Chapter 8: Thank You For The Poison
Poison, no matter how or by whom
administered, is guaranteed to cause injury,
harm, or even death to anyone who happens
to ingest it. It's a weapon so sneaky not
even your friends will see coming.
They traveled the long distance mostly via motorbikes; but were forced to ditch them a few miles early as to not alert her they were coming. The last thing they needed was to keep on with the cat and mouse wild chase around the kingdom. John wasn't sure what the longterm effect on the statue-curse-thing was but he was sure it couldn't be a positive one; and he frankly was anxious for answers and resolution too.
He hopped off the vehicle, squirming in the clothes his boyfriend had magicked for him; trying and failing not to let Sherlock's intense gaze on him distract him from his purpose of navigating the woods surrounding Mary's infancy cottage as quiet and subtly as is was possible for a party of eight. The other's beautiful grey eyes had been staring at him as if he was suddenly going to break apart into tiny smithereens and blow through his fingers to float away. John would be incredibly flattered if the stares weren't accompanied with a furrowed brow. As it was, they created a profound sense of dread inside him, as if he were sleepwalking towards doom awaiting for them at the end of the line. He refused to think about how no matter whether they defeated Mary, John had this feeling they had already lost.
"Over here!" He heard Greg say from the front. Crouching behind a line of berry bushes and beckoning them closer with his hands. When the blond came closer and peered through the branches and green leaves he saw the beautiful wooden cottage where three elemental fairies had hidden Mary's mother from the terror that was Sherlock's all those cycles ago. He was quick to note the lights were on.
John exchanged a pointed look with the violet haired boy, who in turn gestured for his friends to follow him towards the rose-covered intricate fence on the front and allow the pirates to take the rear. Mostly because they were unsure what Mary's reaction would be to more Island citizens in what she considered her kingdom —not that putting Sherlock's or his face in the front would be any better, but John had definitely run out of ideas and certainties at this point.
They crossed the threshold, careful to open the unlocked door slowly, trying their best not to let it squeak and blow their cover. John looked around once inside, and despite having been there countless of times, specially when they had been impressionable children seeing shadows and worlds in the most unlikely of places; it was the first time in his life he had felt as if the cottage were haunted. As if that monster underneath the bed had at last managed to crawl from under it even after having taken its sweet time.
So lost was he in his reverie that he had failed to notice a tiny detail which might as well have been an elephant. Mary's presence, or lack thereof, came as both a relief and terrible news to all of them. "She's not here." He mumbled, his words sounding surprised even to his own ears. His dread had been such it had almost spun dreams of utopia upon reaching this place and finally putting an end to all this, and to now find those fantasies gone was as if he were at the wrong end of the universe' private joke.
Greg sprang into action and ran upstairs, heedless of Sherlock's warnings to be careful —rather to 'not be an idiot', as were his actual words— only to come back down seconds later; frown conveying the extent of his findings. "She's not upstairs either." He said, laying to rest any hope they could have of avoiding the stalemate they all knew they had reached once again.
Irene sighed and put her hand over Archie's shoulder, who had refused to stay behind and hide in her house, as they all looked at each other trying to figure out what the next move should be. John was about to suggest they return to the castle when a loud knocking snatched all the thoughts away from his mind. The sounds were getting louder and increasingly more desperate as they heard a voice calling through the coat closet's door.
John extended his hand to turn the doorknob, but it didn't move, all his jostling only resulted in leaving him frustrated and the door completely unmoved. Greg asked for space and kicked the barrier as hard as he could, but even then, after taking all his weight barrelled at it, the door didn't even budge. That's when Eurus stepped forward. The king stared at her in disbelief, wondering how she expected to do better than two boys much heavier than her. It wasn't until she flicked her wrist with precision and the door sprung open that he understood she had stronger —arguably better— ways to get a breakthrough other than physical force.
The closet's contents it revealed were the last thing any of them expected. "Anderson?" John heard himself asking as he crouched down in front of him, said boy looking disheveled and tired, clothes in disarray and expression completely terrified. "What happened?" He said.
Philip just let himself collapse in the royals' arms, perplexing the entirety of their audience. "John!" He said, as his pale hands clutched at the king's deep blue jacket. "Oh, John it's you." John assented, a nervous laugh passing his lips as he turned to look at the others, as if begging them to explain that in which he now found himself. "She's gone?" Anderson sighed in relief and leaned back, finally noticing the other people in the room, his eyes lighting up when they fell on a certain person. "And Sherlock!" He said.
"Are you okay?" Irene asked, despite verbally not liking Anderson, she appeared genuinely concerned by his blatant display of despair. John mainly wondered why in the hell would Mary choose to lock him up in a closet instead of cursing him as she had with everyone else.
"How did you get out of her spell?" Came Sherlock's deep voice, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he grabbed the blond's shoulder and extricated him from the hold the other had on him. Replacing him with both his hands over Anderson's pale yellow shirt.
"You're here and I'm free and we-" Phillip started, clearly still not over the fact someone had unlikely rescued him, but Sherlock's patience was already thin to begin with, and he had never cared for overly emotional and undignified responses. He has never cared for Anderson as a whole.
"Anderson, listen to me." He said, piercing stare pinning the other in place. "How did you break Mary's spell?" He asked once more, enunciating each word as if it were of utmost importance the other understood him. Or perhaps he just thought the royal was an idiot.
"I woke up." Anderson replied, frowning down at his shoes as if they had personally offended him.
The silver gazed boy was not convinced whatsoever, "Just like that?" He said, a cynical laugh under his breath when he leaned back and regarded him with an sceptical expression. As if saying 'are we supposed to believe that?'.
"Sherlock," John couldn't help to warn. Philip looked close to collapsing, and the last thing they needed was the violet haired boy having a hissy-fit because his only witness, —the only reluctant source of answers they had— had ended up on the floor in full mental breakdown.
"I think he's telling the truth, mate." Sebastian added, popping into his mouth a berry he had plucked from the bushes earlier. The king didn't need to see to know his boyfriend was glaring at him, so he kept his gaze fixed on Philip's fearful expression. Wondering how sweet, sassy Mary had been capable of putting it there.
"Philip," Irene approached slowly, her sultry voice low and harmless as she questioned. "Exactly how did you wake up?" She said and let her red lips smile, hoping to gain a more useful reaction if he didn't feel like he were being interrogated, —not for lack of trying on Sherlock's part.
"I don't know, okay!?" Anderson exclaimed. Throwing his shaky hands into the air, only to bring them back down to massage his temples at his own volume. John could relate wholeheartedly. "I was having terrible nightmares and then I just…woke up." He said, and he sounded sincere too, clearly having as much of a clue as to what was happening as any of them had.
Silence descended over them as the violet haired boy took a step back as if struck. "Sherlock?" John asked, his blue eyes not leaving the deep lines of the other's frown at the information given. "What does that mean?" There was no way that expression meant confusion on his boyfriend's part; what the king wanted to know was what did such a realisation conveyed.
"Let him go." Sherlock said, walking back towards the exit with all thoughts of Anderson already out of his mind, clouded by whatever the hell it was he had found. John sighed and gestured for the others to give Philip some space. When Anderson looked at their faces in turn he looked surprised to see Eurus there and probably thought they were planning to attack him too, so he extricated from John's sympathetic hold on his shoulder and took to running towards the door. Bypassing Sherlock completely in his haste to get away.
They followed him shortly after, walking across the rose garden and back to where they had started. John ran a hand through his face to rid it from the disappointed lines he was sure were there. "What now?" He asked Sherlock, who was standing still, his eyes staring into space as his mind was probably running circles around all of them twice before he would ever hope to catch up to him. "Do we have a plan?" John insisted, and watched as the other shook himself awake and turned to him with a mixture of fondness and determination.
"Everything will be fine, John." He said, flashing a smirk just before he took steps back towards the forest. "Trust me." Sherlock's words were sure and confident, but they definitely didn't cause the pit in the blond's stomach to shrink in any way.
"See, why does that scare me?" He asked, only partially joking. With Sherlock it was equally parts likely the scales would tip either way at any second. Everything was a possibility when you didn't know if he would end up just going to school or destroying the whole kingdom on any given day day.
"Because you're smart." He heard Greg exclaiming behind him, a big smile painting itself over his face as Sherlock pointedly ignored both of them and made his way deeper into the now familiar woods, guiding them to whoever knew where.
The going was slow, hindered not only by the numbers they now possessed, but also by the very fundamental fact Sherlock was guiding them in as close to circles as he could manage without any of them noticing. It wasn't as if his mind were devoid of any new ideas and approaches, the pieces were finally starting to gather into shape inside it, but the picture they painted was not one he could yet read, not without the final piece, and it frustrated him to no end. He knew Mary was tracking their every move; impatiently waiting for them to strike first so she could redirect whatever plan they had set into motion against them. She could be a lot of things, but she had never been stupid, and with John now out of the curse and roaming the kingdom, her claim to its throne dwindled. That was a spark of threat she would not hesitate to snuff out as soon as she was able. The violet haired could bait her, attack her, but until he had secured the means to ensure his victory he would not risk the house of cards falling around them.
"Seriously," John commented as they all trudged through the forest; his soft, sunshine of a voice slicing through the sacred silence Sherlock had cultivated. Less words meant less chance of arriving to a destination he didn't want to explore. "What kind of spell did he put on you to talk you all into helping us?" The blond asked, innocently bulldozing right to where the rebel dreaded. "Did he threaten to list all two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash in the kingdom if you refused?" He joked, "He did that to me three times already." Sherlock didn't need to turn around to know John was smirking as some of the others chuckled, having been subjected to the same fate quite a number of times. The silver-gazed boy would pray they could all focus on that if he had any belief or care in any deity whatsoever.
"And you still haven't learned it's two hundred and forty three." He commented, stuffing his hands inside his leather coat pockets after waving them in dismissiveness. He could hear his boyfriend groan at his back, turning to mutter something to Greg which sent the other into laughter. 'Good' Sherlock thought. 'Just let it go'.
Unfortunately, his usual luck appeared to had run out the moment Mary's hand had wrapped around his mother's sceptre; and naturally, Eurus did the exact thing he wanted her not to. "He made a deal." She said, casually breaking his every contingency plan. "Promised to let anyone who wanted out of The Isle in exchange for this." Her pale hand retrieved the blue ember in which everything was relying. Presenting it as a damnation, which Sherlock suspected was her exact intention.
He turned to watch John's reaction, who surely won't let it pass. "Well, at least things aren't that bad if you're already joking with me." John commented, a smile painting his face even if his eyes showed a trace of suspicion. The violet haired turned once more, attempting to keep walking inconspicuously and almost somehow escape unnoticed from the situation, but the others were not moving. "You're serious." The royal's tone was confused, untrusting of what he could read on the other's faces. Specially the proud expression he knew Irene was sure to be wearing as fashionably as the red lipstick she preferred. "Sherlock?" John asked, leaving him no choice but to resign himself to his fate and turn around to face him.
"Fine," He sighed; a nonchalant exasperation in his voice he didn't quite think was true. "Nobody will be coming off the Isle." All of them were looking at him, and where he would usually revel at the attention, now he only felt the pit in his stomach grow until it threatened to engulf him.
"What?" Greg exclaimed, his expressive eyebrows still portraying the uncharacteristic innocence of surprise and disbelief, not understanding quite yet of his betrayal. Of how he had become protector to the very thing they had despised about all that was fucked in the kingdom, and how he had been so ready to take arms against the ones who planned it only to turn out to be the same the first chance he got. "What are you saying?" He asked, big brown eyes turned in his direction, olive ones joining them in their quest for answers as the ground sunk under the rebel's feet.
"I lied." He said, "To all of you." His shoulders were set back and hands to his sides as he confidently admitted to his friends he had done what everyone always thought he would: stab them all in the back. "The program is shut down." Sherlock talked past the sharp pain in his heart when he saw reality finally dawn on the others; and entirely ignored the repercussions it would surely bring. "The barrier will be closed indefinitely." He said.
There was a short silence after that, only the ragged breathing of those slighted getting swallowed by the sound of the small river beside their path. John's beautiful eyes turned to look at him with an indulgent sentiment the violet haired couldn't accept at the moment. "It's for Auradon's safety." The king declared, a see-through attempt to defend something they all knew was unjustifiable. No matter how necessary it was, Sherlock had not only decided to forsake his own people, but he had effectively concealed it from all of them, gaining whatever advantage he could out of it.
"Hold up." Victor was the first to react, almost shoving Sebastian aside to get to him. Standing so close Sherlock was able to smell the unwashable scent of sea water emanating from his red coat. "We're saving your precious people and obnoxious arses for a lie?" He spat, his clenched fists signalling Sherlock it would be wise to proceed with caution; too bad he hadn't been wise a single day of his life. He stood tall in face of this challenge; because Victor he could handle, Victor was not looking at him as if he had shattered his whole world. There was nothing the ginger could do to him worse than what the truth had already done. "You really have changed Sherl," The other continued, sinking the knife further in the heart he never had. Knowing him too well to know exactly which of his buttons to push, their whole history something else to add to the list of things he had done they should never, ever know about. "You never used to be this stupid." He said.
"Or this fucking kept." Seb was quick to add, a mocking, bitter laugh being released from his lips as he too approached, igniting the outrage in John's eyes.
The blonde took a step towards them, "No, wait a minute-" He said, placing a hand on Seb's shoulder and all but yanking him away from the rebel, as if he needed defending. Sherlock watched as his boyfriend decided he would do a brave —stupid— thing and fight them if he had to.
Sebastian looked about to fling himself to the other, but Victor stopped him with venomous words. "And you? King Johnny-boy." He said, leaning his upper body forward not unlike how Sherlock often talked. Stalking to the blond now that his attention had been momentarily derailed from the one who had gone back on their deal. "Using us and then waiting to throw us back inside to rot just like daddy, hmm?" His eyebrows rose as his face broke into a smirk that spelled a straight way into turning a betrayal into tragedy. "I told you, didn't I?" Victor now directed his words towards Lestrade, who seemed frozen.
"This wasn't his idea." Sherlock said, drawing the gazes back to him, the sole culprit of their situation. "None of it." Dragging John into this, almost forcing him to participate, and then all but throwing him under the bus was perhaps the worst thing about all of it. Specially since the blond didn't appear to hold against him what, in all honesty and reason, should have ended their relationship and acquittance on the spot.
The commotion with the pirates would escalate, while his real friends stood back still trying to recover from the burn the flame of his lies had caused. If it hadn't been for Eurus choosing that moment to talk, Sherlock failed to know how things would have turned out. "So this was your plan?" She said, sneer in her tone as she moved a stunted hand to indicate the desolation he had created. "I wanted to see whether withholding the precise thing you needed to win would apply the emotional pressure more evenly," She explained. Her words paired with steps, not towards him but around them all, almost detracting from the group as she eyed the glowing blue ember in her grasp. Trepidation rose inside Sherlock as he calculated her possible destination. "Whether you would be clever enough to do without it." Her voice didn't sound curious anymore; the spark, the slight protection he had against her unpredictability was smothered from her mind. "But I think I understand now," She said. "And this has lost its use." The hand holding the ember suddenly released, and she let the stone drop towards the river.
"No!" The silver gazed boy attempted to reach her in time, but was unable to catch it before it touched the water. The blue fire inside it died at once, condemning him and taking with it all hope of victory or redemption. He kneeled down and reached his pale hand into the river bed to retrieve it, but no matter how many spells he casted, it remained unchanged. Eurus and her pirates left with little resistance from the non-magical beings present. To where? Hell only knew. Sherlock didn't care, he continued trying to blow life into the ember and stopping to confirm his inability to revive it, only to repeat it all over again when he remembered he couldn't accept it as gone. Not if he wanted everything else in his life to remain unharmed. Eurus roaming the kingdom wouldn't matter if they were all made of stone.
But the ember refused to yield. Now just a dead token of his failure. Of the proof on how Moriarty, and his mother, and The Isle had never been to blame when it came to him. He stared at his own reflection in the water and questioned to the silver eyes before him whether he had let himself run away with thoughts of a world that did not exist, seen himself as something that was just not meant to be.
"Sherlock?" Archie spoke behind him. A timid voice dragging him back from the pit of rage settling in his brain. "That means I'm never gonna see my friends again?" He asked, his brown eyes watched as the rebel smothered the sentimentality and turned around, standing as he made an effort to look anywhere but at the tears in the boy's eyes. He was Violet Holmes' prodigal son, he refused to be the one to be brought down by what he spitefully had worked so hard not to feel.
"I don't expect you to understand-" He said, cold tone and haughty eyebrows the best he could do in the situation. Anything other would never settle in inside of him.
"And what about me then?" Irene said, speaking for the first time since this had happened, and she appeared to have quite a lot to say now that she had made peace with a reality in which he had done this to them. "Explain to me how closing the barrier could ever be your idea?" She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and standing with her feet apart. Sherlock refused to look her in the eyes too.
"We had to do something!" He said, which was at least true. His suspicions grew with every moment, going way beyond Mary or any of them for that matter, but he supposed her inability to comprehend the fact was also on him. He had never bothered to share his findings with them. "The kingdom is not safe," He said, knowing how hollow it sounded now that the bomb had been detonated. Rubble never did seem to care about explanations. "There's a powerful spell over it; over all of our lives, and we had to protect them." He finished, the hoarseness in his throat fighting him the whole way to get it out, but he had pushed through. Knowing what could happen, the feeble grip he had on things better hold.
"Our lives?" Irene seemed as if struck, her olive eyes narrowing at him and the horrible things he said. "What about the kids we left behind on that island?" She continued, voice dripping with emotion. "That we promised?" Sirens sung in Sherlock's head as he felt the situation slip further from his grasp. As impossible to revert back as trying to put the blood back in after the murder had been committed. He had no answer to tell that she would like. "We were their only hope." She said, the last word fragile and thin. Nothing like what Irene usually sounded.
"What were you planning to do when we found out?" Greg stepped in, walking closer and sounding as devastated as she was. Hands inside his pockets as he waited for an explanation that he very much did not want to hear.
Sherlock shifted his weight, stalling for even just a few more seconds. "That's the whole point of lying." He answered, "You weren't supposed to find out."
The exact moment when the admission hit was impossible to miss, obvious by the damage it caused. It perhaps added insult to the already horrible injury, but he figured there was nothing left for him than telling the whole truth. Owing them that much at least. He had done what was necessary, even Mycroft agreed, and he would probably do it all again if he had to, but that still didn't explain why it felt as if something inside him had broken loose. A hurricane banging at his boarded windows, causing a burning in his stomach which threatened to spread throughout his body and never release its hold again even when he tried to swallow it down. The stinging in his eyes rising in intensity with every approaching second towards his fears being realised.
"You were supposed to be different than them." The girl said, her arms were crossed over her chest but the olive in her eyes was dulled. This wasn't her in battle, this was Irene when she'd already lost. "Instead you just lied." He lips almost disappeared from the sheer pressure she put into them to stop her words from wavering. "You lied to Archie," Irene said, as she gestured towards where Lestrade was standing behind her with said little boy clinging to his arm. "And to Greg." Each name pinning Sherlock more into place, frozen in uncharacteristic distress. "And you lied to me." Her words were silent, prone to obliviate like nails on a coffin, as tears rolled down her cheeks, smudging her dark make up. "I know you may have found a new one here, but we are your family too." She said, making the boy want to reach out, to find a way to fix it, to convince them he hadn't forgotten, but he was helpless under the heavy shame he felt at how true those words were, and how that hurt more than anything other. "We always were."
Sherlock's lungs were collapsing, fast approaching to make him black out in dreaded anticipation with nothing he could do but watch it all unfold. He saw it, the moment her face turned and the trust she had always so readily placed on him and his impossible character blurred, snapping the thread of magical connection inside his own chest. His silver eyes turned to Greg, who mirrored the disappointed expression.
Sherlock barely had time to spare a quick look at John who stood next to him, witnessing the events, before a terrible thunder roared above them all and white, blinding light descended upon the three bodies in front of him. After the glare was gone, the only thing that remained of his best friends and the boy he had promised to protect was a triad of cold, grey statues.
John heard more than saw Sherlock almost topple forward, all energy drained out from him instantly as he slumped to the ground, only for it to return violently as he quickly processed what happened. His delicate fists hit the ground beneath him in a fit and his curls bounced with the force of his blows, as if the sheer anger of them could reverse what had happened. The blonde stood shocked at the display, his tan hands trembling slightly at his sides as he watched Sherlock's feeble grip on sanity snap and crumble. The sight of stone-turned people wasn't completely new for John Watson per se, having already encountered several on their way there, but the sight which greeted his eyes at the moment was nothing short of torture.
"What just happened?" He asked, even if the answer was plain as day. The horrifying reality of his friends being trapped in a curse which they did not know whether they could reverse was proof enough; but he still had trouble accepting this was a world in which he now lived. His feet carried him closer to the wrecked figure, placing a hand over the boy's bony shoulder.
Sherlock didn't reply, his head bent down and body shaking from attempting to reel in the betraying emotion; the royal had rarely seen him fail at that in such a way. Still, there was something that nagged at his subconscious, a question surpassing through the worry and grief he felt. He sighed and straightened his back, resorting for once to be the rational one in the face of such devastation. They had no other choice but to power through.
John knelt down in front of the other and offered a hand for him to take. "We have to be knights today." He muttered, and the other took a moment to place his stormy eyes on the blond's face. Sherlock knew this, but seemed reassured at finding something in him which let his breathing come easier once again. He exhaled and nodded, accepting the help and letting John haul him up into his feet. The royal dusted off the other's shoulders and smiled tentatively.
"Mary found them." Sherlock said at last, when he had more or less managed to compose himself, eyes shifting between what was left of their friends and anywhere else where he wouldn't have to see them. As if trying to appear focused, but failing to stop himself from looking no matter how hard he tried.
"But why not me?" John asked, now impatient to get an answer, to gather all the information they could to just fix this. He knew Mary wouldn't spare him out of any sort of nostalgia or personal regard for him; in her mind he was one of the two sole culprits for the kingdom going mad, and she had already shown that wasn't a sin she would be willing to forgive. No, this had another, closer, signature.
Sherlock stayed silent, uncharacteristically so, and his gaze had no trouble with not straying from his own boots now. John thought that was answer enough. "You did something, didn't you?" He said, completely confident he had hit the mark. Knowing enough about his boyfriend, —if not about magic,— to recognise when his magical fingers had manipulated a situation.
"Maybe Mary finally grew one of those dull consciences that seem to be all the rage here." Sherlock fibbed, very notably. The faux nonchalant air in which he spoke contrasted terribly with his body language.
"You think lying will help in any way right now?" John said, his tone stern and unmoving; Perhaps previous happenstances had left him off kilter, and perhaps —definitely— Sherlock had somewhat sabotaged himself with lying to their friends in such a heartless way, but the blond wouldn't allow him to make the same mistake twice in one day.
"What else was I supposed to do!?" Sherlock exclaimed, the raw emotion making a second appearance in his voice as he fought to defend himself in front of the last person he needed to; as he couldn't before. "I can't protect you, any of you." The boy started. "My magic is not made for that. I was not made for that." His volume rose, and John frowned at the emotion with which he said such a horrible statement. With an honesty as if he were certain of it. "All I am able to do is to destroy." He said, "So I placed a small spell on all of you, one that she wouldn't be able to override." His words came rushed with no pauses to regain breath or hope for a reply, as if he were desperate for the other to hear his reasoning before letting doubt or suspicion grow inside his mind. Thankfully, John didn't require an explanation; he believed he had measured the extent of Sherlock's character at his coronation quite accurately, and so far he had been extremely on the mark. Nothing he could do now would be a surprise for the older boy. Not action, nor motivation.
John stood silent, knowing that to say something to try and appease him would only fire him up even further. "But clearly I can't even do that because I couldn't hold onto the one thing I needed for it to keep working." Sherlock continued. The rebel had explained the nature of exclusive curses to him before, and the king would be lying if he said he hadn't been sceptical of the concept at first. It wasn't so much as inability to believe magic could be selective in targets, but the sole fact that someone could have the mastery to place a spell so powerful no other sort of magic would be able to even add, let alone replace, its damage only for it to fall apart with just one mistake had seemed straight out from the ludicrous tales he read as a toddler. Apparently, that's where they operated on now. "I lost it." The violet haired muttered.
"What did you-?" John started, because that tiny oversight should have to have been difficult to get past Sherlock, even on a day as insane as today. He shouldn't be able to be brought down by one tiny detail.
"You know I need permission from the mind to do this." Sherlock was quick to defend, clearly mistaking his question for outrage about being spelled without his consent again. "You all could have kicked me out any time you wanted." His arms gestured wildly, as he took frantic steps towards him.
The royal grabbed the other's shoulders and steadied him. Snapping him out of the tirade and forcing him to lock his stormy eyes with his. "No." John said. "What did you lose?" He asked.
The other stayed quiet for a moment, seemingly not able to get the words out. "Their trust." He whispered, his tear-stained cheeks matching the choked sound which escaped his mouth along with the answer. Understanding dawned on John as the final puzzle-piece slotted in place. 'Oh, Sherlock' He thought, the boy's devastated face making a lot more sense now.
The hands on Sherlock's shoulders squeezed the flesh beneath in sympathy and comfort. Choosing not to wrap them around the sharp frame in fear he wouldn't be able to let go if he indulged. Not to mention the fact Sherlock would probably make that decision for him and never release him again. It was tempting, but they couldn't, not until they had done what they had to first. "Do we-" He cleared the chocking obstruction in his throat and continued. "Do we have a plan?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, looking around as if only now remembering they were supposed to be figuring out how to win. It spoke volumes of his state the fact he had finally managed to quiet the constant analysis inside there. After a minute or two of no doubt running through several scenarios and plans, he turned to the blond, irritation paining his features. "The ember is gone." He said. "I'm not strong enough without it."
John struggled not to let the surprises of the last hours swept him up any more; but before yesterday, he would have never thought the violet haired boy's powers would ever be weak enough to not even count as an option. "And The dragon?" John asked.
Sherlock shook his head, "No use." He said, as his hands curled into fists, "I don't have the energy required." His words said, but somehow John could read there was so much more to the story, and whenever the boy tried to conceal something from him it often meant John wasn't going to like what that honesty brought, which often involved him either getting into or out of danger by even more dangerous means. The royal could feel the suspicion as of what exactly he didn't want him to know grow in the back of his head. "I am sorry, John." The silver eyed said, which at least was genuine.
"No, this is on me, not you." John answered and watched as the other's brow furrowed over confused eyes. "We both know that community service lark was a load of bullshit. You've no real responsibility to fix my kingdom." He said, "Let alone my mistakes." By the expression the other was making this conversation had been long overdue between them; his sharp features letting him know this was the first time such a thought had even entered his brilliant brain. "I always wondered how I could become a good king, perhaps it's time I do something." He said. Their circumstances were inching them to the inevitable, backing them into a corner John was sure he didn't like. But the longer it went the more it felt inevitable. "I won't let her hurt anyone else."
Sherlock started pacing at his words, his fingers going instinctively towards his own hair and pulling. "In case you haven't noticed, John, there's only us left; and I got you covered." He explained, letting him know how ecstatic he was of said situation. John was acutely aware of said fact too, specially of how draining of energy and magical control exclusive curses were of keeping. "There's no one else to hurt." The rebel breathed.
"There is to me." John said. The truth hit the other and caused him to halt; his silver eyes opened in a mix of surprise and vulnerability the royal could barely endure. John's heartbeat pounded in his ears as the two of them stood, looking at each other, unsure of what they could say after that.
Sherlock cleared his throat after a minute; and was the first to break the silence, "What are you gonna do?" He whispered his question as if he were afraid of what may become of them if they were too loud, if the moment were to be broken. They never really talked this plainly to each other when they weren't practically fighting for their lives. It wasn't a shock to find both of them out of their depth now. "You can't just approach her." He continued, "Last time you ended up a beast running naked in the woods."
"That was because she didn't like what I had to say." John put his hands in the pockets of the jacket Sherlock had magicked for him, feeling the unnecessary but very much provided details in the softness of the lining, waiting for the other's reaction to his words. He was anxious —or perhaps hopeful— to see whether Sherlock would decipher the meaning beneath the surface of his proposition despite his attempts to stay ambiguous. See if he would have to outright say it and whether he would manage to talk him out of it.
"Will she like what you have to say now?" The other interrogated, his face closing off in suspicion as the blond stayed silent. John had come to the conclusion of what he had to do to save the kingdom, to save Sherlock. Had finally understood exactly which chess piece had to be sacrificed, and was sure Sherlock, brilliant as he is, was starting to catch on to his intentions. Much to his hesitant resolve.
"I can convince her." He assured, because he could. He had met her when they were just mere babies, really; and the answer, —the way out— was not difficult to parse. He suspected the course of action had crossed even Anderson's mind at one point, the real problem laid in whether they had been willing to accept it. There is no one more willing that the desperate. "Trust me, I know her." He said.
"No, you don't!" The other exclaimed, the wild intensity back in his expression. "She's not who you think she is!" His words sounded sure even if John was having trouble believing such a thing to be accurate. "Trust me! I used that to blackmail her into keeping quiet when she suspected me before your coronation." That did sound like Sherlock through and through, but the fact Mary would have a secret so big she would agree to stay quiet when everyone knew how against she was of the very existence of The Isle and its inhabitants, —specially them coming to live in their kingdom— was hard to match with the determined girl he knew her as. John was aware the realm and his subjects were far from perfect, but the whole day had served him to realise how much his castle had been built on a mountain made of nothing but sand. Deceiving, unreliable sand. Which cemented in his heart the choice he had made. "She won't back down until she gets what she wants." Sherlock said.
The royal straightened up his spine and took a deep breath before speaking. "Then we give her what she wants." He answered, not able to meet the rebel as he sealed both of their fates for heartbreak and injustice.
"So you're just going to offer her your kingdom?" The violet haired boy asked, the hint of scepticism very present in his tone as he crossed his arms over his chest and almost physically dismissed the entire thing as impossible. He knew how desperately loyal John was to his people, but perhaps failed to see how determined he was to protect him as well.
"Among other things." He answered, feeling as if a witch had wrapped her clawy hands around his throat as he said it, his own eyes stinging as he fought hard to fight the feeling of retching the non-existing contents of his stomach. Praying Sherlock would understand, and that he would be merciful and allow him not having to explain what he was doing to them.
It took but a moment for the gold coin to drop, and still he could watch in the rebel's expression the deep refusal to fathom it even for a second. "And I thought I was the one who did the inappropriate jokes with terrible timing." He said, a mirthless laugh escaping his lips as his breathing sped up. Clever eyes raked his form searching for proof, anything to demonstrate the statement's falsehood. "You're not joking." He concluded when none came. "But, I thought-" He started in confusion, and John had a brief suspicion of what he might mean, he hadn't been aware Sherlock knew of his idea; he had thought he was being clever and sneaky. Perhaps he had been more obvious than he realised. Not that it mattered now, anyway.
"I've got to do what's best for the kingdom." He knew his justification was empty, completely hollowed out by the hurt he was inflicting on himself too.
"No." The violet haired boy stated, stubbornly remaining still as if he would be able to physically prevent him from leaving and give what the two of them had away in exchange for the crown; despite John having made no attempt to walk away yet.
"You don't get a say in this." He said, and it sounded cold even if being cruel to Sherlock was the last thing he wanted. He knew ever since his coronation Sherlock had mistakenly felt as if he had stolen John out from the universe' hands, and that it was only a matter of time before it claimed him back. Confirming that belief would possibly break the violet haired boy, revert back all the growth he had gone through; but the king saw no other way around it no matter how he looked at it. If they had any hope of winning, he just needed to leave.
"But-" The sheer devastation written on his —for now— boyfriend's body was enough to convey how akin this revelation was of a nightmare from which he couldn't wake up. His now silver eyes pleading with him as angry tears once again dropped unbidden towards pale cheeks. John had never hated himself more.
He took several steps forward and put his arms around the slender frame, not quite sure whom of them he was trying to comfort. "This is the only way." He whispered into the other's ears. "Everything will be fine." A hug was a poor bandaid over the hurt he was inflicting but he held on tighter and made sure the other couldn't see his face. "Trust me."
Sherlock must have noticed, because he extracted himself from the embrace; only a fraction, but it was enough for the royal to figure out he was far from happy with his decision. "You're lying." Sherlock accused. Far more perceptive when it came to deceit than motivation. He had always been so brilliant, his trouble maker; and John had no skills useful to win there, but he could do one thing still.
John grabbed the other's cheeks and placed a mournful kiss over the other's lips, not knowing if he would ever be able to touch or even see him again. Sherlock responded, but it was over far too quickly. John took a step back, letting go of the embrace and the boy he had loved since the first moment he had laid eyes on him. "I'm sorry." He said, and turned around. His feet heavy as he walked away and left a devastated boy behind; praying to his God he would be okay. He knew the general kwon fact was the whole kingdom needed Sherlock right now, but never as much as John did.
John had no clear destination in mind, he just knew he had to get away from Sherlock if he ever wished to accomplish what he had planned. He knew himself enough to be aware of the fact that just one more tear rolling down the rebel's face would weaken his resolve to the point of turning the whole thing into non-executable.
His tired legs carried him out and towards the line where the trees broke out into soft grass meadows, closer to the castle than he realised they where, —or perhaps the heartbreak had made hours turn into mere seconds as he walked. There was no need or hurry to look for Mary; Sherlock told him she had been watching them for a long time, and probably knew what he 'intended' to do.
She will come to him.
If not for anything but mere curiosity. Or to curse him properly this time.
The royal walked the paths between the flower beds in front of the castle. Their colour leached completely by the blanket of black the night had brought. John had always loved standing out on his balcony and just letting their peace and beauty lull him into serenity. There was no such solace to be found in them now. Not when things which weren't meant to be were stubbornly chased. Turns out, after all the terror and curses, it was he who was not awake to reality. Who had lived in a world of of fairytales without ever stopping to realise he may not even be the protagonist, the hero who saves the day, the knight in shinning armour, role that had always held such appeal for his impressionable young mind, more than being a king ever did, but that was what he was born to do. To make sacrifices and compromises for other people. For his people.
"John!" Mary said, materialising right in front of his dad's statue clad in a heavier long cape of raven feathers which cascaded from her back towards the floor and several feet behind her. The exclamation falling from her black lips sounded insincere despite the conviction with which it was said. John chose not to answer to the clear condescension. The girl, along with her fake smile waited, but when no reaction was forthcoming her mouth turn into a sour grimace. "I had hoped you would still be in the woods playing chase." She said, tone back into dispassionate. "Did it take long for dear boyfriend to fix it for you?"
"Molly, actually." John replied, his hands going to the pockets of his trousers, not willing to play into her games of curious bitterness. His nerves were beyond frayed already, and he had no emotional energy left to allow her disapproving questions.
"Oh." Was her expressive reaction, "Good for her." She said, not really conveying impression one way or the other, her dark rimmed eyes stayed fixed to her left, towards where something like black ink coated the fingers of the hand stubbornly gripping the sceptre as if it were glued to her skin.
The blonde sighed, attempting to choose his words to lay clear his thoughts, but his brain was much too disenchanted to come with something fitting for the rage he felt. "Mary, this has to stop." He said instead.
At least he managed to gather her attention then, although she didn't exactly appear terribly bothered by what he had to say. For her this conversation was already over, and there was not much he could say that would shock or interest her. She was probably in for a surprise, then. "Why would I stop now that I'm so close to getting what I want?" She inquired.
"Because this is insane!" The blond couldn't hold his frustration inside anymore, he felt it bubbling in his throat and now it was coming out as if it refused to be contained any longer. He had a cause to serve as king for his people, and he had fallen short in honouring it, but he was adamant to get it right this time. "You've hurt our friends," He explained, trying to gauge a real reaction from the girl. "Terrorised the kingdom and betrayed everything you stood for." The list could go on forever, but none of those things appeared to make any difference in her, making him wonder if she would ever be able to recover if they managed to win. Whether she was already too trapped in darkness to be able to see the day again. "Look at you! You don't even look like yourself anymore." He said, which was true. The leather suit she wore was bright pink with faded black detail work, and her ever-short hair was longer and way more disheveled than he had ever seen it. Flying bright blue and pink around and in front of her face with the chilly wind of midnight. Nowhere to be seen was the delicate, poised person she used to be. She looked poisonous.
"Maybe that's a good thing." She said, with an unusually unhinged expression as she took a menacing step towards him. John stayed rooted, fighting the urge to take a step back. She had proven she was very capable and very willing to harm him, but he would never shrink away from someone he loved. His sentiments for her may have changed in nature, but she was still his friend and he wouldn't let her demons win. He had fought against worse rivals to ever cower away from family.
"And what are you planning to do?" He challenged, placing a sure foot in front of the other instead. "Be queen to a statue exhibition?" The king said as his arms gestured to their surroundings and the stillness of it. To him a quiet kingdom was no kingdom at all. He had figured out since a very young age a monarch needs their subjects more than the subjects ever need them; fact Mary, for all her cleverness and wisdom, didn't appeared to quite get.
The princess turned away then, walking towards the stone figure of an uniformed guard. She placed her free hand around his neck as her eyes turned innocently towards John. "I'm planning to wake some of them up." She said and green tendrils of magic escaped her fingers, the skin below her hand started losing its rigidity. Going back to pliable, coloured flesh as fast as it had taken for the curse to take hold. The reversal carried through the figure and caused the upright man to crumble unconscious towards the ground. "Wipe their memories," Mary continued, "Place the blame where it should be." Her poignant expression shone through her eyes as she stepped over the sleeping body without a bother in the kingdom.
"I know what I did was wrong, and I truly am sorry." John said, figuring the apology had come too late anyway, but even if his plan worked he still wanted her to know he was aware of the role he had played in all of this. "I'm asking you to please surrender," He continued, and tightened his fists to stop them from shaking in repressed emotion, a king wasn't supposed to show overwhelming sentiment, but he had always failed at that. "For Auradon's sake. For the sake of everyone I love." The royal could hear the passion in the words and hoped it got through, that a miracle would happen and she would give up before he was forced to go through with his resolve. "This obsession is destroying you."
The girl laughed, loudly. It was almost enough to mask the sound of fallen leaves being crunched at the edge of the forest, signalling Sherlock's boot-claded feet moving him towards them, pausing to wait for a moment to show himself. John wasn't shocked he had followed him, —it was the two of them against the rest of the kingdom after all— he knew it was only a matter of time before he turned up to try and stop what he must believe would be happening by now, but the girl's amusement was startling. "You say that as if it's meant to say you love me too," She explained, a sardonic smile gracing her feminine features. "But we both know who you're really here for."
"No Mary," He said. "You just don't want to see it." Ever since his first proclamation as king, —and Sherlock showing up— she had never believed she still had a place in his life. Even if he had no longer been willing to settle for 'comfortable' to adhere to his and her parent's plans to marry them into another royal family, that didn't indicate she had meant nothing for him; and he was adamant on saving her too if he could. John took a moment to watch the violet haired boy stand at the edge of the forest, not caring enough to hide from sight. Thankfully, the girl didn't appear to have sighted him yet.
Mary stayed silent for a moment, her black rimmed eyes softening as something the blond said must have managed to drive home into her mind. But soon, that vulnerability vanished like smoke and was overcome by a bitter expression. "Do you have something to offer me, or can I spell you and get this over with already?" She asked, her shoulders going back and hands stretching as the sceptre was presented to him in warning once more. "Maybe I'll turn you into a frog this time," She said, a smile like a dagger cutting at him as she took her fun out from what must be a very interesting reaction on his part. "See if he is willing to kiss you then."
"He'd do anything for me," John was quick to reply, stopping her spelling hand dead in its tracks with his conviction. The green magic dissipating as she fumed. "And that's the problem, you see?" He said as his blue eyes travelled to where Sherlock was completely struck by John's words too. If the situation weren't so dire, the blond would pat himself in the back for finally surprising them both. "He knows how much Auradon means to me he would be willing to sacrifice his own happiness to help me save it." He said. "I know if it were for him he will easily let the kingdom rot if it meant keeping me safe; just as you readily spelled me when you saw no more use for me." John's certainty dripped through his mere lips. The expression he could see on Sherlock in the distance with the corner of his eye told him the mad boy was ready to run towards them and ruin everything; He had to be fast. "He thinks I came here to surrender." John placed his tan hands in his pockets once more and shrugged. Attempting to stop the sting behind his eyes. "To give you what you want so you'll let everyone go." He said. "But I'm tired of letting the two of you dictate my future." With that, he shut his eyes and closed a door inside he hadn't even known was there.
"Lovely speech, John," Mary started on the outside, sceptical expression letting him know she was still underestimating him. Dismissing his wants and beliefs as everyone often did. "But if you don't have anything more to say I'd like to-"
"Maybe it's stupid, but I know what's right." John cut her off, and continued. "What's right for myself and for the kingdom," His breathing was shallow as he concentrated in continuing to talk even when he could see the confusion in Sherlock's silver eyes from where he was watching. The sick realisation of what he was really doing finally clearing for him, only a little too late for him to do anything. The thread between them snapping in two. "And Mary, I don't care if you turn me into stone, but that is not you." He said.
There was a silence. Deafening at the face of such a truth landing on Mary's expression. Looking as if she had been struck by lightning, and only snapping out of it when Sherlock decided to sprint to them. "You're right." She said, her voice barely a whisper; and for a moment John was stumped, surprised at himself that he had managed to convince her that easily. However, when her eyes met his he could see his fatal mistake at assuming such a thing. "It is stupid." She declared, before bringing the sceptre down and striking down on him the consequence for giving his kingdom up in exchange for just one kiss.
Sherlock collapsed at the spot. His run's momentum making him skid closer to where he could see the clear damage of his blind spot. The curse wasn't aimed at him, but it had killed him just the same.