Chapter 1: Greedy For The Worst Outcome

Greed, one of the parents of all other sins, is
essential and applauded amongst villainous acts.
Selfish, excessive and often times destructive to
the object of desire, and advantageous as a
motivation for the insatiable owner.

He was startled awake, ruthlessly brought back from the fantastical world of horrors to the land of the living. He bolted upright, his breath coming in short gasps as he struggled to get his body under control. He took a short moment to get his heart to stop pounding on his ears and shook away the last horrifying images clinging to his mind.

To say that this was quickly growing old would be an understatement. Sherlock would probably hate the irrationality of it all, but for him the mystery behind the visions was nothing compared to the real experience. That choking terror that robbed away any desire or ability to function past it, and the way the sensation would always linger on his skin despite being awake. It was getting to a point where he dreaded going to bed at a 'normal' time and instead waited long after Sherlock was already dead to the world, just so he wouldn't have to think about it as he was falling asleep.

He sat up as he ran a hand over his features to scratch the sleep from his face. His blue eyes took a minute to adjust to the glaring light of the morning streaming through the delicate curtains of the open window doors to the balcony while he got out of bed and shuffled towards the fresh air.

Sherlock was standing a few feet away from him facing forwards, wearing a royal blue dressing gown over his usual dark clothes, outlined perfectly by the pale morning sky as his hands rested lightly on the stone railing of the balcony over the royal gardens. John had sometimes caught him like this, silently searching the sea before him as if it would deliver him any sort of answers. He had an idea on why the rebel chose —or needed— to do this, but was hesitant to believe all this doubt was doing him any good. The mystery that plagued him was probably too big to be known.

"If you keep standing there you're gonna start growing roots." He commented, a smile present as he leaned on the intricate golden carving of the door frame. Sherlock did not stir, but the blond was still certain he had heard him. "Not to mention my parents will finally start to wonder how you're here so late and so early almost every day." This resulted on an amused scoff from the other, the first real proof that he hadn't suddenly been turned into a statue. John chose not to wonder whether the dismissal was because he thought his parents were not insightful enough to suspect or because he simply didn't care if they did. Although the blond was putting his money on the latter.

He took casual steps and came to stand next to his boyfriend, watching as the kaleidoscope eyes took in the scenery in front of them. "Slept well?" Sherlock asked. The uncertain tone evident for the royal even if he tried to hide it. The rebel let the question hang between them for a moment, then turned, tearing his gaze away from the ocean and fixed it on him, deducing the answer right off his face. They both knew what was happening, even if they did not know the cause, yet the royal despised talking about it, and the violet haired boy, uncharacteristically, had respected his wishes.

The royal nodded, not fooling anyone at this point, and Sherlock granted him one last look with what appeared to be a mix of worry turned suspicion and twisted once more towards his more pressing obsession. "Not a tentacle in sight." He sighed, sounding close to disappointed.

"Lock," John started, "If Eurus was up to something, we'd know by now." It was the truth, but by the focus with which the other refused to part away with the task, he could see Sherlock was not as sure about that. "Specially Mike." The blond smirked, and the reaction was instantaneous. His smile cheeky as he continued, "Sometimes I feel he knows more than everyone else I've ever met combined." He said, just to nail the point home.

Sherlock chuckled in derision, "Well, I know how villains think." He said, his back now straight and his nose turned up in that expression he always wore when he was definitely not brooding. "And I certainly don't trust E. as far as I can throw her." The haughty words were punctuated by his eyes darting over the different 'weak spots' on the beach visible from the castle, as the blue-eyed just watched.

At not finding what he desired, the rebel groaned. "This is useless!" He threw his arms into the air making the sleeves of the dressing gown fan out like wings. "Going into dragon flight would be optimal," He said, "The view is much better from up there."

"Well, you can't be everywhere at once." John reminded him, placing one gentle hand over the other's shoulder, which immediately made the rebel deflate. He could see how frustrated he was growing every day that passed and they had no answers. "Besides, your spell sent her back to The Isle." John attempted to appeal to his logical ninety three percent, Sherlock himself had said magic worked mostly with intention, and that was clearly his planned outcome. Yet he somehow still doubted whether he had succeeded. "I know it." He declared.

"No one on my villain network can corroborate that." The other mumbled, his knuckles turning white from the strain of clutching the railing as he steamed.

"Doesn't mean she's around here planning a super sneak attack." The blond replied, as the silver gazed gave him an expression that told him that's exactly what it meant. Despite what the rebel or his own best friend may believe, he wasn't actually stupid; he knew his boyfriend was investigating, and he was certain he was privy to more information than he was letting on. But as long as he didn't destroy the kingdom in the process the king could wait until he was ready to let him know —or felt like it, which was way more likely. What he couldn't very much condone was the toll it was taking on their lives. They weren't exactly light on complications and obligations on the usual, and he was afraid this would be the thing to break them both.

His thoughts were interrupted when the other spoke. "He's planning something." The words left Sherlock's mouth in a hushed attack, not exactly intended for the witness on which they landed; just released into the world as if keeping them in were no longer possible and would somehow make them more real, more present.

"He?" The blonde asked, double taking. But the rebel didn't acknowledge the question, just continued his rant on top of the blonde's concern. He often wondered how Sherlock and him seemed to speak in different frequencies, but somehow always ended up in the final destination, together right on the same page. Except, of course, when Sherlock was hiding something from him, but that was neither here nor there.

"She will wait until our defences are down to strike." Sherlock assured, "Obviously." As if it was something short of inevitable. An expression of familiarity and remembrance passed through his face and the king revelled in the wicked smirk it brought to his face. He may not be able to deduce a person's life story like Sherlock, but he did know him intimately, and he could recognise exactly when that dangerous spark ignited in his gaze. That lingering satisfaction he got when he knew he had done something bad and it had felt like heaven. The royal didn't know exactly what it said about him as a ruler —as a person— that he found that part of his boyfriend lovable. The one that didn't balk at breaking rules and going on unforeseen adventures to destroy or hopefully save kingdoms. That's exactly what made Sherlock Sherlock and the blue eyed boy would be damned if he attempted to change something that, despite against every moral code or logical sequence, worked so well. Often even in everyone's favour too.

"Nothing for it," The rebel said, startling the other from his thoughts as he dusted off the shoulders of his —John's— dressing gown and smiled cheekily as he walked to the balcony's double doors. "Let's go," He grabbed the other's wrist and dragged him along into the room. "We've got hell to attend." He said.

John chuckled and shoved him away playfully, "It's only a small ceremony to-" He started, attempting to mask the nerves he could feel rising now at the mention of the event.

"Yes, yes." The violet haired boy jumped in. Making a show to roll his grey eyes as he grabbed his shoes. It had taken a lot of convincing from the royal to make him accept, specially since it was attached to another royal obligation in which they were both already involved. It almost felt like too much to ask, and that's not taking into consideration what John had planned to do after all the duties were done. "I wouldn't even bother if you hadn't promised I would miss school if-"

"Wait," The king halted on the way to the door, suddenly completely aware that his priorities shouldn't be able to shift so easily, not when one of the smartest people he knew kept telling him they were caught in imminent danger. All other thoughts aside, they at least needed a plan, a social gathering such as this would be the perfect place for something nefarious to take place. God knows it had already happened before. Twice. "What about your sister?" He turned astute blue eyes to him. "Should I call for more guards?"

"And what will they do? Bore her to death?" Sherlock asked, as he wrapped the coat over his slim frame. John glared but didn't follow him, he still had to get his tailor in to get ready, while the rebel would probably just magic something up at the last minute and still look perfect. He stood behind with arms crossed and waited for the other to elaborate. "No, we wait." Sherlock said, and the blonde balked at such nerve.

"Wait?" He asked, frown now prominent over his young morning face.

"Of course. Targets wait." Sherlock explained, as if it were 'obvious, John'. The expression the king gave him must have shown his annoyance at the tone because the other laughed and smiled benignly at him. "Not to worry, my king." The violet haired boy assured as he turned the knob of John's room towards the east hall, which he used to avoid any unwanted encounters with someone else from the castle. "Whatever it is, I'll know about it." He said, not cryptically at all.

"How exactly?" The blonde asked at the other's back as he was already halfway out the golden doors. The rebel paused and turned to the expecting royal, and with sparkling eyes and shallow breath he winked at the other, only to disappear from the room a second later, leaving a bewildered John staring after him.

The ocean which he had been inspecting got transformed instead into a sea of pastel clad royals standing expectantly under the beaming sun. The courtyard in front of the castle was already full when Sherlock finally made his way out the adorned double doors. John's father and founder of the United Kingdom of Auradon carved into a changing statue at the centre of it, towering over the witnesses, and surrounded by vivid vegetation of colourful blue and golden roses. All of it framed a small platform that had been built for this very occasion, complete with screens and sound system. Every single citizen had attended, or at least it appeared so to the violet haired boy when he felt the heat grace his pale features as soon as he took one step outside.

Normally, he couldn't care less for making an appearance at such social and political events, but the king had personally demanded —with no hope of argument— that he was to attend and behave, even if the both of them knew he could perhaps make him comply with the former, but the latter was a laughable impossibility. Of course, now seeing how crowed it really was, the rebel really considered if facing John's wrath after wouldn't actually be worth making a runner.

As he was pondering the option, a figure came to stand next to him. Hindering the exit he still didn't know whether he wanted to take; and to make everything just ridiculously 'better' he realised it was a man wearing a light grey and gold royal suit. Bright ginger hair and pompous attitude impossible to be mistaken.

"Kind of you to grace us with your presence, little brother." He commented, and said violet haired boy did his best not to curse at his thwarted opportunity. Having been spotted, all hope of avoidance was now lost. His eyebrows came together in what was definitely not a scowl. "And only— thirteen minutes late," Mycroft continued, his voice held a note of amusement despite the reprimand —not that it was any better for the rebel who just wished to get all of it over with. "This must be a new record."

"John asked." The other replied as he kept walking towards the centre, hoping to shake the other off; leaving him the option of rushing to follow after him. Unfortunately he did, so Sherlock placed both his hands inside his pockets as he sighed once he accepted there was no escaping Mycroft's customary half conversations. If there was one thing that he could always rely on it was that his brother would choose the least convenient moment to wring a dubious reflection out of his brain.

He had considered lying about it all, skip the soul searching entirely, but they both knew there was no more transparent of a reason for being there than the king just requesting for it. It was a moot point to deny it. Both of the ginger eyebrows raised when his brother turned to look at him, but he quickly settled on acceptance, as if he hadn't expected anything different. "Yes, I supposed he did." The advisor said, usual condescension in place. "Did he ask anything else?"

The question caught the other off guard. Stopping his advance and making his silver eyes narrow in suspicion. He knew this was not merely throw-away chit chat. No, Mycroft was too smart to waste words for that, so what was he attempting to monitor? "Was he supposed to?" He demanded, searching for an answer even though with his brother, a direct one would be like hoping for rain in the Sand Lands. All thoughts of the ceremony vanished from his mind as he posed the query.

"I was half expecting I would have to hunt you down again." The other said instead, and Sherlock fumed in frustration. "Find you trying to set fire to the kingdom." Forget your royally planned name-day celebration in favour of a much more interesting, and slightly flammable potion experiment one time and his brother was sure to never let him live it down. The explosion hadn't even been that big.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" The violet haired said, lifting his arms as in demonstration. Completely aware the people around them were witnessing his presence too as he haughtily walked. "Plus, why are you on my case?" He said. "I graduated Goodness 101 with a perfect score." And it was true, John had been over the moon the day Lady Hudson had announced he was officially the first reintegrated member from The Isle to Auradon society. Apparently, it had been touch and go for a moment.

"Cheating doesn't count, Sherlock." But clearly it had been too good to be true for Mycroft. He was not wrong, of course, but the rebel had rather hoped he had managed to fool him too. Lestrade was still bitter about it all every time the subject came up. It was hilarious.

"Well, some miracles are too big even for Auradon." He replied, and watched as the corners of his brother's mouth curled upwards against his wishes. If anything, making Mycroft break his diplomatic composure in public —which he loathed— was a victory in any of Sherlock's books.

The ginger seemed to have had enough with the conversation then, letting his brother continue on his own to the small stage. Sherlock was grateful to have the last steps alone before he was expected to face all of Auradon's subjects. Even if Sherlock had always been partial to having attention turned towards him, he was mostly used to that attention coming packaged as terror or loathing; this thing closer to 'admiration' was dreadfully new and cumbersome, specially if when didn't come from deep blue eyes.

As if plucked out of his very own thoughts, John chose that moment to appear next to him. Joining him in the small steps to the platform, in the same exact spot they met all those moon cycles before, and wearing a blue and golden suit that would look laughable on anyone else. Sherlock smirked as the blond beamed at him and failed to comment on his tardiness. He just extended his hand with a smile and climbed up with him.

Once they saw them, the crowd became louder, as Lady Hudson did her best to introduce them above the roaring cheers. The violet haired boy knew better than to trust those, though.

After a few failed attempts, John requested the microphone from her, and she smiled in both fondness and gratitude as she relinquished it. Clearly not immune to the king's powers either. "What's up, Auradon!" He said, his charming smile big as he casually put one hand inside his pocket. "Thank you so much for coming out to welcome the new arrivals." Sherlock stood aside and waited, amazed at the ease in which John could just be around this people. How very normal he looked up there. He tried and failed to deduce once more whether this was because John had been groomed for this very purpose since he was a toddler, or if it was just him. The way people just gravitated towards his warm and inviting personality.

However, the rebel was rudely wrenched out of this reverie by a mumble to his left. "Not like we had a choice." They said bitterly, but even when he turned around, Sherlock was unable to gather who it had been. Nothing such as this had ever happened outside of the island; not a single clue had been left that anyone in the kingdom was against John or his reign personally —the three of them were a different story— but as the king continued without a thought over the stage, speaking excitedly with his subjects about something which the silver gazed boy didn't care enough to take in, he decided to ignore the incident. He supposed there would always be an idiot who wanted to feel funny or special.

"I hope it will work out quite well as it did for the first three," The blond said turning to look at him, a hundred different meanings behind his statement as the smile he wore was almost enough to be contagious for Sherlock. "And together take Auradon into a new age of prosperity." He declared, still not breaking eye contact with him. The approval to his words resonated on his ears even as John took his leave and enthusiastically grabbed him by the arm to guide him down from the platform.

"Thank you for coming, Lock." John said once they were alone, —or rather, as as alone as you can be surrounded by a crowd of a hundred other people. His blue eyes shone as he grabbed the rebel's hands. Sherlock looked down to where they were joined and where the king's ring was placed firmly on his finger now, a deliberating frown forming on his brow at what he could read on the other's tone. The violet haired boy couldn't explain why, but somehow he was certain John was about to do something reckless. It was true the silver eyed could have deduced it in less than 3.4 seconds if he so desired, but he had other, more pressing, little situations in which he must occupy his brain power. Besides, it was good for John to believe he had him completely fooled from time to time, it gave him this attractive spark of pride and danger in his gaze and Sherlock usually enjoyed whenever his boyfriend indulged in that particular and secret addiction of his. "Listen Sherlock, will you maybe-" He started, but the question died on his throat as they were approached by Molly, with the former king and queen in tow.

"You were amazing!" Molly exclaimed, wrapping her overly excited —and atrociously clad— arms around John. The other laughed freely and hugged her back, his eyes glinting with amusement as he stared at Sherlock over her shoulder. The other shrugged and raised an eyebrow as he stuffed his hands, now bereft of the blond's, inside his leather coat.

"We're so proud of you both." John's mother said, placing a delicate hand over Sherlock's shoulder, the sensation was akin to alien for the rebel, but he had come to realise his boyfriend's parents were as impossible to avoid. Must be genetic. The former king nodded in agreement.

"Don't be." Sherlock stated. "I didn't do anything." His tone was flat but it made the others laugh in dismissal. "It's true!" He insisted, a scowl already forming on his face. He was not trying to be modest; hell, he didn't even know whether it was physically possible for him to even attempt such an emotion. "John, tell them." He turned, seeking an ally in this outrage towards his person.

"I don't know what you're talking about." John countered, an incredibly smug smirk on his lips in the face of the rebel's betrayed, murderous glare. Goes to show, save their royal arses once and now they've got no respect for you.

"Nonsense." Lady Hudson's voice came from their right, joining them in the conversation. Sherlock chose the moment to slink back unnoticed, taking a few steps away from the group as they talked. He allowed John a moment to stay there and mingle as he took a break from socialising. Friendly hugs and empty amicable conversation was more the blond's area, and he was often delighted to participate in it, which the rebel deduced would be better without him hanging over his arm scowling and urging them all to just leave them alone already.

He walked around the gardens for a bit, randomly deducing the royal's dirty little secrets and making an entertainment out of figuring out which of them were sleeping with each other. Speaking of cheating and lying, Mary's grandmother was there, with her back to him, quietly ranting to Anderson, of all people, about how a lifetime of status was now gone, as the plans of Mary becoming John's queen were lost; perplexed at how someone would rather have a villain on the throne instead of her. Not that Sherlock was in any way close to sitting in such a chair.

The violet haired boy pretended to be immersed on a different conversation a few feet away, but stayed close enough to hear what she had to say about his and the king's life choices. "Mary has no idea, or even respect for what I've done for this family." She said, her acidic tone familiar from the last time he had spoken with her. "What her mother has done."

'Anderson's dad, apparently.' Sherlock mused, rolling his eyes. Even with the title of noble family, the Morstans clearly knew nothing of actual loyalty, and that's coming from someone who used to con and hustle for a living. "She could hold a prince in her sleep." Lady Margaret continued, practically fuming as Philip just stood there in bewilderment.

"Don't you think she feels bad enough, Aunty Margaret?" He asked, his hands crossed over his chest. The rebel was unsure on whether he enjoyed seeing Anderson so scared or not, given the circumstances; but the woman was close to spitting fire herself. She turned around and promptly walked away from him, muttering 'What is wrong with these people?' as she elbowed her way through the crowd and out of the celebration.

Greg's overjoyed voice interrupted his careful observation of her departure. "All bow to his Royal Purpleness." He said, and when the silver gazed turned to regard him, the other was reverencing while Irene chuckled next to him. Ever since the Cotillion Lestrade had made teasing him about it his sole personal mission.

"Piss off." He answered, shoving at his arm to stop him. Janine and Mary joined in with delighted expressions and laughter of their own, as they all remained ignored by Sherlock; he silently wondered at all the choices that had led him to said situation.

Greg stood back up, "As you wish, my liege." He commented, a cheeky smile over his lips and the same hopeful eyes he had worn whenever they actually managed to pull a heist in their earlier cycles. The scowl remained over the violet haired boy's brow, but he was helpless to stop the smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"Annoying peasants." He chose to bite back haughtily, somehow growing amused by the ridiculousness. This was most probably all John's fault. He was clearly rubbing up on him too much.

"No, but seriously, you two were great." Janine said, one hand over he hip and the other curled on one of Irene's arms. The statement obvious even as it left her mouth. He couldn't exactly refute that something about John and him just worked. This perfect brand of disaster; the two of them against the rest of the kingdom, it seemed.

"Yes, congratulations." Mary, clad in a very soft pink cocktail dress commented; one hand coming up to place a strand of perfectly blonde short hair behind her ear, while she regarded him. Sherlock nodded and waited, hearing John's voice in the distance urging him to get a move on, they were running late already. He turned to Mary to make his excuses and she smiled. "You won him fair and square." She said.

Sherlock's half smile vanished as he was tugged to leave. He turned his head as he walked away to look at her with silver, analysing eyes. Something in what she said seemed to cling to him. It wasn't until they had all climbed into the car and driven away towards the magical bridge towards The Isle of the Lost, that he remembered he had failed to answer her.

The moment they crossed the border Irene couldn't help but thinking about how quickly things can change. Just a few moon cycles prior she and her friends had lived there, had been one of those faces among the crates and colourful graffiti, leading a life of crime and mischief, never even imagining that particular situation changing —much less so drastically and so swiftly— and now, what appeared just seconds after, she was returning to it, not as another villainous citizen, but as support turned flesh. The king acting exactly in her wishes.

"Creepy, huh?" Greg asked from her left, as he stretched over her to glance through the car's window at the dystopian landscape. His bare arms supporting his weight on the seat as Irene swatted him away. She didn't answer, but felt she didn't really need to. Lestrade, more than anyone in the world, could understand how bizarre the sight alone could be. Her life in Auradon felt that way too, sometimes, stuck in the space between a dream and memory, when she stopped enough to ponder it. The girl knew something fundamental had shifted for her —and she suspected for Greg as well— the moment they had steeped out of the limo that first day and seen the entirety of Auradon for the first time, and a different perspective she had never been allowed to even contemplate was unfolded before her — for Sherlock that change had happened a little later, the instant his silver eyes had met ocean blue. However, the Isle will forever remain as the place where they came from, what they were in essence. Inside each of them and impossible to shake off, —not that she would ever want to.

The car was parked on an open alley, crates and rows of hanged fabric giving it a distinct character, and one of the more public spaces on the island, right after where the main entrance used to be, where now only a destroyed half bridge remained. The location had been strategically chosen by Sherlock's brother, since, unlike the time they had been looking for said violet-haired boy, their intention was not to remain hidden at all. Consequently, a crowd had already gathered around them even before they vacated the vehicle. Their interested faces watching them through the tinted windows as they waited for the arrival of the king, like kids at a sweets shop. Irene then smirked her red lips at the fact that she could now make that comparison.

She was completely aware, however, that not all present —in fact quite near half of them— were in no way thrilled that they were there, specially considering what they had gone there to do. Even their mere existence seemed to piss all of them off. They always stood at the back, looking on in jealousy every time they managed to find themselves there, exclaiming an obscenity at them here or there, sick with envy and resentment at their fortune, translating it instead as treason of the cruelest of sorts.

Despite all of that, the girl with the long indigo hair, and iconic short dress stepped out of the car with the cheekiest of smiles and eyes that spoke of hundreds of secrets to which no one but her was privy. Proud of where she was born and what they were doing, showing that perhaps they shouldn't be ashamed of being considered Island riff-raff. She would lie were she to say she didn't enjoy the attention they had gathered since the whole ordeal had started, though. The three of them had become somewhat of a household name. Nothing much, it's not like they had streets named after them or anything, but she had seen the various posters and graffiti in their honour over the rotting walls all across the island. She had to admit her favourite part was seeing Sherlock's disgusted grimace whenever they encountered one of them featuring his equally scowling face.

Her steps were confident as they approached the kids standing at the far end of the clearing, some ratty bags and old suitcases next to each of them, as the varying levels of hopeful expressions broke out with every inch that brought them closer. None of their parents in sight, —which she didn't think was such as surprise, since she had been back on the isle multiple times the last moon cycles and not once had her own mother bothered showing up.

Irene wrenched herself out of the bitter notion and smiled the moment Archie spotted them and then proceeded to carelessly drop all his belongings and run as fast as he could until he collided with her body, his thin arms circling around her waist tightly. She remembered his pure and innocent elation the moment she had announced his name as next on the line to attend to Auradon; once the six names had been listed, Archie had all but jumped up and down in excitement; and judging by the death grip he had on her now, the delight had not abated one bit in the week it took them to return for them. She may have been a tad biased when she had picked him, but she supposed the island value of selfishness was one thing she didn't see changing all that much in the future.

John greeted all of them warmly, still struggling not to act as if he were expecting someone to jump him the second he turned his back. Completely a fish out of the water; but in his defence, he was getting better at navigating the Isle in all its ways, confident young man as he is, —and accustomed to a greater sort of terror wrapped in purple package— people seemed to be warming up to him somewhat too. Last time, they had only stolen his wallet.

What little sun could pierce through the dome was shinning down on them, marking a exceptionally warm day —for Isle standards— as the others finally approached them, Lestrade and Sherlock very much walking like they owned the place as had been tradition since they were all very small, the three of them clad in leather and boots, scaring whoever managed to get in their way. Now, they were there offering that freedom to someone else, a chance to choose for themselves.

"Did you pack all your stuff?" Greg asked them, his fingerless gloves picking some dubiously bagged items up for them. The younger recruits just nodded dumbly, seeming to already be taken by him. However, the ones about their own age didn't appear particularly impressed. She couldn't blame them, they had been sceptical at first too.

"Just your stuff, right?" John was quick to stress, the kid he was helping just laughed and hoisted up the backpack over his shoulder, answer clearly not forthcoming. Irene pressed her lips in an attempt to hold in her chuckle at the blonde's alarmed expression.

As they talked, she saw Sherlock wander away from the group for a moment, while everyone else was busy carrying possessions to the cars. He casually approached a street kid, standing there expectant but not seeming terribly excited. He extended a golden bill, and then stashed away in his coat the piece of paper he got as exchange, careful that none of the other attendees saw him. Irene shook her head in recognition as Archie rambled on excited, but she didn't stray her sight from her violet haired friend.

She had seen him do the exact same thing a hundred times before, with various homeless villains over the cycles they had lived there. But lately, he appeared to have started again, every single time they had visited after Eurus; and perhaps Sherlock thought nobody had noticed, but for all of his deceit and manipulation skills, he failed to notice he sometimes could be as subtle as a hand grenade. Something probably not good was going to come out from this, —him apparently physically unable to stay out of trouble for long— the indigo haired girl concluded as she adjusted the multiple bracelets on her arm, but she refrained from involving herself. She would find out soon enough.

Two other young villains approached Archie, and Irene was finally released in favour of their awkward goodbye. They appeared quite close, clearly some of the street kids that visited him at the colour shop, all mismatched clothes and attitudes too big for their ages; they somehow reminded her of them when they were younger. "We have to go now." She placed a hand over the kid's shoulder and saw him hesitate to turn around. "You'll see them soon, okay." Irene assured, confident that she would put these two, —whoever they were— on the next list. "I promise." She said, to Archie's big, hopeful gaze. Her plan was to return there so many times they would all be sick of their faces by the end. The boy waved the others off and stood back as he turned to Irene in uncertainty. The indigo haired girl winked at him in encouragement and that seemed to be all he needed to grow the courage to take a step forward again and embrace his friends goodbye.

Sherlock returned, haughtily strutting as they all approached the car together, Greg all but carried the youngest one now attached to his bicep with a death grip and started loading everything up. Next to her, John seemed to have his own problem. "Here," He extended his hand. "Let me take this for you." The blonde offered, but the girl was clearly not having any of it. John turned then to look at Irene, silent plea for help in his blue eyes when she saw him. This had been one of the toughest choices; they had made the selection with the sole reason that they all agreed she could use a bit of Lady Hudson's Goodness 101 —well, the violet haired had nodded absentmindedly, the same contribution as he had had with all the others—. John extended his arm once more, insistent on being hospitable in any way, but the only answer he got was rolled eyes and a heavy thud as the girl raised the bag herself and hurled it moodily inside the trunk, only to brush past them as she walked towards the front. Sherlock laughed loudly at that.

They all placed what was left inside and climbed in the limousine once more. This time significantly more crowed. She settled gracefully on her seat next to the brunette little boy, and saw the figures of the ones left behind getting smaller in the distance through the rear window, something bitter settling in her stomach. She couldn't really shake the wish to just bring all of them over and be done with it already. With one last look, she turned her head and addressed Archie once more, hopeful that maybe one day soon she would.

Sitting at the back of the limo, the town brick walls and rubbish bins in alleys rushing by outside the windows, Sherlock watched John try his hardest to connect with the training fortune teller they had picked, who currently was ignoring all and any attempt the blonde made to start a conversation. The rebel found himself half smiling at John's stubbornness as he made yet another try to get her to open up to him even if he knew it was completely hopeless. Villain kids weren't exactly known for their people skills.

Across from them, the very exception to the fact was droning on endlessly about all the things he wanted to try once they arrived at the kingdom. Irene nodded her head at Archie, promising to make at least some of them come true to the best of her abilities. The boy didn't seemed like he particularly cared whether an answer was being given, as he continued to spew excited wishes with shortness of breath. Ice cream, swimming, royal gardens, you name it; he wanted it all. Sherlock was actually proud of how many demands he was already making, he was going to keep Irene and the royals busy for weeks.

It had been decided, mainly by Mycroft and John, that the kids would stay at the palace like them, the younger ones under the dutiful care of Lady Hudson —and Molly voluntarily— until they were old enough to get around on their own. But Irene had asked for Archie to reside with her in the small 'castle' —as she liked to call it— she had bought with the money of the unsuspecting royals that decided it was a good idea to pour out their secrets and sexual preferences to someone who was somewhat dubious at best. Nevertheless, the brunette boy was over the moon with the decision.

John slouched down in surrender, the weight of his body resting over most of Sherlock's side as he silently sighed in frustration. The violet haired allowed the action, —not because he liked it of course, and completely not leaning in to it for a fraction of a minute—and raised an eyebrow at the other. John frowned, but his face seemed more disappointed than angry. Sherlock shifted his gaze and gestured towards the girl, now shuffling a deck of very low quality cards with her deft fingers, and nodded. The blonde's expression immediately alighted again with new innocent hope as he straightened up to ask. "May I get a reading?" His words were calm and sure, hiding well the excitement he got when the girl considered it with an intrigued smile and extended her hand for him to pay first. John eagerly reached for his wallet —which he had managed to keep this time— and took out several bills. She was so delighted she didn't hesitate to offer her cards to him. Sherlock chuckled with amusement and approval, as the blue-eyed squeezed his hand tightly in half-scolding.

The triumph the king now exuded was palpable and only grew when she started talking about his adventurous childhood. Declaring him a born leader and assuring he had set in motion something way bigger than what he could yet understand. All vague, obvious things that any other mortal could have told you obviously, since there was no way for a real magical reading under the dome. Yet something made the rebel pause, once John turned the card meant for his future the shadow that passed across the girl's face made Sherlock's insides curdle; her smirk was completely wiped now. At first, he believed her to have made some sort of mistake, amateur as she was, but the sudden nervousness spoke more of unwillingness to say something she knew the king would not like.

After a pause, she said, "You'll be a wise and brave king." The lie as insipid and transparent as the water filling the ocean. The blonde didn't appear to notice it though, beaming and turning to look at him proudly as if saying 'see, I told you,' in the most John fashion there ever was; it made the silver-gazed's stomach clench even more.

Not wishing to be the one to extinguish that mirth on the other's face, he rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and sighed, "Boring…" He commented, as he leaned away half-heartedly to watch the imagery change through window. A slight shove on his shoulder was what he got for his troubles.

"The cards never lie." The girl —of whom Sherlock hadn't bothered to learn the name— said, the hollowed out sound resonating inside his skull. The pieces were falling like rain on him now, but somehow the whole picture kept alluding him. What exactly had he allowed Moriarty to do to their lives?

As he pondered the problem that had kept him from sleeping for moon cycles, he saw the barrier open for them to pass. Knowing full well how many Auradon citizens —some specific ones having even said it aloud in his very presence earlier— wished the only reason they were opening said dome would be to put them back where they belonged, not letting more villains out. He supposed that was inevitable, snobby idiots like them would never get to experience the reality of anything even if it jumped on them and yelled 'boo!'.

The translucent magic of the dome swirled to join again in the middle as they departed, but just as it was about to close completely a hand reached out, and with supernatural strength kept the hole wide enough for the other hand to stick out the opposite side of the barrier, presenting a vibrant blue ember in its grip; menacing under the natural sunlight.

"Stop the car!" The rebel barked. His long legs almost tangling as he hurried to step out of the vehicle. The others were quick to follow him, and Irene ordered the driver to lock himself and the kids inside the car after them.

His strong hands teared the opening wider bit by bit as he sent bursts of blue fire from the stone. Terrified screams stemming from the multitude behind him. Sherlock could recognise the figure, even if most of it was covered in so dark a cloak that almost nothing could be seen from underneath: his suspected executioner for the ritual in the woods, and for which he had been searching all this time there in all his terrible glory. The real architect was of course currently rotting inside a cell, locked away inside his own mind.

"He's trying to escape!" Greg exclaimed, rushing forward in an attempt of making collision with him and releasing his hold over the dome. But he never even got close, a vibrant flame dashed to him in a blast, striking him on the arm. He fell to the ground of the bridge, griping his shoulder with an expression of unadulterated pain.

Sherlock fumed and promptly turned, his cheeks burning with wrath as he felt urgency travel his bones. He swiftly circled his thin long arms over John's shoulders, and as soon as the other placed a supportive hand on his waist, he let go. The energy rushed out of him as The Dragon shot out towards the sky in a flurry of purple lights burning with the same intensity with which he did everything. His mortal body slumped unconscious in the king's arms.

Somehow, the noise inside his head seemed louder than the last time as he felt the humanity leave him. The strange reality taking a second to grab hold of his soul as he soared over the bridge and the water both. The Dragon could see the figure's piercing blue eyes settle on him as a smirk grew in the bottom half of his face that wasn't covered in shadow. The action threw the rebel off for a moment, but glancing down at the others staring up at him pushed aside all other thoughts from his intent and drew him to focus on the shadow.

His first instinct was to attack; and he did, sending a physical curse forward. The violet cluster of light reaching its destination in haste, but not managing to achieve much in terms of destruction, the dome did prevent most of his magic from going anywhere but away into the air. His second attempt was more precise and was aimed solely at the only exposed part of his enemy, but as soon as it hit its mark on the figure's hands the ember alighted anew and latched onto him, a visible link locking the spell with him too, refusing to let him go.

Magic was rushing out of him in tides, what he had felt on the forest that night was nothing compared to this relentless brutality. The blue stone attempting to drink him down to the last drop. Life was waning now too, the grip he had on The Dragon slipping from his fingers as the figure snickered a distorted laugh in the distance; if he didn't do something, he was about ready to plummet down from the sky any second.

His unnatural gaze shifted down, and could vaguely discern John holding his body in the ground, doing his best to keep him alive with probably no hope of success. Sherlock tried reigning in his magic, shutting off the incantation, something, but the other's spell was too strong and rendered him helpless to prevent it.

With every second his power was diminishing, fogging his vision as he saw Irene drag Greg up. The both of them ran towards the man, distracted as he too was currently locked in the chasm. Sherlock barely had time to manage decreasing his own grip on it when the others collided with what they could reach of the body through the barrier and sent him flying backwards once more under where no magic could help him. Severing the link completely.

The hold was relinquished at once; so violently it forced Sherlock to revert abruptly into his humanoid form. Barely letting him catch a breath as his grey eyes opened and a horrifying screech was ripped off the creature from his insides. John's face was there, hovering above him with concern painted all over it as he extended cool, tan hands and pushed the violet curls back from his sweaty forehead.

"Are you okay?" He asked, as Sherlock made himself stand up despite the blonde's protestations and the pain searing inside his chest. His figure significantly less menacing inside the black leather as he haunched forward. Walking unnaturally towards the barrier, where the shadow had already vanished on the other side, leaving behind the dark cloak as the sole clue to what had happened. The crowd of faces that had witnessed it from the other side of the dome having ran away already.

"You're safe." John assured from beside him. His voice was calm, but it was laced with an undercurrent of so much fear that it cancelled out the veracity of his statement. Sherlock didn't turn, gaze locked at the heap of cloth discarded on the floor. The arm wrapped around his middle doing nothing to abate the nauseous feeling in his stomach.

He vaguely recognised steps approaching them both as he stared. "Whoever that was, he's back where he belongs." Irene said as they reached them, toeing the line between angry and weary. Believing Sherlock had no idea against whom they were competing; the rebel was unsure how correct she was.

"Yeah, for now." Lestrade muttered through gritted teeth, refreshingly honest in his outrage. The grip on his injured shoulder abating even if it remained stiff in movement; but Sherlock had no time to converse, he had been an idiot and had allowed this to go on for long enough, and something, somehow, was going to give.

When the violet haired boy made no apparent effort to move or answer to any of them, focus fixed ahead instead, the blonde hesitated. "We should go." He said, attempting to tug him back towards the limo and its safety. Irene and Greg already climbing inside as John stayed and waited.

The set of Sherlock's jaw was tightly locked, and he could feel his lips ache as he pressed on them. He didn't answer, not able to face John's expression at the moment. He took one last look at the cloak and the barrier and turned around. "Call Mycroft." He said, as his own coat billowed behind him while he stalked towards the car.