A/N: Thanks mattsloved1 and johnsarmylady for general 'hey you have a typo!' fixes and all around Britpickinesss:D

5. The Hawk

The weather had cooled considerably the past two nights. Frost was definitely in the air and had arrived with a bite and growl. The moon had a distinctive ring around it, a pale and fragile shell of ice crystals in the air. They were getting closer to the time of the year when snow arrived, gracefully falling from the sky in a hypnotic dance. The elegance of drifting snow would be belied by its cruel and tenacious grip. Rushing ahead of it, announcing its coming was the smell, sharp and metallic. London received more snow since the change. Wiggins remembered fondly when he had looked forward to snow. Not now. Things came into the city with the snow, creatures that liked the misery and cold and they weren't the only ones to become hungry. Starvation was a real possibility for most who lived here.

Mingled in the same frosty air were wisps of burning wood. It was Bonfire night. Even after the change, Londoners, and perhaps all of England, still took time on November the fifth and lit bonfires. Now not so much in remembrance of the almost lethal attempt on a king and the House of Lords but because it was the time of year the change had occurred. No one was sure if it had actually happened in November as things had changed gradually but it was close enough to the actual date that it was woven into the remembering. Now the lighting of bonfires was a tad darker. There were some who lit the fires as a reminder that many had died in the years following and that they were now living in a second Dark Age. There were some out tonight who didn't appreciate the wonders that had replaced a modern and technological society. A cult of the past had sprung up and this night was theirs as much as anyone else's. To some, ritual and sacrifice were tied up into the burning of wood and effigies were replaced by something more sinister.

After two days of travelling by day, this time the small group was travelling at night. Normally they holed up and rested, but if something had happened to change the routine, Wiggins didn't know what it was. Not the best time to change routine. Maybe Holmes, who had been stopping along the way to speak to various personages, human or not, had taken far longer to reach the vicinity of the Vauxhall Arches. Maybe Watson wanted to travel for a change. Loss of time would be his first guess, London was a big place and it was hard to get around quickly but they hadn't been so far that it should take three days to get there. Granted they weren't to meet this Lestrade person until the third day, but still Wiggins wasn't sure they were going to get there on time.

The two men moved swiftly and carefully, stayed to darkened streets and checked behind them now and then. Tagging along after Watson, who walked with a determined military stride, these thoughts and more were ricocheting around Wiggins' head. Thoughts about whom and what Holmes and Watson really were had been tangling his brain for the last few days. Should what he believed, what he thought to be true, be broached? He was having a massive internal debate with God about it, but God wasn't responding. He had lots of time to think these last few days. He had watched the two men closely and separately; different they were, as different as shade and sun, but connected like the two. There was a certain way they had of looking for the other that was unmistakable, even though Wiggins had not once seen the human version together in the same room.

The human version. There was the rub.

He thoroughly believed that the two men were under a spell of enchantment. That's the way his father would have said it when he read bedtime stories. 'The princess was under a spell of enchantment. The forest was under a spell of enchantment. A dark spell of enchantment permeated the castle.' How else to explain the sudden disappearances of one or the other? Holmes was only around in the light and Watson the dark. The wolf and the bird vanished and were also never together. There was only one conclusion to be made and as farfetched as it might seem the two men were more than connected to the two animals, they were the two animals. Holmes was the dark furred, proud wolf who had the same eyes and huffy manner and Watson was the fierce hawk.

After about five streets and the third audible sigh, Watson turned and looked at Wiggins.

"What is the matter? You've been shooting me funny looks and huffing loudly."

Wiggins gulped, shook his head and walked past where Watson was standing.

"Nothing," he muttered.

It was Watson's turn to exhale. He also shook his head and then walked hurriedly to catch up with the other man. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but not quite how to start the conversation. Finally after a few more steps he said, "I told Sherlock you'd figure it out. You can't wander around following someone without putting two and two together." He placed a hand on Wiggins' arm. "You know, right? It's okay. It's not actually a secret. It's just not loudly proclaimed and we just don't go around telling everyone."

"Telling everyone what?" Wiggins wasn't sure if he really wanted confirmation. It seemed like something private between the two men and something chilling. They must have seriously pissed someone off to be cursed like this. He figured it must be a curse. It probably was a curse. And he was fairly certain he knew who had done the deed, who had uttered the words or called on dark powers to cause it to happen. He paused and turned to Watson. "Look, I don't want to know. I think what I think and I keep it buried deep inside. If you tell me, if it's true, I will be afraid and I already am scared about this mad quest or thing you two are on. So don't tell me. I like the dark and not knowing. It keeps things covered and safe."

Watson looked at him strangely, intently. "But nothing grows in the dark. You can't see your way and you stumble around. Perhaps you cause injury to yourself or to someone else if you don't know the truth."

"Works for me, so let's leave it at that. I'm not saying I don't want to ever know what the hell this is all about. Just, just not right now, okay? I'm not a brave person and things like this give me the willies."

A slow, sharp nod and Watson turned and continued walking. Wiggins noticed he was clenching his fists. Maybe he wanted to unburden his soul but Wiggins wasn't ready to carry that weight just yet.

A furry shape bounded up to Watson as they rounded a corner and Wiggins let out a rather piercing shriek. Watson shushed him and let the wolf place paws on his shoulders and give Watson's face a quick lick. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and his head titled to the side was comical. Watson broke out into a real laugh, a pure joy at the antics of the creature.

"What is it? Did you find something?"

The wolf got down and tilted his head toward his friend and huffed deeply. He then turned and trotted off around the corner.

The two men followed behind, Wiggins curious as to what this was all about.

"He sometimes finds things he wants me to see. Whatever it is has him excited. That doesn't usually happen. He's fairly serious."

Nodding like he understood, Wiggins followed.

The wolf led them to an alleyway about halfway down the street. They saw the end of his tail disappear. Pausing to think a minute, Watson dropped the pack onto the ground and rummaged around. He pulled out a gun.

"Wow!" breathed Wiggins. "I didn't know they still had those. I thought the magic made them harder to use! Where did you get it?"

Watson looked at him and frowned. "If I told you, you might not want to come with us, so let's leave it be for now shall we?"

A shrug and the two men continued their journey into the alley.

The wolf could just be seen in the gloom, the light from the fairies not quite reaching where it stood.

Watson crouched down where the wolf was waiting.

"It's a brownie," he said "It's hurt." The wolf wagged its tail like he had done something marvellous and John gave him an absent pat as he reached into his pack for his med kit. It was the most dog-like Wiggins had ever seen the animal

He placed a soft piece of cloth on the ground and transferred the brownie to it. He next took out a candle and some matches and lit it, letting wax drip onto the ground. The candle was jammed into the soft wax puddle upon the ground and he held it there until it stood. He bent over the brownie. "Hmmm. Unusual to see one out and about at night. What happened? It's all scratched and cut up." He spoke to it in quiet, calm tones, letting the brownie know he wasn't going to hurt it. The wolf leaned over and gave a sniff and then turned his head and appeared disinterested now that Watson was taking care of it. He lay down at Watson's side, his head on his paws and closed his eyes, bored now the excitement was past.

A bottle of water came out of the pack next and another cloth. Watson carefully washed the brownie's wounds. He next rummaged around and produced a small bag. A faint glow emanated from it. Wiggins' eyebrows shot up.

"Hey! That's fairy dust! You carry that around?"

"Yes, but it's purer than the crap you've taken. It would kill a human in this form. I use it on magical creatures when we find them."

"Why? Why not just leave them? They ain't human or nothin'. You know, it's like nature and stuff."

Watson sat back on his heels and looked stonily at the younger man. "I am a doctor. I help those in need. Don't you dare suggest I leave this poor brownie to suffer when I can help him. And it shouldn't matter whether it's human or not." His face softened slightly and his voice lost some of the stern edge. "Beside, helping the fair folk comes in handy. They are very grateful and treat you well if you do the same. That's why he," indicating the wolf, "brought me here. Otherwise he probably wouldn't care much. He knows I do, though."

Properly chastised Wiggins kept quiet and watched the doctor work. It was sort of fascinating to see what Watson was doing. After the injuries were cleaned, a few grains of dust were placed in a small cup of water and administered to the brownie. It became more alert and less pained looking as it spoke to Watson, its overly large bright eyes never leaving the man's face. It shook its head and then whispered something to him.

Watson's face changed from polite interest to puzzlement and then to concern. He gently placed the brownie back on the ground and quickly repacked the bag. The brownie, injuries healed by the dust, scurried off down the alley and disappeared. The wolf picked up some of the anxiety that was rolling off of Watson and stood suddenly, facing the entrance to the alley. A growl, hackles raised, he took a step forward.

Watson grabbed the wolf by the scruff. "No! Get back."

Wiggins not sure what the hell was going on asked. "What is it?"

"It's a trap."

Just as the words flew out of his mouth, Wiggins felt a sharp sting on his neck. He lifted his hand and pulled out a barbed dart.

Puzzled thoughts followed him down to the ground as he collapsed and darkness over took him.

oOo

Something wet was touching his ear, cold and wet and it made a snuffing noise. It was bringing him out of a most delicious dream.

"No, I don't want to get up." He rolled over and hunched down into his coat. He didn't even have time to complete the move, as something grabbed onto his coat and shook. A low, snarling sound landed in his ear. He batted a hand at it and felt warm fur. Something clicked slowly in his brain.

He turned back over and squinted. There was bright light coming from somewhere above him and it hurt his eyes. A furry shape was huffing warm, meaty breath in his face. If a wolf could glare and look impatient at the same time, this one surely could.

"Oy! Stop! I'm awake." He sat up, a little too abruptly, his head pounded. "What the hell happened?" Now that he had Wiggins' attention, the wolf pawed at him some more and whined, sat upon his haunches and stared at Wiggins, as if those silver eyes could force him to move.

Somehow he had been dragged out under a street lamp, the fairies were gathered in one spot, tapping on the glass with their little fists and trying to get his attention. He could just make out their high, squeaky voices on the edge of his hearing, as they demanded to be released from their prison. Scrapped and bruised, he wondered if it would hurt more in the morning. A quick glance around for Watson, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he?" he asked the wolf. "Oh yeah, sure, I'm left with the one who can't communicate." He got up to his feet shakily and looked around some more. The pack the doctor always carried was on the ground at his feet as well as his own. They looked a bit wet and muddy. The wolf must have dragged them out as well.

"What's going on, Wolf?" He refused to say the name that floated on his lips. "Where's Watson?"

The wolf whined again and began trotting away from the thief. He stopped and turned and flicked an ear at him because Wiggins hadn't moved. An irritated huff crossed the wolf's face as if he couldn't believe how stupid the thief was.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered. "Sorry Lord, but sometimes there comes a time and a place for swearing and this, this is just one of those times. I have no idea what is going on. I assume you do."

He reached down, picked up the packs and hurried after the wolf. They jogged along for a long time; the wolf every now and then sniffed the ground and took them in an unexpected direction. Abruptly he stopped, panted and growled. Then he shot off into the dark without even a glimpse at Wiggins. Tearing off after the animal, he tried his best to keep up with it. Afraid he had lost him in the dark, he jumped when he appeared out of nowhere, huffed at him and dashed away. Led to a small patch of greenery, the formal, tended parks of the old days now encroached and swallowed up pieces of the city. Not far from where they had been assaulted, he stared at the sight before him. In the middle of the park, a crowd had gathered, all standing around an unlit bonfire. Faint cheers and catcalls could be heard.

The wolf raced into the crowd and Wiggins followed, elbowing aside people as he passed. They reached the edge of the circle, which was far back from the pile of wood. A man was approaching the mound carrying a flaming torch, which he threw in. The torch flew gracefully through the air, leaving a glowing trail against his eyes and landed with a thud. The wood, a bit damp from the weather, smouldered and didn't catch right away, but after a few minutes, it began to burn.

As the flames grew, Wiggins could hear faint cries coming from under the wood. "Oh, dear Lord, no!" The wolf sprang forward and without hesitation darted in under the wood, Wiggins closely behind. The wolf crouched low and with a twist of his head, latched onto a leg just seen under the pile. Sparks and embers were falling around them and landed upon fur and material with equal glee. The heat and smoke were increasing and it wouldn't take long before it would be too hot to get the man out. Wiggins reached past the wolf's head and grabbed the other leg of John Watson, ignoring the kiss and sting of greedy flames searing his hands. Together, the two of them pulled him safely from the fire. There was a feeble turn of his head and some weak coughing and Watson lay still.

The crowd gathered around was muttering angrily. Wiggins looked up and saw they were getting closer. One man stepped forward, the man who had tossed the torch. "You dare interrupt us? Do you realize that this…this thing is an abomination! He is cursed and must be put to death."

Wiggins stood, hands out in a placating gesture and with a shaky voice tried, to calm the man.

"He didn't choose this, it chose him. Would you punish someone who had a curse thrust upon him? That would be like punishing someone for being born blind or who lost a leg in an accident. He can't control it!"

"He is evil and tainted by malevolent powers. He must die. And you shall join him."

The crowd surged forward but was abruptly stopped by sudden movement as a group of smallish creatures scrambled through the crowd and clambered over the man on the ground. Wiggins watched as they stood over and around the still form, small, sharp teeth barred.

"Brownies! Well I never. Lord, you move mysteriously.""

Standing in front of the brownies Wiggins and Watson, the wolf growled softly and showed his teeth as he paced forward, the sounds coming from his throat letting all know he'd rip out theirs if they came close.

The people on the fringe of the crowd started slipping away and even their leader was giving the growing crowd of brownies a cautious look. Soon it wasn't just brownies, other fair folk joined in, leprechauns, wights, fairies, small silvery creatures Wiggins had never seen before. Larger creatures were joining in until there were as many, if not more, than the humans.

The crowd was dispersing rapidly and soon only the leader and a few of his followers were left. Wiggins took a step forward as did the wolf and the remaining humans were gone, but with glances over their shoulders as they hurried off into the darkness.

There was tug on the hem of his trousers and Wiggins looked down to see a smallish creature at his ankle. It was the brownie Watson had saved. At least he thought so. They all looked rather alike.

He crouched down. "Thank you, little one." He thought a moment, remembered what Watson had said and turned, put his hand in the pack and pulled out an apple, giving it to the brownie. The brownie looked at him and then took the apple. He dashed off. Wiggins noticed that the fair folk had all disappeared as well.

"That was different," he said, surprised at how calm he felt.

He moved to look at the unconscious figure on the ground. The wolf was licking Watson's face, he was moving slowly and lifted a hand to bat him away. Then stopped and reached up and patted the wolf, wearily. "It's okay Sherlock, I'm okay."

And there it was, out in the open, the undisclosed, furtive idea that was not really a secret. Watson slowly sat up with the help of Wiggins and Sherlock. He rubbed his hand over his face, scratches, cuts and small burns peppered the skin.

"What happened? I feel drugged. What was this all about?"

"I think they were sacrificing you in their annual bonfire exorcism. They are extremists and don't like anything not human, anything magical. They pick something every year and burn it, hoping to purge the word of magic. It's a sin, I guess. You just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Still a little foggy from the drugs, he looked at Wiggins bemusedly. "You seem to know a lot about it," he said quietly, no accusation in his voice.

Wiggins blushed and looked down at the ground. "When I was young, after I lost my parents and my sister, I lived with them for time. They aren't bad folks, mostly. Just scared of what they don't understand. I, umm, never stopped them, though. I saw a few burnings. It mostly turned my stomach and I left after a time. I never did go back. I kind of forgot in all the excitement what night it was or I would have suggested we not stick around."

Watson looked down at his hands and then back to Wiggins. "We've all done things, Bill, things we regret or shouldn't have done. We've all stood by and let things happen that shouldn't have happened. The world changed and some of us weren't ready to change with it and it made some of our choices not so nice. But you stood up tonight and did the right thing. Past is past. We can only move forward." He glanced down at the wolf that was sitting at his feet, looking up at him and panting. He smiled a sad smile. Then a puzzled look crossed his face.

"Although, how did they know what I was and why did they just take me?"

"Don't know about the first but they only take one each year and the wolf would have been tricky. A human, a cursed human would have more impact in their minds. I don't know," a nod to the wolf, "if he was drugged or not. He woke me up."

Watson started to say something but paused and turned toward the east so quickly it startled Sherlock.

A glance at the face of the man in the light from the still burning fire, revealed a look of grim acceptance. Sherlock stood, his body leaned against Watson, head on level with the man and his tail, down. Silver eyes flicked back and forth between the beloved face and the threatening sky. A low whine was building in his chest.

Softly, "we lost track of time." Wiggins looked in the same direction. He could see a noticeable difference in the sky; a faint cold yellow was brushing the sky in between the crumbling buildings, in the crepuscular light.

The sun was rising, quickly.

Watson looked around but there didn't seem to be anywhere for them to go, nowhere that was safe.

He looked at Wiggins, "I'm sorry, I can't leave. I guess since you've figured this part out, I'm about to change, become the hawk. You, um, might want to go over there and wait. It isn't pretty."

Wiggins didn't know quite what to say. He felt helpless in the face of what the two were about to go through, but he didn't want to leave, not because of some weird voyeuristic need to watch but because he figured they would be vulnerable during the transformation. He steeled himself and said, "No. You need watching. No telling if they're still out there waiting."

Watson looked down again. His hands clenched with a slight tremble and he nodded sharply. "Not many have seen this. It's umm, it's rather private. Sorry."

"I'll be watching the area. Not you lot."

A look of exasperated disbelief on his face, Watson smiled slightly and swiftly removed his shoes and trousers. His jacket, sweater and shirt followed. Wiggins could see all of this out of the corner of his eye as he tried to avoid watching the proceedings. Faintly he could see Watson as he knelt down by the wolf and pull him close, his hands gripped in his fur and he whispered to him.

The first rays of light began to crest the buildings and one small, shining beam fell on the top of Watson's head. A shift and Watson glanced up, faced the direction of the sun and stood, pulled to his feet by the allure of the light. A shudder rippled through his body, almost like waves in a pond as he raised his arms in supplication and acceptance, a glowing Vitruvian man. Wiggins gave up pretence and despite his best intensions, watched. He couldn't help himself; he had to, was drawn in. The beam widened as the sun came up, the earth rolled to meet her. It fell across the wolf, the light increased, making it was harder to see the shapes of the two, but it was just the beams from the sun, the two figures glowed with an inner light as well. It expanded and draped them, a glowing cloak, wrapped them, caressed them. The image of a spectral bird painted over Watson, stretched to meet his frame and then pulled itself into his body, ghostly feathers drifting down from his outstretched arms. Crouched at his side, the wolf looked up at the man, his ears laid back. Watson's head went back and a cry tore out of his throat, agonized and long, heart rendering. The wolf sat up on his haunches and howled, the two voices mingled, blended, belonged. The brightness increased and Watson's body shrank into itself. A hand lifted to block the sun, Wiggins blinked from the glare and something else, tears. He wiped his eyes, emotions crashed on to him as the implications of what these two went through twice a day tumbled upon him. Watson was right, it wasn't pretty, it was full of heartbreaking beauty and sorrow. Unable to stop, his mouth open, tears streamed down his face, he saw the wolf's shape stretch and elongate, the hair drawing back into his body, except on the top were it stayed black and became curly. The body of John Watson disappeared like smoke or a dream and in its place a hawk sat on the ground, blinked at the light, confused by the sudden change. Holmes, who lay naked on the grass, had transformed as well, but with just enough time, just enough awareness to see the last of Watson's humanity leave.

No thought Wiggins, as Holmes reached out a hand toward the bird, an urgent, desperate move, as he tried to touch, tried to bring Watson to him. Startled, the wild once more thrummed through his veins, the bird took flight, fast. Head down, Holmes slammed his fist into the ground and then looked up into the sky after the bird and a cry tore out of his throat, a plea to break hearts,

"John!"