Chapter 2: A Lie For A Kingdom

There are multiple types of lies, and multiple
sorts of liars, but it takes a really skilful villain
to deceive deliberately and with intent.
Lying can get you anywhere and anything,
if you know how to do it right.

The sun outside his bedroom's double windows was already hiding behind the horizon. The sky painted different hues of rose gold and lilac in a beautiful way that John was incapable to appreciate at the moment. His hands were curled in fists and his jaw hurt from grinding his teeth so much. The sleep he was already losing before this seemed like a distant dream now. No way was he going to rest again when this was hanging over their heads.

"People are officially panicking." Mike said, his impeccable suit jacket perched over a chair clashing completely with his voice, which he still managed to maintain diplomatic even in the circumstances. The others in the room displayed varying states of distress, culminating with Sherlock, who was locked staring out the window, barely participating in the conversation, his mind entirely fixed on the gloomy island across the ocean. So still in his reflection John would have thought he had been turned into stone but for the drumming of his fingers.

"Do we have any idea who that was?" Lady Hudson said, wringing the fabric of her soft blue dress in her lap; action that reminded the king so much of Molly. "Sherlock?" She asked. "Was it Eurus?"

It was a good question, but the violet haired boy stayed silent for a second, one arm crossed over his chest and his other hand in front of his mouth. "Worse." He finally answered, his concentration breaking for a moment to look towards the blonde's direction, but still avoiding eye contact. Only to return to the same position a second later.

"We can't have a villain on the loose," His mother supplied, holding tightly to his father's hand. John squeezed the bridge of his nose as he pondered the horrible possibilities that could come from that. "People will never want to leave their homes again." She said, and it was true. Some citizens were already frightened beyond belief, this could break the kingdom they all had worked to build.

"Moriarty, Eurus, and now this?" He said, wanting so much to let his body fall on his red armchair, but he was unable to sit still for now. Immobility had always been an impossibility for him when worried, and this situation took the cake in that category. Not to mention he was still quite disturbed at seeing Sherlock so shaken. Thankfully Lady Hudson had assured them Greg's wound was superficial and he would be okay in no time.

His royal advisor nodded, still going through the files they had on them. "It appears to be that way." He said, and John was not exactly thrilled at the tone of defeat he heard beneath all that intelligence.

"Every time we open the barrier we're exposing everyone to danger." His father, the last member of their makeshift counsel, was visibly angry; as was his usual response to anything that did not go his way; although right now the blonde could very well sympathise with the sentiment, even if he was very aware of the former king's opinion on his proclamation in the first place.

"So what do we do?" The blonde asked, looking for support since he was honestly stumped at how to fix the situation. His priorities impossible to be met when they knew so little of what was actually happening. "How do we protect the kingdom?" His blue eyes darted around the room, settling on the slender figure that Sherlock cut behind the window's light.

The boy must have sensed his attention and murmured, "To my understanding, there's only one way of guaranteeing their safety." He said, not breaking his position in the slightly. When he didn't elaborate further, John turned to his best friend, since he appeared to understand fully what the meaning behind that was.

"There can't be any more going in and out on a whim." Mycroft explained, twisting the royal golden ring on his finger. John was not good at deduction as either of them; —he was not deluded, he admitted he was close to a mumbling idiot compared to the Holmes,— but he could read the hesitation and dread on the action.

"What do you suggest then?" He asked, the collar on his shirt constricting his airflow as he fumed, he was one hundred percent certain that he was not going to like —more like despise greatly— what the answer would be.

Mike saw the recognition right away, "We limit the options." He said any way. Never one to sugar coat the logical truth when his friend needed it. Trait that made him the best and most trustworthy advisor he could ever hope to have, even above his intellect, and which was now royally pissing him off. "Close the barrier. For good."

"No." John stated. No other words needed. Just no.

"John." His boyfriend was suddenly turned towards him, an expression unreadable on his face as he stared with his big, draconian, silver eyes. He took a step in his direction, but the blonde backed away, feeling personally attacked by them even considering such a thing.

"No." He repeated. There was no way that was happening. He hadn't spent a whole life-time working for this to now give up at the first sight of villainy trouble, —or third time, more accurately—. It was of no consequence. Not. Happening. "I won't."

"John," The violet haired approached once more, his hands up and mouth tight. His name sounded heartbreaking spoken like that. "I can't believe I'm saying this but Mycroft's right." He said as he stood before him. "I can't find Eurus," The sincerity of his admission painted all over his slightly hunched frame, speaking low enough to give the illusion of privacy. Clearly feeling personally responsible for everything going wrong in the realm. When this was over the blonde would have to have a talk with him about placing responsibilities over his own shoulders which were not his fault or duty. "But I did find evidence someone has been placing powerful spells all over the kingdom." He said, "Something is coming for me, for all of us." He continued, not taking a single moment breathe. "I'm starting to think it isn't just Eurus. Moriarty told me-"

This made John pause, he certainly did not need this conversation to include him too at the moment. "Moriarty told you?" He cut him off. "When was that, exactly?" He demanded.

"I-" Sherlock, at least, had the decency of appearing slightly caught. "Went to see him." He said, his eyebrows raising as his face transformed into one of haughtiness. Almost as if saying 'yes, I did it, what are you going to do about it?' John battled against the urge to either chin him or break down in frustration in his arms. "I needed to know, okay? I can't be the only one to notice nothing in our lives makes sense lately." His words were turning sharp now, bordering on emotional.

"So now we're taking ruling advice from a criminal?" The king closed his arms over his chest, his face warming with anger, even if he couldn't yet decide to where it was directed. The others grew more worried and increasingly more nervous as they witnessed the exchange growing louder.

"John, you already were." The other said, only to have silence reign after that. The blonde regarded the silver eyes locked with his, but no words could be formed inside his mouth or his brain. The heavy truth hovering over them like a black cloud making the fight melt off him with its weight.

Sherlock looked back as the moment stretched awkwardly until he seemed to remember they had an audience; after a few seconds, the rebel cleared his throat, brining an end to the stare off. "Listen, that girl," He said, thankfully shifting the subject to something useful, if a bit unexpected. "That fortune teller," John ignored the fact that the violet haired boy had clearly not been bothered to learn her name and attempted to figure out how that was relevant. "She lied. She saw something in your future, something she knew you wouldn't like." The earnest expression was back in place as he explained his point with shortness of breath. "Not to mention those dreams that-"

John cut him off with a wave, not wishing to drag the topic to light. There were few people who knew about it, and now he was certainly not in the mood to discuss it. The frustration rang on his ears as he searched the faces of the rest of his 'counsel', finding reluctant agreement in all of them. His sight turned once more towards the boy with the purple hair. The king knew he was right —they were all right— it was logical, in the best interest of the kingdom which he had sworn to protect and defend, but still, no amount of sense would make it stop feeling as a betrayal to the rest of his people. " But all those kids…" He said, finally letting himself all but collapse into his chair. "Are you prepared for that?" His question fell on the other like a terrible curse, he could recognise it in the other's expression. Sherlock may be selfish and complete trouble in good clothing, but he was far from the heartless monster he wished for everyone else to believe.

" It's not fair." John muttered, defeated. He knew he had the power to overrule all of them, no matter how much he respected the various roles they played on his life. But it would be very stupid of him to disregard the opinions of people who clearly knew a lot more about this than him.

"Fair? No." Mike responded, carefully adjusting the cufflink on his pristine white shirt. "Necessary: I'm afraid so." His words hammering like nails on a coffin.

John turned to look at Lady Hudson, her kind face was supporting and comforting, just as it had been since he was little. "We would never forgive ourselves if something happened." His godmother said reassuringly, while Mycroft's phone rang and echoed across the room.

"John," Sherlock took the moment to sit on the chair's arm rest. Sighing as if that would stop him from tugging at his violet curls in frustration. "The last thing I want to do is take this away from you." He admitted, his slender hand landing over his.

Before John could answer the advisor had returned, and by the furrowed brow it hadn't been good news. "There has been a break in at the museum," He said, his solemn voice ringing through the silence of those presents. "The queen's crown has been stolen." John felt Sherlock stiffen next to him as his own dread descended over his body.

Fuck.

"Do they have any idea who it was?" Irene asked from her place on the elegant chair, her head tilted at Sherlock as he paced the length of her small sitting room. The rebel could read on her how tired she really was, even if her crossed legs and perfect posture managed to convey otherwise. "What they want it for?" She said, the lace sleeping gown she had on clearly not abating the chill of the late night, as she slightly shivered. The violet haired boy had shown up at her doorstep at ridiculous o'clock, just after being officially ordered to leave John to rest and not bother him after the day they had had. His brother had raised an eyebrow at him pointedly which left little to be discerned about what he meant by that.

But he needed to vent, the frustration was boiling inside his veins as poison, and with the king unavailable, Irene would have to do. It was better than the skull at least. "Nothing." He said, almost snarling in irritation. When he had gone to take a look at the crime scene in the museum it had been infested with the royal police, and none of them let him in no matter how many times he insisted he knew what he was doing. Now he had no data, no way of getting it, and no patience left.

The girl didn't lose track of his movements across the room. The violet haired boy could feel her watching him as a hawk, slightly concerned stare following him as if he were about to collapse spontaneously. "Who else knows?" She asked, a frown grazing her angular face.

"No one." The other answered. "And it stays that way," He made a point to stop and look at her in warning. She was the queen of secrets, but they couldn't afford to be careless at the moment, the last thing he needed was panicking idiots hindering his investigation. "Mycroft's working overtime, —no surprise there— to employ new security measures," He continued. The ceaseless scratching of his arms almost inevitable given the circumstances, but now even that was beginning to agitate him further. What he wouldn't give for a seven percent potion at the moment. "Says everyone's already scared enough as it is."

"And the Villain Kid Program?" Her olive coloured eyes shone as she inquired. Sherlock hadn't anticipated this particular question to be forthcoming, trust Irene to focus exactly on what he didn't want to discuss. The tea she had prepared remained untouched by both of them on her coffee table.

He turned his back, hoping to buy time with the action, mindlessly inspecting the decorations on her mantle piece and actively ignoring the pain he still felt in his abdomen from earlier. "They're in talks about closing it forever." The rebel said, his hands now deep inside his leather pockets. "Not just the program, the barrier." The distinction was not lost on either of them, and it felt as if the guillotine was over them now, ready to strike.

"But you said 'no'." Irene was quick to say, making Sherlock turn his head at it, the conviction in her voice let him know she was in no way asking, but stating. Confident that's what had happened. As sure as if she were talking about the blueness of the sky. "You obviously said 'no'." She explained further, mistaking his hesitation to answer for confusion. Unfortunately, he was very well not confused by what was happening. "There's no way you'll let them do something as stupid as that." She said, and the violet haired tried very hard not to let anything show on his face. He crossed his arms over the disheveled shirt, but swiftly uncrossed them again to let them hang at his sides, not wishing to appear secretive. He was usually better at lying and concealing information, but his intention was not as strong at the moment. However, he could hardly admit to the truth now, not with that hope on her voice. "Whoever it is doesn't matter, you can just catch them," She continued. "This is way more important than politics."

"Yes, well-" The other mumbled, uncharacteristically unsure on how to proceed. "Mycroft says security and peace of mind for the kingdom are paramount right now." His thin shoulders came up in a shrug as he fiddled with things over the table, as if he had no influence over the matter. Shuffling his feet as he decided whether sitting down would be a good move.

Irene was relentless though. "Is that what they think?" Her perfect red lips curled in something akin to a snarl as she seethed. Visibly outraged at the nerve they all had. "They seriously are just deciding no one will ever cross to The Isle again?" She stood up from her seat, her voice rising with her as her dressing gown floated with the movement. The silver gazed almost took a step back from it. "What about those kids?" She gestured to where the living room narrowed into a corridor, where they both knew Archie was now sleeping soundly on her guest bedroom. "We promised them they could go back to visit."

"I know." Sherlock answered, because he did know. He may have not been completely involved in the details but he knew what this meant, how many lives he was shattering with this, including Irene's. Depriving everyone of the same opportunity that brought him here to have a say in it in the first place. That without it, cookies, and spells, and magic would have never even happened for him.

"And what about John?" The name struck him on the chest, and forced him to take a moment before nonchalantly turning, avoiding her olive gaze. "He's a sensible boy, he'll listen to you." She said nodding to herself, not aware that John listening to him was exactly what had brought this into being, what had caused all of it. "Let you be part of the planning." The confidence was back on her words as she calmed herself down. Relieved that she had found a solution, an ally in her purpose. "You definitely made a right choice choosing him to shag." She joked now, wicked smirk stretching over her face as she clearly imagined who knows what sort of situations. The violet haired boy attempted to smile along, but he suspected a funny grimace is what he achieved instead. "I know you'll stand up for the people of The Isle." Irene decided as she took one step and embraced him in gratefulness.

Sherlock froze and frowned over her shoulder, biting his lip until she released him. The indigo haired girl was beaming with pride as the rebel sighed, steering the subject away from her very pleased expression. "Stop smiling." He said, and was glad to see she took the bait immediately.

Both her hands rose as she made a show to coo at him, as if he were a little child who had managed to accomplish his first steps. "I'm so proud of you." Her words were meant as jest, but there was a hint of truth there. Of wonder at what she believed he had, and will do.

"You're turning into a mother." The rebel complained, waving her off as he retreated. Ready to take his leave now that she appeared settled. Coming here had been a mistake and he wondered whether settling for the skull wouldn't have been a better option after all. Perhaps Lestrade, even injured and possibly complaining as he was.

She sat back down and crossed her legs once more. "As long as I don't turn into my mother, that's fine." She said with an eyebrow rising, finally reaching for the tea in front of her that had long since gone dead cold.

Irene's 'castle' was really not nearly as big as she liked to brag about, but it was located in one of the best parts of the kingdom, not to mention with the warmest weather, and it had a big yard which she would let him use for practice whenever he wanted, so Lestrade was not complaining. It really took almost no time for him to all but move in and take advantage of it quite often.

This morning he was perched on a kitchen stool; the classic, elegant style of the decoration prominent even on the colour of the walls. "Are you sure Molly is going to like this?" He asked, gesturing to the big periwinkle blue box sitting on the counter, the white ribbon on its top as opulent as its surroundings. The other just smirked with red lips as she adjusted her long sleeves.

"Calm down, she's going to love it." Irene replied, slowly taking a seat opposite him across the kitchen island. "I know what everyone likes, remember?" Greg stared at her dubiously, she was right to say she was clearly the best anyone could find at this, but gift finding wasn't exactly her speciality when it came to someone's preferences.

Still, he supposed he would have to trust in her judgement now, unless he fancied showing up to her name day celebration with cooking appliances and himself as presents. "I guess." He answered with a shrug, reaching to grab a chocolate piece out of the centre bowl.

"What are you going to do without me?" The girl sighed as she smiled. It was a topic that she liked to discuss frequently, he suspected her subtle hints were attempts to make him change his mind.

Greg just smiled and crossed his arms over his vest-clad chest. "Pick normal presents?" He joked, as he threw the sweet to the air and caught it with his open mouth, he grinned triumphantly and munched on it while he reached for another two to save for later.

"Are you really set on joining the Yard Forest Academy next cycle, then?" The tone of her voice was casual, but Greg had known her too long to be fooled by it, "Cause I heard it's really far away and all they have is trees." She said, a disgusted expression crossed her face as she imagined life in almost austere setting. The grimace reminded the boy of their other purple friend who seemed displeased with everything in the world that was not causing trouble.

"But they've got the best tourney team on the kingdoms," He countered. It was true, the best opportunity he had to both enter the Royal Armed Forces and to beat other teams at multiple sports. He jumped off the stool and stretched his strong arms over his head. Ignoring the dull ache his shoulder gave him. Lady Hudson had done a great job fixing it with magic, but it was still somewhat sore from the attack the day before.

"And Molly's going, I know" Irene waved dismissively. Her hand coming up to arrange a strand of her dark blue hair into a stylish crown-like braid, leaving the rest of it hanging free down her shoulders. "At least it will finally be just me and grumpy." She commented.

Lestrade's mouth curled as he laughed. "Nah, you talk tough," He said, shaking his head sceptically. "But you're gonna miss us." His voice firm and confident, not a single trace of doubt or uncertainty to be found in it. "Mostly me." He knew his smirk was reaching his eyes.

The other scoffed, "Mostly me." She mimicked, rolling her eyes and sitting up straight in the stool. Her delicate arms crossing as her perfect eyebrows rose.

Greg walked around the counter and stood next to her. "Yes, mostly me." He stated. Correct even if she pretended or insisted it to be otherwise. "Who else are you gonna miss?" His fingerless-gloved hands reached for another chocolate and proceeded to pop it in his mouth as he beamed at her frown.

She regarded him for a few moments, her face transforming against her will at his casual grin and amused eyes. Her red lips curled into a half smirk as she snickered. "Yeah, you're probably right." She admitted.

"There we go." He patted her in the shoulder good-naturedly, openly laughing at her expression now.

The girl just shook her head in half annoyance but the mirth didn't leave her face. She stepped out of the stool and gathered her own gift from the table. A big red and blue monstrosity of dubious shape which Lestrade was at once hesitant and curious to figure out its contents. "You've got everything?" She asked, walking towards the other.

"What I do know is Molly is going to love the cake." Greg nodded, just remembering the sugary perfection. Light blue and white with confectionary flowers that he had spent a whole afternoon directing Sherlock to magic up. The violet haired boy had ended up throwing a wooden spoon at him at one point, just before banishing him from the baking area. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked him, of all people, for help considering his past with baked goods; but even if all of them ended up spelled at the end of the party, well, at least the sugar decoration would be beyond perfect. "I'm sure of that much." He started as he opened the lid of the box, but the words died in his throat when he encountered a huge piece of it missing. "Wait," He said, now fuming with frustration. "Who the hell got into the cake?" The loud question was only answered by audible giggles coming from Archie's room. Greg huffed, and sat back down, he scratched his silver and black hair in dread. This was definitely a problem.

Irene, watching him with no sympathy, chuckled too as she looked at a message on her phone. "Text from Sherlock." She said. "The curtain rises. Royal Museum." The girl read, ominous voice imitating that of the aristocrat drawl. Both of them rolled their eyes in amusement at the dramatic wording.

"Fucking drama queen." Greg commented from his post, "Remind him not to be late to the party." He said, but his good mood vanished as her expression transformed.

"Come immediately." Irene continued, her olive green eyes growing concerned as they darted to him from the phone in her hand. "Vatic-" She stopped, and turned to the boy in panic as the other prompted her to finish. "That's all it says." She stated.

"We need to go." Greg replied, already hopping off the stool and rushing towards the exit.

He was not used to doing this by day. Without the cloak of night aiding in his concealment, but the idiots of the royal police had just decided to give up on their hopeless efforts of understanding anything at all and vacated the scene. He was not about to waste any more time waiting for celestial bodies to rotate and hide him, daylight or not daylight, he would enter that museum.

The sun had already been up for several minutes, but the morning breeze was still fresh on his face as Sherlock sneaked past the guards at the entrance. Just one simple little spell and they hadn't even noticed him passing them by. Once all this show was over he would have to get Mycroft to increase the security in this place, he was hardly the first to enter it completely unnoticed with foul intentions, he wasn't even the first to do so in the past twenty four hours.

The violet haired boy strolled through the different halls, skipping the villain wing entirely, and heading straight towards the royal family exhibition; searching for clues on every other artefact he encountered, for a way in which this could all make sense. There had to be a reason someone would go to the trouble of stealing something which was basically useless, considering all the much better options surrounding it.

The main hall was illuminated by high chandeliers that gave a warm, opulent glow to the chamber, in complete opposite from the one with a statue of his mother as its main attraction. One of them decorated to entice, to awe and gush about, —since being good and dull as a brick was suddenly all the rage at the moment— the other intended only to frighten, to cower away from. Sherlock ignored the very true fact of that turning out to be him had he not met the blonde, and things at the coronation gone differently.

He stopped just before the glass encasing, now shattered into a million pieces scattered on the floor, and where just a bright blue velvet cushion remained. Bereft of any purpose now that its precious object had been done away with. The type of criminal required to pull this off surely would know better than to just steal something they couldn't even sell. Any possible buyers locked inside a dome with no means to auction and certainly no money to afford it. He half suspected her sister just setting all of this up to lure him there. In which case, he was probably in for a painful consequence of just walking into the metaphorical fishnet.

Sherlock crouched down and bunched up the sleeves on his coat, looking for words to jump out at him and turn this into any semblance of sense; but the motivation kept eluding him. Nothing other on the showcase was touched, just this one thing that would have otherwise remained there for the foreseeable future —or at least until John surprised everyone and suddenly decided to choose a queen instead.

The rebel frowned and fought the urge to snarl in frustration at the lack of evidence. He knew how they had come inside, —child's play if you were anywhere near competent— and the weapon which they had used to smash the glass: a fireplace poker, judging by the direction and coverage of the wreckage; but no clue brought him any closer to the identity of the thief. If this wasn't his sister looking for revenge then what the hell was going on?

He took a step back, his heavy boots echoing in the distant silence of the vast room, hoping to take the scene in full, to grasp at the moment in which it had happened, not ready to give the search up as futile. He owed it to John to at least give him an answer on why his most important dream was being ruthlessly destroyed. Sherlock had felt a sword slice though his guts at the expression the blonde had worn when he had left him the night prior, the light utterly gone from the commonly hopeful blue eyes. The only thing in all the kingdoms able to make the violet haired boy want to fall on his knees in defeat.

As he paced the place, his brain already listing whatever he saw and storing it by order of destruction, he attempted to build a theory in his mind palace. Then, as if plucked out of the very suffocating air around him, he noticed something. A fact that he had overlook all this time, and probably the best probability he had of finding out the truth.

This whole place didn't lack in powerful and incredibly dangerous artefacts, and while it would practically be impossible to hide a break in for an amateur —even the bumbling morons of the force would get somewhere with that— they could conceal the true target by diverting everyone's attention elsewhere. A distraction most likely executed as a big mess. A big mess consisting of a missing dear object and a floor covered in tiny little crystal parts.

The violet boy turned around then, his hands joining in front of his face as he inspected everything they didn't want him to even glance. Delight painting his features as his silver eyes squinted to analyse. When nothing stood out, he migrated to other halls, exhibitions not as favourited but equally brimming with possibilities. After almost strutting by the chambers for a few moments he came to a stop.

He had not been there in a long time, not since they had first included this particular piece in the showcase, and that was only to ensure it was there, it was secure, and its —previous— owner was not claiming it back any time soon, although now it seemed such certainty had been as breakable as that glass. Sherlock's eyebrows met in a scowl as he regarded the magical pull surrounding it, or more specifically, the lack thereof. Violet's sceptre had always been alluring, magnetic as a black hole just impatient to devour you whole; but at present nothing was happening, no natural gravity dragging you forward to just let your skin make contact. No desire. In conclusion: not the real sceptre.

The replica was exact, however, a lot of skill put into it. But now that he saw it up close, it was only slightly shorter. His face warmed in satisfaction as the narrative took on a more plausible order in his mind. Never mind the terrible threat which hunted them, with this he could work. Almost certain now this had Eurus' name written all over it, he fired up a text to Irene, knowing she'd be with Lestrade; smirking as he hit 'send' and all but rejoiced in wonder that the actual police hadn't picked up on something that was so evident.

"They didn't even notice the missing inches." A voice behind him said, freezing him instantly as he recognised it, but never in this context. He turned around, and where he had previously expected to find his sister, he saw Mary instead, looking somehow unfamiliar and regarding him casually as she leaned almost all her weight in the massive sceptre in her hold. The queen's crown perched on her blonde head.

Sherlock felt the floor fall from beneath his feet, a hole growing in his stomach as his mind adjusted to the information, filtering all the superficial talk and leaving behind something he should have seen. "Mary?" He asked dumbly. "You-" He was unable to finish, his brain still trying to play catch up with his silver eyes. "Why would you-"

"I wanted them, so I took them." She answered, her voice hollow as she recited. Face devoid of all emotion as she tilted her head in contemplation. "You of all people should understand that." The sentence was propelled forward like a bullet, his breath shortening as he let out a nervous laugh in disbelief. He had been so very wrong.

She swung his mother's staff in his direction, but stopped before any damage could be caused. The dress she wore was unlike anything he had ever seen in her, all jagged edges and bold colours, and her golden-blonde hair was streaked with soft pink and blue that made suspicion settle and grow on his chest.

"Just put the sceptre down." The violet haired boy suggested, a placating hand coming up in front of him, but placing the other behind his back. His fingers sure to type the message precisely even while he couldn't see.

"Why?" The girl asked, turning her gaze towards the object in question with something akin to curiosity. "I thought you liked spells." She said, her blue eyes turning to find his, making him starkly remember how he had acquired everything he currently had. "Is John here?" Mary asked, as if the subject had brought him to her mind once more.

The rebel shook his head in answer, but continued, "It's dangerous." He said, not entirely sure himself why he needed to explain that to her, —he was quite certain everyone in the kingdom would be able to gather as much; his mother did curse a new-born baby with it, after all— but his brain was not performing as it should be. The key to reason lost somewhere between bottomless shock and dread.

"Look who's playing safe now." Mary stepped forward, but despite the words there was no real mock or derision crossing her expression. No smile or anger, either. Her hold on the sceptre turning knuckle-white while her voice remained flatly cold. Logical, even. "You've no idea what I can handle." She said, and the rebel obviously didn't, the situation's reality was way worse than what he'd been preparing for. Mary spun away then, and paced to the back of the chamber casually.

"No, Mary." He responded, his silver eyes narrowing as he truthfully spoke from the worst of his confusion; that something which gnawed at his head. "You shouldn't be able to touch it." Hell, she shouldn't even be alive right now. There was no possible way that a mortal would be, yet there she was. "You- you have no magic." His words shook, from what he could hear above the loud beating of his heart.

"Sherlock Holmes is sure about that?" She turned back to face him, something menacing appearing for the first time on her demeanour, cutting through the facade as a knife. It was so out of character from what he knew of her that it paralysed him for a few moments, not even her little secret guaranteed this. "How badly do you want to find out?" The words were out her thin, pale pink lips before he had a chance to even contemplate what the prior statement could mean for their lives and his own understanding of black spells. Use of dark magic, such as the sceptre's, doesn't reward good intentions, if anything, it makes things way worse for the pure of heart.

"Whoever is making you do this, we can-" He started, but the words vanished like ghosts on the light when she presented her weapon forward, a warning to not even finish such thought. Sherlock's pale hands clenched as he took a step back. But somehow, even then, he couldn't believe she would ever dare harm him. "You're not going to curse me." He said, finding confidence in her face; in the fact that John had once been in love with this girl.

"I won't?" She appeared surprised, as if she didn't believe he would ever presume to tell her anything about herself which she didn't already know.

"No, Mary." The other approached, talking slowly as the silence echoed his heavy footsteps. Eyes watching her in earnest and waiting for confirmation in the blue ones before him. "You won't." His words were final. Showing no hint of fear or hesitation whatsoever. He was Sherlock, and she was Mary Morstan and she was not going to hurt him.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." Mary replied, mouth curling into a grimace. "I truly am." She said, just before a bright light came bursting out of the sceptre and blinding, agonising, pain tore through the boy's abdomen.