one anyway. John placed his hands behind his head and shifted a bit. A thought occurred and, brows furrowed, John muttered under his breath, hoping Sherlock would be unawares. Then, smiling contentedly, John had his newly appeared illusionary Sherlock move to lay on the bed beside him. With that, John found himself drifting to sleep once more.

"You really shouldn't do that," Jim said to Sherlock, sitting opposite him at the kitchen table. Sherlock's head jerked up to stare...how had he gotten in?

"Stupid. I didn't get into your flat...if that's what you're thinking." The man grinned and made himself comfortable. "Nope. I got in right...here." He poked Sherlock between the eyes. "But anyway, you /really/ shouldn't do that. You really don't have the strength to pull that off and even if you did...cheating!"

"If using magic is cheating, then you have been cheating throughout this whole new game."

"Oh? How do you figure?" Grinning, Jim leaned forward with his chin balanced on his clasped hands, elbows on the table. "I didn't use magic at all."

"But you used magic users."

"Aaand? That's called using your resources, Sherlock. If that's cheating, then using your dear brother as information is cheating as well."

"...and so what if I do cheat?"

In John's mind, Sherlock was there the way he had been inside himself. Glowing and brilliant and uncertain. John took his hand and flinched at the sudden darkness around them. Moriarty was there. Laughing. He was hurting Sherlock, hurting John. John pulled his gun and tried to find the criminal. But it was all shadows now, shadows and blood and Sherlock lying in the alleyway and gunshots and roadside bombs and flashes of incendiary missiles. And he couldn't find /Sherlock/. Then...there. Sherlock and Jim, a stand-off on a roof. He couldn't hear them. Sherlock turned a sad but determined gaze on him. John couldn't struggle out of this nightmare. He tossed and turned on the bed, flinging himself through his illusionary companion.

Jim pulled a grimace, sighing. "No. No...that's not fun. That's not clever. That's just a cop out."

"So then...what if I got someone else to scry? That would still be playing by the rules you've set forth."

John pulled at the sheets as he sweated through his dream. Sherlock had vanished again and John was alone with Moriarty. Then red dots of light appeared all over his body, then Moriarty's then Moriarty was Sherlock and John threw himself at the figure. "Sherlock, get down."

"It's still the same thing! Can't you just be patient? Just a little bit of patience, Sherlock. I'm not finished. Far from it." He grinned again, all teeth and no pleasantness. "Let it play out, hm? If you try to cast right now, Johnny-boy is going to be upset." Jim got up to move around the table to Sherlock, putting a hand on his chest. "I certainly can't zap you a nice little jolt if you expend so much energy that your little cold heart stops. You do realize after a certain point, you're expending lifeforce instead of magical energies, don't you?" He saw Sherlock's eyes widen a tad. "You see? Not a good idea. Scrying is a liiiiittle too powerful for you right now."

"You expect me to wait until there's another murder, then." Sherlock looked down, much more than uncomfortable with Jim's hand on his chest.

Pulling up Sherlock, John was horrified to see Jim staring at him with wide dark eyes. "I'm going to make you kill him, John Watson." He stumbled back and raised his gun and there was no gun. And Moriarty had Sherlock, was whispering into his ear. And Sherlock was..was crying and saying, "I'm sorry John...Feel pain. Hurt like you've never hurt before." Then everything exploded into white and John cried out, "Sherlock! Please! Jesus...!" and wrenched himself from the nightmare.

"Scry if you want to, Sherlock. Really, I don't think you can." Jim's hand went through Sherlock. The detective felt the strangest sensation and gasped when he felt Jim wrap a phantom hand around his heart. And then there was pain. Blinding pain that was so excruciating that it took his breath. The pain wasn't coming from himself.

"J...John..."

"Oh, he's just having a nightmare, don't worry about him." Giving Sherlock's heart a phantom squeeze that left him with a burning sensation inside of his chest, Jim took his hand away and started to disappear. "Good luck with your spellwork, honey. Don't kill yourself before I have the chance to."

Jolting upright, John backed up against his headboard, gasping in breaths and sobbing. His cheeks were wet with tears and sweat and he wrapped his arms tight around himself to make sure every limb was still intact. His shoulder burned as it had when he had first been shot and his leg was stiff and cramped.

As soon as Jim had disappeared, Sherlock was on his feet and running up the stairs. He didn't knock or announce himself, just burst into John's room and took in his shattered appearance. "J...John are you..." ...of course he wasn't all right. Sherlock could feel the waves of fear and pain rolling off from him. "John... would you like me to...order you to calm down?" He hovered, but he didn't know what to do.

John had tensed when Sherlock flung open the door, and he looked at the man with wide eyes. "No! No, don't!" John would later regret the desperation in his voice but at the moment, he couldn't stand to be ordered to do anything. "No, please. Just...just leave." He lowered his eyes, not wanting to see the hurt in Sherlock's. "I'll...I'll be fine in a minute."

"Allow me to validate your current mental state: I felt it too even through the mental barrier I erected. Your response to it does not make you weak. As you wish, I'll leave but... shout if you need me." That sounded a bit too sentimental for his liking. He winced. What was he going to do? Nothing useful. Backing out of the room, Sherlock headed back downstairs.

Once the door had shut behind Sherlock, John let out a few shuddering breaths. He ran his hands through his hair and held his head down between his knees as his heart steadied. Though he knew he didn't need Sherlock's 'validation' John had to admit it helped a bit. And what Sherlock felt had been filtered through not only his barrier but John's as well. It was a few minutes before John took note of Sherlock's appearance as he had run in. The younger man had been paler than usual, eyes a bit more manic. Something had happened to him as well. John pushed himself off the bed and limped to his closet. Grabbing his cane, he brushed off some of the dust and made his way slowly and painfully down the stairs.

Waving a dismissive hand at Sherlock, who was now sitting, knees up, on the sofa, John stepped heavily to the bathroom and readied himself for a much needed shower.

While John couldn't see him, Sherlock put his head down on his knees and just breathed, trying to clear his head of the debris. The white noise of the shower running was helping some, though he still rubbed at his chest where it still felt like it was burning from within. Ignored. The magnitude of John's pain in his nightmare earlier, however...he couldn't ignore that.

John stood in the shower without moving, allowing the steam to calm him and the heat to relax his leg. Moriarty's words still flashed through his mind. "I'm going to make you kill him." John shivered despite the warmth. He had to go. It was too dangerous. If Moriarty got control of the geis somehow...John didn't allow himself to admit that a part of him was afraid of experiencing the pain again. Perhaps it would be worse in waking life, though he couldn't imagine anything worse. It was going to be better for both of them if John left. Maybe not forever, but he had to, didn't he? John rubbed his face as the water began to cool. Washing himself quickly, the blond stepped out of the shower and made his decision while drying off. He couldn't tell Sherlock. Not when the man could just order him to stay. And he couldn't allow Sherlock to figure it out. John pushed mentally at his wall and was reassured at its strength. Wrapping his towel around his waist, John took a breath and stepped more surely to the sitting room where Sherlock was waiting.

John was blocking himself from Sherlock and that was probably for the best. Having relaxed after feeling John's stronger barrier not letting anything through, he sighed in relief, laid out on the sofa and stared blearily up at the ceiling. At least he'd followed Jim's advice and not tried to cast while he still wasn't back to full strength. Tired again, he broke his staring contest with the ceiling to watch John as he came out of the bathroom.

Plopping himself in his chair, John looked at Sherlock curiously, "So what happened to you while I was having my...episode?"

"He came to me. He basically said the worst is yet to come... and then he put his hand inside my chest." Sherlock internally shuddered when he thought about it.

"Jesus..." John looked to the ceiling, water still dripping down the back of his neck. "How...how much of my nightmare did you get?" His fingers nervously tapped the arm of his chair.

"Enough," Sherlock replied, making eye contact with John. He'd felt his pain and fear. "I didn't get specifics, but the sensations were passed on to me."

John relaxed a little. No specifics. That was good. It was bad enough Sherlock had had to feel the pain without knowing that it was him who had caused it. John let out a breath and tested his wall again. Still holding.

Even with the wall up, Sherlock could read his body language. He decided to say nothing and instead looked across the room like he was going into thought.

John now had to decide how to sneak away. It caused a pain in his chest just thinking about it. Would Sherlock be alright? Would he be alright? John gave his head a mental shake. Sherlock would be fine. Sherlock was always fine. Mycroft, the bastard, would look out for him. Putting a couple fingers to his temple, John rubbed at the annoyance while he planned.

Damn it. Sherlock rubbed at his chest again, a pain as well as a burning sensation bothering him now. He hadn't even thought about it being linked to John considering he hadn't felt anything else from him yet this morning. Not used to this whole thing.

"Alright, so what are you-we.." Damnit. "What are we going to do then?"

"I was told that scrying was cheating and would make it less fun. Then again, he's been cheating this whole time and I don't want to wait to see what he has up his sleeve next."

John was surprised, "You think you're up for that? Maybe we should try...you know, something smaller first."

"Yes, because creating balls of light will definitely give me insight and help us to find and stop him."

Frowning, John pointed a finger at his friend, "Cut the sarcasm, alright? We don't even know if you can work a ball of light without blowing us up, much less trying to scry." John thought back to the little he'd read about scrying. It wasn't much information, but he was sure it was a helluva lot more difficult that a glowing orb. "Do you want to pass out again?"

"Then what would you suggest? Sitting around and doing nothing? Waiting for him to strike again or send more demons after us or what have you?" Sherlock sighed out and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

"I don't know, Sherlock!"

The two men were quiet for a moment before the detective spoke again. "I could, in theory...use you as a battery for the scrying. Supposing I can perform it, that is."

John glanced at his friend, "Wait, would that work? Why not just let me do the scrying? What exactly would you be scrying for?"

"Because I have the superior observational skills and I will know what to look for." Sherlock glowered at the far wall. Why was it that he was the inept one in this situation? "I would be scrying for information. A lead. Anything to begin us in the right direction."

John thought for a moment then nodded once. "Fine. But only if you try something easy first. Okay?" he rubbed his temples, trying to get rid of his ever growing headache.

Something easy? Simple. Sherlock concentrated on the burning feeling inside of himself and tried to move it outwards towards his hand. A flash of pain hit him and his heart lurched in his chest in way of warning. Like Moriarty was chastising him for trying. He managed only a flinch.

Very well... he'd have to create his own flame. Blowing air across his fingers, he snapped them and like flint and steel, it created a spark. Then an ember...finally, a small flame at the tip of his index finger. "There. I've done something simple."

John restrained himself as the pain flashed over Sherlock's face for a fraction of a second. Then a grin split his face. "Brilliant. ...Alright." John squared his shoulders, "What do you need me to do?"

"What I need you to do is fix up a way to feed energy into me like a battery since I don't have much of my own at the moment. We need to revisit the crime scene so that I can pick up on the residual psychic imprints our murderers left. That way, I can see the crime scene before it happened and be able to have a visual of one of them. Maybe get a name. A location. Anything useful that I can from the crime scene."

"Okay. Probably best if we get to the scene first." John stood. He could do this for Sherlock. A last favor before he left. "I'll call a cab.

"Very good. I'll get decent." Springing off from the couch, Sherlock headed to his bedroom to put on some good day clothes. He was still none the wiser to John's plan to leave.

At Sherlock's words, John realized he was still sitting in his towel and he headed up to his room to do the same. Pulling on a warm jumper, John called a cab and met Sherlock in the entryway. "Ready?"

Sherlock adjusted his scarf and pulled his coat collar up. He put forth a good front, anyway. "Always."

Nodding, John opened the door to the flat and entered the cab. He budged over as Sherlock slide in beside him. John spent the trip trying to sort out the best way of arranging the strings to allow Sherlock to do what he hoped.

Sherlock, for his part, was mustering the remaining energy he had and concentrating it into one solid source that he could connect to if need be. Something to start his focus. A well for John to pour energy into as he needed it. As an afterthought, Sherlock thought to encrypt this well so that only John could access it...just in case.

Once they had arrived, John stood in the light rain and closed his eyes, feeling for the energy around him. Moving his hands as though operating a marionette, John drew the lines together forcing a one way connection from the geis to Sherlock glowing power. Checking his work carefully, John added in a backup line to his own power in case Sherlock somehow managed to drain out the excess. "Alright. It's ready." He stepped back, not quite breaking his focus. Prepared to run damage control.

Sherlock walked out a ways into the burnt grass, feeling around for any impressions and focusing until his eyes started to glow white. There was a pull on the line John had going into him, his own energy burned up quickly. Several impressions, of course, were present. Met Police officers that he could see walking around as phantoms. Himself and John examining the scene. He took it back further, looking for the strongest psychic residue.

"Sher~lock. I told you not to do~ this~," sing-songed a voice in his head.

Ignored. He refocused and started to see the victim and one unfamiliar man. He heard laughter. A scream. He tried to focus on the face of the man performing the ritual.

"You're not...LISTENING"

Sherlock felt a mental shove and stumbled but kept trying to keep his focus.

"CHEATER!" Moriarty roared in his mind. The burn he'd experienced in his chest intensified...he tried to ignore it. Distanced himself from it. Just a little more... he was shoved again, the psychic impression of the victim flooding all of his senses.

Pain exploded in his chest and his head and the scrying was abruptly interrupted, Sherlock yanked out of it. Crashing to his knees, Sherlock gasped and pressed both hands over his burning heart.

"There. See what you made me do? Stop cheating."

John had been wrangling the power through Sherlock until suddenly, he wasn't. John felt a burning in his chest and he fell to his knees. "Sherlock, wh-what are you doing?"

"J...John," Sherlock managed to speak through grit teeth. "Sever the connection..."

At the detective's word, John retracted the lines and sent the power spinning back into the geis. He stumbled toward his friend. "Sherlock...Are you okay? What happened?"

Sherlock was still doubled over on the ground, breathing in quick, hissing bursts. Oh, it hurt. "W...wasn't...me. Was...him."

"Here, here, relax..." John reached inside himself and found the healing spell he had earlier prepared. Spreading his hands he let the cooling magic seep into Sherlock's pained form.

"Ah! God..." Gritting his teeth, Sherlock hissed out in French: "Fils de pute, ça me fait mal! Merde! Mince!"

When the cooling magic quelled the fire burning in his chest, he sagged and took a few deep, cleansing breaths. "Pardon my French."

John paused a moment then let out a loud laugh. "Are you okay, then? How did Moriarty do it? Was it worth it? Did you figure anything out?"

"I'm..." Sherlock felt across his chest and inhaled, relieved. "...Actually, I think I'm fine." He stood up slowly just in case and sighed, brushing off his coat and trousers. "I'm...not certain how he did it. Yet. He shoved me into the mind of the victim, however...I saw our killer's face." Somewhat useful... "Now I'll need to find him."

"You saw the killer?" John hovered around his friend in case the man collapsed. "Could you describe him? We can get Lestrade involved, sketch artist..." Moriarty was a whole 'nother thing though. John knew he had to leave, but would that keep Sherlock safe?

Sherlock gave John a distinct look. "Oh, yes, let's go ahead and alert Lestrade that I saw the man's face through a psychic vision."

Rolling his eyes, John said, "Well we could leave that bit out. Just say you got it from the shoe print or something, it's not like they understand how your mind works anyway." John shoved his hands in his pocket and bounced on his heels for a moment. "What's your brilliant plan then?"

"Really? Tell them I got his facial features from the impression of his shoe? Certainly, if you'd like them to section me." Sherlock swallowed uncomfortably and rubbed his chest one last time before starting to walk from the scene. "My plan...we'll need to come up with something convincing if we are to employ the aid of Scotland Yard."

"Damnit Sherlock, you know what I meant. Tell them that you came back to check out the crime scene and saw a man who matched the profile you gave them. And if they haven't sectioned you yet, it's not likely they ever will." John smirked to himself, then sighed and pressed his heel of his hand to his temple and pressed.

Nodding, he continued to walk. A bit addled. Intermittent tunnel vision that was clearing up the further away from the scene he traveled. Otherwise, he was surprisingly fine for the second spell he'd cast. "Then you'll be my witness?"

"Of course." John stepped lightly beside the detective. "I'll say you rushed after him and I didn't get a chance to see his face before he was gone." John shrugged, "Sound good?" Rubbing at his eyes, John paused a moment before starting hesitantly, "Sherlock...do you think you could-uh, help me out here?" He made a vague movement to his temple and glanced sideways at the man.

"Hm?" Sherlock turned towards John. Ah... the link between them must have either run its course or the mental barrier was doing its job. He couldn't feel John's headache. "Oh. I wonder if this will work... John, stop having a headache."

The pain vanished as if it had never been and John let out a relieved smile. "Good to know you can take it away too." John paled slightly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, he was going to do his best to insure that Sherlock never knew about that part of his nightmare. He shivered in remembrance of the pain and tried to refocus

"Excellent. We'll be going to Scotland Yard directly..." Sherlock paused mid-stride, frowning. If Scotland Yard caught the murderer, he wouldn't be able to fulfill his favor to the coven. The man would be tried and locked away. "What do you know about magical debts, John?"

"...Debts? Um...I'm going to go with nothing at all. Why? What are you thinking?"

Sherlock had mostly ignored John's earlier comment. Distracted. Not thinking of it as important at the moment.

"Because, John, if we go to Scotland Yard with this...they will find the man, try him and most probably take him to prison. That would go against my debt to the coven."

"Ah. That would be not good." John frowned. "But do you really think we can take on this guy and his murder posse? Couldn't we talk to Lestrade about all this? I would think he owes you by now."

"Murder posse?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the term John had coined. "Perhaps we can. Perhaps not. Speaking to Lestrade about magic and owing a favor to a coven? He would believe I was certifiable. If we demonstrated, I'm afraid we might break him."

"You don't give him enough credit." But John left it at that. He ducked his chin against a sudden cold wind. "All right, so, can't go to Lestrade, shouldn't take them on alone. Who are our allies in this?" Mycroft, thought John, then snickered to himself. Right.

Sherlock turned his collar up against the cold, a sense of foreboding touching him. "We may have no other choice but to go it alone." If they were to go to Mycroft as an ally, there would be no end to the insults. Going to Lestrade armed with magic would discredit him from every case he'd ever worked on.

"That is entirely idiotic." John frowned and shivered, looking around.

"Not entirely. Unadvisable, yes, but I'm not certain what happens when one breaks a magical contract. Should we seek outside help, we run the risk of being impeded, if not stopped."

"Sherlock. Something's...off." He grabbed the man's arm and stopped him, continuing to scope the area. A deep chill touched him and his breath puffed out in a cloud.

When John stopped him, Sherlock squared his shoulders and tried to expand his senses. "So it would seem," he murmured, suppressing shivers.

John flicked his eyes around them and was worried to find not one other soul. He tensed and felt his heart rate increase, then shouted in surprise as a young boy seemed to materialize in front of the pair. Standing partially in front of Sherlock, John narrowed his eyes at the figure.

The boy seemed to glow faintly and was not dressed for the chill that had settled on the park. A touch of fear ran down John's back; the child had pure white eyes. The boy quirked a worrying smile at them.

"Hello, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes." There was power in the way he spoke their names.

Sherlock felt his mouth go dry and swallowed reflexively. For the sake of defending his pride and satisfying his visual curiosity, Sherlock stepped around to John's side. He displayed no fear. "Afternoon. You know our names, but I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

The boy tilted his head. "No. We have not. You may call me Robin." He smiled as if amused by something.

John unconsciously put a hand across Sherlock's torso. Whatever this thing was, it was radiating power and the odds were good that it wasn't on their side.

"Very good, Robin." Sherlock glanced down briefly at John's arm and then back up at 'Robin'. "And what would you have of us? I'm afraid we can't stop to play with you. Terribly busy." Oh, yes. Sherlock was able to feel the stifling amount of power rolling off from this being. Even still, he refused to be cowed.

Robin grinned. "I'm afraid you have to play with me. A mutual acquaintance of ours insisted." The boy left off a flash of light and his grin widened.

"Is that so?" Sherlock tensed at the flash of light and put more weight on one leg like he was trying to keep his balance. Extending his senses had been a poor choice. "I'm afraid we'll have to set a play date for another day."

"Sherlock. We need to get out of here now." The geis was in John's mind, screaming at him to get Sherlock and run the opposite direction of this thing.

Of course they needed to get out of there! Whether or not the boy would let them go was a different story. They'd never know if they didn't try. "Good day." Turning, Sherlock started to walk in the opposite direction, trying to tug John along with him.

John hurried to follow but was brought up short when Robin flashed in front of them in a blast of cold air. He was frowning now. Brilliant.

Robin turned his white eyes to the men and seemed to grow larger than his small frame. "I said: We're. Playing." He reached out his hands and Sherlock and John were pulled toward him. Then the not-boy smiled an icy smile. "I brought friends." From around them, small blots of light took shape and small winged creatures surrounded the duo.

Sherlock feigned tripping and falling onto the ground, both hands hitting it, palms flat. "John, stand close to me!" Eyes ticking back and forth, visualizing, replicating, chanting... he had no idea if this would work at all or if he had the necessary energy to cast it, but they didn't have the luxury of 'playing' with Robin and his winged friends. Not when he didn't know what they were or what they were capable of.

Sherlock blew out a breath and channeled his remaining energies and focus into creating a circle around the two of them, lips moving as the old script appeared in his mind, his eyes glowing a cool blue. Once the circle of light appeared around them and Sherlock knew it had worked, he let out a mirthless laugh. "Could use...some help, John..." A circle of protection.

"Sherlock?" John had crouched to help the man, then felt Sherlock drawing power together and cursed under his breath. The circle lit around them and he put a hand on the younger man's shoulder and funneled energy into him. "Damnit, could you warn me next time?"

Robin scowled and flicked a hand, leading several dozen of the winged things to fling themselves at Sherlock's barrier. They let out high pitched squeals of frustration as they bounced off but redoubled their efforts.

Ideas. Sherlock needed to come up with ideas. Of course they were safe this instant, but he couldn't say for how long he would be able to keep this up, even with John feeding him. "Sorry, there...wasn't much time to warn you." A strained smirk. He flinched every time something hit the barrier. "We'll need to... go on the offensive. I can't... maintain this for long. I have an idea, but...it's going to take a lot of power. I could overpower the magic holding this barrier together. Much as with my other attempts at magic... ah..." Sherlock gasped, sweat trailing down the sides of his face even in the cold. "...it would explode."

"I'm really not sure that's the best plan, Sherlock!" John exclaimed, eyes darting from impact to impact. "Are you sure you even have the energy for that?"

Robin's eyes widened and his scowl turned to a scream, white light battered at Sherlock's barrier and frost began forming on it, a bizarrely beautiful latticework in midair.

Did he have the energy for that? No. If he'd underestimated his opponent then this would not work. In that scenario, his attempt would leave John without a barrier and himself unconscious or worse. He gasped again when the barrage began anew, feeling a bone-deep chill hit him. It would have to be now or else he would collapse from the strain before he could even make the attempt. Other courses of action? ...None that he could see. Reshaping the magic was too difficult at this stage and would leave them open to attack. By his estimate, they'd be frozen.

John felt the geis draining slowly and worried that they may not have any other option. He gritted his teeth, "Fine. Tell me when."

When John acquiesced, Sherlock smirked and readied himself, focusing his mind... Looking up at Robin through the frost to acquire his target, Sherlock took a deep breath and refocused all of his energy to the barrier, calculating the trajectory...

"Now!"

John reformed the line they had used for the scrying spell and winced as he felt Sherlock pulling the energy from the geis. If they survived this, at least the headaches should be gone... Then John paled. The geis snapped offline. They'd used all the excess and then some. The geis had given all it was going to. Shit. Working quickly, John connected his own power directly. At least Sherlock would be alright. John's chest burned as his skin froze and Sherlock kept digging the power out of him. At some point, John fell to his knees beside the man. Though the spell had taken only seconds to work, it seemed to John as if many minutes had passed between the time Sherlock had started and when John tried to fight off unconsciousness as the world around him exploded.

Something changed. The power John was feeding into him stuttered and then... John reconnected to him. The energy was...drawing from John! Oh, no. No, no...! There was no stopping it now. No way to shut it down once it was in motion. "You idiot!"

Rather than wasting time or precious breath on delivering a command that could not be followed, Sherlock bore down and fed what he could back into John. Now that he'd figured it out, the link did work both ways. They'd overestimated what the geis had left. At this rate, they were both going to be rendered unconscious or...

An explosion of white light. Sound and sight did not exist. For one frightening moment, Sherlock was certain he had gone deaf and blind. Breathing seemed impossible. With his hands on the ground, fingers digging into the earth, he tried to tap into something, anything to draw energy from to both remain conscious and keep John with him. He didn't even know if they'd defeated their enemy, but he needed to know that John would be all right.

John had felt Sherlock loop some energy back into him but he was too exhausted to fight it. "Sh'lock, don't..." He was glad his eyes had been closed when the spell finally went off. In the explosion of silence, John could swear he heard someone laughing. Then John was gone, fading into black with a shimmer of green energy trailing after him.

Elsewhere in London, Mycroft's desk phone rang shrilly. After demanding that the man stop shouting and start making sense, he slammed the phone down and rushed out. Mycroft stepped quickly into the car waiting for him and they sped off.

Sherlock could only be certain that he was alive because he tasted blood in his mouth. He'd bitten his tongue. Shapes and sounds were fading in and out to white nothingness and silence. He'd managed to spirit a bit of energy from...something... (the earth itself, perhaps?), but divided between himself and John, it wasn't enough. He was only barely conscious and slumped over John.

Somehow, he was certain they hadn't won.