Nimueh and Arwen didn't stay outside for long. They were mostly grateful for the fresh air and sunlight that the men were missing out on. After a short discussion, Nimueh began to worry slightly about what the men were doing back in the cavern. She had enchantments and experiments back there, things that could be dangerous for them all. Making her way back through, she caught the end of Sherlock and Moriarty's conversation.

"So where's your lapdog these days, Sherly?" Moriarty was saying, "Does he know you're not rotting in a grave?"

Sherlock span round to face Moriarty, "John's not my lapdog. What about your Seb?"

Nimueh was intrigued. So these men both knew other then, wherever they'd come from.

"Less of the lapdog, more of the attack dog, but I suppose the idea is similar," countered Moriarty.

Sherlock laughed, dryly, then spoke to Nimueh without turning around. "Was there something you wanted to ask?"

Nimueh tried to look unfazed. "There might have been." She replied with a small smirk, "You two know each other? Wherever you're from?"

"I wouldn't say know…"

"Oh look, they're back!" Moriarty interrupted. "How was Isengard?" he asked slowly, like he was talking to a toddler, "Did you find the One Ring? Or, better still, have they given you your medication yet?" he laughed to himself.

Nimueh frowned, something she seemed to be doing a lot recently. "Medication? Another new word. What is it?"

"The thing you haven't taken today, it seems." Sherlock responded.

Moriarty groaned. "Sherly, where do you stand morally if I just shoot them?"

Nimueh sighed and took the opportunity to throw Moriarty against the wall again. She wasn't really sure why. It was probably just because he was an irritating demon. Even that idiot Merlin wasn't quite as grating on her patience as this man.

Moriarty sat up against the wall almost straight away. Curious. It didn't seemed to have harmed him at all.

"What keeps doing that?" he asked angrily.

Sherlock pointed at Nimueh. "Somehow, I have to believe it's her. I've certainly eliminated the impossible already…"

Nimueh simply held up her hands. "Look. No ropes. Shall I do it again?" For the third time, Moriarty was thrown forcefully against a wall, and yet he still appeared perfectly fine. This time, though, he didn't sit down, though Nimueh thought she heard him mutter, "Bloody hell…"

Sherlock gave a humorless laugh. "You really don't die, do you?"

"Even the great Emrys cannot go through that once without being knocked out, or at least dazed. The average Camelot guard is instantly killed. Yet you live after three attempts…" Nimueh looked at him curiously for a moment, then turned to Sherlock. "But do you believe me yet?

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and a sudden lack of response from Moriarty's area led Nimueh to believe that he had finally passed out, or better still, died.

Sherlock wandered over to him and confirmed "Unconcious."

"Shame. But you've avoided my question, Sherlock Holmes."

"You knocked out Jim Moriarty. I'm happy to believe anything you say." He smirked.

Nimueh looked at him closely. "Ask me to do something. Anything."

"Show me Dr. John Watson."

Nimueh frowned, but led to way to her basin of water in another cavern room. "Tell me about him. Everything. Appearance. Personality. Life." Sherlock complied, and Nimueh began chanting, using the information Sherlock had given her to conjure up an image in her mind.

Before long, a face appeared in the water, and Sherlock started. Nimueh stopped the chanting, but held the spell for a moment, saying only, "Well?"

Sherlock's eyes widened. "I believe you."

"Good." She ended the spell and led the way back into other cavern. She paused at the entrance and frowned. "Something's wrong…"

Sherlock stopped beside her. "Yes. Moriarty's starting to wake up."

"No, not that…" Nimueh paused, thinking. "Arwen! Where's Arwen gone?"

Sherlock frowned. "Well, she can't have just vanished. Maybe she just left the cavern?"

Nimueh closed her eyes for a second and searched out with her mind. "No, she's not down there."

Sherlock looked down at her curiously, but didn't dispute her statement for once.

"But she can't have just vanished. Unless… you just appeared here. Maybe you'll just disappear when you leave. That must be how I get rid of you."

"So we just wait? How boring…" Moriarty had finally recovered.

Nimueh turned to face him, then saw movement coming from another cavern. "No!" she cried, running into there, "My enchantment!" Wisps of strange creatures were swirling around, whispering words to quiet to make out. Nimueh began chanting hurriedly in an attempt to control them.

"What is this?" Sherlock called from the entrance he and Moriarty were watching from.

"This," Nimueh gestured mockingly, realizing there was no going back now, "was my revenge on Uther. It wasn't meant to go here though! I said the citadel of Camelot! But you all appeared and disrupted my enchantment!" The wisps were beginning to form into people now, all too familiar people. She could almost make out the words, but she knew now what they'd be saying anyway.

"That wasn't the question, honey." Moriarty interrupted her thoughts. "What are they?"

"Conscience. This is my conscience. This is what keeps me up at night. Except… why you?" she cried to the ghosts, "It wasn't my fault! I didn't know what he'd do!"

"They're dead, yes?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. But not by my hand. In those days, I was no executioner.

"Which means that someone else dealt the blow, but you feel that you were the trigger for that. Now, you said that we are in Camelot, which was the centre of Arthurian Britain. While King Arthur himself accepted magic because of his connection to the sorcerer, Merlin, his father was less acceptant in the legends due to the death of his wife at Arthur's birth. The legends say a powerful sorceress, or a high priestess, helped with the birth. When you introduced yourself, you introduced yourself as the High Priestess of the Old Religion. So, Uther probably killed these people because they had magic, due to the death of his wife, which he blamed on your magic. And it was your magic that triggered his response and killings of anybody with magic, therefore, you blame yourself for these people dying, and you want to punish Uther for making you feel that way, except it's starting to get a bit out of control, isn't it? You've lived for a long time, I'm guessing you must be older than you look, and you're alone, so you keep going, because you want to take Uther down to Hell with you when you finally die." Sherlock reeled, trailing off into an awkward silence. Moriarty smirked at his response, and Nimueh's shocked confusion.

After a pause, she said "You're right. You're absolutely right," and looked at Sherlock with an odd glint in her eye. She turned away from both men. "Ygraine's here too. She was a good woman. I was sorry for her death. Look, there she is." Nimueh pointed at a figure in a long, fine gown, with long hair that seemed pale even in her ghostly form. "Do you want to know what she's saying?"

Sherlock nodded.

"She's asking me a question. She keeps saying the same word over and over. She's asking me 'Why?'"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't I tell Uther. I knew that someone's life had to be taken for Arthur's life to be given. I knew it could have been her, but I never thought the fates would be so cruel. But if I had only warned Uther, then maybe he would have changed his mind." Nimueh looked back at the others, and added, bitterly "He wouldn't have. Not really. Uther needed his heir too much."

Nimueh turned her head quickly to look at the ghosts again. "I don't know all of these." She said with a frown. "And the clothes. The clothing is all wrong. Who are they?"

A ghostly short, fair haired man in a short jacket and trousers moved past Nimueh, repeating a short phrase over and over again.

Nimueh turned as he walked past, watching him carefully, but looked up as she caught a glimpse of Sherlock's face. He was pale, almost as white as the spirits, and he didn't seem to be able to comprehend what he was seeing. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words got caught in his throat.

"N-Ni… Nimueh. What is he saying? I can't… I can't make it out." There was an odd kind of desperation in his voice. Who was this man? Was this Sherlock's conscience?

Nimueh listened carefully for a moment, singling out the figure's voice from all the rest.

"He's saying… he's saying, 'Don't be dead.'"

A/N- Yay! Cliffhanger! Now, I wonder who this mysterious person is… ;)

Thanks for reading my story, anybody who got this far. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave me a review, because they really help me to keep going when I'm struggling to find the right words. Also thanks to Mergana Pendragon, Bredhlaf Swelgend, ottergirl2 and for the reviews, follows and favs. That's it for now! Till the next time!