Chapter 6: I Know A Thing About Vengeance
In the life of every villain there will come a
time when punishment or retribution must be
served for a wrong inflicted to their person, said
revenge is best administered when least expected;
it must be ruthless and without remorse.
The hallway was deserted, and despite the sun shining outside the windows, the desolated place appeared as if the day had been completely consumed and twilight sky was its only attempt at shedding some light to them through the ceiling glass. The heavy atmosphere lent an eerie feeling to all which entered and Greg couldn't help the sudden urge he got to stay away. To forget everything and let events unfold unaltered by his presence.
He wouldn't though, they had come there for a reason, and he suspected Sherlock wouldn't leave unless he saw that task achieved —or found proof of their failure, which was honestly more likely— and judging by the frantic nature of his movements which he was trying hard to hide, it was in everybody's best interest if he found that which they had come looking for.
"John!" Sherlock said, audibly attempting to sound calm, almost uninvested in whether his call worked or not. Lestrade could see his eyes dancing over the scene, attempting to consume any and every clue of their friend's whereabouts. For the first time in his life, Greg truly witnessed and understood all the times his purple-haired friend had preached sentiment was dangerously disadvantageous. How obviously he cared about the king had left him vulnerable in the eyes of the enemies which they were following, and of the enemies which trailed behind them. If Lestrade noticed, he doubted someone else would be fooled, and he imagined his friend was painfully aware of the very fact. Still, Sherlock continued calling as if he couldn't stop himself, while their feet thudded over the rich blue carpet.
The castle's main upper corridor stretched almost endlessly before them, its flanks deep brown wood paneling only interrupted by the chamber doors which lined it, and the few grandiose paintings of proud royals smiling rigidly at them as they passed. A symbol of strength, lineage and ongoing hope which every royal or visitor had admired at one point of their lives. But now it all laid in still chaos. Nothing too obvious or visible, but the perfect and borderline obsessively neat way the royals had of up-keeping their homes was nowhere to be seen.
"He could be asleep anywhere." Greg found himself commenting, his voice low and somber, not really wanting to disturb the profound silence around them. He didn't exactly fancied being attacked by whatever had laid waste to their surroundings.
Irene turned her head to stare at him, the look of worry he could see over her delicate features didn't make him feel less anxious. There would be no way to spin this into a version were bad news weren't the only thing they could offer, and they both knew it.
Archie, however, did not. "Or turned to stone." He said, his innocent words cut off at the end by Irene's hand hastily wrapping over his mouth to stop him from talking; but Sherlock's reaction showed them the damage was already done. He stopped in his tracks, as everyone else waited, and turned around, fixing the kid with a gaze which was more lime green than his usual stormy grey. The intended anger in them was completely undermined though by the devastation shining in his face, even if the expression was there merely a second.
Greg released a sigh when the purple haired boy appeared to deflate and continued walking, confrontation the furthest thing from his mind. Lestrade cracked one of his knuckles in nervousness as he too stepped round the turn into the long hallway's last stretch, sparing a weary glance at Eurus following after them. He attempted to shake off the feeling of dread he got when he saw the way she looked at each of their movements, culminating with that of her half brother's; he couldn't exactly put a finger on why it had always disturbed him, —the three of them had met their share of scary people over the cycles— but the fixation with which she regarded him was beyond the realm of creepy. As if sensing Greg's very thoughts, she fixed her curious gaze on him, the crystalline, pale teal colour making him want to turn away and stop looking, which was exactly what he did.
Immediately after, just before he could ponder what that gesture meant for his character, Victor's amused voice cut through the atmosphere like a sharp dagger. "Hold up!" He raised a graceful hand at his side, and the others stopped to figure out what could possibly more important than the already pressing matter they were in. "What's this?" The ginger said, gesturing towards a set of scratch marks carved deep into the paneling wood. Starkly contrasting with its smooth and otherwise perfect surface; there was also a painting almost cut in half a few paces away. "I thought grunge was a no-go for you princesses." He commented, the smirk never leaving his pale face as he spun to gauge their reaction.
"Any chance that was already there?" Irene asked, voice hesitating and red mouth pursing in a grimace at how unconvinced she was with her own hopeful questioning. The olive eyes moving towards Sherlock, not only because they all knew he had spent more time on the king's quarters than anyone else present, but also because she had been terribly worried about him the past moon cycles and both of them knew this could very well push their friend over the edge.
The blank expression on said friend's face told them all they needed to know about how far along he already was, not looking as if he were even surprised by what Victor was showing them. Hands inside his coat pockets, he just strode forward and stopped a few paces away from the damage. Sherlock stared passively at it for a few moments, dead silent and ignoring their questions of 'what happened?' and 'who could have made those marks?'. Lestrade was properly concerned by his lack of response now, and by his own thoughts which immediately pondered on whether whatever creature had made those marks had taken John too.
"Do you think-" Greg asked, trailing off after not having a single clue on how to proceed. Everyone waited; even Eurus appeared confused at her brother's reaction —or lack thereof— and watched him curiously from behind him.
The moment stretched on uncomfortably, Sebastian clicking the heel of his boot impatiently, clearly not aware of what was transpiring. The rebel was immobile, not attempting to reach out and touch the scratches on the wall, as if just one touch would poison him. As if he knew what the beast was and knew it intimately. Which gave Lestrade the feeling he was aware of much more than he was sharing, although that was nothing new.
"This way." He said at last, his voice sounding a bit scratchy as he turned around and guided them to the royal council room with brisk steps. The others were quick to follow him round the corner and right towards the big ornate doors at the far left. "And tread lightly," Not an ounce of any emotion was left in his words while he determinately stepped. "We're being watched." He said.
Sherlock put all his strength behind the forceful push he inflicted upon the big oak doors and continued walking with sure steps into the vast gallery they revealed. He didn't need to inspect his surroundings, —except to figure out whether the scratches extended to there as well— he had been there several times prior. It was the usually unguarded room he had used as a hidden passage to John's quarters, filled with nothing more than relics and keepsakes from times gone, a private little museum for only the royal inhabitants of the castle, if you will.
The walls were painted a ghastly shade of blue which looked as if it were still deciding whether it was green or grey, and the moulding on the panels shone with a golden plated finish impossible to miss and in no way contradicting what the rebel had always found confusing about the kingdom; if the people trapped in the isle were supposed to be the cruel and awful ones, then how come the royals inflicted such things upon the eyes of innocent spectators?
Irene was the first to enter the room after him, with her wide surprised olive gaze regarding her surroundings closely, the distinct noise her high-heeled boots made on the marble floor stopped as she discovered the large stained-glass covering the ceiling, depicting epic scenes from ancient battles with colourful pieces which formed knights and dragons and royal feasts of celebratory victory. The faint light streaming through it drew swirling lines of colours over her face as she stared.
The others were quick to follow, each mesmerised by a different item. Walking slowly and reaching out curious hands as if to verify their existence for themselves. However, the several shinning suits of armour lining the two opposite walls were the stars of the show; drawing attention in their stoic stillness inside glass cases as if they were just waiting to spring into action and defend the kingdom should one of them threaten it.
Victor, —which was no surprise— was rather sceptical on their abilities, opening the glass door and cynically watching the empty helmets in mild amusement and extending a finger to trail the sharp edge of the sword in one of their grasps. It made Sherlock's insides burn with distaste, not because he was in any way offended by it —he doubted he was even capable of such emotion— or some other nonsensical fairy tale the royals were so fond of referencing, but because he had shared the very same sentiment the first time he regarded them too, and he hated himself for the similarity.
"I can feel you looking." Trevor said, his words lifting at the end as he amusedly observed the thin line of blood on his finger, not sparing a single glance at the frowning faces behind him.
"Good," Lestrade said, his strong arms crossed over his chest with not a single trace or attempt to conceal the fact he was just waiting for an excuse to throw them back into the dome.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned, seeking for a distraction from the display; which he found immediately in the task of gathering clues of John's whereabouts, of any of the other castle inhabitants truly. At this point he would even settle with seeing his brother's overbearing, smug, know-it-all smile.
"How many?" Came the voice of his other sibling to his left, shattering his thought processes into smithereens floating in the air around them. That soft, so utterly false colour on her tone made all the meaning scape the rebel's grasp.
"Excuse me?" He shifted towards her figure. Her expression as empty as usual while Sherlock was able to see the resemblance on her which he had spent all his life wilfully ignoring. The violet haired had always found her gaze disconcerting, and now he understood that bone-deep repulsion stemmed from the fact that she stared back at him with his own eyes.
"How many hours of sleep did you loose worrying about me?" She asked, looking as though she were ready to jot down the exact number of seconds she had been the most prominent and important thing in his universe. The rebel refused to give her the satisfaction of finding out how much his fragile tranquility had been thrown because of it, and how even John —not exactly the kingdom's most observant man—had figured out quite quickly the scale in which his borderline obsession was consuming him.
"Dragons don't really loose sleep." He answered instead, taking steps towards the centre of the room, where a small wooden platform waited for an item worthy of its most honourable place of display. "Except to wonder what fried octopus tastes like." He said, knowing fully well the insult would fail to impact the other, but he had to take his pleasure where he could get it.
Irene sighed audibly, standing on the platform with hands on her hips and a clear exasperated frown over her delicate features. "Can we not do this?" She said. Sherlock was completely aware of her desire to avoid any confrontation between them, —keeping the peace was smarter and all that— but he believed she was really fooling herself if she thought this would end in any way other than devastation.
"We're celebrating our differences." The rebel replied, an innocent smile gracing his face as the indigo haired girl looked on in evident scepticism, letting him know he was trying her patience. He stared back, ignoring how interested in the interaction Eurus appeared to be. Irene looked away first of course, another exhale tumbling from her red lips while her hair shifted with the shake of her head.
"The only strategy with any functional end possible is to separate and look for the princess." Eurus said, so obviously done with sharing his attention with someone else. The marine life clinging to her baggy white clothes completely at odds with the sharpness of the intellect behind her words. Just the glowing necklace around her neck was indicative of anything about her heritage.
Sherlock actually laughed at that. "I may be considered the idiot of the family by everyone in it but myself, but give me some credit." He said, his smirk growing in disbelief. "You think I would let you out of my sight with my ember?" The rebel asked.
"Uhm, guys-" Lestrade tried to cut in, but the violet haired would have none of it, whatever it was, it could and would wait. The fragile agreement they had only worked for what he hoped to gain from it, and he wasn't about to let said chance slither through his fingers.
"Think again, sis." He spat, as his determined eyes shifted between amused grey and furious green. "Mary would spell you first time she gets." If he knew anything about Mary it was she would never risk Eurus cursing her first, she would act cleanly and swiftly to the best of her abilities. And while that wouldn't make him lose any amount of sleep, —would finally let him have some rest, in fact— he would rather her not getting her hands on certain items currently on his sister's person.
"You mean, without it, she'd spell you." Eurus replied, the others gathering around the two of them as the conversation veered towards familiar confrontation. She always did this, tried to rise a desirable reaction out of him; he would never admit she sometimes succeeded. Which was why he probably had lived to tell the tale, if she decided he was no longer interesting enough to be observed they would instantly all get sucked into the nearest ocean without any hope of escape.
"Something's happening." Greg insisted, but Sherlock waved a hand at him in dismissal. This game of chess could only be won by thrusting your undivided attention to it.
"There are some things I'd love to ask her." Eurus continued, her tone never fluctuating this time. "Didn't it ever occurred to you that this boyfriend you're so desperately looking for is most probably dead?" She said, as the rebel did his best to remember being reckless, —while very much in character— would be incredibly detrimental to his cause; resolve which waned with every truth he didn't really want to face. "Or as dead as those statues outside are?"
Just as he was about to answer Victor's voice finally cut through, breaking the spell of concentration in which Sherlock was ensnared and saving him from having to stop himself. "Girls!" The ginger said, "We have a situation here." His green eyes looking straight ahead, bypassing both of them and landing at the suit of armour perched behind one of the exhibition glasses.
Sherlock frowned and let his gaze wonder over its silver frame, only then noticing how the air in the room had shifted; the cloying sweet taste of magic permeating the atmosphere around them as the armour's limbs became alive in front of their very eyes. Pink smoke oozed out from every slit between the pieces as a very familiar voice filled the stunned silence with sentences of 'You like princes so much?' and 'How about a knight in shinning armour?'. The rebel rued to be impressed, but Mary was clearly improving.
Irene was the first to stand back, she grabbed Archie's hand and dragged him behind her, attempting to shield him from whatever would happen next.
Surprisingly, Sebastian was the next to follow, his flight instinct kicking in as he all but ran from the front line towards the exit, exclaiming 'Watch your back!'.
The violet haired boy spared a second to watch him go, only to be stopped by the double doors snapping closed seconds before he could get out; when Sherlock turned back around he was greeted with the sight of the knight stuntingly moving its arms to raise the sharp weapon in its grasp. The sword came down swiftly, shattering the glass between them and scattering the little pieces at their feet. Greg shared a glance with the violet haired boy, his strong hands coming out instinctively to push back those around him, —no matter which side they were on— as the suit advanced slow, uncoordinated steps across the marble. Clanking and scraping could be heard coming from the other suits around them, a small army waking up and taking a battle stance against them as if the hall were a field of war. At least more than thirty soldiers to their meek —not very competent— seven. Odds completely against them.
Things were about to get a bit sticky.
Sherlock's smile widened as his brain began building a strategy, his now scheming eyes searched the scene for anything which could aid them in countering the metal attack. He doubted the curse Mary had placed on them was deadlocked, but it was intended to harm, and it was strong enough to kill them if they weren't careful.
One of the knights swung the steel blade in their direction, and Victor expertly swerved its sharp edge while Archie yelped away in fright. The ginger held up his fists in front of his body as if that would aid him in any way. Everyone who wasn't a complete moron should know you should never fail to bring a knife to a fist fight. Perhaps that was the reason the rebel then found Lestrade perched up on the wall seconds later, having used his ability to climb to reach the set of double swords and shield on top of the big doors. Making sure he could arm himself despite not having any magic or anything to match the raw power that could come from a spell. At the end of the day a sword is just a sword.
Sherlock stood back, away from the oncoming attack but still very much at the centre of it. He closed his eyes for a moment, purple flames glowing from his hands as he concentrated, but just when he was about to let loose his first attack, a blast of teal magic splashed the armour in front of him, effectively swiping away the two knights next to it in the process as well and completely extinguishing the fire from his fingers. The violet haired boy casted annoyed eyes at the girl but was quick to try again, this time succeeding in tumbling down a few of them. His satisfaction was short-lived though, since the disassembled pieces just rearranged again and rose from the marble floor as if out from a grave.
To his right, Greg was already posed to defend, meeting the swings expertly with the heavy sword in his grip and body turned sideways, often times making contact with steel and detaching a limb here and there. The jabs may not do anything but give them some time before the next attack, but time was all Sherlock needed to search for a curse to get an advantage and neutralise them for good.
Irene, however, wasn't fairing as well, she held the blade awkwardly, moving as gracefully as she could —which wasn't much—and somehow still managing not to allow them to harm her or Archie. But one battle at the Isle's dock didn't exactly make you a master in swordsmanship; it was clear she was mostly brains and lipstick. For the first time in his life Sherlock found himself authentically believing the rewards would be worth having to suffer Donovan's presence, if only to even the odds.
Specially since most of his attempts to harness the pink energy oozing from the suits —the same which let Mary control them remotely— were hindered or rendered null by Eurus coming up with attacks of her own. As if he were still three cycles old and in need from his older sibling's help. Having her hanging from his spell arm didn't help either, in fact it would most probably be the reason why they will most definitely lose. The silent competition underlying what really mattered.
"Fall back." She said, as she stood tall on the platform; her still somewhat wet appearance and bright hair plastered to her face managing to make her look more wrong than the metal zombies currently closing in on them. One glance of her teal eyes was all it took to have her two pirate lackeys rush to obey the command as if she had given the irrefutable order out loud. Seb and Victor rushed to acquire the swords at the other end of the room, hasting back to flank their captain, each on either side and ready to lay down and let her climb over them if necessary, it seemed; not even minding whether they hindered Greg's or anyone else's defence. When Sherlock could spare a thought away between conjuring words he wondered since when had Trevor become such a boring push over when he remembered him to be anything but. He could do whatever he wanted, become his sister's dancing puppet for all he cared, but he would have to pardon him if he wasn't terribly impressed with the change. They may have similar heritage, but he'll never be partial to Eurus' loathing for anything with character.
The battle went on, but soon the frustration became unbearable. They weren't going to win that way, not if they fought each other more than the bigger fish breathing down their necks; and Irene clearly thought the same. Frowning and curling her red lips in distaste at the lack of grace and effectiveness in their front. "This isn't working." She said, struggling to put her weight behind the block she had with the other's sword, the armour pushing her upper body backwards towards the ground.
"What do you suggest?" Sherlock huffed, struggling with a couple of suits attempting to stop him from using his hands. She gave a pointed look past him, reaching E's figure. He wasn't an idiot, —far from it, actually— he could tell the gravity of the situation they were in, and he knew what she wanted from him. They couldn't hold the attack forever, soon the arms holding their weapons steady would grow tired and weak and they would fail, and the suits would cut them up like confetti. However, that didn't mean he was ready to let bygones be whatever the hell royals always preached they should be and forget how she had been ready to throw John to the sharks just to prove a point.
However, when more suits burst through the double doors he was forced to reconsider his stance. They were barely coping at the moment, and no matter how sure of himself and his abilities he was, there were maths even the violet haired boy couldn't help but look in the face. The only remaining question was how Mary's power was growing so quickly.
Sherlock's eyes rolled to the ceiling but he gave Irene a reluctant yet clear nod of affirmation nonetheless and stepped back, allowing his friend to stand on the platform beside Eurus. His sister squinted at her in clear curiosity, just before dragging her eyes away until they met twin silver ones.
It didn't exactly take a genius to figure out she was questioning his sanity at the moment, the excitement at the new information making it more than obvious his sudden sort of madness was exactly what she had wanted to witness. Sherlock stared back and smiled benignly at her as he extended his hand and hurled a powerful attack towards the armour in front of him without looking, startling even her with the loud blast of light. He may have caved, but he was far from the royal custom of friendship bracelets, which shouldn't even exist in his Mind Palace to begin with. Damn Molly!
Greg —although grudgingly— went along with it, and if he grumbled way more than necessary whenever Victor turned his smirking face his way as they fought together, nobody commented. It wasn't exactly ideal, but it seemed they had found themselves collaborating, even if they weren't exactly on the same side nor had the same intentions —whichever theirs were. Not wanting to get killed would do that to people, apparently. Although the violet haired boy supposed if they didn't find John and figured out how to defeat Mary fast, it would all have been for naught.
The rebel held the line as best as he was able and turned his face away from the futile attempt at a curse in which he was engaged to look at the others. Archie, even looking terrified out of his usually stubborn expression, was crawling at the edges of the room unnoticed, ripping shields from displays he could reach on the walls and placing them in the suits' paths for them to trip over. Sherlock managed to cover him a few times, taking down every armour that got too close, all the while refusing to meet again the eyes he knew where at his back.
For a while it seemed to work, the strange alignment of their roles. Presenting a makeshift front of offence and defence; but it soon became evident they were only placing bandaids over a severed limb. The pink smoke expanded still, creating a dense fog dancing around their feet, which would surely prove problematic once it rose enough to fill the room completely. No matter how many of them they disassembled or knocked over, the suits just kept on coming and any reversing spell he could attempt to stop their stunted advanced was being swept away without effort. Sherlock could see their ranks closing in; the swerved attacks which could have made serious harm would stop being avoided and come closer and closer to actually maiming them any second now.
Just as the thought had sliced through his brain, as if having conjured it himself, he heard Irene cry out in pain; doubling over on the platform and clutching her exposed right thigh where a thin, deep cut had been made over otherwise unblemished skin. Blood flowed from it freely and ran down her leg to pool inside her high-heeled boot. The violet haired backed towards her, not losing sight of the immediate threat to their front. "Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed from the other side of the room. Nodding at him with a locked jaw and determined eyes. Answering his unasked request for cover.
Ignoring Eurus' cold examination to his reaction while making no attempt herself to assist, —just staring dispassionately as one would to an uninspired piece of painting—The rebel knelt down next to her, placing his dominant hand over the wound and pressing, chanting words in his head repeatedly as he always did, but the spell just wouldn't work. He knew his magic was born and bred destructive, it wasn't in his nature to heal anything, but not even his attempt to go around it as it had after the battle at the docks fixed the skin beneath his fingers. Poison bleeding from them into the figure below looking at him with scared olive eyes.
A powerful blast collided with him from the side then, yanking loose his hold and violently knocking them over and off the platform; leaving them both sprawled on the floor and Sherlock convinced something had happened to his right foot which had taken most of the weight of their fall. He raised himself on his elbows instead, extending a hand towards his friend's figure, barely able to reach from his position. Even Victor tried to cover for them but found himself struggling with the numbers. The steel army was gaining on them from all fronts.
The pink smoke grew around him and its insidious component caused his eyes to sting and toxic air to enter his lungs. There was nothing he could do, he couldn't stop the blood from flowing or the wound from gaping at the world. Just as he hadn't been able to stop Mary from cursing him, or to seal his sister in the Isle, or even to find John. No matter how many strategies his mind devised he just couldn't get it right, he kept on spinning and spinning without control and no seeable way to break past the obstacle. He couldn't even see properly past the treacherous tears forming in his eyes and— oh.
Oh!
An idea smashed through his head as a freight train. It was dangerous. He had never tried something like that before, and then was probably not the time to experiment, not when the consequences were so real and so proximate. He was sure Mycroft would berate him for being foolish and reckless all he wanted when they found him. His mother had been famed for doing it, and thanks to a cruel, not very good-looking god of the underworld he had inherited those very same abilities. Mary may have the numbers, but field soldiers always had one advantage.
He dragged his injured foot up and expertly ignored the pain as he stood up. His figure managing to be somewhat imposing while he let that familiar mentality have free reign and consume him, green replacing any hazy shade of grey in his gaze. Sherlock opened the door when the dragon knocked and allowed the darkness in him to enter.
The black cloud covered his imagination, ebbing and rushing through him as his mind searched for sources of illumination around him and pulled. He didn't know how to control it, all light just left its resting place and travelled erratically towards him, hitting him square in the middle on his abdomen and pooling somewhere inside his chest.
When his lime eyes opened again, the room was bathed in complete, unrecognising shadow, and all movement had ceased from around him. His cheeks stretched into a satisfied smile; taking back control by flipping off the lights, and with it, Mary's sole tool for attack. If she couldn't see them, to where the hell would she aim her remote attack?
Even unable to see their expressions, the boy was certain the others were almost as shocked as he was at the utter nothingness of their surroundings. But they hopefully would get over the surprise quickly; holding the spell steady was a challenge which he would fail to accomplish for long, and it had to be enough for them to regroup and leave the suits at a complete disadvantage.
He moved back, careful not to touch any of the armours or to give away his position in any way, all while his ever seeing gaze slowly regained its ability to notice details and he was finally able to watch his friends and enemies look around as if dazed; a clear sign his bright green eyes were the only ones that could see.
Mary may be clever and surprisingly determined in her mission which was equal parts vengeful and understandable, but Sherlock won't take any part in it. Won't play into the humiliating show she had planned for an adversary who wasn't even present. He would find John, and stop her, and show her why you never piss off someone who had grown up with the worst villains the kingdom had to offer as parental figures.
"Sherlock!" He could hear Greg calling, "Was that you?" His friend said just before jumping in surprise at feeling the rebel's hand now on his shoulder. Sherlock made a shushing sound and guided him through the darkness wrapping the other's strong hands around Irene's shoulders and whispering instructions for him to carry her with them. His sister must have understood what he was attempting to do, because she demanded his position from the shadows and proceeded to blindly navigate through them using only the sound of his whispers as she forcefully dragged her two-men crew towards their position at the opposite end of the hall. All the while the steel soldiers remained frozen as statues, sometimes giving aimless swings with their swords cutting down nothing but darkness. The violet haired boy's hand shook around Archie's smaller one as he fought to hold everything inside and, at the same time, not allow The Void to swallow him too, his soul hanging over the brink of the black hole as it continued to pull everything in, in, in.
When they all had reached the entrance, a few feet away from the closest of the armours, Sherlock sighed in relief and let go of the spell. All the light rushed out of him at once and painted their surroundings with visible colours and rich details once again, his injured foot almost giving way under him with the force it took to recover. Immediately, the suits of armour turned and made way towards them slowly, but this time Sherlock was prepared with purple flames already gathered around his hands. As he was about to attack, he saw Eurus prepare a spell but it was too late to stop his own. When both of them struck, the combined power of their curse caused a terrifying burst of lighting to erupt which all but vaporised any sign of metal in their vicinity, almost knocking them all over with the backlash too. All that was left of the armours were ashes and a few pieces of inanimate steel scattered over the marble floor.
Sherlock stood staring at his devastation, his hands shaking still with the sheer adrenaline at the sight. "Fuck," Greg, who carried a slightly dazed Irene on his arms, sighed in incredulity. The rebel shared the sentiment in silence. He could almost feel the hairs on the back of his head rise as he knew Eurus' calculating eyes shifted from the scene to his person. Figuring him out faster than he ever could, but still with an underlying question beneath the conclusion; as if wondering why him? What could be so special about him their mother had kept him around instead of throwing him to the metaphorical wolves as she had with her? Sherlock had a suspicion she was starting to catch on to the truth.
"Well, don't you two make a sweet team?" Victor said, wrapping his lean arms around both of their shoulders. "Are we going to turn good and help the poor with baby brother next, my captain?" His lilting voice and not at all bothered grin made Sherlock's insides crawl; not to mention it was probably not smart to anger his captain at the moment. Not that he cared, of course.
"Good?" Sherlock asked as he quickly recovered, shoving the other's arm away and raising his hand to send a blast of magic towards the paintings of smiling royals around the room. Slicing some in half and replacing the rest with vandalised scribbles and mocking words of anger. Then turning back to his questioning face. "No, I did not turn good." The silver gazed boy snarled. "And if you ever touch me again, I'll make sure you'll follow the family tradition of one-handedness."
Trevor's face turned sour, fuming as he took a step back and Greg chuckled in amusement behind him, causing a corner of his own mouth to curl up. "And I was worried we wouldn't be able to get along." Irene commented, clearly very much in pain but still silently demanding to be put down from the unflattering position.
"Yeah, your leg is really messed up." Greg said, wrapping his strong arm around her waist to help support her weight. "Maybe Lady Hudson has a potion or something?" He turned to Sherlock, said boy watched as his expression turned expectant while his gaze filled with hope.
"We'll have to split up," The violet haired boy concluded; there was nothing to it, their minutes were numbered, they couldn't afford to keep going in circles. No matter how much he wanted to look for the King. "If we don't find Mary before she strikes again-" He started but was cut off by his sister whispered voice.
"Where does this cheerleader bunk down?" She said, the casualness of her words completely at odds with the intention behind it, as if the naturality were nothing but a conscious fabrication. "Even if she's not there we may find something that tells us where?" Eurus commented, which the rebel loathed to admit sounded quite reasonable for lack of another course of action.
"Fine we'll go." He conceded, angling his body away from smirking pirates and placing his determined gaze on his friend. "You need to find John," He worded, as if any other outcome wouldn't be appreciated, because it wouldn't be. He had been the catalyst of this all, and John's safety would directly dictate how he ended it.
"So we're following Eurus' plan." Sebastian added, the idiotic smugness painted all over his face reminded the rebel of why he had deserted any idea of life on pirateship when he was younger. Life on a boat which couldn't move and would never sail out from the Isle was one thing, but life on a boat with an idiot like him? Just no.
"It was an obvious plan." He replied, flipping the collar of his coat up, haughty expression on once more as he walked towards the hall's entrance.
"She said it first." The other called to his back, making Sherlock's eyes roll as he thanked his lucky stars he got the perfect way of getting rid of his presence for a while; since spelling him would probably send John into a frenzy once he found out.
"Take these two, and we'll meet back at Irene's as soon as possible." He said to Greg, who nodded absentmindedly and transferred the weight of Irene to his own. Sherlock wrapped his arm around her and leaned forward to mutter close to Greg's ear. "And Lestrade, this is important," He said, voice lower in pitch but very much heightened in intensity. "Whatever you do, don't make him angry."
Her leg still hurt like hell, and she was completely aware her usually graceful strut had been partly replaced by a slight limp when she leaned her weight on it, but Lady Hudson's potion had worked wonders on the wound and Sherlock said her limb should be good as new by tomorrow morning. Irene just hoped she wasn't already made of stone by then.
"This is useless." The violet haired boy muttered to her right, where he was rummaging the drawers and 'secret' compartments of Mary's desk in search for some type of clue as to her whereabouts. They had searched for her on campus, but she appeared nowhere to be found, and they had all agreed —more like Sherlock had demanded and sent fuming eyes with whoever disagreed— the more time they spent on the dorms the more they were inviting her to attack them again with whatever was on hand, and the last thing anyone needed was a war against books and hairbrushes. Museum pieces had been bad enough.
The room was an explosion of pink and gold, matched with small pieces of dusty blue and varying styles of fabrics and textures covering the furniture, giving the ambiance a feminine and luxurious air. Tastefully mingling metals of silver and rose gold on the objects which was at the same time too much and just enough. Irene wouldn't mind a room like hers, even if she was more partial to dark blue.
Eurus was laid on the princess' four poster bed, flipping the pages of a pink book and looking as if she had found the buried treasure of the magical lands with whatever information she was gathering. "Found Mary's 'diary'." She commented, the last word foreign in her tongue as if such a concept had been absent from her world until then, which Irene figured it probably had. Placing her disturbing teal eyes on Sherlock as if no one else were in the room, and trying to match the words on the paper with the figure she saw now. "And oh, did you ruin Mary's life." Her delighted tone made a shiver run down the indigo haired girl's spine.
"You found anything we didn't already know?" Sherlock said, with his hands inside the pockets of that leather coat he never took off even when it was a million degrees outside. A dark purple eyebrow raised haughtily at her as he sighed.
His sister ignored what he said completely, and continued as if the commentary was nothing but wisps of air around her. "The Fairy Cottage." She said, a seemingly apparent connection which was but nebulous the Irene. "That's where she is." She continued, and her friend remained still, eyeing her suspiciously, in almost passive defiance which Irene failed to understand. "Where the fairies hid her mother away from our mother?" Eurus questioned, more to raise a reaction than to gain confirmation; she doubted that girl needed affirmation from anyone.
"Yes, the irony is not lost on me." The rebel commented, after which the silence stretched, both of the Holmes taking part in a silent conversation. Irene was sure something more was happening, an underlying current of hostility and understanding between them right in front of her olive green eyes, but she didn't have the information to quite get it. She was unsure whether she was the only one. "Are you okay to go?" Sherlock turned then to her, a strange act of sympathy which only served in heightening the already awkward situation.
"Don't be nice." She replied even if she nodded her affirmation, "It's creepy." This brought a chuckle out of the other as he impatiently made for the door. Clearly all sense of prior consideration already lost to the past.
Irene smiled and turned, "Archie," She said, "The bling stays here."
"But she's bad." He complained, half the princess' shinny and valuable things already on his person and ready to depart with him once they left.
"And we're not." She replied, retrieving an expensive looking watch and replacing it on the box in front of the mirror. It sounded like a stretch, even to her own ears, but the grimace Eurus made at the comment was worth every inch of the lie. Might as well have fun for the moment, since when all this was over, the three of them would have a damn hard time getting rid of her now.
Greg was in hell.
Literally. Figuratively. It didn't matter.
All he knew is he wanted to kill someone, and that someone would probably be the bastard when he saw him next. Their only chance to defeat Mary be damned, he knew Sherlock had deliberately sent Sebastian and Victor with him to get rid of them, and if it weren't for the fact that John and the realm were in great danger, he would have flat out refused; But more stupid than choosing to carry out a task with two people he loathed was angering Sherlock when he was this emotional. He wasn't completely sure he wouldn't just curse the whole kingdom himself out of spite.
They were walking through the forest, where Sherlock said it would be most likely he'll be, —hell knows why— and Lestrade called for the king's name. Over and over again but with no answer forthcoming, it was as if John had just vanished into thin air.
It made the boy anxious, Mary had already attacked one of his friends, and it was likely the other hadn't gone unscathed, he just hoped it wouldn't take another impromptu quest to find a magical object. He was worried their seemingly never-ending luck would run out eventually. His thoughts turned then to Molly, on whether she had managed to remain safe, and where she could be. He supposed if all else failed, at least he would be forgiven for his absence to her birthday party.
"These things just grow everywhere." Said Sebastian, who was almost face deep in a sweet berry bush, eating as if he had been starving his whole life. "These are free, right?" He asked, which made Greg stop in his tracks and glare.
"Could we focus?" He asked of the others, none of which appeared very keen in the task. Victor was practically laying down in the shade as they stopped for a break and Lestrade's hands clenched in his leather gloves as he struggled to remember why he couldn't just leave them there and continue on his own.
"Easy for you to say, you've probably seen everything by now." Seb replied, a resentful but dejected tone laced on his words, clearly upset at the privilege he and his friends had been granted. "You're probably used to grabbing lunch from a green, ripe, sweet bush." He said as he pooped another berry into his waiting mouth.
"Not really," Lestrade answered, thinking of the bending machines at tourney practice, and realising perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to be dismissive of their situation, that had been him just a few moon cycles prior. "Could you stop eating and help me look?" He cracked his knuckles and stretched, ready to keep trekking in search for his friend.
"We've looked everywhere." Came Victor's smooth voice, now leaning on a tree and looking for all the world as if he were on holiday. "He's not here, mate." He said, and just the sound of his mocking tone, let alone his disregarding words, boiled Greg's blood. "Why should we care?" He asked.
"Because we'll probably lose the kingdom if we don't," The brunette was quick to answer, "And where do you think that would leave you, huh?" He turned to face the other fully, while Sebastian had already fazed out from the conversation and was back to storing berries in his pockets.
"It's all the same." The ginger boy shrugged, for a second the heavy coat and defiant expression reminded Greg of Sherlock; a comparison he'd remember and come to regret for the rest of his life. "You think the precious royals will actually let us stay when you've defeated this princess?" His green eyes shone with determination and cynicism. No doubt in his mind. To him, Greg and the others were just going to do as the kingdom had done for so many sun cycles and sweep their own kind under the rug.
"Sherlock gave his word, and his word is solid." He replied, sounding a bit more passionate than he had intended, but after everything they had gone through, —he couldn't believe he actually had come to believe so that deeply— letting the kids on The Isle down, letting John down, would be the last thing Sherlock would ever do.
The two others stayed silent, even Sebastian had stopped and listened to his affirmation. Lestrade's feet shuffled to shift his weight and he sighed. "So if you want to stay, you better start pulling your weight." He said as he turned around and kept walking, determined once more to find his blonde friend no matter the cost. And if there was way less venom in his tone than the pirates —and himself— had predicted, no one said a word.
There's truly no place like an evil lair.
The sight of Irene's small 'castle' was like a long yearned haven to her the moment its entirety was revealed by the green trees. The mid-day sun already beating hard on them as the four approached the entrance. They had come here at Sherlock's insistence, not wishing to deviate from the probably carefully drawn plan now that he had it; not even to reach Mary faster. Irene couldn't say she understood it fully, but she knew without Sherlock, John or Lady Hudson —wherever she was— their attempts to stop her would be nothing short of laughable, so she followed without much fuss.
"Nice digs." Eurus said beside her when they reached the wooden front doors; framed by colourful —mostly blue— flowers and a white garden set of table and chairs on the patio.
"Really?" She turned from unlocking the doors, her eyes drawn into a suspicious frown, but she could feel her mouth tug up genuinely at the thought nonetheless. It had taken hard work to earn the money to buy it and she'll never stop being immensely proud of it.
"No." The other answered, shattering her pleasant surprise at the seemingly sudden show of humanity from a heartless sea witch. "I have no care for the concept of beauty." Eurus continued and walked around her to get inside, her teal eyes analysing everything upon first entrance. The manner in which she stripped everything down to its bones was so similar yet so different from what Sherlock did, she's always thought. For Irene, it seemed her friend deduced, and searched, and investigated just for the sake or pleasure of doing so, —even if he often did use what he learnt for unsavoury purposes— but his sister was another matter altogether. The want in her eyes wasn't for knowledge. No, she sought to dismantle.
"Well, I got a really good deal." She said anyway, unwilling to let her minimise her satisfaction. She entered her home and breathed in the smell of familiarity and perceived safety. Sighing and banning all dark thoughts form her mind, focusing instead on the task at hand.
Inside they were safe. As long as they all played along.
When they entered the house they searched for anything which could indicate the perimeter had been breached, but there didn't seemed to be anything amiss. Everything was as Irene usually kept it, her distinct brand of glamorous and distressed Sherlock had come to identify with her. Over the kitchen counter was Molly's birthday cake with a big slice missing.
They were quick to look in all the rooms, their search proving unfruitful until they came to the sun room where she kept most of her matchmaking 'insurance', and there, on the middle of the room's floor, sprawled gracefully —the rebel didn't know how that was possible—, was none other than counsellor extraordinaire, son and brother of evil: Mycroft Holmes in all his three piece suit glory. Currently completely dead to the world.
The violet haired boy knelt beside him and checked his vitals, deeming him in deep sleep. He would never admit the anxious feeling that ran through his veins when he saw the ginger spelled. But spelled was still better than dead; and certainly better than whatever those statues outside were.
"He must have come looking for us." Irene said, and Sherlock didn't see the point in commenting further when she was so obviously right. He saw her shift the weight on her feet repeatedly as they watched him. Eurus an eerily quiet presence next to them.
"And found Mary instead." He replied as he placed pale long fingers on his brother's temples, attempting to bring consciousness forward. He could feel the strength of the magic was not as prominent as the one inside some of others had been, it almost seemed amateurish, or as if something else were fighting back against it. Not at all matching the level of power Mary had gained since; and it confirmed the hypothesis drawing itself into shapes inside his brain. "Clearly Holmes' blood is not as easy to subjugate." He said to the others, hands not letting go of Mycroft's head. Omitting, of course, the fact that he had been the princess' real first casualty. He imagined the amount of intention she had to have to make her first curse work as strongly with him. He imagined, and promptly chased it out of his mind.
"Do you have to kiss him?" Eurus asked, the ignorant hostility that could so easily be mistaken for innocence was dripping from each of her words. Sherlock unintentionally mirrored Irene's bewildered expression for a second, before deciding on a fuming look. "Wake him up? Works every time?" She explained, as if he were a brainless simpleton who had no idea of the concept. Spell breaking kisses were not a thing, and he certainly wasn't about to kiss his brother to wake him up. Plus, how an emotionally stunted individual like herself ever could arrive to the conclusion that true love wasn't just romantic shouldn't impress Sherlock as much as it had.
The rebel rolled his grey eyes and settled for focusing on a reversal spell, something to lift the makeshift curse she had placed on his mind. "I didn't need a kiss to break your spell, did I?" He snarled; just remembering her entrance at cotillion put his tiny arm hairs on edge. Nobody, —and he really did mean nobody— put a love spell on John. Except for him; but Sherlock was sure that had been different, even if he wasn't clear on how exactly.
He closed his eyes and after a moment of perusing ways to circumvent the curse he managed to place a magical charm inside his brother's mind and extract him from the realm of dreams. He would probably be dizzy for quite awhile and it was also possible he would lose a memory or two, but they needed his input. He was lucky what Mary was able to do with him was much less than what she could clearly achieve with everybody else.
When the ginger opened his pale eyes and blinked up at them Sherlock saw immediately when reality dawned on his understanding. Mycroft stood up quickly, swaying a bit as he dusted off his suit and adopted the best posture he could with the splitting headache that must be traveling through his head.
"Welcome to the land of the living, brother." The violet haired said, grinning at him as the other narrowed his gaze at the individuals in his presence, his jaw growing tight when it landed on a particular someone.
"What is she doing here?" He asked, turning to look at his brother as if he had lost his mind. Sherlock was not entirely certain he hadn't so he decided against assurances. Only time would tell, really.
"Mary's running rampant and you were taking a nap," He said instead. "We needed all the help we could get." This didn't satisfy the advisor, as his expression grew from angry to exasperated. His fist were clenching now that they didn't have an umbrella to grasp.
"And your solution was to bring a confirmed enemy of the kingdom to our doorstep?" He replied, all the while Irene stepped away and Eurus remained unbothered at the confrontation.
"World's ending, the kingdom falling apart," Sherlock answered, "Thought it was the perfect time for a family reunion." He smiled up at his brother in a way which he knew the other hated but was too impossible to resist. The reaction was quick to come, culminating on the other looking up as if to ask forces he didn't quite believe in to deliver him from Sherlock's antics. Being able to do this with him was akin to fresh water on overheating flesh for the rebel, who never thought would miss something he had only gained not that long ago. But then again, that shouldn't come as such a revelation in hindsight.
"I don't appreciate your levity." Mycroft commented after a pause, in which he probably saw right through his provoking words. His expression smoothed out into aloof neutrality as he adjusted his dove grey vest and seemed to resigned to the fate in which they were now all together.
"Now why does that not surprise me?" Sherlock said, the smile painting his face as he turned to walk out of the room was more genuine this time.
As Sherlock went into the main house through the glass panel doors, following after Eurus who had departed a few moments prior, Irene turned to look into the features of the oldest of the Queen of Darkness, Mistress of Evil, Violet Holmes' children. A face that clearly stated 'oh Sherlock, what have you done now?'. Irene knew, the very same expression had been present in her own face multiple times before for her to recognise it instantly.
"Yeah," She commented. "I really don't get how we think this won't blow up in our faces." She stepped closer, ignoring the pain that still shoot through her leg with every movement, even if more faint now. Her thin and elegant frame mirrored the other more imposing figure. "But at least he's trying to save the kingdom, you know?" She said.
"Yes." Mycroft answered, his pale gaze still fixed on the wake of Sherlock's departure, as if the void was telling on its own. "The kingdom." He said pointedly, as if he believed the complete opposite. The indigo haired girl pretended not to understand what he meant. Ever since they arrived, Sherlock had been thrown off his usual game and confidence, and no one needed to wonder what, or rather who, was the reason for it. Coming to Auradon had been an incredible gift for the three of them, but there was no denying the silver eyed boy had had the most trouble adjusting to the idea of what their lives there now entailed.
Something nagged at her mind at that, though. Taking her away from her friends and spells and Mary. "Listen, Mycroft." She started, realising this was the first time she actually held a conversation with him and not even knowing whether she was addressing him properly, she didn't care enough to ask though. "Sherlock told me the royals —you included— are planning on closing the barrier for good?" She turned to him, attempting to demand his full attention.
"Sherlock said that?" The other asked and turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed as he oddly ignored the main subject of her question, choosing to latch unto what Irene deemed an insignificant detail. It wasn't exactly a surprise her friend had gone against royal advice and talked crown secrets with either of them. It was a mild transgression for him. Still, the silence stretched and just when the girl was about to comment again the ginger spoke first. "I hardly think now's the time-" He started, hand already up to dismiss away her concerns, but she wouldn't give up that easily.
"What about all those kids?" She cut him off, very well knowing the royal adviser must not be used to being addressed so impolitely by anyone except his brother. "Living under that dome was hell," She continued, the pain in her leg only spurring her to push onwards."You don't know, you'll never know what it was like." Mycroft turned once more to watch her, this time his eyes were wide and his posture more straight, as if responding to her belligerence. "If you don't listen to me, then at least listen to Sherlock." The plea from Irene was palpable, she had no intentions of antagonising any of them, but she was prepared to do so for this.
"I assure you we have calculated the possibilities, and although it may not be ideal, it is the most effective way in which we can ensure the safety of the kingdom." The other replied, his tone even and impersonal, —almost clinical— as he talked about the damning fate of the people of the Isle —his true people— like he were describing the physical properties of spells. It made Irene fume.
"So we're just gonna abandon them?" She demanded, taking a step closer and tilting her head up so he had no choice but to listen to her. "I know you're Sherlock's brother and John's best friend but I don't really know you." Irene said, which was true, even if the stories were nothing short of praising or frightened in equal measures. Something impressing either way. "But John told me you were the only one who didn't flat out refused his proclamation." The purse of the ginger's lips a sign he probably didn't like being reminded of the sentiment that had gone behind it. "That you helped." She said, her own voice turning less accusing, truthfully thankful for his interference.
"I have to thank you for that. Coming here has been the best thing that's ever happened to me." Mycroft looked satisfied at her admission at least, even if his set shoulders told her that probably wouldn't be enough to change his mind. A Holmes till the end. "Don't you think they deserve the same chance too?" She said.
The man paused for a moment, making Irene's hands shiver in anticipation. After a big sigh he turned his whole body towards her and spoke solemnly. "The day I watched my mother get decapitated and what was most precious to me taken away, I learned a very important lesson," He finally stated, his pale eyes shining with intention, marking a distinct dichotomy of his otherwise neutral and dispassionate demeanour. "This kingdom, despite appearances, is no fairytale." He said, which coming from the most trusted advisor of the family which were at the head of it all seemed to heightened the message's importance. Always included, but still very much an outsider. If anyone would know, it would be him.
The indigo haired girl took two steps behind, the fight rushing out form her at the shared hopelessness. "It's not a pleasant lesson to learn," Mycroft continued as he made for the door, presumably to follow his brother and the witch he had drag in. "But I'd still advise you to learn it." The message was loud and clear and heavy, and it took all Irene had to not let herself be crushed under it.