No beta on this one, so sorry for any mistakes.

Mycroft Holmes was drawn from his tent by shouts from the men outside. He stepped from the well-appointed living space and looked to just a couple tents down from him where the shouting was concentrated. His hand reached for a well-worn, spell anointed sword, but a sight caused him to pause, his blue eyes widening in astonishment. A flash of bright light, swiftly followed by more of the same, appeared, slowly moving up the row of general's tents to stop in front of him. The light steadied and grew in brilliance until he had to cover his face with an arm to keep from being blinded.

Suddenly, the light disappeared, and Mycroft lowered his arm cautiously, hand on the hilt of his sword. He dropped it however as soon as he saw the girl standing before him. Or rather, she WAS standing, but soon fell to the ground in a heap, her body drained from the magic used to send her to Mycroft's side. He quickly directed some men to pick her up and have her settled on his own bed, a healer at her side to administer healing spells until she awoke.

Mycroft sat by himself, pipe in his hand as he watched the healer work through a veil of material which hid him from sight. It wasn't that Sherlock couldn't care, it was that he cared too much, and Mycroft had always known that. Now, he feared it would be his brother's undoing.

"Hello Sherlock, it's been so long."

"Not long enough Irene."

"Oh, still so touchy. Surely you haven't been holding a grudge. That isn't good for the soul, you know."

The stunningly beautiful woman in front of Sherlock smiled, showing dazzling white teeth, though the sentiment didn't reach her eyes, which remained an icy blue, untouched by mirth.

Sherlock swallowed hard, his eyes darting about for the escape he knew wasn't there.

"Now then, a little birdy told me that you've been a naughty boy. Consorting with a mere human girl, and not even a wealthy countess at that. A poor little human girl. Why is that, precious?"

Sherlock shuddered at the term of endearment and dropped his eyes to the ground, awaiting the soul-searing punishment he knew would come the moment that Irene realized Molly wasn't there anymore

"Why isn't she here with you, precious? It's rude to refuse to attend guests, is it not? Or, am I wrong, and you didn't mean to make her the Mistress of the Kingdom? The Princess, if you will? She did see your transformation, did she not?"

There was a beat of silence, broken by her angry snarling.

"ANSWER ME."

Sherlock jumped.

"Yes, she saw me. Yes, if it was safe for me to do so, I would make her my mistress, my wife, Princess of the Realm."

"If it were safe… Where is this child now?"

Sherlock stood silently, awaiting her conclusions.

"Sherlock, dear, don't tell me you've been so foolish as to try to keep her from me. You wouldn't be so foolish as to hide her from me, would me?"

Sherlock straightened, satisfied that Irene hadn't been able to sense the spell and so wouldn't be able to trace Molly's path.

"I've sent her away. Not even I know where she's gone, but the spell is designed to take her to the safest place in the known world. She's out of your reach, Witch. You'll never have her."

Irene's fury was terrifying to behold. She drew herself up, pulling her staff to her, and trembled with barely leashed power. A sudden explosion from her threw Sherlock onto his back on the floor, as shadowy demons flew from Irene's fingertips, racing through the castle, searching, testing, looking for Molly. Irene clenched her jaw, her eyes fiery as one by one they came back to her, screaming as they melded back into her skin.

"I see. Well then pet, what shall I do with you?"

"She'll be waking soon, sire."

"Yes, thank you Martha."

Mycroft smiled at Mrs. Hudson as she brought him a cup of tea. She'd arrived just after Molly had appeared and had almost constantly been by the young girl's side, alternately clucking over her like a mother hen, and silently sitting, tears streaming from her eyes as she mourned Sherlock. Mycroft's stomach tightened. There was no way he could reach his brother in time to stop Irene, and even if he could, only someone with immense magical power could end the fairy. He stood and entered the room with a sleeping Molly.

It seemed all was lost.

And then he saw her blackened palm and hope filled his heart.

"BRING ME ALL THE BOOKS WE HAVE ON OLD MAGIC!" Mycroft roared, sticking his head out of his tents to startle two young soldiers passing by. They saluted and scurried off to find said tomes.

Ten minutes later, Mycroft was slipping through pages, his tea and pipe discarded in his rush.

Three hours after that, he triumphantly help a large book aloft, just as Molly opened her eyes and took a sudden, deep breath. She sat up and he rushed to her side, still holding the book.

"Let me see your palms," he demanded, and she held them out, too numb to ask why or even cry for her lost love. "Look, look here!" he nearly shouted, pointing to a diagram in the book and Molly gaped as she read.

The blackened palm is rare, only known to have occurred on two occasions in history. The condition occurs when a non-magical being has direct contact with a magical creature at the exact moment of full power discharge from the body. The initial contact is painful, described as a burning sensation, and then the color forms across the palm. The bearer then is endowed with all the power of the creature, or in the case of a cursed being, that of the one who bestowed the curse.

"You mean that the power in his transformation flowed into me?" Molly asked, in disbelief.

"Yes, yes! Of course, you'll have to be trained to use it but you well could be the most powerful magical being in existence at this moment in time. Just as powerful as Irene. But since you can't use your power well yet, you'll need a magical item to kill her with."

"Oh look, you kept my necklace. I've been looking for this." Irene took the gaudy piece of jewelry from the clawed foot of her raven, which settled on her shoulder. She held the largest jewel in her palm and smiled into it, seeing her own face looking back at her. "Wouldn't do to lose this again," she said, placing the chain back into the foot of the raven, who flew to the bannister and perched there, cawing at Sherlock.

"Now, precious, since you have been a bad boy and sent away your little consort, I'll just have to give you her punishment, now won't I?"

"Here, this was my mother's before… well before. It's fused with magical spells, the strongest that the mages had to offer. It should, well it should serve its purpose. With your magic backing that of the spells, you just might be strong enough to overpower Irene. If things go south though…"

"I'm not leaving him again, Mycroft," Molly said, squaring her shoulders. "You send me back there and I'll kill Irene or die trying."

Mycroft stared at her curiously. "You really do love him, don't you?"

She smiled ruefully. "You're just now understanding that? I'd die for Sherlock."

"That's good because if you aren't careful, you will."

"Yeah thanks for that," she replied, following him out of the tent and into the field below the tents, along with several of the Imperial Mages. More were down in the field already, creating another circle, much like the one Sherlock had drawn for her, what felt like ages ago.

"And this will work, right?" she asked nervously.

"I don't know why Sherlock sent you to me, Molly, or even if he meant to. But whether he did or not, the fates are with us and there are no coincidences. We will send you back to him but what happens after is entirely on you. I believe in you though. There is a certain strength about you. I can finally see what my brother sees in you. I believe you can defeat her."

Molly nodded once and stepped to the center of the circle, closing her eyes as the blinding light rose around her.