A/N: this was not an easy chapter:P I had to rewrite it twice but here you go:) I hope you enjoy it!
Thanks to johnsarmylady and mattsloved1 for being awesome and Brit picking and editing for me – I miss so much! You ladies are lovely to put up with me:)
Don't own –wish I did.
6. The Wolf
In the few minutes after the silence, it was then the lack of sound was the most oppressive. The cry of a beloved name still pulsed in the air and Wiggins did not know where to look or what to do. A feeling of utter shit helplessness permeated his skin, absorbed into his bloodstream and he felt the weight of it, the horror of it. To imagine, to grasp what anyone had done to deserve such a curse was beyond him. It was beautifully tragic and awful in its scope. The two men came in such close contact for brief milliseconds, enough to see, to know the humanity and the animal side of each other, to reach out and to have it slip past, like seizing wind or taming rain. The saddest, the most terrible thought was that they could almost touch, almost brush fingers, tip to tip, a reassurance, a gesture, to say they were still there. It never happened. It was that almost, that slip of fabric in the space between those outstretched fingers, which was the worst part of this curse, in Wiggins' mind.
Refusing to look at him, Holmes simply put on his clothes and carefully, reverently, picked up John's, folded them and put them away. He slowly shouldered the pack and then marched past Wiggins and continued on their journey, silent and terrible in his grief and his unwillingness or inability to express it. With a sigh, the thief picked up his pack and followed after.
Doing his best to ignore the looks Holmes threw up to the sky, Wiggins continued a silent, or mostly silent, discourse with God, asking Him to bestow a touch more patience upon him. He watched as posh attired shoulders hunched down further every time Holmes looked up to see that except for a few stray clouds, the sky was empty. The dark looks and brooding were getting to be a bit much for even Wiggins.
He stopped in the middle of the pavement, set his pack down, crossed his arms and waited. He didn't have to pause for long.
Holmes slowed and spun around, glowered at him, turned back, took a few more steps forward, and then swung around abruptly and stormed up to Wiggins.
"What do you think you are doing? We have to get to Lestrade by noon. He won't wait, he can't afford to. Move it."
"Nope"
"Nope? Nope? What do you meant nope?" his tone was scathing.
"I mean, I am not moving until you take a breath and realise you haven't lost him."
Some sputtering came out of Holmes mouth, some denials and enraged words, but finally he looked at Wiggins with narrow eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you do. You keep looking up at the sky, demanding answers from it. It ain't gonna talk to you." He lowered his voice. "He'll be back. He loves you."
A cold and steely mask fitted over Sherlock's face. Wiggins felt a momentary quiver and decided he would not want to get this man truly angry.
"Explain yourself."
"Well I've heard him talk about you. He loves you. He don't come out and say it, but he gets this look, in his eyes and the set of his mouth, like you're the sun and the fucking moon. He glows, see. He ain't leaving you. Look, he's just frightened. Last night, that was scary." Holmes frowned at him, as if to say Watson afraid of anything was ridiculous. "Okay, maybe not him as people, but when the sun comes up, he's got to change, quick. You lot ain't prepared or indoors like you usually are. When was the last time he had to change outside? All that big open space and he's all confused. You get confused, right? When you're settling in to yourselves? Here he is, all his hawk instincts flooding his systems and he has to get away, has to fly, but I'm betting, 'cause you're tied together, that once he settles, he'll be back." His hand started to come up as if he was going to place it on Holmes' shoulder, like he would with a mate, but then he changed his mind. Holmes was no friend, not yet anyway.
As he was speaking, he could almost see Holmes' nerves settle. If he had been the wolf, the fur on his back would have been raised and his teeth barred, but it was not unlike gentling a stray. He said his piece in an even, quiet tone and it seemed to register in the animal part of the other man's brain.
"Look, you're all worked up, too. Take a minute. We're almost there. Pull it together and then we'll go." He paused while he worked out how to say his next bit. "You two, you're meant to be together. It's like in the stories, yeah? Even me, I can sense it. When you're with each other and ain't human, there's this, I don't know, this thing between you. I can almost see it, like a real thing, a whatcha call it, a manifestation. He loves you."
Sherlock didn't look much different. His feelings were still buried deep, but there was a softening around the eyes and an expression of something other than fear in them. The tight, hunted look was gone. He nodded abruptly, took a deep breath and left. Wiggins rolled his eyes. Lord, shoot me now. I didn't sign up to be a marriage councilor.
As he walked away, Holmes looked over his shoulder and shouted out, "Do come along. And your grammar is atrocious. We really should work on that."
"Arse," Wiggins muttered under his breath.
They had only walked for a while when Wiggins kept feeling the need to glance about. Something left the impression spiders were crawling up the back of his neck, like he was being watched or followed but he couldn't see anything, so he shrugged it off and continued.
As he caught up to him, Holmes glanced at him quickly and said out of the corner of his mouth, "Behind and to your left." Wiggins raised an eyebrow.
"We are being followed. You sensed it. You've been looking back every few steps. Stop doing that for a bit and then when I tell you, stop, pretend to tie your laces and look back through the crook of your arm. You should see her."
"Her?"
"No questions out in the open. Just do it," Holmes hissed.
A few more strides and Holmes whispered for Wiggins to go ahead. He dropped to one knee and made as if he was retying his lace. As he did so he managed to look back. It took a minute, but there in the shadows of a tall building was what at first glance looked to be an ordinary cat, but then he noticed the unusually long legs. It had been hard to see at first because of the spotted markings, blended in with sunlight and shadow, its fur reminiscent of pictures he remembered from when he was a kid, wild cats like leopards and cheetahs.
He stood and they started walking again as if nothing happened. Wiggins made motions to ask, but Holmes shook his head and silenced him. When they were near an alley, they ducked into the shadows.
"She's been following us for a while now, probably since yesterday."
"Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you point her out? Who is she?"
"I was waiting to confirm her identity, but really there aren't very many servals in England. Too cold"
"Servals?"
"Small African hunting cat. Can leap incredibly high, very sensitive hearing." He paused, significantly. "Likes to eat birds."
"So, do you know her? Is she after, you know, the hawk?"
"John? Yes. For God's sake, you can call us by our first names, you know." He scowled at Wiggins, who shrugged. "As to her identity, she's John's wife."
Feeling his mouth begin to gape open, Wiggins concentrated on keeping it closed whilst he processed that bit of information. "His wife? You know at one time I might have found that he's a bird and she's a cat to be a bit strange. Not so much anymore. But his wife? You two," he waved his hand around. "You belong! How the hell…?"
"Now is not the time or place. I am sure if you are patient, you will find the answers to your questions. But," and he stepped up right into Wiggins' space "Do not ask John. Tell him she is here, yes. He needs to know that, but do not ask him." Before Wiggins could say anything they were off again.
Shortly after this interlude, they weren't far from where they needed to meet Lestrade. Wiggins was wondering how much longer when, even before Holmes could sense it, they were surrounded by a small group of men and women. Their leader was a petite, pretty woman, with dark curly hair.
"Ah, Donovan. Still following Lestrade's orders, I see. How nice for you," Holmes smirked, covering up his annoyance at being caught off guard.
"Holmes. Still being an irritating twat and psychopath." She looked Wiggins up and down, coolly. "Collecting strays again, are we? Seems to be a habit."
Holmes' smile stretched, jovial, but his eyes were cold.
"Take me to Lestrade."
"I've got orders, see. Lestrade doesn't trust you as much as you'd like to think he does. Especially since he thought you were dead."
"The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Besides he might have told you I was dead, but he knew I wasn't. Shame he doesn't trust you as much as you'd like to think, isn't it?"
As she opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, Wiggins shouted, "Oy! Can we do this pissing contest another time?" Sometimes he felt like he was the adult in this relationship.
At that moment there was a cry from above and a shape hurled itself out of the sky. At the last moment, Holmes held out his arm and the hawk landed there, feathers ruffled, his beak clacking in agitation. Everyone else was watching the hawk, some with fear, but Wiggins was watching Holmes. He looked relieved and pleased, but just for a second. His face became the mask once more. He quickly hooded the hawk, which became more settled once it was in place
Donovan scowled at the hawk and left. They had no choice, except to follow, surrounded on all sides by Lestrade's people. They were quickly led to an old tube station. Glancing around, scanning the terrain, the team moved them into concealment.
A question, which had been bubbling in his head for a while, popped up and out of his mouth before he could stop it.
"So who is this Lestrade fellow, anyway. His people look like he knows what's what. And how come I ain't heard of him?"
A stern look was shoved at him from one of the guards, but it didn't prevent Holmes from talking. Not much would.
"He used to be the head of the Watch, before Magnussen took over. He was ousted and a new commander took his place." Wiggins noticed hesitancy in Holmes, as if he were being careful what he said. Surrounded by this lot, he guessed he would have to be. He kept his mouth shut. Holmes didn't tell him much of anything usually and this was a rare opportunity. "Half his men followed him when he left and he took them into the underground and set up his own little city. He is mostly a good sort, if you are on his side, if you haven't done something wrong. He protects people. He worked for the police before the change. As to why you don't know him, I couldn't say, but I am willing to wager that he knows of you."
Wiggins, harrumphed, but kept silent. Led through the abandoned tunnels for quite a way, he quickly lost where they were. He was much more comfortable and self-assured above ground and disliked these dark, twisting tunnels. Despite the fact the guards carried small fairy lights, the encroaching edges of blackness were thick and fierce looking, as if one could step in them and disappear.
After what seemed to be hours, they came to a small junction. Unlike the rest of the tunnels, which had belonged to the older era and therefore cut out by machines, this one was carved by manpower, chisel and hammer. The sides were rougher and shored up in places with timbers and mismatched brickwork. At the end of this tunnel was a heavily guarded door. Donovan approached and whispered to the head guard. She nodded and let them in, eyes staring warily at the two men and the hawk as they passed.
On the other side was a surprise. A large cavern was revealed. It looked more like it was from the past, with elements of the present intertwined throughout. Wiggins wondered briefly how it had come to be, but was too awestruck by the sights. There were small structures, dwelling and stores, like stalls in a market, set up. People, most human, some not, wan looking from lack of sun, watched them pass with large eyes filled with fear. Wiggins guessed these were fugitives from the upper world, here under Lestrade's protection. He wondered if the Mage even knew they existed. Probably, but it must suit his purposes to ignore them. He feared for the day when that blind eye opened upon these people and decided to acknowledge their presence.
Led to a small wooden structure, with a gruff, "wait here", Donovan went in and returned shortly. She sneered at Holmes.
"You can go in, but the hawk and that," a nod at Wiggins, "stay here."
Holmes' eyes narrowed, but he turned to Wiggins and said, "Hold out your arm." He pulled a thick piece of cloth from the pack, wrapped it around Wiggins' arm and transferred the hawk. The bird flapped his wings a bit and then settled again, as Wiggins stroked its back and whispered hush at him. An eyebrow quirked in his direction and Holmes, with a flourish, turned and went inside.
Donovan stayed out and kept an eye on the pair.
Not knowing what else to do, Wiggins tried to chat with the taciturn woman, "So what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" His question was met with a stony glare.
Wiggins shrugged. So much for that, Lord. Works on the street.
"Why couldn't the hawk go in with Holmes? I don't think he liked that much, but didn't seem surprised."
"You talk too much."
A shrug. "Not really, just curious."
Donovan sighed, as she realised she might as well answer something in order to get him to shut up. "The boss doesn't trust him.''
Wiggins' eyebrows went up in surprise. "Doesn't trust a hawk? Is he afraid the bird's gonna attack him?"
Another angry scowl. "I shouldn't be talking about this."
"Yeah, but we got nothing else to do. Come on, you know you want to spill."
A heavy sigh. "Oh very well. You must know that's no ordinary bird, not if you are traipsing around with the all-knowing-great-pain-in-the-arse. He's John Watson, right?"
Wiggins nodded cautiously in agreement, not entirely comfortable with this conversation now that they were actually having it.
"Well, he…"
"Donovan!" barked a stern voice behind her. She jumped, coloured a bit and turned to the man standing there. A rough looking, but handsome, grey haired man stood at attention behind her. He glanced sourly at Wiggins and more so at the hawk. "Not really your business to be gossiping, is it?" His tone was soft, but not his demeanour. Donovan shook her head and said, "No, sir."
He turned to Wiggins, "You might as well come in, you and that dratted bird. Holmes has explained your role in all of this. And yes, I have heard of you. Keep your hands where I can see them and no stealing whist you're in my territory. Got it?" He turned abruptly and went back inside. Donovan nodded her head after, "You best get going."
Wiggins followed the gruff man inside. A small but comfortable living space was revealed, with a neat, military feel to it.
"All right, Holmes. Tell me what it is you want and why I shouldn't turn you over to the Mage." Lestrade's mouth was turned down at the corners. There was a weariness about him, but he was straight backed and proud.
Holmes hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "What if I told you I could defeat the Mage?"
A bark of laughter came from Lestrade. "You must be joking. Why would I believe you? You, who walked off with that," a nod and a scowl in Wiggins' direction. He didn't think he was talking about him.
"John was just as much a dupe in the beginning, as we all were. Magnussen looked promising to so many. No one knew at the time he had great powers and was hell bent on taking over the city. Don't blame John for that." The words that came out of Holmes had a sharp edge to them. He would not hear of Watson being maligned.
Interesting, thought Wiggins.
Lestrade scowled darkly, "You expect me to believe that. When he took over, he kicked me out and put John in my place. Bah, you've gone soft. Should have known when you ran off with him. What were you thinking?"
Wiggins tried to make himself small. He didn't like the turn of conversation and his mind was whirling. It felt hard to breath. John Watson, kind, commanding, stern, angry, tough John Watson, a man to admire, someone Wiggins was learning he would follow gladly, had worked for the Mage who Wiggins would gladly kill. He wondered if he was going to be sick.
"Sit down before you throw up," Holmes said to him, not unkindly. "I know this might be a bit of a shock, but I can't explain right now. Soon, I promise." Wiggins was going to argue but he saw something in Holmes' eyes he hadn't really seen before. Pleading for understanding, Holmes looked at him with equal measure of compassion and trepidation.
"All right, but you had better explain and it had better be good." He sat on a nearby chair, looking at the hawk as if he didn't recognize it any more.
He missed some of the conversation about him, as his thoughts whirled around, old thoughts and memories intruded, his golden haired sister, laughing and trying to get him to play outside with her, teaching him to ride a bike. Lost in memories bright and painful he missed most of the conversation around him.
Startled to hear his name, he came back to the present.
"…Wiggins is the only person who can get in there. I need you to create a distraction so he can sneak me in. Once I'm in there, I will do what should have been done a long time ago."
"And what's that?" said with a tired sigh and a good deal of scepticism.
"Kill Magnussen."
Grimness fell upon the room.
"Are you nuts? No one can kill a Mage. Not anyone human that is."
"You forget, Lestrade. I'm no longer human."
"But if you kill him, what happens to you and John? You're going to live like this for the rest of your days, always together, never able to be with one another? That doesn't seem to be like you. I wouldn't think you nor John could live like that."
Holmes said nothing, but his eyes glittered strangely.
"Oh, for Christ sake. You're going on a suicide mission. You are nuts. Does John know?"
"Yes"
"And he's all right with this?"
Since Wiggins had met Holmes he had never seen him emotional except for the few minutes that morning when he had cried John's name to the harsh, unforgiving light. Stern and cold, he held himself up to high ideals of intellect. Now he looked like a man at wit's end, someone who was far more broken than he had suspected. Holmes' gaze fell to the ground and then he whispered fiercely. "We can't live like this, Lestrade. No one could. You have no idea what it is like to see him, every dawn and dusk and not be able…" he broke off and pulled his shattered self back together under the armour of his intelligence. "Enough. Answer me, please. Will you help me?"
Lestrade stood there, indecision in his face as plain as anything and then a softening. "All right, fine. God help me, I can't leave you like this. Can't even leave him like this as much as I'd like to." A heavy sigh. "Let's organize this mess. Time we got rid of that evil spawn."
"There's something else you should know."
"What now?"
"You should probably get your people out of here. We were followed today."
"Oh, bloody hell," Lestrade yelled. "Do you have any idea…? No of course you don't, it's all about you. All about what you want and need and sod everyone else. Well fuck you, Sherlock Holmes."
Holmes smiled bitterly. "You can always take them to my brother. He'll take them in. For you."
A dangerous look fell upon Lestrade's face. "You bloody well forget you said that. And you," here he wheeled on Wiggins. "You didn't hear that either."
Wiggins, his world still spinning from the earlier confession, just nodded and hunched down inside himself.
Holmes looked at him and sighed. He leaned toward Wiggins. "When we are finished here I will explain. I promise."
The two men turned to leave, Holmes still speaking to Lestrade about arrangements for contacting his brother and packing up Lestrade's small town. Hurried instructions were spoken back and forth as they made their way back to the entrance. Nearing it, Lestrade grabbed Homes' arm.
"Look, I am willing to help you with this because it means, if nothing else, we aren't all sitting here in the dark, waiting to be discovered by Magnussen and his lot, but I swear to god if this doesn't work out I will kill you myself."
Holmes nodded. "I promise you, Lestrade, you won't have to."
With the ugly reminder that Holmes was willing to go on a suicide mission, they left Lestrade and were escorted back above ground. The return trip seemed to take longer but some of that might have been the fact that Wiggins was lost in his own dark thoughts. They had arrived back at the tube station entrance.
Leaving the shelter and back out on to the street, Holmes stopped to take the hawk from Wiggins. He looked at him closely. "I know this is a shock, but as soon as we are on our way tomorrow, I will explain everything."
Wiggins felt his throat close up as he tried to express why he was so distraught, but there seemed to be a depth of understanding in Holmes' eyes. Holmes smiled and said, "If it makes you feel any better, the first time I met John, he was trying to kill me."
Surprised bloomed across his face and Wiggins looked at Holmes.
"How the hell did that happen?"
"Again, a story for another time, but trust me there is no finer, no better, braver and kinder man than John Watson. Even good men can make mistakes, Bill. Believe me, he is a good man."
Deciding to keep his opinion to himself until he could hear all the facts, Wiggins just stared at Holmes, but something of his willingness to believe him must have been in his eyes.
They made their way from the tube station. They had been underground longer than Wiggins had though. The sun was lower in the sky and they would need a place to stay for the night.
Just as they had turned away from the station a low animal growl came from their left and a tawny and black shape launched itself at them, knocking into Holmes and startling the hawk. Eyes hooded and jesses caught in his fingers, the two fell to the ground as the serval pinned Holmes down, a snarl rolling through her chest, teeth barred. The hawk cried out in confusion and the cat pounced from Holmes' chest and landed on the bird, her mouth wrapped in a tenderly vicious embrace around the hawk's neck. One false move and the neck would be snapped.
"No!" shouted Wiggins, his hand outstretched. Holmes sat up, releasing the jesses, knowing if he held onto them, he could hurt the hawk's legs. His face darkened and the wolf was present in the growl that ripped out of his throat.
"Mary. Let. Him Go. If you hurt him, you will be hurting yourself. Don't do it. I will kill you, if you do."
Mary growled back, saliva dribbling out of her mouth. She lifted a paw and pressed down on the bird's back, claws flexing in and out. A screech of pain echoed through the deserted street.
Wiggins thought furiously and looked around whilst the cat was distracted by Holmes and Watson. He saw a large stone upon the ground, stooped to pick it up and threw it hard at the cat's head. It bounced off and caused her to stagger. She turned on Wiggins and hissed, animal instinct taking over. She let go of the bird in her anger and surprise and began stalking toward Wiggins. She neared close enough to pounce again. The animal was not much heavier than a housecat but taller and with her sharp claws, she could do a lot of damage.
Just as she was ready to pounce on him, another stone whistled through the air from Holmes' direction and hit her in the shoulder. She yowled and turned and ran. Holmes dropped on the ground beside the hawk. "John. John! Wiggins get over here!"
Holmes took the scarf off from around his neck and wrapped around the bird. "He is hurt. You need to get him to my brother." He rattled off the name of an old address far enough from where they were that he could make it before evening, just, if he ran all the way. "I can't take him, it's too far to get to before sunset. Get him there and Mycroft will see that his injuries are taken care of."
Wiggins hesitated for a moment, wondering how he had got himself into this mess, why he should bother to help a bird that was a man who had worked for the person he hated more than anything.
He looked at the distress on Holmes' face
"All right, but that's it. I am done with the two of you. I will take him and then you will have to find yourself another thief."
He didn't know where all the rage and anger came from. Maybe he was just so tired of being lied to, but he would do this one last thing. He carefully picked up the bird and cradled him in his arms. Meanwhile, Holmes was ruthlessly stripping himself of his clothes and shoving them into the pack. "Here take this. I will follow when I can. Tell my brother I sent you. He will give you as much courtesy as he is capable of. And Wiggins, I am truly sorry we were not honest with you before. Do this for me. Take him to Mycroft and I will let you go, unharmed."
Wiggins turned without another word and ran off in the direction given him. He did not see Holmes drop to his knees nor watch as he brought his hands up to his head and pull at his hair.
Running flat out and out of breath, the bird cried softly in his arms. After a horrible length of time and beyond exhausted, he finally reached the site of an old luxury hotel, one that now looked like an impenetrable fort. He started yelling as he approached, calling for Mycroft Holmes. A guard at the front of the hotel asked his business.
"I am here to see Mycroft Holmes. Tell him his brother sent me. Tell him I have an injured hawk. He'll understand."
The guard looked dubious, but sent a message with a nearby lad, who looked like that was his only job, messenger.
The lad came back quickly and spoke to the guard. "He said to let them in and to hurry."
Wiggins was bustled inside. He entered the grand front of the hotel, which was decorated in marble columns and a sweeping staircase with old wooden trim. Everything was neat and well kept. Wiggins wondered how on earth this other Holmes managed to stay below the radar of the Mage and then he found he really didn't want to know and he probably wouldn't like the answer. He was done with the whole sordid affair. He'd drop the bird off, take his things and lose himself in the streets once more. Nothing was worth this.
A tall man descended the stairs, a supercilious look on his face. "What has my fool of a brother done now? And why is he back in London? Does he not know his life was forfeit the moment he came back to town?"
He looked at Wiggins the same way the other Holmes did, as if he could tell everything about him with his sweeping glance. He probably could.
"Oh dear, has dear Captain Watson meet with an accident? Very well, bring him in here." He turned and led the way to a room off of the entryway. It looked like an office. There was a large desk, made of some sort of dark wood and a leather sofa. Wiggins was directed to lay the bird on the sofa.
"Leave us. I will tend to his injuries once the sun has set and he has changed back. Leave his pack too. He will need to attire himself. Oh and don't go far. I will have some questions for you later. That is all."
Fuming, Wiggins left the room and slammed the door behind him. He was fed up with Holmes and Watson and hawks and wolves. He found a chair to sit upon and looked around the cold and empty lobby. As he sat there the room gradually darkened and the fairies in the lamps scattered around the room began to brighten. He was beginning to feel the effects of the rush of adrenalin and renewed grief, descend upon him, when he heard it. As the sun sank, not far from the building he was in, the forlorn cry of the wolf echoed, heard even through the thick walls of the hotel. A cry of pain, muffled and low came from the adjoining room.
Wiggins shivered once more and drew his legs up onto the chair, wrapping his arms around them. He tried not to let the desolation of the two men penetrate the wall of anger he had built around him. But he really wasn't successful. He knew he'd stay and he knew he would help them. He knew he had to for his own peace of mind.
He was in this for the long haul and he hated himself at that moment as much as he hated the two men whose lives were bound up with his own.
