Chapter 7: Fraud is For The Weak
It is one of the most ancient of bad deeds, dating back more
than centuries. Fraud, is a wrongful or criminal deception
intended to fool others typically by unjustifiably claiming or
being credited with accomplishments for personal gain.
When Lady Hudson said at the start of the term she would make them sit through all the twenty weekly sessions of 'Remedial Goodness 101' even if she had to glue them to the chairs, she was certainly not jesting around. They were currently on session number six, and Sherlock was already desperate to have the never-ending torture to be done; even if he had to steal one thousand wands to achieve it, anything was better than sitting there and listening to mindless drivel for two hours straight. He was so exasperated with it, Lady Hudson's voice was now on permanent mute inside his head.
"Children," She said, only to be met with silence as each of the three students continued on not paying the least bit of attention to her, or the class. "Children!" She said sternly, with a tone of voice that left no doubt she would use force to make them listen if she had to. Greg seemed to realise the situation and batted at Sherlock's arm to draw his attention.
Once the three kids were on board, Lady Hudson smiled and walked to the front of the room to roll out a giant TV screen set. "As you know, this Friday is family day here at Auradon." She explained, fussing a bit with the controllers, "And because your family can't be here due to…" She stopped, trying to put delicately the fact that their parents —or in Sherlock's case: guardian— were essentially mass-murdering criminals. "Distance." It was what she settled for. "We've arranged for a special treat." The lady grinned excitedly, probably not realising that whatever she had planned it wouldn't be as enjoyable for the rebels as she thought it would.
The screen came alive, with the image of the last three people they desired to see at the moment. The smiling, smug faces not making them feel comfortable or homely at all. Sherlock, who had been facing away from the front, sighed when he heard Moriarty exclaim his name in delight. He took a moment to gather his wits and painted a fake smile on his face before turning around. "Moriarty!" He stated.
The responding expression was predatory, completely aware of how unwanted their presence was. There was not much to be said about Irene and Lestrade's parents, well parenting, but at the very least they weren't as cynical about their true interests as Moriarty was. Greg shared a glance with him, a quick look of apprehension in turn to display the dread they all felt. It was clear that none of the kids wanted to be reminded of the fact that their 'vacations' were not going to become permanent, the real reason why they were there was already hanging above them like a shading cloud wherever they went. Still, The Great Schemer beamed at his son, completely oblivious to what happened.
Hudson stood next to them, apparently to offer her support should they need it, fact that was not to go unnoticed by the villains. "Lady Hudson!" Jim exclaimed, turning away his attention from Sherlock for a moment. "What a pleasure! Long time no see." The voice booming through the speakers seemed to suck the air out of the whole room; Sherlock wondered what it said about him the fact that that which he admired once, now he found slightly disconcerting. He chose not to dwell on how far he had fallen.
Lady Hudson didn't seem the least bit pleased at his sight, crossing her arms over her delicately embroidered morning suit. "Still doing tricks with eggplants?" The snake asked, while the three kids looked in consternation. The older fairy grimaced in outrage, frowning and sending them a glare of dislike worthy of any outlaw out there.
"I turned a pumpkin into a beautiful carriage." Her defence seemed powered by cycles and cycles of dealing with people —mainly criminals— behaving skeptical of her actions. She was The Defender of Light, yet that title will never manage to make you popular among the group that you helped stopping.
"You really couldn't have given her until one am?" The other prodded. Sherlock identified the tactic he was using, he had been taught that strategy by the exact same person delivering it. Moriarty really couldn't care less whether that ratty princess got more time with the stupid prince, but it was useful to find subjects the opponent believed the height of their character and twisting them into something stale and sour. That had always been Sherlock's favourite pastime.
Lady Hudson looked about to start an argument, so Irene thanked her for the treat but still motioned her to let them handle them. The fairy let out a frustrated sigh, but complied and stepped aside to allow them to speak with their family; hovering around the front desk in caution.
"Hello, Moriarty." Sherlock was quick to greet, ready to deal with the situation as he faced it head on. Irene and Lestrade may not be entirely thrilled of the overbearing, and yet disinterested presence, but the violet-haired boy could still detect a trace of regard inside their bodies; regard which absence he was desperate to not let show in the face of its object.
"Sherlock," The man cooed, as if delighted by seeing him again. The rebel figured he'd be a tad more delighted had Sherlock possessed something between his hands other than his books. "I miss you." The lie rolling easily from his mouth. Sherlock smirked and innocently widen his eyes at him.
"You children are never far from our thoughts." Greg's father commented, to which Lestrade pulled a soft smile. The other villains on the screen eyed him in exasperation. Displaying a mild aversion for his moronic attempts at conveying the message.
"I know, Jim." The curly-haired boy responded, noticing the disappointed expressions the two of his companions were trying to mask. Sherlock never really had any delusions about his role on Moriarty's life, yet this was actually family for Irene and Greg and it must sting to realise their only true concern was in the wand and their impending power —not that his mother had been better when she was alive. She was definitely worse.
The Adler Queen adjusted her silk gloves and pursed her deep red lips in a smirk. "How long until we get to see you?" She asked, to which the three kids looked at each other in hesitation. It would probably be unwise to set a date, given that they were not sure their scheme would work, but leaving them hanging would definitely be worse in the long run.
Sherlock fidgeted with the sleeves of his smart coat, "There's a big coronation coming up," He leadened his statement with hidden meaning, glancing at Lady Hudson, who was still listening in while pretending to sort through several papers. "So, probably some time after that."
"When?" The criminal insisted, his deep brown eyes getting a swirling shade of lime green colour around in warning. The violet-haired boy retreated slightly, wanting to avoid falling trapped to the Dragon's Spell. Ever since he could remember he had been uneasy when someone —be it Moriarty or his mother— used it on him. Believing someday he would actually end up imprisoned inside his own mind as the stories said. The older he got did nothing for the feeling of resistance he experienced whenever the power made its way inside his head. True or false, those myths had been on his thoughts for far too long to shake them off.
"Next Saturday!" He was quick to answer, almost compulsively. Like it had been ripped out from his throat. "10 am." He sighed, crossing his arms and shaking his curls in attempt to rid himself of the threat.
"You sure I can't see you before that?" The other asked, making a harmless face and acting for all the world as a parent missing his kid, the three teenagers fought the urge to spit at them. "I don't know what I will do if I don't get my hands on that mag-" He stopped himself, realising mid-sentence that letting greed hinder the slim chances they had was not a good risk to take; no matter how impatient he was for it to be true. "On you," He corrected swiftly, acting as if the mishap had never happened. "You whom I love like a son."
This hit Sherlock like the slap it actually was. "Yes, I completely understand, Moriarty." He smiled, the expression not enough to cloud over the look of disgust inside his silver gaze. Moriarty leaned back, satisfied with the information and no longer interested in the conversation now that he had what he desired.
"Greg, is that an uniform?" The Great Schemer asked, nearing his head into the camera to see correctly. He motioned to the blue and golden jersey the rebel was wearing.
"Yes, I play on a team." Greg answered, his voice taking on a challenging edge, and his hands balling into fists. The muscles on his arms were straining said shirt, Sherlock looked on in half-amusement at watching his friend so flustered. Who knew he could become so attached to a sports team this quickly?
"Ha! you?" The laugh The Schemer let out pierced through the speakers loudly. "Since when you can play any sort of thing?" He said incredulously, turning around to the other older villains for their support at such claim. Needless to say, neither of the others seemed to care much one way or the other.
"I've helped them win the last three games." The teen deadpanned. Not as smug as he should be, the violet-haired boy considered. On the screen Irene's mum was re-applying her lipstick, smiling satisfyingly to her reflection on the mirror at the situation.
"Stop smirking, witch!" The man suddenly became angrier. They weren't supposed to be enjoying any sort of part in this; they were on a mission, the most important mission, some would argue, and the elders expected them to focus accordingly. Moriarty seemed extremely exasperated by the behaviour of his associates, and looked ready to leave altogether from sheer boredom.
"Why don't you go sale a toaster, you two-bit salesman?" The Queen retorted, and after that, the both of them proceeded to fight amongst themselves, while Jim rolled his eyes and stood up.
Noticing the commotion, Lady Hudson popped her head around the screen to watch the scene unfolding in front of the students. Irene reached out her hand and swiftly turned off the device before the woman could comment anything about it.
"I'm so sorry, dears." Hudson said, her face apologetic in the worst ways. Looking at each of them as if she had personally struck them. The rebel boy cared little for her sympathy, yet having that emotion turned towards them felt unnatural after having been the other way around for so long.
The three of them grabbed their bags and made towards the door, suddenly feeling quite despondent about the whole thing. "Thank you for the special treat." Greg added, turning around and giving the Lady a sad smile as they exited.
"Sherl," Irene turned to the boy, once they were far enough as to not be heard. She quickened her pace to keep up with his long legs; too eager to get as far away from the situation as physically possible. "What do you think they'll do to us if we don't pull this off?" She asked, a hint of worry painting her voice that had never been there before. It's true they often joked about what the repercussions could be if they failed, but never had it seem so real, so imminent.
"They will probably be quietly disappointed," Sherlock phrased carefully, tilting his head sideways in silent pondering. "But ultimately move on and be proud of us for trying." Was the conclusion, although he appeared not to have any conviction on what he had said.
"Really?" Lestrade asked from behind them. Hauling his massive Tourney bag over his shoulders and trying too hard not to let the tentatively hopeful expression show on his face at what he declared.
"Noup." Sherlock answered, pointedly pronouncing the letter 'p' as if that casualness could make up for the terrible reality of the fact. "We are definitely goners." He finished, hurrying away from the hallway with his two friends following behind him.
"I know what you're doing." Came the high voice of Mary Mortsan just before she slammed closed Sherlock's locker door. Her words demanding.
"Storing books in my locker?" He asked innocently, yet with an arched eyebrow that showed the streak of a mischievous nature. He gracefully picked up the texts he had dropped at her entrance. Her figure in front of him oddly defiant, as if she would not back down. If anything, Sherlock admired her courage.
"You can drop the act," She commented, crossing her arms in defiance. "You may be fooling everyone else, but you're not fooling me." Mary said, her perfect short hair blinding with the golden light of the sun, which always seemed to beat down on the kingdom there.
The violet-haired was impressed, he was completely aware that Mary suspected them more than your commoner royal idiot, but he hadn't anticipated her to actually confront him about it. "Very well, then." He accepted, his face hardening and his eyes took on their calculating edge he worked so hard to suppress in front of everyone at the realm. "What do you want?"
"You did something to John!" The princess accused, her breathing becoming ragged in her exaltation. "You spelled him." Her eyes were portraying loathing and outrage. "He's making mushy eyes at you, and that stunt at the game? He would never do something like that. Not for someone like you." She started, "Not if he weren't under some sort of curse." The boy tried to dismiss the feeling that sentence spread through his body; as if he had been shot in the chest. Instead, he focused on keeping his face as unaffected as he could. "You probably even gave him those dreams!" She accused.
"Dreams?" Sherlock found himself questioning, he wasn't responsible for any dream breeding; the cookies and the stealing he could claim, but he hadn't even been aware John had consequent dreams. "I think I'd be more creative than that, Mary." He retorted, grabbing his bag and stepping away from the lockers, leaning back over the railing at the other side of the hallway.
"I don't know what you're planning, but you won't get away with this trick." She assured, following closer to him in opposition. "This fraud." She explained and frowned at the smirk that made its way to the boy's face. He had her.
"Reminds you of anyone, Mary?" He asked nonchalantly, grinning as if he were in on a secret she ignored, except this time he was sure she did know it. "A fraud?" An air of sarcastic flare present in the last word.
The princess regarded him strangely, but decided not to comment on it, lest he was bluffing and she would accidentally give him any clues of the truth. She was almost as easy to read as John was. "I'll tell John." She concluded. "And if he doesn't believe me, I'll tell Mike, or his parents." Her soft pink dress was contrasting starkly with the fire in her voice. Sherlock sighed and waited for her to finish. "They'll have you shipped back to the Isle in a second."
Sherlock had to prevent that from happening. Even if he felt as conflicted as never before, he needed to have the opportunity to do it, it wasn't as if he could forsake the mission that easily. "No need." He answered, "I'll tell him myself." The high collar of his coat framing his angular face, giving him an even more intimidating stance. Mary stared at him in confusion, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Perhaps you would like to accompany me and tell Prince John how you are truly a bastard product of adultery." He commented, only to watch her freeze completely in place. "What?" He asked. "You thought I didn't know how your precious perfect life is built up on a lie?" The violet-haired boy was aware how much of a sore subject that would be, yet it was not enough to deter the words tumbling down his mouth, "How Prince Philip Mortsan is not your biological father?"
The princess looked indecisive between fleeing in shame and jumping on him in violence. Sherlock had deduced as much since the first time he had laid eyes on her, yet he refrained from saying anything; now, however, it appeared he had to anyway. "I mean, his best friend? You live on neighboring castles and share brunch every Sunday. And I thought I was the rotten one." He commented, shaking his head as if said deed would be too vile even by his extremely twisted standards. He casually pushed his purple curls away from his face and got standing straight, aiming to intimidate. "Prince Anderson even named his son after him; guilt perhaps?" Sherlock had had a kick when they first told him Anderson's first and last name, not believing how incredibly hypocritical everyone outside of the Island was. Once he got back —if he went back— he would never look at images of precious royals on the small screen in the same way again.
"You're clever, Mary, you obviously found out." Sherlock continued, taking note of the way her lips pursed in recognition, she was clearly intelligent enough to piece the real story together, yet not sufficiently as to realise how social-status was backing her into a corner; giving him something to hold against her; a vulnerability. "But no one can ever know, isn't that right?" Sherlock stalked towards her, an expression brimming with intensity inside him. "Not only would it destroy both families, but it will, more importantly, forever brand you as a bastard born out of wedlock," He commented ironically, "Just like me." He had been aware that Mary had been completely and vocally against the idea of kids from the Isle living among them since the start, but that resentment only grew as she found out how similar their situations would be if she were to be seen for what she truly is. The three of them portraying perfectly everything that terrified her about herself.
"We are nothing alike." She insisted, as proof of the previous argument, no matter what happened, she will forever deny that she was part of them in any way. "You may not care about anything, but I do care about John." She said, looking up at him in confrontation.
Sherlock took a sharp step back, as if struck. He supposed she had quite a lot of proof of said statement, he had believed himself incapable of emotions before they came to Auradon, but now… now implying he didn't lit a fire inside him. Raging, and scorching his blood. He was not capable of allowing anything to question the existence or make light of something which had completely shattered his whole universe. "Do not presume to tell me what I do, or do not, feel." He snarled, not knowing with whom he was more frustrated: The princess —who was, in her own right, completely correct about him— or himself for letting the situation spiral this far out of his control. "You have no clue what you're talking about." The boy stated.
Mary seemed to regard him for a moment, pushing her soft blonde hair behind her ear as if she were preparing for making business. "Who else have you told?" She asked, her stance not as defensive when she could recognise he had no real intentions of ratting her out.
"Not a soul." The violet-haired answered truthfully; and honestly, even if his insides compelled him to expose her and her mother's dirty secret, he found he could actually sympathise with her in some way; Fascinating that he realised he was capable of said emotion under such circumstances.
"John can never know." Mary insisted, her blue eyes taking on an edge of desperation that she attempted so hard to hide. "I would lose him forever." She said, yet refrained from saying anything more when a couple of students passed by them on the hallway.
"I believe you underestimate his character." Sherlock commented, once the intruders were out of hearing range. The whole point of this conversation was to be discreet and a known secret would do no good to either of them. "But you know him better than I do." He said as he stuffed his hands inside his coat, no longer in need of being intimidating once that he had obtained what he wanted. And that was the only reason he had backed down, not because the truth of the fact made him oddly sick to his stomach.
"So, what now?" She asked, placing her hands on her hips and looked around to their surroundings. "I don't go to John, or his parents, and you stay quiet?" The proposal came quickly, and quite efficiently; Sherlock could appreciate that decisive attitude, he had a feeling she would not be intolerable were she not attempting to send them packing.
"You're quick to try and make a deal with a villain you just accused, quite passionately, of planning to bring down your kingdom." He was swift to point out. He hoisted his slipping bag over his shoulder securely and started walking, completely done with hanging back and sorting her needs out. If she really wanted to tell John of their plan, she would; whether or not he spilled.
"Do not play with me, Holmes." Mary called out, rushing to meet him before he escaped out of sight. "What will happen to John? What will you do to him?" She grabbed his arm and turned him around; demanding an honest answer, her eyes suddenly concerned, as if she had just thought of any consequences her adamancy to keep him quite would bring forth..
"You have my word," Sherlock started. He turned his head around to answer. "No harm will come to John Watson." He vowed, and surprised himself with the intensity with which he muttered each word.
"And I'm supposed to just trust that?" She asked, her crossed arms conveying how skeptical she was to that statement. Sherlock figured she really had no other choice but to believe it and he suspected she knew that too. "You're going to spare him just like that?" The blonde asked. "I suppose it could be convenient to your vanity to have that sort of devotion available." She commented bitterly; The violet-haired boy looked on as she gathered her things to retreat.
"Protecting John has nothing to do with you or with convenience." He reassured. John Watson was in no way a convenient aspect of his life; quite the opposite in fact, if it weren't for him he would know exactly who he was and what to do. He was irritated of the way things had turned out; he was supposed to feel smug, satisfied of how he had managed to put her in a difficult place, but he didn't. The frown on Mary's face trying to calculate something he ignored. He began walking, but he stopped and stared at her once more. "Just one last thing," He said. "I am a terrible person," He would have to be an idiot not to see that about himself. "Callous, anyone's worst nightmare." He assured, but his expression conveyed no pleasure as it should have. "But what does it say about you that you are willing to put the realm at risk and let me get my way in order to protect your reputation?" The question left the princess dumbstruck, clutching the strap of her purse in apprehension. "I'd think about that." Sherlock advised, not completely sure of why he pointed out such thing; it wasn't as if it were his problem. He rounded back and retreated while he could still feel Mary's intense gaze on his back. He picked up his pace and hurried out of the scene, just as other students were starting to flood the hallway and she lost sight of his figure.
"Remember," Said Coach Adam as he motioned the players to leave the field and head for the locker room. "Training is cancelled for the remainder of the week for family day on Friday and the coronation this weekend." He explained, to the tired and muddy faces of teenagers grabbing towels and walking away eager for a shower. "But next week be ready to make up for the hours." He reminded, a satisfied grin greeting every student that past by him on his way.
The team dispersed and headed for their usual post-practice cleaning, the locker room bursting with loud conversation and howls of something or other among the boys. John sat on the bench and took a moment to breathe before he had to stand up again. Juggling school —and all its extracurricular activities— and his duties as soon reigning monarch was having a heavier toll on him than he had anticipated, yet the fact he could make a difference was worth it, he enjoyed every second of both and will continue to do so until that stage of his youth was done and his life as king demanded more time.
"This fortnight is going to be brutal." The blonde sighed, looking up at Greg, who was stuffing his jersey back into the quadrangular box of metal. The rebel eyed him and nodded his head. "Yeah…" He responded, yet his face showed more than just premature exhaustion for the upcoming activities. John frowned in confusion, he was aware that the week would be more busy for him than for anyone else in the kingdom, yet he supposed family day was going to be specially tough for his new friends. He made a mental note of making sure they didn't feel excluded in the festivities just because their families were going to be absent.
"But hey!" John exclaimed once the other sat down beside him. "We've got another match next Saturday and if we win we'll get to the semi-finals!" He said, in a very obvious attempt of cheering him up. However, the shadow hadn't really passed from his expression, but thankfully he at least seemed distracted away from it. The other didn't comment anything about the game, but the coronation seemed a subject of interest.
"Are you looking forward to Saturday?" Lestrade asked him, looking at him in such a strange way that it made John slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't at all like when Sherlock used his silver laser eyes to see right through you and your history —for John it was enjoyable for someone to want to find out more about him— but it was a despondent look that he had never seen Greg portray; he was usually so active and engaged.
"A little." John started. and stood up to take off his shirt and grab his bathing supplies. "Mainly nervous," John answered truthfully, "Being King is a lot of responsibility, you know?" He believed ceremonies and balls were not at all what being a ruler was about and he would prefer if he didn't really have to do the public speaking if he could avoid it.
"Not really." The other replied, staring at him expectantly. John turned around from his locker and smiled.
"Ha! I guess." He said, realising what an idiot he was. There was no way anyone could understand what he was going through. Not even his father, the current King. He had been made king way after he had been of age and finished his education —the incident with the witch and the curse aside— therefore he was alone with the weight over his shoulders. But perhaps these kids could sympathise a bit, their parents had been such a crucial and iconic imagery for violence and that was something hard to match or escape. "Listen, mate." John murmured, sitting down and hoping his new friend would really believe what he was about to convey. "I know it was really difficult for the three of you to settle here," He stated, his expression kind but not pitying in any way, Greg threw his towel over his own shoulder and shrugged as if uprooting them and trying to impose a new culture on them hadn't been a big deal. "But I'm glad you did." The prince said truthfully, smiling genuinely at how happy he felt at having them in his life for almost two moon cycles now.
A few seconds of pensive silence reigned their corner of the locker room, but he still waited for Greg to give him an answer, to acknowledge whether he also thought it had been a great idea. "Yes," Lestrade answered, the shadow coming back to his face and darkening his features. "Me too." He concluded.
The light had already gone out from the heavens. Night and the moon reigning in the sky for a few hours while the kingdom slept. Well, most of it anyway. The villain kids were huddled up in Irene's room —past the curfew, it is important to add— to scheme in advance every detail of their escape from Auradon with the wand. Laying everything down while they still had chance of tweaking the plan until it was perfect and everyone knew exactly what their role was.
"Okay," Sherlock said, pointing to a map of the Cathedral were the Coronation was to be executed. "We all know what this looks like." He assured, remembering just a few nights before when they had snuck in past bedtime to research the weak points and figure how the layout could work to their advantage once they succeeded in obtaining the magical artefact. "So, it'll be up on the dais under The Beast's spell jar, and we'll be entering from here." He paused and looked up to make sure the others were following. Irene nodded her head and Greg muttered a quiet 'okay' to show their agreement. However their faces weren't exactly excited or lined with mischievous satisfaction as they had been a few weeks prior. "I will be at the front, and you will be at the east balcony." The violet-haired boy said, scribbling notes and reminders on the sidelines for them to remember. "Okay, Lestrade?"
"Yes," The other was quick to answer, his arms were crossed but the leather gloves he usually wore had been long since discarded as the night progressed; Sherlock estimated they had been at it for more than three hours. "So, I find the limo so we can break the barrier," He recited for the umpteenth time, letting himself slump down on the chair in annoyance. "And, uh-" He stumbled over his words. "Get back on the island with the wand, I think?" Greg asked.
"You think?" The other snarled, lashing out after the gradually worse days he had been having for the past weeks. "We need to be sure." He explained, reminding the others of a venomous animal desperate to grab any prey he could. "This is difficult, one tiny slip and it all could go down in flames." And knowing Moriarty it definitely would. "We cannot afford any mistakes." He concluded, breathing heavily from his exaltation.
"Fine!" Irene replied, her manicured hands coming up in innocence; as if to show him they were not at fault of the hard situation they were in; the three of them were as trapped as the other.
Sherlock sighed and shook his head, dusting off the outburst and focusing instead on being efficient. He bent down to retrieve something from his bag and presented the small item to his friend. "Irene," He said to The Woman while he placed the blood red lipstick inside her hand. "You will use this to take out the driver, just one kiss and she'll be out like a light."
"Finally, something fun." She muttered and placed the object inside her purse. Her down cast eyes didn't match the statement as well as she always did. Sherlock noticed this, and turned to observe the other friend at the end of the table, he had glanced at his Tourney gear approximately 3.4 times per 10 minutes. The boy sighed.
"You don't really have to do this." Sherlock commented, the pressure coming form both their parents was big, but the violet-haired boy wanted nothing to do with them basically feeling trapped with the situation. "You can repay the favours you owe me some other way." He said, knowing fully well they had just followed him, as they always did, since Sherlock acquired them cycles ago. He had picked Lestrade up as an asset to access a very strong wooden cupboard when they were still in their toddler cycles, letting him hang around after for convenience. And Irene, well, he had been nothing but a nightmare to her after her mother invited the whole isle to her seventh naming day anniversary but him. He had vowed to take revenge and it wasn't until they were pubescent when the opportunity presented. He bullied her into accompanying them to a 'mission' which in the end would have ended up being just a trap to humiliate her; he had refrained from it at the last minute, remembering what had happened with 'E.' and he had let it go; Since then, she had been trying to repay his small blip of kindness.
Both of the others looked at him as if he had magically grown a second head. Irene's expression changing quickly between confusion, surprise and recognition. "So you and Moriarty can get all the fun?" She asked in a very amused tone. "Oh, no Mister." The woman said, crossing her legs nonchalantly and letting him know that in no way would she let him do this on his own.
"Yeah!" Came Lestrade's voice, catching on with what his friend was weaving. "You think we don't know what you're doing?" He asked as he stood almost a head taller to the younger boy. "Noup. You're stuck with us." He motioned, as if there would be no other alternative. Sherlock's wide open eyes shined silver against the moonlight. They had been present with him for so long, but he had never really anticipated this attitude. "No matter what." Greg commented, defiance present in his stance as stars in that clear night sky.
Sherlock smiled sideways in satisfaction. "Very well," He said with an air of competent authority, trying hard to mask how surprised and, dare he say, pleased with their reaction he felt. Maybe there would be one good, untainted thing to come out of this mess after all.
After that, they dispersed a bit about her room. Attempting to clear their heads enough to continue with everything else they still had to get through over and over again. As Lestrade sprawled back on Irene's bed for a rest, Sherlock flipped the pages of his Spell Book in order to find the one he had stopped himself from bookmarking in mere sulky attitude. The swirling letters on the page made nothing for the apprehension he felt inside as he read them and stored them in his mind palace for later; he most definitely could not ruin this particular enchantment.
"Sherl?" Irene said from behind his chair, eyeing at the name and functionality of the potion he was memorising how to concoct. "You want to break John's love spell?" She asked horrified, as if the mere thought of the curly-haired wanting to do that seemed as unfathomable as paradise itself.
Said boy jumpily startled around as if caught, mumbling a few incoherent phrases before settling on a real answer. "You know, for after." He explained, yet the weak undertone to his voice was never going to convince Irene, and he knew it. "I don't-" He began saying, but stopped himself before whatever was going to come out actually made it out alive. "I've been thinking," He explained." "When the villains finally do invade Auradon and begin to loot, and kick every snotty royal out of their castles, and imprison all the leaders, and destroy all that is good and beautiful," The woman crossed her arms as he listed the foreseeable scenarios. Her clever gaze roaming over his expression and gauging the real intention with which he said them. "John still being in love with me just seems a bit extra…" The violet-haired boy paused, biting his lower lip in a last attempt from his brain to not allow his mouth to say it. "Cruel." He concluded, and the words tasted foreign in his lips. He was not yet sure whether he would fall over in distress or not. The boy decided he could not continue on with the conversation, instead he turned around and proceeded storing measurements and techniques into the proper chamber inside his mind, actively ignoring Irene when she muttered questioningly —and quite worried, which she never was— his name at least three separate times, but to no avail; Sherlock had finished the exchange and he didn't feel like he would be able to complete it.
The girl turned around and motioned Lestrade to approach the table again so they could finally continue after the short break. They had a long night ahead of them.
The same almost morning found Sherlock in the kitchen again; and this time he was alone. Absent-mindedly —which was quite uncommon for him to do anything without intense focus— whisking a few ingredients into a bowl, and staring off into nothingness. The book of spells was next to him at the counter opened on a page titled 'Breaking of love spells' and detailing every step of the procedure to make John Watson stop loving him once and for all.
This time he wasn't able to even try to fight off feeling like a terrible fraud or ignore the growing disease he felt inside him. His own guts chocking and leaving him gasping for air as he silently sobbed, with only half a mind to let none of the stray tears fall into the mix. Well, none but one.
Author Notes: My poor Sherlock. What do you think he should do to fix this?
Let me know in the comments.
