Chapter 7: The Curse And The Cabin In The Woods
Cursing. A solemn utterance intended to
invoke a supernatural power to inflict harm
or punishment over someone or something. It can,
be, if one has the ability for it, a very useful
course of attack or even just some easy fun.
The midday sun was starting to give way into the softer warmth of the evening, but it in no way meant the kingdom felt less stuffy. It was as if the excess magic had permeated the atmosphere and now hung over them like a thick, suffocating fog. Their search had lasted for the better part of two hours, and not only were their extremities asking for rest and relief, but Lestrade feared if they stopped looking for John, even for a moment, it could mean eternal destruction for them and the realm alike. Be it from Mary's vengeful streak or from Sherlock's wrath at their failure of locating his boyfriend. He couldn't deny he understood the sentiment, if it were Molly —who he hoped was sheltered somewhere with her grandmother— he would probably wouldn't go quietly into the night either, although he doubted it would be with the same level of theatrics the violet haired surely would.
"Shit, what's that smell?" Sebastian commented, ripping Greg away from his veering thoughts. He had one hand wrapped over his mouth and had stopped to look at his two reluctant companions to confirm they too could notice the peculiar stench; which Lestrade picked up immediately.
Just as he was about to comment, a deafening noise struck them from the deep of the forest behind him, something angry which appeared to be getting louder as it approximated, and which definitely didn't sound human. When Greg twisted around he was met with a tall man-looking thing snarling and baring its teeth at them. Whatever it was, it was akin to a wolf or a bear, maybe even both; with fangs hanging inside its snout and dirty blonde hair covering every inch of its body. The young rebel even had to jump back from the log he was standing on to avoid being hit by a big paw.
"Watch out!" Victor exclaimed, turning his head this way and that, in clear attempt to locate something around them which they could use as a weapon against the animal. The three of them were surprisingly outnumbered by the single beast, despite none of them being close to wilting flowers.
As Lestrade did his best to swerve the oncoming attacks, he couldn't help frowning in confusion; there was something strangely familiar about the beast; they way it lashed out at them as if scared, —not to mention it was the first time he had seen any kind of animal wearing royal boots— and the sheer familiarity made him stop completely. Growls and roars filled the air around them as the two pirates tried to fend it off by means of swinging sticks and pelting stones, but Greg stood still, wondering what would happen if he took a chance on the faint suspicion he could feel building inside him when Sherlock's warnings echoed around his head.
"John?" He asked in disbelief, tentatively taking a step forward even if reason told him he should go the other way. There was a second of recognition in the other, when the beast stopped to look at him intently as if some new information had dawned on it which it didn't quite grasp yet. The moment lasted but a few seconds, —the interest gone as soon as it had come and giving way to the creature preparing to pounce once more— but Lestrade had caught it. Confirmation of his convoluted theory. They were not going to win in any other manner anyway, and if it worked, it could very well save all their lives. He just had to not fuck it up.
"I think you need some eyesight adjustments." Seb said to his right, not taking his own gaze away from their immediate threat. His feet staying agile and ready to dodge both the attack and the trees shrouding the scene away from prying eyes, even if he wasn't very skilled at either. Luckily for him, no strike had enough intention behind it to actually damage any of them aside from a few bruises or scratches.
Decided in his new course of action, Greg dropped the battle stance altogether and watched as the other two boys stared at him as if he had suddenly developed a death wish. "I'm not sure I do." He replied, placing one heavy boot in front of the other. "John?" He asked once more, and could feel his palms starting to sweat as he raised them up and opened his body language. Meaning to convey no danger to the beast now that he was sure he wouldn't be torn to shreds if he approached. Well, sure was perhaps too strong a word, but he was confident nonetheless.
"It's fine, see?" He said. The beast —John?— turned to snarl at him, distrust in his black eyes and upper body leant forward, ready to attack if necessary, but still attentive enough to listen. "He doesn't want to hurt us." Greg explained to the others.
"Could've fooled me." Victor replied, flat tone betrayed by the adrenaline-caused intensity. His two feet still defiantly rooted to the spot as he refused to let his guard down. Lestrade struggled against the urge to sigh at the clear suspicion in the other's eyes, not only at the creature, but at his judgement as well.
Greg decided to ignore him. "Blimey! Did Mary do this?" He commented, not really expecting —or needing— an answer. In his mind there had been the possibility his friend had been spelled, he just didn't imagine it quite in this manner. Although considering what she had done to Sherlock, perhaps the blond had been lucky to be spared the same fate.
"Now I understand why my dad hated the ugly sight of his." Sebastian grimaced at him as he walked closer, making the beast grunt dangerously in warning. But Lestrade was quick to place a hand over Wilkes' abdomen to push him back before John could decide being polite was something he didn't do anymore.
"John, it's Greg. Your friend." He said, as he placed one heavy boot over an overgrown root and came to stand the closest he could. "Remember me?" He felt a bit ridiculous, speaking that way, but he wasn't sure how much his friend was able to understand, and the last thing anyone needed was to make him lash out again. "You've helped us lots of times." He reached out a tan hand and tentatively placed it on the other's furry shoulder. Thankfully, John remained frozen, unsure on how to react, the black eyes losing their intensity as Greg was able to discern in them a spark of that blue compassion that was a trademark of the king. "Perfect," He said. "Good boy?" Beast? King? Lestrade didn't even know anymore but it was an improvement from feral.
After the four of them had quieted down, he wondered what were they supposed to do now with a six-foot tall dangerous creature and no magical abilities inhabiting any of the present. A blast of cold, clear water solved that riddle for him, as it hit Greg and John unexpectedly and drenched them completely. Managing to startle the hell out of them all. The brunette looked around in search for the source, and was relieved when he spotted the last person he thought to find in those woods.
Molly was standing a few meters away, clad in a light-coloured jumper which clearly showed signs of having come into intimate contact with a considerable amount of water in the past. The smile she gave him as she lowered the big water-gun was enough to lift a heavy weight from Lestrade's consciousness.
"Oh, God." She said, her eyes still wide and a tiny bit confused as she stared at the four faces, which in turn the rebel thought must look severely surprised. She was swift as she all but ran to him and circled her arms around his torso. "I was so worried when you didn't show up." She said, her words relaying the deep concern she must have felt at not finding them, specially knowing what terror was sweeping over the kingdom.
"I didn't forget-" Lestrade started with his own brand of insistence now that memories of the party and the cake he was supposed to deliver came flooding back to him. It all felt like a lifetime ago when he had last thought of the matter, his main focus on defeating Mary and not letting Sherlock destroy the kingdom in the process. Despite how much he had worried about the safety of the girl now clinging to his vest, a birthday seemed superfluous.
"I'm so glad you're alright." Molly said stepping back, and her face stretched into a big grin, though her brown eyes still darted to the other figures present from time to time. "I was scared she got you too." All the life and positivity abandoned her tone at those words. She twirled her slightly wet ponytail and shifted her weight, her gaze moving now to the sight of John slowly transforming back. "And well…" She trailed off, but nobody really seemed to mind. All of their attention now drawn at the light and magical display the reversal of the curse was creating. Swirling and growing until it shrank back to a tiny spark and left behind a crouching blonde boy supporting himself with shaking arms and frowning at them with clear cobalt eyes.
"I really hate being spelled." He commented, the levity making Greg release a sigh of utter relief as he all but rushed to his aid and placed a strong hand over his now soft and pale looking shoulder, helping him stand up.
"You good?" He asked mirroring what he had said to the boy's boyfriend about his own curse, silently looking at the others to share in his disbelief. After what they had seen at the castle this shouldn't come as such a shock, but Sebastian and Victor still looked quite taken aback by the developments, not really as accustomed with magic as he had come to be living next to Sherlock. John nodded at him in gratitude, but his feet still swayed, threatening to fell him if Greg's strong arm didn't hold him up. Facial hair he certainly didn't have before covered his jaw and chin, while pearl ivory fangs still peeked form between his lips.
"I think he needs another blast." He turned to Molly, who happily raised the water weapon once more and send another powerful wave towards them, now strong enough to make them both take a step backwards by its proximity.
John spluttered and shook his head as he tried to scape the stream of water falling over him and drenching him for the second time. Clearly now more capable and in control of his own extremities. "Please stop." He said, a hint of laughter mingling with the demand once she ceased fire. Greg barely resisted the urge to chuckle at the scene, his arms crossed over his chest now, a releasing sensation growing inside his own chest now that he had proof of the continued existence of two of his favourite people in the kingdom.
"It's water from the Enchanted Lake." Molly explained, and John turned to smile at her in gratitude, a hand coming up to his jaw to scratch the light hair that had prevailed. "I guess it can't fix everything." She said, still eyeing him with lingering amazement. The king's turn from beast to mild-mannered man holding most of everyone's attention.
"You think?" The king said in apparent annoyance, and stepped closer to embrace his friend anyway; but the girl was quick to back away and raised her two arms up in a rather comical, rather alarmed expression to stay away, to which the blonde turned to Lestrade in sudden hurt and confusion.
"Uhm, John." Greg commented, searching the others' expression in aid on how to disclose the next shocking information. Sebastian was no help, still standing there gaping like the idiot Sherlock always accused him of being; and Victor mainly ignored him as he sat down on a log with his back to a tree and an amused grin over his face like the insufferable bastard Greg knew he liked to be. Once he accepted the fact no aid would be coming, he powered through. "You're kinda naked." Greg said. Which immediately alerted John to look down and confirm that yes, he was bare as a newborn in the middle of the forest.
"Oh shit." He uttered, clearly looking around for something he could wear to cover his royal nakedness. Molly chuckled in nervousness and turned her gaze away from anything that was not his face. Greg searched in himself whether something would be useful, and everyone seemed to come to the same conclusion on what the best and most efficient option would be. Everyone but Victor, that is.
"What?" He asked, twisting to read the expectant faces now all looking at him, Greg could see the exact moment that matter dawned on him. "Never in a million sun cycles." He said, closing tighter the long crimson overcoat as if they were all going to rip it off his frame.
"Gee! thanks, mate." John commented, the exasperated tone making a comeback as his blue gaze narrowed in clear distaste and memory of his captured hours at the island's dock. Clearly no fond memories to be found there. Lestrade took off his own vest and Molly provided a jumper, which made a lamentable make-shift skirt and shirt combination. "Actually, what are they doing here?" The blond turned to ask him as he closed the last button on the too tight cardigan, only now seeming to arrive to the fact none of them were supposed to be out from the dome which kept the kingdom secure.
Lestrade sighed, and got ready to condense quite an insane morning. "Listen," He started. "Mary cursed Sherlock." At the immediate reaction of terror and concern drawn in the other's expression he was swift to reassure. "No, he's fine," He said, "I mean he wasn't, but he's fine now." The other took a deep breath, but nodded. Ever the brave monarch. "Thanks to the ember." Lestrade finished, watching as Molly's and John's faces morphed back into confusion.
"Wait, you went back to The Isle?" The girl questioned, her pale arms surrounding her own frame in what was apparently an attempt to draw out the inexistent cold, or perhaps to mask her disapproval at their actions. The blond next to her was explicitly not having it, however.
"It gets worse," Lestrade continued, he debated on whether to disclose the next information, knowing their sure reaction, but he figured they would find out eventually, and it was probably better they prepared for what was to come. "Eurus is here too." He said.
"What!" The both of them exclaimed, making Victor behind them laugh and raise from his position. Seb followed him and the two pirates approached them in amused challenge. Daring any of them to try and force them out. Or in as was more accurate.
"It's a long story." Greg ignored the display and turned John around to get him to start walking. Anxious to get back on track now that they had been reunited. "We need to get to Irene's fast." He said.
"But-" John looked like he wanted to refuse, to demand answers, but he nodded any way. Lestrade smiled and got to the front of the group to lead the way away from the forest; ready to meet with the others and just get on with whatever Sherlock had surely planned.
The king stayed rooted for a few more moments. Looking down at what he was wearing and not able to stop scratching his hairy chin; muttering 'what the hell?' under his breath as he seemed to realise the ridiculous situation in which he had woken up to find himself.
"Oh, blondie." Victor said next to him. A smug grin stretching his mouth as he patted him on the shoulder a little too forcefully and stepped around him to follow Greg on his way. "You don't know the half of it." He assured, and Lestrade was regretful to agree.
The windows on Irene's small 'castle' were big and wide, and their view of the beautiful and almost too-green-to-be-true garden outside only obstructed by the metal slicing through the glass creating a diamond pattern over them. Sherlock stood still watching the world beyond their tasteful embellishments; not admiring the freshly cut grass which just started to turn golden with the sun setting over the horizon or the bushes with blue flowers just outside the window panes. His eyes were trained on the tree line where the forest ended and from where anyone wandering through those woods would be seen arriving; but he was definitely not waiting for a specific figure to become visible from among the trunks. Or at least that's what he told himself.
The day felt as if it had been comprised of a hundred cycles worth of happenstances that even the memory of John, so crisp as it had been the moment he had been cursed, now seemed as if it belonged to the wrong side of this other life, too far to be reached by him amongst all the chaos they had reaped by being careless and failing to account for the destruction which always was left in his family's wake. And now the safety of the king —his boyfriend, his person— and the kingdom itself, rested on the arguably capable hands of one Gregory Lestrade. Sherlock sighed and turned away from the window, his fingers itching with desire as he rested on the thought of what he wouldn't give now for a cigaret. He settled for fidgeting with the king's ring on his finger.
"Lestrade is gonna have your head on a spike for eating Molly's cake." He said and arched an eyebrow at Archie, who was bent over the table next to him, shovelling spoonful after spoonful of sugary perfection into his mouth. The boy shifted big brown eyes up towards him and shrugged, clearly not very impressed with the threat of punishment it entailed. "Irene too." The violet haired added and heard Archie's spoon immediately fall on the china plate as he stayed frozen with his lips half open. Sherlock chuckled and rolled his eyes. Moving away from the window as his hand came to pat the boy's messy head on his way around the table.
He swiped a finger on the frosting on the remaining desert and was half on his way from licking it off when he noticed Eurus' teal gaze examining his movements. He turned and regarded the girl, the slice of blue cake in front of her untouched and probably would remain so until it grew stale as her focus was zeroed in a much more delicious source of information.
Sherlock grew impatient on waiting for her gaze to turn away. "What?" He demanded, the deep teal irises slicing through him still and raking all over his features, as if hoping to read his intentions from his own face. He failed to see what could possibly be so entertaining about him just admittedly sulking at his own self-imposed sitting duck state in their waiting for Lestrade to arrive with the sole reason which could make him move forward with the plan and not just storm a very distinct cell and force someone to just spit it out.
"Interesting." Eurus commented, with one final glance at him before her eyes shifted towards the small boy beside her. Archie stopped eating for a moment, but seemed to relax out of his fright when her attention once again veered.
The moment Sherlock decided to just ignore her his brother entered the dining room with Irene and a grimace that didn't bode well for the rebel. "Sherlock," He said, "A word?"
The violet haired boy huffed in exasperation and moved away, stepping close and attempting not to let his frustration show; even if he knew both of his siblings could very easily read it off him. The problem with Mycroft was he would understand it, and Sherlock was not ready to face that level of self awareness.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" The ginger asked, his very poignant stare leaving it very clear he wasn't in the mood for any sort of humour Sherlock so joyful always employed, which was the best incentive for him to do just that.
"I though we were having a tedious conversation." He answered, a haughty expression conveying his intention painted all over his young face; but Mycroft, for once, didn't take the bait; he went on with not a sign of discontent further from what he displayed when he entered the room, which was a lot in itself.
"You told your friends you voted against shutting down the barrier?" He asked, an accusatory tone leaving no room for Sherlock to argue or deny its accurate account. Although he wouldn't say he ever expected this topic to crawl its way up from the sewers of anyone's mind any time soon. Not with what's happened around them.
"What does it matter?" He said, waving his hand in dismissal. "It's not like it makes any difference now, does it?" His words rang much too true to his own ears so he decided to cut the exchange short and turned around with all the intention to walk away, only to be halted by his brother's hand on his arm.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Sherlock." He muttered, and all the fancy and impeccable royal suits in the world could not sharpen the uncharacteristical emotion with which he said it.
"Really?" The silver-gazed replied, extracting himself from the grip. "Cause I've done way worse." Nobody could argue the sentence for a lie, but he found it interesting the royal advisor, the most stoic man he had ever met, clearly believed this was somehow worse than his plans of dethroning the monarchy and spelling his closest friend.
"This game you're playing," Mycroft said, "What exactly are you hoping to gain from it?" That question was not unexpected, however. Sometimes Sherlock himself had to squash down the urge to wonder the very same thing. Specially now, cooped up in that cabin with no way of moving forward at the moment, it was difficult for it not to feel as if any effort they made would be futile.
"I need her," The violet haired boy explained. "To place a curse with me." Although clearly not explaining anything at all judging by the frown the other gave him. He understood it was a feeble plan, relying on too many 'if's' to be anything resembling functional. He shifted his grey eyes to look past his brother and into the other room, were now Irene was seated at the table across from Archie and their sister, —the only member of their party to be watching them attentively— their murmurs impossible to discern for afar.
"And you think the consequences are worth this demented plan?" His brother demanded, which was fair, and which made a scorching heat climb up the rebel's body. "Do you really think she would help you?" He asked.
"I don't have a choice, okay!" Sherlock exclaimed, only realising he had shouted when the silence left behind his words threatened to swallow him, Irene and Archie now staring at them too. "Mycroft, you should have seen the magnitude of that spell." He said, now close to whispering. No need to alarm anyone else of his true state. "I don't think anything other will do."
"What makes you think she won't use whatever magic she used on John and turn it against you?" Mycroft countered, "Sherlock, I placed monitors and precautions on you as soon as I could while you were still in that Island, I've been keeping an eye on you." He said, and Sherlock took a step back, not as much from the revelation but from the fervour with which it was spoken. He had believed Mycroft had just turned around and abandoned him to his fate, had even blamed him on bad days for indirectly leaving him in Moriarty's wicked clutches. To find out he had been wrong and frankly unfair to his brother was nothing short of world changing.
Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but no words seemed to form on his lips. Mycroft swallowed audibly, perhaps surprised too of what he had revealed. "You've never needed magic." The ginger said instead, his gaze less reproachful than what had been. "Specially not for some twisted way to get even."
Sherlock was quick to counter, thankful for the more familiar ground and line of conversation. "Holmes' don't play to get even." He said, meaning every single syllable. Settled matters were of no interest to him. No, the violet haired intended to win; needed it, in fact. "Specially against Moriarty." He said.
This appeared to come as unexpected to his brother. His eyebrows drew together as he watched him as if he had finally lost his senses. "Moriarty is trapped inside his own mind, little brother." He explained, as if Sherlock had, or could ever forget.
"He is." The violet haired boy agreed. As doubt grew slowly on the other's expression, he even took a step closer to him, as if ready to catch him if he were to blackout for the clear lack of oxygen his brain had to be receiving, or to throttle some logic into the mind which was spewing such nonsense. Sherlock felt the air rush into him as he finally could assume a familiar role, as if the change of subject allowed him to fit inside his own skin once more.
"Then what-" Mycroft started, but was unable to finish due to Sherlock cutting him off cleanly.
The boy grinned at him and said. "I also know what he's going to do next."
'You always think you're such a smart bastard, don't you?' Mary thought as she stared at Sherlock and the others eating cake through the sceptre's gem. Daring to take her impending danger and her incoming reign so lightly. If the purple haired thought she would not follow through on her threats he had been as mistaken as when he believed she wouldn't dared to place a curse on him simply because she was 'part of the good guys'. If that were true, where the hell did that leave him? she didn't know; and wouldn't be foolish enough to allow him the time to demonstrate. John had let himself and his vision be corrupted by villains who she was sure had their own agendas, and if they wanted a villain on the throne, well, she could do that too.
She was aware they probably wouldn't try anything until they had found John, but seeing as them finding him —at least in any way usable for them— was an improbability, she thought she might as well be allowed some entertainment while she waited.
She leaned forward and grinned, placing a strand of bright pink hair behind her ear. As she expertly sent a spell towards where they were so placidly waiting, the door to the cottage opened and a disheveled Anderson stormed inside. "Mary!" He exclaimed, his eyes wild with fear and desperation. "Thank God you're here," The boy said, and Mary stood up frowning. Her curse had been fool proof, he —specially— had no business strolling around the kingdom when he was supposed to be dead to the world. None of them were supposed to wake up before she was done with her plan. "Everyone's asleep and there's this weird statues everywhe-" Anderson started, walking towards her and attempting to put his arms around her, to which she stepped back and made perfectly clear he was not to touch a pink hair on her head. Philip frowned, confusion painting his features as he seemed to recollect the last time they had seen each other. "Did you do that?" The question wasn't unexpected, but that didn't mean it didn't grate on her nerves to hear him so stupidly stumble into the truth.
"How did you break my spell?" Mary asked, hoping to neutralise whatever had caused one of the last people she wanted to see to be there —non-islander, that is— and stop others from coming out of it too.
However, she knew better than to trust Anderson would be helpful in anything. It was the only thing about which she agreed with Sherlock. That, and John Watson, but that matter was very different. "Uhm," Philip said eloquently, "I've no idea." His brown eyes blinked at her, only reminding her of the contrast they created against her own; she supposed it was good she had inherited the light hair and eye tone from her mother or her similarly coloured father would have found out the deception immediately. "I just woke up." He continued, not really knowing she had stopped listening at 'I've no idea' "But maybe we-"
"Ugh!" She huffed, throwing her hands in the air, the burning inside her chest grew stronger and hotter, making her fingers itch to just get rid of the proof of her failure, twice already, and just bury everything under the sand. Her plan would be working perfectly if it weren't for people just refusing to comply and stay cursed.
"Mary?" Anderson asked, his gaze now conveying a slight worry as he reached out his hand to place it on her shoulder, only to snatch it back when he remembered the incident before. "Are you okay?" He said. The pink haired girl ignored him as she tightly shut her eyes in order to fight the glowing embers rushing through her bloodstream. "Maybe we should go back to the dorms and look for help," The sentence fell on her shoulders like brick and her already dire state expanded until it consumed her completely, she let out a laugh which could only be described as full of loathing, but still Philip kept talking. "Maybe get some pizza, I'm starving." He said, frowning and clutching his stomach. When she didn't answer he continued. "Right, you don't eat pizza, salad then?"
She opened her reproachful eyes and placed them on his retreating figure. He took more steps backwards when he recognised the danger in her as she approached. "I don't think so," She said, just before swinging the sceptre at him and hurling him backwards until he was completely inside the small broom closet behind him. "Goodbye, brother." She had time to watch the complete confusion grow on Anderson's face as he mouthed 'what?' from the sprawled position on the floor just before she deftly threw the door closed and made a deadlock spell to keep it that way forever.
She turned around and resolved to finish this once and for all. Smoking out each and everyone who opposed her cause one by one. As she left the comfort of the childhood cabin she had loved for so many cycles, she could hear Anderson desperately calling her name from inside the cupboard, banging his strong fists on a door which would never open again, and she grinned.
To say it was a long walk back would be a gross understatement, specially for John whose head still felt as if someone had opened it up and scrambled all its contents to their desires; he was used to intellectually being one step behind from the most important people in his life, but never like this.
The sunlight was finally dimming as they approached their destination, painting the sky in hues of orange lilacs and bathing them in receding warmth which was just this side of turning to chill. Molly and Greg had taken the lead, with the two pirates following close behind them as John trudged on the rear and attempted not to fall over in exhaustion. He would be lying if he said he liked any part of the situation in which he found himself, —his kingdom attacked by who he thought was a friend and his enemies roaming amongst them as if there weren't a care in the world— and it went without saying he didn't trust a single hair on their heads.
Greg had explained their supposed motivations but he wasn't stupid, nobody really believed they were there to help them regain a kingdom to which they had no real claim or guarantee. Villain kids rarely lived up to the reputation imposed on them, most of them being quite harmless actually, —from what Irene had told him— but these two were amongst the ones he couldn't say he was particularly fond over. Even after knowing the three kids he had chosen and were now closest to him had started in a similar way.
John managed a steady pace for as long as he could, keeping a weary eye on Seb and Victor as they inspected their surroundings; but after several minutes he had to stop, exhaustion making his limbs heavy and the pounding inside his head grew prominent the more he went without rest. The blond sat down on a log nearby, the weight of the day finally catching up with him.
"Hey, man." Lestrade appeared next to him, placing a supporting hand over his shoulder. "All good?" He asked and sat down beside him, his strong legs stretched out in front of them.
"Yeah, just-" John trailed off, waving a hand in dismissal, even if he wasn't sure whether he meant it. "I need to sit down for a bit." He said, his breathing going back to a normal speed. "Spells always leave you feeling weird." It was true, he had one of the best physical conditions on the kingdom, but magic had a way of permeating your soul which lingered on despite being awake. Like claws clutching and squeezing at your heart.
"You would know." Greg said, earning a chuckle from the other. And wasn't it just the most accurate statement? it seemed as if he just couldn't go a season without being at the wrong end of a spell, three times now. "Honestly, I don't know what about you makes them go this crazy." He continued, his tone conversational, but John could see past the attempt at humour at his expense. It was appreciated. "I don't see it." Lestrade finished.
"Ha, ha!" John replied, smiling. But the tug he felt in his chest at how wrong everything had gone in less than a day made his beaming expression fall once again. "I just," He said, his hands now clasped tightly before coming up to his face. As if covering his eyes from the disaster they had reaped would make it disappear. "I though I was doing a good job, you know?" His voice was low, not exactly wanting the others to hear him this vulnerable. Leaving them to rest a few meters away and unknowing of the conversation happening in their vicinity. "Being king and everything." John explained, "Helping the kids from The Isle." He had never been so forthcoming about his doubts in his ability to rule. Sherlock and Mike knew, of course, but it wasn't necessary for him to voice his concerns for them to know the exact nature of his feelings, even if Sherlock had had a lot more trouble understanding the motivation behind them. But Greg had come to be one of his closest friends, and he felt the facade was just no longer viable for him to maintain. Mike had once warned him one created their own demons, and boy wasn't that man always right. "I've been so blind." He said, leaning forward and doing his best not to fall into the despair he could hear gnawing in his conscience.
"If it makes you feel any better, none of us saw this coming." Lestrade piped in, not meaning to make matters worse by confirming what everyone already knew. "Not even Sherlock." He said, and it made the king wonder whether he was correct in that assessment. He loved Sherlock, so much it sometimes scared him how fiercely and swiftly he had come to that state, but the violet haired boy kept more secrets and half truths in that leather coat of his than the whole of the kingdom and island combined.
John shrugged, for lack of a better response. He turned his bright blue eyes to the sky, the darkness of night was approaching fast and there was something unknown in this part of the forest that urged him to get on with it, to get out as soon as he could, but his legs refused to move. Lestrade sighed next to him, tightening and releasing his fists as he talked. "Look," He said, "Everyone knows you never thought she would be capable of doing any of this." He gestured to their surroundings, conveying the frankly nightmarish nature of their present. No, he had never thought Mary would turn against them, but then again, she probably had never thought John would do what he had either. Apparently three kids from the Isle were all it took for turning life on its head, and revealing everyone's true colours, specially their own.
"Who would have thought? Sherlock sacrificing himself for the kingdom." The blonde commented, feeling a bit lighter at the pride he felt at the mere notion, knowing Sherlock would hate it if he knew the way John made him out to be. "Twice already." He said.
"I don't think the kingdom has anything to do with it, mate." Greg slapped his shoulder playfully, a telling look over his expression which made the blond smile, although its implications were quick to dawn on him as a pile of heavy rocks. He had entertained such thoughts before, but Lestrade confirming them somehow didn't comfort him.
"John, you are a good king." Greg continued, probably catching on the blonde's face. "Much better than all those arseholes from before." He commented, to which John turned to face him and arched an eyebrow, perhaps all that time among the Holmes' was finally affecting him. "No offence." The brunette was quick to say, raising his hands. "But for me, calling yourself king when there's a war on is easy." He continued, "Hell, it's been done a million times." His hands came down again to slap his own thighs, visibly passionate about the subject, and John watched on attentively. "But a king willing to sacrifice his own peace and bring chaos into his house to help us?" Greg continued, but John wasn't sure he wanted him to. Listening to how impactful and good his proclamation had been for him would be something to be delighted for the blond, if it weren't for the fact that all of those possibilities would soon be over once everything went back to normal. "Well, we didn't know it was possible." The other's eyes shone with gratitude, which just made John feel even more guilty and angry at what the counsel of others dictated he should do for his kingdom.
After a moment of silence, Greg stood up and dusted off his dark trousers, shaking dirt off his boots and gesturing for them to continue their long walk. But just before he took the first steps, he turned to John once more. "Thank fuck you're brave! Or we would still be there rotting away." He said almost breathlessly, walking to the front of the group, confident the king would follow.
'Yeah,' John thought as he walked. 'Brave'.
Anything else said aside, the blue and white cake was delicious; if Sherlock could say so himself; He thought as he licked the sugary sweetness off the spoon, sitting at the table and slowly crafting the next steps in his mind. He knew Mycroft was extremely sceptic of his plan; —Sherlock himself knew it was quite a stretch and uncomfortably based on too many uncertainties to be in any way reliable— but his brother failed to take into account the undeniable fact they had run out of alternatives the moment Mary's pale fingers circled around their mother's sceptre. Whichever power had allowed her to absorb the magic instead of being fried by it like the chicken Greg had come to love since they had arrive to the kingdom would surely be strong enough to tear the foundations of their lives apart, and that was hoping she wouldn't think to steal Lady Hudson's wand and throw each of them back into a magicless world once again.
As he took another bite, he seized the time to observe his sister, who was still sat across from him exactly as he had left her a few minutes prior. Perhaps he had made a miscalculation while younger. Maybe if he hadn't been so adversed to the familiarity she offered, —which he now could recognise as the cause for his usual recoil from her presence,— the story would have been so different. Perhaps she wouldn't be so obsessed with figuring out why their mother had believed him a better candidate and everything else that had happened —the rivalry, the spells, the kidnapping— would never had happened. Or perhaps none of it would have mattered and she would have turned out completely removed from reality anyway.
After probably sensing his intense gaze, Eurus stopped his observation of Archie on his third consecutive slice of cake and turned her teal eyes to him, a question clear in her expression. Curiosity mixed with anticipation as she correctly deduced he was about to tell her something, and it was going to be something important.
Sherlock opened his mouth, not even sure himself on what he was about to say, but just before the first word went past his lips a loud smack sounded from the glass frame beside them, followed by a rainfall of numerous similar noises surrounding the whole cabin. Wooden planks were appearing from thin air and attaching themselves to every door and window, blocking every exit to the outside and plunging them into an early midnight darkness.
"What's going on?" Sherlock heard Irene's voice asking from the living room. The sound of her heels clacking getting louder indicative of her approach. "Is everyone okay?" She asked, her words were strained, and worried.
"We're trapped!" Archie exclaimed from the other side of the table, barely visible for the little light that could sneak in through the slits left between boards.
"Yes, we gathered." Sherlock answered, his silver eyes looking around and cataloguing which could be the best approach, attempting to account for new spells which could be coming their way. Surely Mary wouldn't get distracted so easily.
Irene was able to turn on the lights, but even they threatened to give up any second; blinking unreliably above their heads and drawing a deep sigh from his brother's mouth. He hadn't been granted with the gift of negotiating with the laws of the universe that was magic, but he had been around enough of it to clearly develop a dislike for the very thing despite his readiness to use it to their advantage.
The indigo haired girl came to circle her arms around Archie's shoulders from behind, as the kid frowned in an attempt to disguise the fear he truly felt; even though he had faired extremely well when it had come to the walking knights of doom. Irene stared at him, the request evident in her face as the direness of their situation. Sherlock knew exactly what she meant.
He closed green eyes and pushed his arms forward, fingers reaching as if attempting to rip the spell from the very air; the intention in his mind growing in intensity the more it felt as if the curse was holding. Pushing and pulling with him as if mocking him more than yielding under his onslaught of force. The violet haired boy opened his eyes as he released in frustration, stubbornly closing them again shortly after for a different approach; but the magic was constant. Nothing he hurled at it appeared to even move it.
"My spells aren't working," He said, staring down at his hands in betrayed anger. "Mary's magic is getting stronger." He turned to watch the others, and actively avoided Mycroft's gaze as he continued. "Considerably so." He said, going back to closing his eyes, putting once more all his ability in ripping the spell into tiny shreds of words, doing his best to stay upright as he did so. He loved casting magic but its heavy, continuous use was taking a toll on his body, specially considering less than ten hours ago he had been writhing on the floor in cursed agony —not his best moment, he will admit.
Sherlock continued pushing at the barrier, never able to manage breaking through the unyielding resistance. That is until he felt something else, something different, as if a physical force had carried his spell and made it bigger, more powerful; resulting in the complete obliteration of his adversary. When his eyes opened and returned to stormy silver, he noticed Irene's surprised face in the restored natural light first. All the others were staring at him as well. Mycroft wearing a deep frown which would surely cause him early wrinkles. But perhaps most puzzling of them all was Eurus' satisfied expression as she smiled crookedly at him. Sherlock understood in one instant what had happened, and even though the both of them casting spells together was the foundation of his future plans, he couldn't say he was happy at the control being robbed from his grasp. Leaving a hole ripping inside his stomach and being filled with dread as he realised the ocean's witch move had been a deliberate attack towards him too; a warning to let him know she was aware of what he was doing, —of what he intended to do— and the only way it would happen would be on her own terms. The taste inside the violet haired boy's mouth was ashes.
Archie ignored the tension in the room and what it entailed, rushing to look through the window at their newly found freedom and exclaiming when he saw several figures approaching the cabin. "It's Greg!" He said, already rounding the table and dashing towards the front door, as Sherlock found himself still locked in the staring match with his sister. It wasn't until Irene's words of 'And John too!' that he was able to tear himself away. His long legs carrying him across the room before he even realised he had moved. Just before crossing the threshold, he sighed and resolved to leave all thought of the revelation behind; trusting against his better judgement that when the time came, things —and his sister— would turn up in his favour.
There was only ever room for error in that hope.
As Irene's house came into view John found himself growing more anxious to arrive. He felt as if every second he spent apart from his friends, —from Sherlock,— was a moment closer to the destruction of those very bonds he shared with the most important people in his life. As his steps became quicker, he spared a thought for his his parents, who had remained locked in their chambers with more guards than he could really spare and orders not to come out until he or Mike gave the 'all-clear'. His father had certainly not been happy with the decision, but judging as the attack was directly focused to the royal family and he was the king, he had had no choice but to heed the instruction that all non-magical entities —being the most vulnerable— were to be the first guarded. His mother had helped sway him too, to John's relief. He just hoped the curse hadn't found them anyway and all of that had been for nothing.
He saw Archie come out the big front door, running excitedly towards them as Irene appeared into his line vision on the window. A breath rushed out of him in stark relief at seeing both of them unharmed. He turned to look at Greg, almost as if seeking for confirmation on the veracity of what he was seeing, knowing it would kill him if all this turned out to be a mirage. The truthful and reassuring smile of strong features he got in return felt as the first good news he had had for eons.
It was at that moment that a new figure materialised crossing the entrance, vibrant purple curls on top of his head and long black coat over his shoulders. Standing as if unbothered by the weight of their situation. Just the sight of the pale, expectant, totally-not-cursed face made the blond break into a run towards him. "Sherlock!" He said, as he wrapped his strong arms around the other's waist and picked him up from the ground just how he knew Sherlock —supposedly— loathed from the first time he had done so, and squeezed hard. With all the intention of never letting go again. Not even sure himself on how literal such a notion was intended, and not really caring to find out at the moment. It wasn't as if Sherlock was stepping away either. "Are you okay?" John asked, unable to stop pressing the other to him. The fear which had gripped his throat when he wasn't able to find him had been indescribable, and now heightened by the knowledge he had been correct in assuming Mary would have gone for him first. "I thought I lost you." The words tumbled from his lips as truthful as he knew how to be.
"Just because your ex girlfriend is explicitly seeking revenge on us and you couldn't find me?" Sherlock asked with an eyebrow arched up at him as he leaned back. "You're so clingy." He sighed, but the effect was betrayed by his arms remaining around the other and his playful tone. The expression he wore could only be described as that of a starving man who had just been granted invitation to a feast, and could only be understood by someone who had felt that same bone-crushing relief which made even drawing breath a challenge. John could understand perfectly.
The violet haired stepped back once more, his calculating gaze now raking over him at lighting speed. "How are-?" He started, pointedly looking at his non-beastly form as if he knew what sort of punishment Mary had inflicted on him for his transgressions, the king figured he probably did. John nodded, and watched as the other's eyes shifted quickly to Molly only to settle back on him again in understanding. His face then melted into one of relief. "And-?" He asked, pointing towards the slight stubble still adorning the bottom half of his face.
"Oh, this?" John said, "It's-" He stopped, rubbing a hand at his jaw as he chuckled. Not really knowing how to explain a concept as simple as 'apparently magic water can cure beastliness but only so far'.
Thankfully, Sherlock didn't seem to need an explanation. "This I could get used to." He said, reaching his hand to mirror what John's was doing as his expression broke into a mischievous smile. The royal cleared his throat and looked around at the amused faces of their impromptu audience. Irene's knowing red smirk now imprinted into his brain. "That however-" The silver-gazed made no notion of having noticed them, but gestured to the train wreck that was his outfit with a grimace.
"Come on," The blond laughed and swatted his arm playfully. Trust his boyfriend to focus on that at the moment. "You've seen me in way worse." He said, although he wasn't quite sure of it. At least he was no longer walking the forests of his kingdom in the nude any more.
"I regret to say I have," Sherlock answered, "That festive jumper was more vile than my mother, John." He said, and Greg's laughter cut through John's near trance state at that, rising above the slight ringing in his ears and managing to break the tension he could feel building back up. No matter how incredibly inappropriately funny Sherlock was, it wasn't enough to really distract him from the heavy black cloud still hanging over all of their heads.
The royal turned to look at everyone else present, and his eyes were quick to land on teal ones which stared at him with intensity. "Somehow I knew we would end up like this," John said, making sure to make his intended target clear. "With you here." He explained, and the girl immediately took greater interest, her attention no longer shifting between his face and the hold he still had on the violet haired boy's waist. The others stayed silent. "Didn't think it'd be as part of the solution, mind you." He had believed, back when they kidnapped him and tied him up to a ship's mast —and wasn't that the complete proof of how ridiculous his life had become?— her interest and resentment for everything her brother got to have and which was denied to her would help them build a metaphorical bridge between them; that was until she had shown up in his ship cabin with a ball gown and a brain full of cursing intentions.
"The solution!" He heard Victor exclaim and laugh, "Good to have you back, blondie." He said as he approached, regaling him with a sleazy smile only to walk away into the house. The crimson red of the coat he had refused him earlier following him only a tad closer than Sebastian did.
"Mary is in Fairy Cottage," Sherlock said, reclaiming his focus. His voice was once again determined; gone was the playful, haughty welcome he had given him. His thoughts turning to the game as they were wont to do every time there was something he couldn't solve. "Mycroft says he can take us there." The mention of his best friend lifted a weight from John's shoulders he didn't even know he was carrying. He had hoped Mike had sheltered himself with his parents, but if he was there and well enough to offer assistance it meant John could breathe just a little bit easier, and things were just a little bit better.
"No need." He replied, "She used to take me there every Fairy Godmother's day." John said, his face turning into an uncomfortable scowl as he remembered all the memories which were now tainted with betrayal. Refusing to think about whether that was how Mary had felt ever since that tourney game. "Where's Lady Hudson when you need her?" He whispered, mostly to himself.
"I wish I knew." Came the voice of Mycroft Holmes as he walked through the front door to greet them. Umbrella clutched at his left side and suit looking slightly wrinkled, which really was a testament on how desperately they needed to make this right again, and fast.
"Mike!" He exclaimed, extracting himself from the semi-embrace he was in and taking the other's hand to drag him closer to his friend. "I'm so glad to see you." John knew his voice sounded way too emotional for any Holmes' preferences. But he also found they would have to deal with it.
He saw Mike fight a relieved smile himself as he gathered the data from his stance and most probably clothing. He then proceeded to nod at him in the diplomatic way he had adopted since he was ten cycles old. "You as well, my king." The ginger said. "It appears we encountered a situation while you were gone." His tone was disguised, but John had known him long enough to know there was nothing stoic or neutral about his opinions on said 'situation'. The blonde may forever be cursed to be the stupid one in the room when it came to any Holmes' —or Adler too— but he could clearly see Mike was of the correct assumption this all had been their doing; and now the whole kingdom was paying the price. An error that nothing short of a magical miracle would fix.
"Go with Molls and find Lady Hudson." John said to him, "We need her." The explanation probably came as superfluous to everyone, Sherlock's face was all but screaming a confrontation was in order and she and her wand were their last hope they had of avoiding devastation.
Molly smiled at him with shining brown eyes, and bounded to Mike who had stood back and adjusted his tie as they made to leave.
"Uhm," Greg piped in. "No offence but they might need some muscle," He said. Trust Lestrade to be subtle with his opinions. He had his arms crossed and was looking at them defiantly, as if daring anyone to contradict him on such a plain, clear fact.
John stared at the two of them, and smiled. "No, I don't think they do." He said, to Greg's confusion. They may look defenceless to an average looker, but Molly was scary on her best days and Mike carried God knows how many weapons inside that bloody umbrella he's always dragging around even when it's brutally sunny outside. "They've got Molly." The blonde joked, making Sherlock chuckle and the ginger to stand straighter —if possible. "But be careful, okay?" He added, his tone now devoid of humour. "Mary already failed once." John said; and as the two of them made to leave he saw Sherlock's eyes turn lime green for a moment. It was just a second and they were back to stormy grey, but the royal still frowned at him in confusion; hoping for an explanation he knew the other would not provide. Sherlock smirked at him instead, and rushed back inside to get ready to leave, only stopping to turn and look at him expectantly.
John sighed and followed him into the dark as he always did.
As everyone was getting ready to leave, Greg couldn't help but thinking that—no matter how many reassurances John gave them— the situation did warrant a great deal of worry on his part. Specially for Molly who was venturing into the unknown with just what was basically a twenty something cycle-old politician. He figured it would probably be his best —and his one— chance to do what he intended.
"Hey," He said to Molly just as she was putting the jumper she got back from John back on. "Can you come here a second before you go?" Greg tried not to sound too aggressive, as he knew he often did when worried, but the expression the other gave him let him know he had made a piss poor job of it. "This might be the worse time ever but," He searched around in the front pocket of his vest and retrieved a small velvet pouch. "Happy birthday." He said, extending his hand and watching as Molly's already big eyes widened in delight, even if a bit surprised he had remembered.
Her pale hands were quick to open it, and out came a silver thin chain with a sparking wand hanging at its centre and surrounded by tiny blue, crystal stars and sparks. "My family symbol." She whispered, a finger tracing the outline of the pendant as if deep in thought.
"I had it made." He explained when she was still no talking. "I know how much you love magic and fairy tales, even if you don't like having magic of your own." His words came rushed, as he slowly started to wonder whether this had been a good idea after all. "So I thought," The rebel trailed off, hoping for his girlfriend to put him out of his misery, but she didn't. "Unless," He said, now sure he should have waited and given her the gift his friends had helped him pick out for her. What was he thinking? giving her something which reminded her of Lady Hudson now? It was probably too sentimental —as Sherlock had complained— to begin with. "Maybe you'd prefer something else."
At that, the girl seemed to wake up, "No, I love it." Her voice was loud and a tiny bit desperate. Hasty to reassure him, but Lestrade didn't need coddling. He had grown up surrounded by crime and had learnt to steal when he was five; Molly at least should be able to give him her honest opinion on his stupid gift.
"You know what? You'd like something different, I get it." He said, and reached his strong hand to retrieve the proof of his embarrassment. "It's fine," He did his best not to tug at it for the brunette to release it, but she only clutched it tighter. "I'll have it changed-"
"No!" She cut him off, bringing the necklace close to her chest and letting her face break out into a sincere smile. "It's perfect." She breathed and turned thankful hazel eyes to him. Easily lifting all the worry from his strong shoulders. Greg would never admit —for fear of death by humiliation by Sherlock and Irene— how at peace and glad that small gestured made him. "Thank you." Molly said stepping closer. She boldly grabbed his arm and brought a purposeful kiss to his cheek.
Sherlock's brother came to stand beside them in waiting, it was a wonder he wasn't tapping his foot impatiently. Greg groaned at him and mumbled something about him being as much as a nuisance as his brother, to which the other glared menacingly, but made Molly giggle. They both said their goodbyes, tone light and devoid of the depth it should have had had they admitted what could happen. Greg thought it was the best way to go about it; right until he witnessed her figure get lost among the tress of the forest and he was no longer able to see her.
They had searched for hours.
The sky had long since gone dark and the kingdom held an eerie silence as they traipsed across the realm in search for her grandmother. They had searched every possible or conceivable place or hideout she could have. Mycroft possessing a vast knowledge on both her routine —she was a part of the royal council after all— and the most likely spots a magical being of her calibre would use as a vantage point. But it had yielded nothing but many frustrated failures and an array of books on reversal curses on her desk which the ginger assured her meant she was planning something but had, for some reason, abandoned suddenly. He had said whatever she had found must have been big for it to drive her to desist trying to figure out a plan of attack and into the forest.
It wasn't until it was almost midnight that they found her, and Molly wasn't sure whether she was better off when they didn't know where she was. Even Mycroft appeared shaken too.
"Oh, my God!" She exclaimed as she rushed to her side, all but tripping over herself to reach her as if it would make any difference. "I'm so sorry." She whispered, touching the cold and hard skin of her stony cheek, not understating how something like this could happen to her of all people. "I don't know if you can hear me," By this the tears where already falling across her face, but she didn't care if the other saw them. "It's been a really crazy day." She explained and wrapped her arms around her rigid shoulders, not wanting to let go. "But it's been the longest birthday I've ever had." The joke, meant to cheer herself up, only made her crying more prominent. Forcing her to step back and angrily wipe the moisture from her eyes.
She turned around and met green eyes already fixed on her, expectant and not at all reassuring as he too looked as if hope had suddenly been snatched away from them. "We're gonna find a way to fix this." She promised. Not knowing who of the three she was trying to comfort. "We really need you." She wrapped her arms around Lady Hudson's statuesque form once more and said between sobs. "I need you."