Chapter 5: He Who Lusts For The Night
Lust is a psychological force which produces
intense and unbridled desire in those it resides,
the object of said sexual, animalistic need could
take the form of a person or situation to fulfil
the otherwise unquenchable emotion.
The warm, humid air felt like a rope around his neck. Unlike any other mid-day heat, it was not the least bit tolerable, nor was it anywhere close to gentle; it was as if a furnace had been ignited under his feet and they all were slowly being cooked to perfection without their knowledge.
He walked across the wide balcony, soft sand-coloured stone railing awaiting him at the end. The suit on his body was not exactly familiar, —mid length purple jacket, two rows of silver buttons on its front and faux-scales lining down the fabric; matched with black leather trousers, all slim waisted and sharp lines— but it was something he definitely choose for himself. He adjusted the sleeves and turned up the collar in a futile attempt to protect his face from the relentless heat.
He continued forward nonetheless, and found himself on the sure road to sulking when he noticed a figure walking beside him; matching every one of his steps. John smiled at him from his left, his bright eyes shining intensely under the garish sunlight as he placed a hand on the purple haired boy's back and beckoned him towards the edge of the terrace.
The sight which greeted him was, for a moment, unexpected; but then he couldn't remember how he could have anticipated anything different, given the date it was. The whole kingdom appeared to have come, the pastel and soft baby shades of their attire mixing in the distance as he could see the king's people gathered on the clearing and stairs below, the big open sea making a scenery at their backs. There was a deafening sound in the air which made John smile, and it took a moment for him to realise it was coming from them; the attendees cheering when they saw the monarch stand at the very end of the balcony and greet them with a perfect wave.
Sherlock could see Irene and Greg in the distance, laughing and cheering as if they themselves didn't know if they were ironically pestering him or if perhaps they were being serious without their knowledge. The boy scoffed in amusement at them but his eyes soon returned to scanning the crowd once more.
For a moment, nothing important seemed to happen. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary day in which he was being bribed by Mycroft —ceaselessly— and by John —quite a bit more successfully— to attend some royal event in which he was forced to get bored and just grin and bear it for a few hours in order to gain something far more fun in the future; but as he kept his attention turned on the audience, he realised something was not right. In fact, something was clearly very wrong with the situation.
He turned to look at John, who was still waving at his people and none the wiser of the heat. In fact, none of them seemed to notice how their flesh should be scorching off their skin while it climbed ever higher. He tried to swallow past the ash in his throat, as bright blue eyes turned to stare at him in concern.
Sherlock frowned, and the blonde reached out a gentle hand towards his face, but the second it made contact, the heat was completely snuffed out. The cheering and the light were gone; he remained stood in the balcony surrounded by endless, black night, and he was alone. He called out for John, and for his friends; but his voice only travelled and echoed in the vast space, running away from him as he descended the stairs towards what he could see of the main clearing. It was empty.
On any other occasion he would potentially be glad of being rid of the ongoing input his fast mind always tried to pick up, but now the emptiness felt cloying and constant, and a sick sense of dread befell over him as a curse poisoning out the very air above his head.
He advanced and saw a figure in the mid distance, still and frozen as if captivated by something the rebel couldn't see. He rushed to it the second he identified the silhouette as that of John, almost tripping in his haste to reach a haven in that unknown see of despair. But, as he got closer still, he saw the usually tanned skin of his hands and the softness of his golden hair were gone, in their place only rigid greyness remained, as if all his body and livelihood had been leached and dried out. Not a movement was made form the king when Sherlock knew he must have heard him coming.
The purple haired extended his hand as he ran, attempting to reach him as fast as possible. The terrible blackness that followed after his fingers made contact with John's figure was a blessing compared to the sensation of cold stone crumbling into dust inside his hands.
When he woke up, it took embarrassingly long for him to deduce where he was, and another moment longer to figure out why he couldn't move any of his extremities.
The next thing he noticed was how very cold it was, —just above freezing— and how the brutal white light from before remained shining down on him as he opened his eyes. A surprisingly smooth surface under the thin material of his shirt on his almost naked skin let him know he was laying on his back. He had no idea where his coat had gone, but the cryogenic nature of the metallic gurney still climbed up to his very core and oozed past his skin, bathing him in freezing contact.
This was not good.
This was I'm-not-even-worried-about-how-furious-John-will-be-when-he-finds-out not good. It was just his luck he ended up paralysed inside the god of death's lair when he had promised the king he would try and be less reckless. Well, the upside was it wasn't probable he would ever get to see the consequences for those actions.
He made a quick mental check of his person, attempting to gain inventory of the damage before his captor showed his mythical face. It didn't take long to find out movement, other than slightly rotating his head, was impossible; not even if he put all his strength behind it could he even attempt to sit up. He figured he must had been drugged with something he couldn't quite identify, even with his vast experience and knowledge. There was an extreme throbbing pain on the back of his head, and he was certain some of his weight must have fallen on one of his ankles at how sore it felt. His sight was not impaired, —which was always good— it was free to watch his surroundings and confirm Greg and Irene's complete absence from the room, which sent a brief pang of worry travelling through his nervous system. It also meant he could see the big shape backlighted by the buzzing lights now looming over him perfectly, and the shadow it casted on his supine self.
For the ruler of the underworld, tasked with transporting all the souls of the demised to eternal rest and famed for keeping the damned ones for himself to do his evil biddings, a square head, receding hairline and not particularly tall or intimidating stature was not what Sherlock was expecting. It wasn't as if he had been anticipating meeting a multi-headed vicious beast, but the impression wasn't exactly on par with the job description. The innocent, almost amused chilling smile though, that he could get behind.
The other was perched, peering at him from above as a kid would observe a pinned insect. His pale face contrasted starkly with the bright cyan hair styled sideways and backwards on his head. Most people who'd seen him and managed to live to tell the tale —or so they claimed— were sure to have proof it was made out of hell's flames, but most people were usually idiots by the rebel's experience, so there went all credibility in such matter.
"You've been ages waking up." The man exclaimed, regarding him whole as if appreciating every bit of his mere existence. "I watched you." His smile caused a shiver to run down the violet haired boy's spine. Making him glare up at him with as much venom as he could muster.
It was good the man hadn't thought of muzzling him because it gave Sherlock the means to be as snarky as he liked. "Hi, dad." He said. The silver eyes glinting at the other paired with a smile despite his shaking jaw.
The king of the underworld laughed at that, almost jovially. "Now Mr. Holmes don't get familiar." He commented, the goodnatured air only surface level as his words carried the sting of their flipped meaning. "You know that's not true at all." The man concluded, sitting on an uncomfortable looking bench next to the autopsy table.
The violet haired boy was at a disadvantage in that position. His usual confidence was thwarted by the unnatural angle, but he had never let circumstances stop him and today wasn't the day to be starting new things. "All I know is Moriarty told me you're somehow responsible for me having my powers." He replied, pushing for information since he would be unlikely to have another chance.
The man smirked and reached out a stubby hand to pat his rioting curls. "Well, your mother showed up here with an idea and two failed attempts," He said and shrugged, his mouth turning into a grimace. "What was a poor god of the underworld to do?" Sherlock saw him place him hands inside his pockets, as if he had no fault or responsibility about it, as if Culverton Smith's hands would ever be clean of anything. However, hearing him mention his two siblings was a line of inquiry he made note to pick up. He failed to know how they could have any business in talk about his own magic.
"By the way, I've been dying to properly meet you." Smith said, cutting him out of the notion. 'Liar' Was all the violet haired could think. They had already met before, and he couldn't say he would be able to look back at such experience in fondness. Who in the gates of hell enjoys having their very livelihood sucked dry by a gem? Plus, flattery is the first step of basic interrogation tactics, and he could see right through his appalling attempt at friendliness. Culverton continued without a care for Sherlock's opinion on the matter, though. "What can I say? I'm a huge fan." He said, paired with his hands clasping together as if delighted.
"I seem to recall coming with two of those already." Sherlock said, not willing to let that fact be forgotten, Irene and Greg were going to be leaving there with him, and there was no question about it. He knew they were unharmed, —at least for now— since they held no real danger or importance to the other. Culverton wouldn't lose an opportunity to converse with him by angering him for stealing a couple of souls after all the trouble he went through to get his attention at the gates of the Isle.
"Oh yes, your friends." Smith responded, the lines in his forehead deepening as if the very thought of someone else there physically offended him. "You see, none of you are supposed to be here in the first place." He started, hands expressing at his sides as he explained. "And when people come here without an invitation, —which is quite rude to be honest." He added, as if Sherlock should be remorseful for the inconvenience. "Let's say they find it very hard to leave again." Smith finished.
"So you help advance their deadline along?" Sherlock asked, tone dripping with overly faux interest. He had long since suspected Culverton was less of a humble custodian of passing souls and more of a serial killer with the perfect job to hide it.
"A little." The other gestured with his fingers and grimaced at Sherlock's candidness. "I'm not a dark person or anything." He said, showing his palms, apparently unable to speak plainly. Twisting and dancing around words and subjects so every obscured detail was impossible to use against him at a later date; no admission to anything in sight. "I just find it… incredibly rewarding." He said, eyeing Sherlock's not so subtle attempts to regain control of his limbs; —at which he was failing spectacularly. Smith's big round eyes were fixed on him, as the amicable voice matched the innocent words as if nothing was ever amiss.
"To each his own, I guess." Sherlock answered with disinterest, an arched eyebrow as much emotion as he could gesture along his words.
"You'll be special, though." Smith continued, crooked smile inviting him to rejoice with him. Sherlock, however, wasn't feeling particularly compelled. "I bet you are a struggler too. You strike me as a don't-give-up kind of person." He said, and the rebel let his silver eyes trace the other as he casually strolled the distance of the white, sterile environment in an unfitted dark blue suit and tie. Looking to all the world like the most run-of-the-mill, boring person to have ever walk the kingdom. But the rebel knew better than to guide judgement of character from clothing, —otherwise he would never speak to Molly again.— He had to remember this disgustingly ordinary man was no man at all and could easily and gladly kill him if he so desired.
"You walked into my lair, and laid down like a gift." Smith said as he paused in front of a metal cabinet and opened a drawer. "You seem old enough to know better than to go seeking for death." His words were conversational, but it wasn't as if he were wrong. Sherlock was aware of how reckless such a decision had been, but they had run out of sensible options. "Well, intentional or not, consider me found." Smith stood back and opened his arms, the theatrics not enough to distract the violet haired boy from the fact he had the shinning blue ember clutched in his right hand. The rebel could feel his limbs start to tingle with anticipation.
"Love to be impressed but it's n-" He started, but was cut off when Smith's hands clapped loudly and immediately the room went dark; blue flames springing from the torches lined around the space's wall and casting eerie highlights over everything. Transforming the sterile morgue into a more traditional hellish scene. Very magical and ghoulish, and very not possible by the giant dome above their heads in the surface. Or so Sherlock had thought. "How-?" He started, and watched as the other's face broke out into a fractured smile of amusement at his confusion. The boy was officially impressed now. The small torches outside were one thing, but this required immense magic.
"That dome of yours." Smith started. "It's been getting weak for sun-cycles." He said, the cyan lights over his features turning the phrase into a nightmare. Sherlock wasn't aware such a thing was even possible, and not only did it bring a whole new layer of danger to the case in hand, but to what Mary was doing over at Auradon too. If the only grip they had on multiple villains thirsty for revenge was dwindling, then none of what they did against her —whether they won or not— would make any difference. A disaster awaiting to happen.
"You know kindred magic can amplify any power and unlock any curse, if one is talented enough." The other continued, "No matter how big." The words were spoken casually, as if they should be common knowledge, but this was one thing Lady Hudson's book had failed to mention. Detail which could potentially destroy the whole kingdom, and everything they had worked for; specially now that Sherlock had inadvertently brought his magic to what could very much be described as his power's father. He tried to struggle once more, but his weak limbs refused to cooperate well with him. He was helpless.
Smith placed the ember on a metal tray next to the gurney and grabbed a pair of pale latex gloves from it. "Why do you think your mother even had you?" He finished, causing the violet haired boy to go completely still at the meaning. The statement unable to fit inside his brain as his thoughts ran over each other of what that entailed. He felt his breathing speed up and his hands involuntarily shake but no matter how many times he closed his eyes, reality was still there once he opened them. He refused to believe the words of poison the god of the underworld had emptied on him; but deep inside he knew it wasn't outlandish; they were a perfect explanation to what he had always wondered about himself and his place in the world, and he had been right in thinking he wouldn't like the answer if he ever managed to find it.
"We're going to have endless fun." Smith said, grabbing the boy's jaw and keeping him from moving with his other arm; a highly unnecessary tactic seeing as the revelation would had rendered Sherlock numb even if his limbs weren't barely starting to wake up at the moment. "And deep breath…" He said, placing chubby fingers gently over his mouth and nose, pressing down hard when Sherlock's silver eyes locked into his. His airways blocked entirely.
The violet haired boy's body convulsed, the adrenaline kicking in. His barely functioning hand tried to come up to pry the death-grip hold away, but he was unable to compete with the strength the other had. "I like to watch the lights go off." Smith commented, as the rebel felt himself grow dizzy with the lack of oxygen. His sight blurred and black spots appeared before his eyes, the fight all but drained from his veins.
The miscalculation he had made was proving the most idiotic thing he had ever done, but at least he could take comfort in the fact he had found out the truth about himself before going. All those times Moriarty abused the Dragon's Spell to get him to do what he wanted, to keep him in line, now had a meaning; an explanation on why that seemed to be the only spell working under the relentless ban of the barrier. To find out the spell had nothing to do with it, that it had been the presence of his own powers in front of his mother's which had made it possible and James having taken him in because of that was a difficult thing to swallow, and not something in which he wanted to wallow in what were shaping up to be the last moments of his life; but as Sherlock started to go, his eyes finally beginning to close, it was somehow the only thing his mind could focus on.
Culverton's blue eager eyes were the last thing Sherlock could see through the slits between his eyelids. "Just let it happen." He whispered, and it was as if the blue fires of hell had lit inside the boy's mind too, the constant knocking inside finally gaining clarity on the mere seconds he had left. His mind's fixture making that much more sense now. He put the meagre remaining energy that remained on an incantation, letting the magic carry him over. Once the spell took hold, Smith's hands released him immediately, almost violently parting from his face and allowing precious oxygen to rush inside his lungs.
Sherlock gasped as the other took stumbling steps back and almost collapsed against the metal base, shaking the support and sending some of the tray's contents flying towards the ground. The violet haired boy managed to get his breathing under control, while the spell in his mind kept Smith's eyes lime green too. The two men stared off at each other, one in mild surprise and the other now with relieved rosy cheeks.
"That took a while. Honestly, I'd heard such bad things." Culverton spoke, but made no attempt to reach him again, the Dragon Spell's hold Sherlock had on his will preventing him from retaliating. However, that unfortunately didn't stop him from laughing that guttural sound at what must be the first time someone had managed to catch him unaware. Someone refusing to die under death's very hands. Still, the violet haired boy couldn't count on his diminishing energy forever, and he was quick to let his barely responding limbs awkwardly reach for a scalpel on the tray.
He almost didn't make it there, one of his legs was completely frozen and he had to half drag himself across the cavelike floor in order to reach, but when his pale fingers curled around the metal handle he didn't hesitate to present it to Smith in warning. Releasing the spell and letting his mind rest as he stood and placed his weight on the gurney behind him. His silver eyes never straying from the other.
Culverton raised his hands, but didn't appear particularly worried; it wasn't as if you could really kill a god without magic. "Calm down." He said, "We're all friends here." Sherlock didn't care for the overly familiar tone he used, aware of his attempt to appear as if there wasn't any dangerous blue-haired beast lurking beneath the surface of his personable, amicable manner. He really didn't need to bother, Smith was famed to steal souls, he hadn't been expecting a warm welcome anyway. The boy rolled his eyes and extended his hand further as he felt his final limb beginning to get back online, a straight sign for the other not to move.
"What-" Sherlock started, but had to pause to clear his abused throat. "What did my mother have planned?" He finally asked, not the least in the mood to stay there a moment longer than he had to.
"It's a secret." The cyan haired man replied, shrugging and curling his mouth as if there were nothing he could do about it. Like he were all but trapped in his word to keep the truth hidden. The blue light in the darkness created shadows over his lined features and turned them into something sinister, as if waiting for Sherlock to even dare to attempt say otherwise. Holding the power and ancient strength he had, he was practically untouchable.
"And Moriarty?" The boy asked, lowering his tired arm towards the ground, but the other remained silent and uninterested. Unmoving in Sherlock's relentless push. The rebel sighed in frustration and presented his weapon once more. "I can make un-life very uncomfortable for you." He said, his silver eyes narrowing at him.
"Would you?" The other asked, his sceptic face impassive as if he thought he was privy to the answer. Sherlock stayed put, stubborn for a moment even if they both knew he wouldn't attack him. After a moment, however, he growled in exasperation and lowered the scalpel, taking a few steps forward bypassing Smith, and reaching his hand to grab the shinning blue ember from the tray.
He turned to walk towards the entrance, only to be stopped by Culverton's voice. "It won't do everything for you." He said as he righted himself and rearranged his suit to order. Sherlock knew that, he had advanced his magical abilities more in a few moon cycles than what most did in their whole lifetime. His powers were only half king of the underworld after all, it was obvious his biggest weapon wouldn't exactly fit him completely; but he'd be satisfied for anything that would give him an advantage at the moment.
"I'll settle for what you stole." He replied, venom dripping from his words as he looked around in search for his lost leather coat, and heard the other whisper 'he giveth and he taketh away.' under his breath. Clearly more amused at the situation than what's sanely warranted. His powers were infinitely stronger than Sherlock's and he could have him subdued in seconds, the violet haired wasn't deluding himself with the fact he hadn't only caught him by surprise, yet Smith still chose to stand back and watch him take one of the most important relics of the whole pantheon of kindred gods.
"I'll take my chances." Sherlock said, not liking what could happen if he stayed long enough to wear that small period of grace out and figure out why the other was just allowing it. As he got his slender arms into the delicious warmth of his beloved leather coat, his thoughts turned to deducing where it was most likely his friends would be.
"Roll the dice with the universe, I could get behind that." Smith answered, and made Sherlock wonder what he was planning to get out of the whole situation, since the rebel wasn't planning on ever going back there; he wasn't planning on anyone going back there. Specially now that he knew what he did, the dome's strength would have to be increased. "If you die you end up back here anyway. Keeper of souls and all that." The man said, as if he had plucked the thoughts right out of his own mind.
Sherlock paused, "Sorry." He said, not sorry in the least. "I'm afraid I already sold mine." It was a delight watching sincere rage and emotion cross through the other's face at his revelation, at taking from his grasp that which he thought could only be his. Apparently his deal with Charles had been a better idea than he had anticipated.
Culverton fumed and made an aborted attempt to attack him, he stopped at the final moment but the boy still counted his ability to rile him up as a win nonetheless. "Who?" Smith asked, his jaw locking and his hands curling into outraged fists.
It was the violet haired boy's turn to laugh, arching a haughty eyebrow at the other as he answered, "You know Magnussen?" He said. "Creepy? Stupid glasses?" The mocking words were accompanied with a smile at the other's clear distaste. He walked backwards towards the exit.
"It's made of fire, so it can't get wet." Smith watched him go from his position with an unreadable expression, somewhere between pity and satisfaction at the sign of data entering the silver gazed boy's brain. "You really don't know what you're doing, do you?" He said.
Sherlock shrugged. "I guess we'll find out." He replied and playfully tossed the ember into the air only to catch it back into his pale hand. He secured it on his coat's pocket and, with a last glance towards the other, he opened the big doors and crossed over to the land of the living once more.
When he came out of the marble gates, his two friends were laying on the floor leaning on a cave wall, half conscious and at the edge of waking up. Completely unharmed.
Apparently, if there was something her purple haired friend could do well —besides complaining, of course— was getting out of ridiculously dangerous situations by means of talking and who knew how much unfair amount of luck. Not to mention he had somehow managed to get his hands on what he wanted and came out of there looking annoyingly pleased with himself for the second time that day. Irene let it slide this time, he had just saved their lives, after all.
"All right," Sherlock said as he walked with them towards the entrance at the bridge. The barrier shone iridescent against the light coming from the sun outside and the moisture from the previous storm. "Get in, get out." He said, and gestured Greg to open it with the remote. Pushing Archie to cross first as they all waited while a hole big enough for them to pass slowly tore through the surface of the dome. Once done, they were quick to place their boots on the other side.
Irene saw as Sherlock doubled over in pain the second he was past the threshold. A pale, spidery hand clutched his own stomach as Greg rushed to keep him upright and from falling on his face. "You good?" Lestrade asked, his arm around the other's shoulder as he heaved the scarce air he was able to suck into his lungs.
The silver-gazed boy nodded faintly as he gripped the ember tightly, mouthing something unintelligible, and a moment later it was as if a lightning had dropped on him, sending spasming shivers all through his body. The girl was ready to shove him back under the dome and figure out another solution later, when a blinding cyan light shone from the gem and when they opened their eyes, Sherlock stood there, beaming haughtily at them and healthy as he had always been; all traces of the curse gone as his skin went back into solid paleness and the violet curls on top of his head shone brightly under the Auradon light, the ember causing just the barest of blue hints peaking out from among the strands. His breathing was once again even and unlabored. "Whoah," Irene commented, an arched eyebrow accompanying her words. "That thing packs a punch." They all laughed in incredulity and Archie wrapped his hands around Sherlock's waist in innocent relief.
Among the distraction, none of them noticed the two pirates creeping up behind them until they heard the sound of the bodies hitting the surface of the bridge at their backs, having jumped across the entrance just before the barrier was permanently closed —for now, at least. The four of them took a step back, staring in surprise, for just mere seconds which seemed an eternity to Irene. The others cheered at their success.
Victor laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mischief as he smirked directly at Sherlock. "Hello, guys." He said, the lilting voice clearly satisfied. Sebastian hung back from them, stupid grin also placed on his face. "We're just coming for a little visit." Trevor commented and Irene saw as the silver gaze in her friend's eyes flashed lime green, Lestrade's hands were already in fists, both his feet almost rooted to the ground in a battle stance.
The two pirates advanced, steps sure and meaning to walk past them and into the bridge, although the girl wasn't entirely sure what exactly were they planning to do once they encountered the discontinued part of the path. Still, they made their attempt, and the three of them were there to deter them. "Come on!" Lestrade grabbed a hold of Seb's shoulder's in his strong grip and she helped block the ginger's way while Sherlock flicked his hand and sent spells of immobility their way, which were nowhere near what he could actually do. He was acting uncharacteristically shy with his magic. "Hey!" Lestrade exclaimed, as Sebastian pushed him off, making him stumble backwards and collide with the violet haired boy.
The action caused Sherlock to let go of the ember delicately gripped in his left hand, making them all stop as they heard the clatter it made on the bridge's floor. "No!" He said, as he quickly bent down to retrieve it, but Trevor's hand landed on top of his before he could manage a secure hold on it; the tugging made by the crimson clothed pirate was enough to sent it flying off over the edge and heading straight for the water.
Time seemed to slow down, the six of them watching as it free-fell in slow motion and Sherlock could be heard exclaiming 'It can't get wet, you idiots!' while he pushed Victor away from his person and rushed towards the edge for a futile attempt of catching it before it was too late. But there was no way to succeed, as the ember went way past his reach. Irene felt a knot settle on her stomach at the thought of everything they had sacrificed and risked for it just going down the metaphorical drain.
The tragedy couldn't be avoided, and they all waited to hear the small sound it would make plopping on the water and sinking into the depths of the ocean, but it never came. Just before the stone touched the surface, a strange-looking tendril rose out from the water and snatched it out of the air. Several more came out to pass it on, as a head of vibrant teal hair appeared at its centre. The wet strands of hair were plastered against the pale skin of the girl swimming in front of them. The moment her eyes landed on Sherlock she stopped and smiled a crooked smile which Irene thought would look more natural were it not paired with dead, cold eyes. "Eurus," Sherlock sighed, Irene and Greg took the opportunity to share a glance of worry as everyone peered down the height of the bridge into the ocean below.
"Give it back." Irene demanded, with one hand curled around Archie's shoulder as she pushed him behind her, securing him in place and out of the line of fire. The only thing worse than obnoxious pirates on the loose and their friend's psychopathic sister in possession of the sole thing that could help them, was if harm would come to the boy they had managed to rescue from the Isle and whom she had personally promised to protect.
"Eurus!" Victor exclaimed behind them, and shoved Lestrade out of the way to kneel over and stare delighted at the sign of their captain. His perfect teeth showed behind the smirk and his eyes narrowed as the waves around the other circled her waist, the white, baggy clothes she always wore looking as if sea life had decided to cling to them or risk death on the vast waters. Irene grimaced at the sight.
Sherlock extended his hand, a clear invitation —demand— for her to return the ember, but she only stared at his pale digits as if the very spirits of their ancestors had sprouted from them. "Interesting." She whispered, yet the sound still had the ability to travel all the way to their hearing range. The indigo haired girl chose not to think about how comfortable she appeared within her powers now, and how oddly cautious Sherlock was acting with his.
The offer was enough to persuade her, it seemed, because she dove underwater just to appear on the surface once more seconds later, the black tentacles twined themselves around her limbs and hoisted her up into the air, growing in order to carry her with the waves towards the bridge. A great tide washed over the ones above, making them cover their eyes and leaving the indigo-haired girl soaking wet.
Eurus' hand slapped the flooring of the bridge behind them, and her teal eyes stared coldly at each of them when they turned, Irene was almost surprised to find herself taking a step away. The sea witch hoisted herself over the edge and crawled unnaturally across the surface. Finally standing up on shaky legs, water dripping from every last digit and fabric on her body, creating a pool under her feet. The ember was held in her dominant hand, enclosed inside a bubble of air formed around it, her curious features eyed it with satisfaction before she directed the expression towards her audience.
Victor extended a hand and laughed freely at the display, taking sure steps now that she was within reach. He placed one of his strong hands on her shoulders as he spoke. She didn't seem to notice the gesture. "Welcome back." He said, attempting to coax an emotion Irene knew she didn't have in her.
"You swam off and forgot all about us." Sebastian was quick to comment, also rushing to stand beside her, in clear and desperate imitation of what the more confident pirate had done. Irene felt as if she couldn't take her own olive eyes from the girl who had attempted to kill them not so long ago, who everyone in the kingdom —except for Sherlock— believed to be trapped in the magic-less world of the island.
"Planning my demise, no doubt." Said violet haired answered, his spell dried off any residual water on his body as he walked, his boots sure and his arms crossed in a position which meant he was not having whatever they thought was happening. His determined eyebrows made Irene clutch Archie tighter to her body, hearing Lestrade exhaled loudly in anger at the other side.
"Not everything is about you." Came the first words she had truly uttered. Her voice breathy but flat. No emotion injected into it, and that's precisely what put Irene off the most about her, when every other villain would laugh triumphantly or attempt to intimidate people into their will, she appeared to care of nothing at all but figuring Sherlock out. Which had proven an insurmountable task, even for her.
Said rebel cocked his hip a bit, arching a violet eyebrow at her. "Isn't it?" He asked, nonchalant words paired with a challenge of his own as he stared her and her pirates down in a way which would never let you believe he was gasping in pain just mere minutes prior. She wouldn't have been able to tell you which of the siblings had control of the situation at the moment.
"There's no hole in the barrier." She worded after a pause, even her two crewmen had been caught off-ward at being addressed so spontaneously, but wasted no time in turning towards her, meeting her gaze. "But you know what I also found?" She said, "Everything they have been keeping from us." With that she turned back to stare at them in turn, halting when she found Sherlock's green eyes and staying. A silent exchange which Irene was unable to even fathom was taking place between them; the silence dragging for too long. It spoke to her more of shared knowledge than a warning, and a chill ran up her spine at the thought.
"I don't care." The other dismissed, his hand waving as he employed his preferred strategy. "That ember belongs to me." He gestured to the glowing blue gem in the girl's hold, which tightened the second the attention was placed on it once again.
"Why?" She asked, as a toddler would inquire about all the mysteries and laws of the universe. The question seemed to startle Sherlock into a momentary silence, Irene watched his brow furrow at the ridiculousness on having to prove himself for it. He had won —hell only knew how— and it was his now. Archie moved closer to her when Sebastian and Victor approached.
"It was given to me as-" The silver gazed responded, but was abruptly unable to finish when the other just started speaking over his words. Not caring for whatever explanation he was willing to give.
"No," She said, "Why now?" The sentence conveying she didn't care about fairness or rightful ownership. She wasn't really interested in some social construct of the reason an object could be deemed someone's property, instead looking for the story, the motivation, what brought her half-brother to intertwine his history with that of such an item.
"I need to break a spell." Sherlock answered truthfully, to anyone's astonishment. Even Victor appeared surprised at the way the simple honesty tumbled from her friend's lips. It wasn't everyday when Sherlock wouldn't try to work his way around something, twisting words and meanings until every inch of reality was purged from them and the listener was left grabbing at phantom sense more grown out of their own predictions and inferences than anything resembling the truth. Trevor's amused eyes soon turned leering as he continued to wait for elaboration. The look was too much, even for Irene, who was used to way worse.
"Casted by Mary, daughter of the Hundred-cycle Princess." Greg intervened, when he must have sensed that was as far as the violet haired boy was physically able to go in terms of disclosing his real intentions.
Wilkes laughed at the idea of the offspring of a royal turning on them, as if none of them could see the irony in it already. "So, the good guy is the bad guy now?" Victor enquired, amused grin matching perfectly with the cheerfulness of his ginger hair, walking closer to Sherlock and raising a hand towards the other's cheek. "Well, you sure have a way to inspire someone into wrath, Sherl." He said, but the rebel had moved out of reach before he could even make contact. Drugs or no drugs, that's a mistake Irene was sure he wouldn't be doing ever again, specially now he had found salvation in the shape of John Watson.
Eurus studied the scene, her teal eyes gauging data from her sole source of obsession. She then gazed at the ember in her hand, and appeared to ponder how the connection between both seemed to work. "I want to see how you do without it." She said, almost as if she hadn't meant for them to hear it at all. Her thought process running away from her as her curiosity was picked, her usual anger taking a step back. Lestrade and Irene had had a conversation once, after the Cotillion, and they both seemed to be in agreement this was what their friend would be like had he not been the preferred prodigy of the family. They both promised to never comment on such horror again immediately after, —specially to the king. They weren't in a rush to encounter the afterlife so soon.
"I don't have time to play games, sis." He said, losing his patience with every second that passed. He may not say it, but she knew this thing with Mary was really weighing on him, made worse by the fact they had no idea what had become of the kingdom in their absence, which meant Sherlock had no way of knowing whether John —the likely main victim of this whole scheme— had been harmed.
"And if I told you that you could have it if you guarantee that every single villain who wants to can get off this isle?" The teal haired girl said, stopping everyone present. There wasn't uncertainty in her tone, but Lestrade and Sherlock still appeared dubious at the reality of her statement. She had never shown an interest in becoming a champion for deserted villain people before.
"He'll do it." Irene couldn't help but to say. It was as if the words had been out of her mouth even before she, herself had thought them. If everything this maniac needed to give up her possession of the only thing that could save them now —according to her odd friend who hadn't deemed it important to explain exactly why that was— was something she had been dreaming about for moon cycles, then she couldn't see a reason why they shouldn't agree.
"It's not up to me." Sherlock said, haughtily shrugging as if her whole plan had crumbled in the face of such statement. As if it being out of his hands —which the girl believed it was very much in the realm of impossibility he couldn't sway John's mind in their favour— simply negated whatever his sister was aiming to achieve. Eurus, however, didn't seem to take too kindly to being denied something, least of all information about him she thought vital. She walked towards the edge and stuck the hand holding the gem out, ready to drop it if they continued refusing to play along. Sherlock waited, the cogs in his brain working almost visibly. He seemed to come to a conclusion, because at the end he nodded. "Fine." He said in reluctance, as his silver eyes zeroed in on that which he hard worked so hard on getting. "Deal."
Her arm retreated, watching the silver eyed boy's reaction closely as she caressed the smooth surface of the blue ember. "I'll still keep this for the time being." She said, concealing it under her baggy clothes and out sight. Something told the indigo haired girl that it wouldn't be possible to find it again even if they tried to take it back, not without her permission first. "A test to see if you'll really keep your word."
"His word is good." Greg was quick to reply, his set jaw displaying his clear rage at the helpless situation, coupled with the slight offence he took from them even implying Sherlock wasn't to be trusted. When, in reality, he was probably the most loyal person they had ever known. The rebel rolled his eyes eloquently.
"If you think we trust you to save our own future on your own, think again." Lestrade pitched in again, crossing his strong arms over his shoulders and taking a step forward in warning. Needless to say neither of them felt entirely confident there wouldn't have to be violence to sort this out. Judging by the expression on her friend, there just might be. Irene took a step forward and held out her hand to halt the other from advancing.
"This is a job for pirates!" Sebastian exclaimed, and Victor grinned. Eurus payed them no mind, engaged in her favourite activity as Sherlock leaned back and assessed her too. Even Irene could hear how useless it was, they really had no time for such waste of time.
"Where are our bikes?" She asked, impatient to return to Auradon. Fact that won't exactly be easy without their main mean of transportation. The expression on the pirate's face at the question didn't bode well for a positive answer.
"Oh yeah, we crashed them." Trevor said, displaying exactly how they had been destroyed. At this point, even the indigo haired girl could feel the urge to punch him growing inside her. Victor took on a challenging stance, feet open and planted firmly on the ground, and his crossed arms conveyed his desire to see if they will actually dared to agree and take them to the kingdom in exchange for the ember.
Greg sighed next to her, and Irene turned to watch how Archie stared at her with big brown eyes. "We'll be cautious," She said to Sherlock, who was the only one who could accurately predict whether this wouldn't, without a doubt, end in disaster. "Not let them out of our sight." She continued, although the silver eyes showed how annoyingly sceptical of the very fact he was. "It's not like they'll go willingly back there."
Lestrade seemed to agree with her, nodding and saying "We can always go back to hating each other when this is over." He said, as the both of them watched the other's resolve slowly transform into resignation. He was obviously not pleased with the situation, but couldn't see another way to go about it.
"Fine," Sherlock responded, after a big sigh which would have put the royal princesses prone of drama to shame. "Let's go." He said, walking along the bridge towards where it ended abruptly, caused by its destruction.
They stood on the edge, watching the water below and the kingdom across the space which they now had to navigate without aid. Sherlock placed his hands together underneath his chin, readying to create a spell which would allow them to cross; but at that moment Eurus let herself fall into the water, her body getting swallowed completely by the blue waves below. When her teal head resurfaced again, her two companions took no time to follow her, ready to leap into oblivion with no question if she told them to. Irene watched as the two of them landed on the ocean with a loud splash just before Eurus created a powerful current to rush them towards the shore on the other side.
Sherlock sneered, and set to work on his own spell. Irene imagined there would be no way he would orchestrate a spell which would required them to jump too, so she settled back as he worked. "Bloody pirates." He mumbled, while his hands created a floating step which would deliver them swiftly at the other end.
The four of them landed on the golden sand roughly after stepping off from the platform, they had been practically dropped on their faces by Sherlock's impatience. "I thought you wanted to be a pirate when you were little." Archie commented innocently as he stood up, all of them watching as the three figures ahead of them were already growing small by distance. They had no choice but to chase after them.
Sherlock shot him a scathing lime green look and grimaced in annoyance as he shook the sand off his dark clothes. "Shut up and walk." He said as they moved towards the woods adjacent to the beach, Auradon Prep on their minds.
As soon as they arrived to Auradon's gardens it was evident everything had gone to hell in the few hours they had been absent. Sherlock would be inclined to feel regretful for leaving if such an emotion were possible to be in his repertoire. The courtyard, often packed with cheerful royals, was now deadly silent, everyone who had remained present was lying in unnatural positions across the space. On any other day the violet haired boy would have been delighted at the respite, but this… something about this didn't sit right in his stomach. Every turn he took brought more questions than answers, and he was damn sure Moriarty was somehow behind all of it, like a puppet master pulling all the strings at the other side of the curtain, he just had to find out which thread to pull to unravel it. What he had found out in that cave didn't seem to help matters.
"Everything is so-" Sebastian commented, gaping around at the vegetation brimming with life and colour. His stupidly wide eyes taking in the saturated scenery as they walked through the gardens hoping to get to the main clearing without being detected in any way. The last thing they needed at the moment was another ambush.
"Freaky." Lestrade said, still eyeing Eurus and her crew cautiously. Sherlock could see him looking around at the sleeping bodies as if they had been emptied of any energy and purpose. People planted face first on table surfaces and over benches, lying ungracefully with their pretty pastel dresses on the grass. They walked past them as if they were attending a very peculiar museum. Only observing. There was nothing to be done about them at the moment.
"Green." Seb finished, his gaze never straying from their surroundings. The rebel knew what a shock to the senses the kingdom could be to someone who had never left the dome before, they would probably need a moment to take everything in. But he just pressed forward, he was running very short on compassion right now.
Lestrade turned to Wilkes in question and the other shrugged, clearly still off put by the strangeness of what he was witnessing. "You've got leaves on trees." He explained as they both struggled to keep the pace. Sherlock decided to pay them and their boring —if a bit unexpected— conversation no mind any longer.
Archie walked right behind him, his small hand squeezing Irene's slim one as if his very existence depended on it. It wasn't exactly the best circumstances in which to introduce a person into a new lifestyle. Specially when one of your new hosts was out on a cursing spree. "They're asleep." The boy stated, not seeming able to take his attention away from the train-wreck around them. "Everyone." Sherlock could read the devastation on his expression.
"Obviously." He replied, shaking his head, attempting to rid it from all the distraction, there were only two things he had to be doing at the moment, and neither of them was clogging up his brain with worries about people's feelings. That wasn't going to defeat Mary, and that certainly wasn't going to prevent John from getting in between the crossfire of something which had essentially been his, and his mother's doing. He could attempt to use his magic to wake them up, but it was pointless if the real threat wasn't neutralised, it would just lose them precious time, not to mention it could also proved futile if the spell was strong.
He moved quickly across the bright green grass. A dark figure storming through the gardens as an apparition, he crouched down and inspected the figure of a boy, not a lot older than himself and found he was breathing deeply, yet his skin was paler than what he assumed would normally be. And it was at that moment Victor decided his commentary may be welcome when it couldn't be anything but. "You really made a good job protecting your precious royals, Sherl." He said, smirk evident in the words despite Sherlock not even turning his head to acknowledge him. The violet haired hated the fact that he was right the most.
He chose to ignore him completely, not even deigning to look at him and whipped out his mobile. John's number dialled almost instantly even if he knew he wouldn't be at the other end. Still, he desperately tried because the blonde had a history of surprising him even when he was on a spell.
Something must have shown in his face, because on his third try Irene approached him to ask. "Any sign of John?" She said, her perfect red lips turned down in worry as his own hand hung limply, still clutching the silent device. "I'm sure he's fine." She reassured, but he could read on her posture neither of them believed it.
"No Molly either." Lestrade said, his own eyes speaking of distress beyond measure, and the rebel was loathe to find out they had come to care for this royals, whom they had once swore to destroy. The realisation couldn't come at a worse time, though; now that they had no time at all. And where the hell was Mycroft, any way? Sherlock dreaded the high possibility he had been attacked too.
"Is that Auradon Prep?" Archie said, breaking through his pondering with his face open in delight at watching the castle-like building which could be nothing but impressive to a villain kid used to gloomy alleys and mouldy bread. Sherlock spared a glance towards their impromptu companions, the three of which were also captivated by such a structure, even if Trevor was attempting to hide it and Eurus looked more intrigued than impressed.
"Yeah," Greg responded, placing a strong arm on the boy's shoulder. "When this is all done you're really gonna love it." He said, a tentative smile forming on his face. Sherlock felt one corner of his own mouth tug up at the thought; only to be replaced seconds later with an annoyed expression at the sight of Sebastian stuffing his face with something he had found on a plate in front of someone who was currently dead to the world. "Hey!" Lestrade exclaimed, snatching the colourful grapes away from the other's grip.
"We don't have fresh fruit on the Isle, remember?" Eurus said, and even in Auradon her voice still possessed a vacuum quality as if it were coming from the deepest tides of the ocean. Turning a simple and casual statement into ominous declaration, and shushing everyone into stunned silence. Greg seemed to deflate a bit after that, perhaps remembering how the three of them had been when they first arrived. He extended the bowl towards Seb's hands and walked away. Meanwhile, the silver gazed boy ran his eyes over the scene and tracked the trajectory Mary must have taken there by the spells she left behind.
Next to him, with not a single care in the world, Victor swirled in his dark red coat and knelt next to a girl and stuffed his hand inside her purse. Taking out her wallet and thumbing a few bills out. "I believe I deserve some compensation for my role in this endeavour." He commented, the money going straight into his own pocket as his perfect teeth showed behind his grin. The violet haired watched as Irene sighed exasperated, following after Archie who took to running towards the school.
"You do," Lestrade said, extending his hand expectantly for Trevor to return what he had stolen, "Me not squashing you like a bug." The words were uttered from a locked jaw. Sherlock chuckled at the sentiment, Greg had always been completely and one hundred percent against Victor as a whole, the mere idea of him was enough to send him reeling in rage at the mention of his name. When he had found out what the rebel boy had done all those moon cycles ago, they had to stop him from storming the bait shop and killing him, just after he killed Sherlock for being so stupid, of course.
"As if you could, Lestrade." Trevor answered, seeming completely unfazed by the fact he had been made to give back the money. Placing it in Lestrade's hand as if he were bored by his insistence. "Not even girly eyes over there can scare me." He said, earning another growl from Greg, as usual communicating with him mostly in form of angry sounds.
Silence stretched after that, them just walking and realising the count of people affected grew the closer you got to the building. "What happened here?" Irene asked. Sherlock was sure it was rhetorical, a spurned Mary who felt —knew— her life had been ruined by them plus a dark magic sceptre, it wasn't exactly difficult.
"Mary showed up and decided the misbehaving children should be put down for a nap." He said anyway, his thought process flowing through his mouth even as he tried to pinpoint the nature of the spell. Sleeping curses were fairly common, —his mother was famed for them, in fact— but it seemed pointless, almost counterproductive to render unconscious the very same people you wanted to rule; was Mary expecting to be queen to an oblivious kingdom?
It was at this thought that Irene said something which made him pause. "And then she turned them to-" She stopped, and when the violet haired boy raised his sight he saw her standing still, perplexed at the unbelievable sight in front of her. A sight he thought unrelated at the time; which he thought he would never see again.
"She turned them to stone." He finished, standing up fully and approaching the unfortunate young man who had been transformed into a statue. His expression was frozen in passiveness, probably never knowing what had happened. The rebel boy reached out a hand and let his fingers graze the cold surface, all life seemed completely drained out of it. Suddenly the dozens of statues he had found at the bottom of the ocean took a whole new meaning. None of them could begin to understand how devastating of a discovery this was. If Mary was escalating to this, their hopes grew ever smaller.
"Sherlock?" The girl asked at his side, concern dripping from her words; but she didn't know, none of them knew anything. He swiftly retrieved his hand as if burned and stuffed it in his pocket. He failed to answer and stepped away from the statue as he decided none of them could know. Not now, and preferably not ever.
"Everybody stay on their toes." Lestrade said when he too approached to see what the commotion was about. The hands inside his fingerless gloves curled into fists as he searched around for any other students that had suffered the same fate. Grabbing Archie by the arm and tugging him close to them as if a shadow would jump out of the trees and attack them.
Sebastian shrugged and adjusted the head piece on his forehead. "Since we're here." He said, rounding them altogether and attempting to step on the flowers and into the path which lead to the school's building. "Let's check the-" He started.
"No." Sherlock was swift in his order. Only noticing his rapid breathing by the way the word was delivered. "Mary went straight for the crown." He went on, not looking any of them in the eye, "For me." At this point, he didn't even know whether his explanation made any semblance of sense. He just pushed the words out because hearing things out loud prevented him from analysing them as deeply inside his brain.
"She'll go for John next." 'If she hasn't already' he thought at this conclusion. "That's where we'll go."
"Why?" Eurus didn't miss a chance to interrogate him, specially when the last thing he wanted to do was elaborate. She could have her games and her questions; that didn't mean he had to answer, to willingly let her have any more than she already did. John's and his future crumbled around him, and the scorching heat he could feel rising towards his neck left him dizzy with anger. Couldn't they all see they were doomed?
"Because I said so." He snapped, and it was true in a way. His sole reason was a matter of priorities, of not letting himself pass on the tiniest chance that the king would be unharmed and waiting for them.
"And that's supposed to mean something to us?" Victor crossed his arms to this, coming to stand in front of him as if daring the other to try and stop them from doing whatever the hell they liked. And Sherlock was tempted to let them in favour of the futility it would all have soon. But green was staining his vision, and he felt a dormant thing wake up within him which would be disastrous to let out at the moment.
"The only reason you are here is because I allow it." He sneered, the tone so poisonous it drew Victor and his haughty smirk slightly back. "The second that changes, consider yourself gone." He said, intentionally not saying he would send them back specifically. His green gaze looked into the other's as their small audience remained silent at his outburst.
"Why?" Eurus broke through his tirade, making him turn away from the pirate's face and towards her with no small amount of loathing at being addressed. "Why do you allow it?" The teal haired girl asked again. Her eyes raking suspiciously over his frame as if she already were privy to the answer but were prodding to see whether he would admit it.
Sherlock took a deep breath and turned to look into his friend's shocked faces. A second later, he twisted around silently and made his way towards the Royal Castle. "Don't fall behind." He said, not stopping to confirm whether they had followed.
This old cottage held so many memories for her. From the summers she had spent there when he was little, running in the woods believing the fairy tales her magical godmothers would tell her before sleeping; right to the times she had gone there in order to escape a life which had slowly turned suffocating. She learned a little too late her princess status didn't mean she would get the happy ending. A secret being unearthed marked the spot where her world started collapsing, the rose-tinted glasses falling away from her eyes.
That's the exact reason why Mary had chosen the location now. There was a sick irony she enjoyed at settling for battle on a place in which she had always sought peace. But she supposed, just as everything else in her life, that peace hadn't been hard won, its fragility crumbled apart at the first appearance of trouble in the form of purple curls and cocky attitude. Mister snake eyes ruined her life further when he proved not even her mother's infidelity was safe when it came to his all-knowing gaze.
It wasn't as if she wasn't aware of what he was doing either, they were all fools in the game he was playing; what better strategy than to appear conflicted only to seemingly settle for their side and end up ruling the kingdom anyway? She almost wished she had thought of it herself, —not that she would have ever needed it if they hadn't shown up and got her for everything she had in the first place— just another on the long list of things which had gone wrong at the king's proclamation.
Since no one else could seem to be bothered, now it was up to her to put in the work of righting that which had so long been wrong. The Island and all which had spawned from there needed to be locked off for good. Not only that, but closed tight and sealed with no hope of anyone ever opening it again. The kingdom was to be free and prospering once more, and its citizens wouldn't even find out the lengths to which she had gone to do it. For them, it would all just be a distant dream.
She settled on a wooden chair at the small table, the voices in her head growing louder every second that went by without an outcome, the events of the day passing by her memories at once, the few moments seeming like lifetimes. As if it had been eons and not mere hours since she broke into the museum.
She thought of John, and what she had done to him. Only alone, and to her own self would she ever admit to having been a tad extreme, but there was no mean or desire to rewind what had happened. At the end of the day, it was just business; and she would be lying if she said he didn't deserve it, even if no one was supposed to say such things. After all, it wasn't proper for a royal to go out and express displeasure with something; but in her opinion, inviting villains to dine with you in hopes their knife wouldn't stab everyone in the back the second you turned around wasn't exactly proper either.
She brought the sceptre closer, reveling in the power she could feel flowing into her ever time she touched it, and hovered a hand over the green gem perched at the top of it. Her greatest threats may be indisposed at the moment, but she always took great pride on being throughout. There could still be two villain kids running around who she knew won't like what she had done to their friends; who may have managed to escape her presence and the spell that came with it. She set the gem to locate them and show her their whereabouts, expecting them to have turned to stone like many of the others.
What she found, however, was not that at all.
Inside the green tinted crystal, she could make out Irene's figure, walking just in front of Greg and half dragging the little runt they had brought from the island. Mary recognised their surroundings right away, the trees around them the ones growing all around the school's grounds, but that wasn't the highlight point of the scene. Not only were they completely unaffected by her curse, but they were also accompanied by none other than what must be Sherlock's psychotic sister and her pirate crew.
She had never seen them before, of course; having skipped the Cotillion altogether, —she hadn't been in the mood for celebrating the very thing currently rotting their kingdom away—. However, figuring out who she must be was nothing but easy to her; the stories had been detailed —not to mention no royal would ever have the misjudgement of dressing like that— but more than that, her eyes were unmistakenly related to those which had uncovered all the skeletons inside her own closet. The girl let out an enraged sigh at the sight of them travelling across the woods; as if the size of the villain infestation growing was't already bad enough, they had to go and bring his family into it.
And still, that wasn't even close to being the worst of it. Sherlock was there too, guiding them among the trees and looking to all as if he didn't have a single care in the world, not a trace of her curse present as his graceful movements appeared unhindered by what should be excruciating pain and transformation. The fucker just pranced around and probably thought it was funny.
Her chair fell to the floor with an echoing thud as she stood up, snarl present in her face as her eyes narrowed. She couldn't understand how he had managed to break her curse, nor how any of them had acquired the knowledge to achieve what not even she knew how to do. She was embarrassingly new to the magic business, but that didn't mean she wasn't learning quickly and taking in stride each and every advantage it brought. Sherlock and his lot were just others in a long line of people who thought they were better than everyone else just because they had been born with the ability of negotiating with the universe's guiding forces. To Mary, it all appeared immensely unfair.
With new resolve, another spell was formed by her hand, leaving green floating sparks in its wake after her incarnation utilised the gem's ability to be sent hurling towards them, the magic only taking a moment to respond to her this time. It had been getting easier for her to bend it the more she used it.
She watched as the others advanced, waiting for her spell to reach them and drop them one by one like the chess pieces they were, but the moment never came. They continued to go as if completely unbothered by her attempts. A gust of wind passing through them, ruffling their hairs but doing nothing more. Then, as if he knew she was watching, Sherlock turned his eyes right towards her, the colour swirling in them settled on green and bored into her as he gave her the impression he could also see her. She knew it was impossible, but that didn't stop it from sending a shiver running down her spine.
It was unfortunate, how skilled he was; but Mary was nothing if not practical, and she promised herself never to put herself in the position of underestimating him ever again.
Things were about to get a little ugly.