ERMAGERDH IM SO SORRY! I have no excuse for being such a hypocrite. I cant mentally voodoo force people to update quicker when I'm worse than they! I even had the chapter written down like 3 weeks ago and- SSOOOOOORRRYYYYYY

NOW, DOWN TO BUSINESS.

Who would you want as an ace? Honest answers here. PM or Review to tell me

I was thinking I would make Sherlock part Fae however I need your opinions. The Fae in general are no longer around, one day POOF, no more Faes. Think Roanoke. For this reason Faeborn are special and Sherlock, therefore, is of a higher magical degree. If anything Sherlock would be part Spiritus, the air Fae, other types of Fae include Lympha, Incaendium, Tellus , Tenebra, Stella, Etc…

John Watson was having a shitty day. Waking up after a night of fitful sleep, he'd been roused early by the leaks he had procrastinated fixing. Setting off after a quick breakfast, the rest of his morning was a blur of fruitless attempts at getting a job, he would bother with the leaks later. No one had any use for a PTSD ex-army doctor with an intermittent tremor and a psychomatic limp, half of his day had gone to waste. Waste, what a waste of air John was.

Once back in the cold discomfort of his house, simply because it provided him shelter didn't mean John regarded it as a home, the tired doctor wished for nothing more than a quiet afternoon with a warm cup of tea and a cheap, second hand, romance novella, and was surprised when he heard someone knock on the door. Since he'd returned from the warfront, no 'friends' or relatives other than his drunkard of a sister had bothered visiting. Harriet Watson had bugged John to keep in touch but after the revelation of her divorce with Clara, that and the sheer amount of alcohol Harry had consumed , had spoiled the visit. The younger Watson had felt less than compelled to meet up.

Whatever John had been expecting, whether it was Harry or an old mate, it had far from been the fit man standing on his welcome mat. Bill Murray, as he identified himself, stood as a fully uniformed member of the royal guard. The former army doctor had no clue as to why a guard would be invading his doorstep. He'd paid his taxes and didn't recall having pissed anyone off, the latter being unlikely due to John's amiable persona. The spades crest badge pinned onto the taller man's chest was, as far as John could tell, authentic and the number of stripes on his collar indicated he was a high ranking officer. John was quickly shooed back into the house and was told to stay put until some My-whatever's arrival.

John had certainly never anticipated My-whoever to be the Jack of Spades, two ranks under king. Only a fool would tell you this man was less than a five, Mycroft's poised stance and powerful aura admitted he was higher than that. However, all logic pointed out that the Jack of Spades would never be disposed to deal with a man from the 32nd district. Seeing as John was pissed he decided this man couldn't be all that important and carelessly ranted at the stranger.

Less than an hour later, John Watson found himself sitting on finest velvet seated coach the kingdom of Spades had to offer, and frankly, his arse felt unworthy. John knew he should feel psyched or honoured, new queen of Spades, he could commence wars with a flick of his finger now. He would never have to worry about rent again, in exchange John had to submit himself to a highly pressured position and work in close quarters with the man who was rumored to be the most handsome, and biggest prat, in all of Cards.

Mycroft Holmes made John uncomfortable. The older man's cold and controlled demeanor made John shiver and although the two had hardly met, already the blond knew that Mycroft Holmes was near a complete opposite of his own warm jumper-loving self. Neither man spoke once on the ride to the castle.

Having arrived at the castle, the elder Holmes wasted no time in handing John into the care of the royal tailor, an enthusiastic elderly woman with a bad hip who went by the name of Mrs. Hudson. He was quickly dragged into a large room, larger than his army-pension wage house, filled with cloths and silks, and situated in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Soon the youngest Watson stripped of his dirty, holed yet comforting clothes and was left to self-consciously twiddle his thumbs in front of the mirror for a few minutes while Mrs. Hudson searched her collection of rich-ass clothes for something that might be easily suited to John's complexion and body type. After some probing, poking, measuring and an overall invasion of his privacy, John was waved off to the bath chambers where he was waxed, plucked, scrubbed and succumbed to several other forms of torture.

Half an hour and about half a pound of dirt, hair and skin later, John was guided back into the suiting room. Living on an army pension meant not being to afford most luxuries, thus, John's clothes were for the most part second hand and well worn. Being draped in silks and warm furs was almost overwhelming, but John hadn't come this far just to break off the deal at the first change of clothes. It was awkward for the army doctor, however, for Card's sake, his royal boxers cost more than an entire month's expenses.

John was an overall warm person, he was worn and tolerant as well as sarcastic and stubborn as a mule. The man who looked back from the mirror, however, was sharp. This man exuded an commanding aura that told you he would not be fucked with, somewhat like a well-trimmed version of John's captaincy in the army. If the man standing a few feet away from him hadn't waved parallel to himself, John wouldn't have believed it was him.

Watson stared at the mahogany doors. They were… intimidating, giving off a feeling that they were looming over, waiting to come crashing down upon him and flatten him into a john flavored pancake. Did time usually pass this slowly? According to the clock John had hardly been waiting for his majesty a few minutes but it felt more like hours. The couch John sat in could've been made out of rocks, not velvet, for all the comfort it gave John.

The echo of approaching footsteps rang throughout the hall, accompanied by a smooth baritone voice that sent uninvited chills down John's spine.

"Dull, is it necessary I meet this queen? I have several poisons I'd much rather be testing out."

Poisons? John swallowed. His train of thoughts interrupted as the doors burst open and the cloaked king barged in.

C'est Finite

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