Woodland creatures stirred as Sherlock Holmes picked his way through the forest. Trees towered overhead and masked the blackness of the night, leaves landing on his head and falling from there to the ground with a silent thump. Sherlock Holmes was wary, for this place was one of danger and death: but those were concepts he had played with for too long, and perhaps a good scare was what the dead detective needed.
But for now, Sherlock Holmes was quite alive. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a crack echoed through the bushes. Fear was something he had always blocked, and something he would never embrace- but it was still a present feeling, still a warning.
The only thing that made the detective stand out was his skin, pale as ever. He had considered donning the deerstalker-death Frisbee that was still locked in his trunk, but memories of a life he could never lead again had put him against that. Sherlock Holmes could never leave his old life behind, but he could try. He could lock it away and peek only for reference. He could look back fondly and wish for better days. Sherlock Holms could go back and try again, even though too many people had been hurt in that first attempt at normality and he didn't want to face the repercussions.
Was he running? Perhaps he was. Sure, Sherlock Holmes could run through London, in pursuit of a taxi or criminal, but he couldn't run from himself. It was too conspicuous. Maybe Sherlock Holmes could walk from himself instead, and save himself the dignity he still had.
The night was cold, but no colder than the man was comfortable with. The breeze bit his cheeks and the frost crunched under his shoes, the same ones that had taken him to the hospital that one day, the same shoes that he trekked through London and landed him back at the flat with a cup of tea and the comfort of someone he knew. Some may have thought Sherlock Holmes to be heartless, but they couldn't be more wrong. Sherlock Holmes had a heart, oh yes; he was just very careful as to where he placed it.
For the man could love. He could love a friend or an enemy, the adrenaline rush as he stood with a gun pointed at the Irishman's chest. He could love the enemy, for that one entity provided him with the danger and the fun that Sherlock Holmes needed to survive. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, of many secrets.
But love had never been his greatest. It had been one of many ideas and thoughts and feelings pent up inside. Trudging through a forest of creatures, Sherlock Holmes was not scared. He loved no one. Hatred was not on his mind. Sherlock Holmes felt numb, not from the cold but rather from the nothing that stretched out in front of him, the endless path of sorry looks and broken friends.
"Scared?"
Holmes looked up from the ground. Severus Snape stood before him, dressed as he always was. The man was different out in the open, he observed: not as powerful, not when he was alone.
"Expressing caution. There are some things I don't want to chance upon in here."
"Well, you never even scratched the surface when we were here. Did you ever find the-"
"Giant spiders? I had the common sense to keep my distance."
A stony silence fell. While Holmes bore no hatred for this man, he did harbour some resent. It was a relationship of faults and mutual dislike, but not one that prevented the sharing of valuable information.
"The Order," Snape began. "Are wary. There are signs that Ministry watches may have to be terminated, in order to preserve the jobs of those who work for us both. It is impractical for the likes of us to take their places, of course. We can spare no one."
"You make it sound as though we're preparing for a war."
"Aren't we?" Snape's silky tone reminded Holmes of Moriarty's, although the accents were different. But the two held an uncanny resemblance in terms of speech, and that was enough to make Holmes was to turn around and never come back. "There is… something coming. We're all aware. The year will be over and another tragedy will take place. It is a cycle-"
"But why prepare for a war that you could prevent?" Holmes raised an eyebrow. "There are ways to stop, ways to ensure the safety-"
"There is no time."
"Then make it," Holmes was impatient. Not angry, but Snape was an easy target and there was no one else to persuade. "Time is not the enemy. The enemy are still weak and hidden, and you must keep them incapacitated. You cannot cower in the face of one spell! There are two paths and one leads to war: thick and full of brambles, yet you choose it because the familiar path is the one you're least afraid to take. Tell me, Severus: how does it feel to repeat history?"
"How does it feel to live a lie, Mr Holmes?"
They glared at each other. There were no words that would match those that had just been said.
"The wizarding world is one of many, one that must stay hidden from those who do not know our power. Think, if a war, perhaps on a larger scale were to erupt-"
"I feel the same way! There is nothing I desire more than peace, but some goals are unattainable! We cannot stand by and let them take over all that we've built and preserved-"
"But we cannot fight fire with fire. We must dismantle, not curse."
Snape nodded, but there was no agreement. "Mr Potter-"
"Must be kept safe," Another nod. "Dumbledore is afraid."
"We all are. Dumbledore knows that the Dark Lord will do anything to use the boy, and his gaining of strength means that we're running out of hours."
Snape was right, but some things were best kept to ones' self. Holmes only nodded. He was still in a neutral position, even with his status as an Order member: Voldemort knew nothing of him, and things were going to stay that way. Holmes was no longer content to put people in danger, especially in a danger he could annihilate on his own.
"Is he aware?"
"You spend more time with him than I do. Potter is arrogant, popular, and delusional- but that doesn't mean he is clueless. He knows enough to stop himself from doing anything reckless, but not enough to stop meddling in Order business. We can risk him being at Head Quarters, of course, but if the Dark Lord were to get hold of him-"
"It would be as if he had hold of any of us. Potter knows as much as any adult in the Order-"
"And more-"
"But we all have to be wary. Harry may be delusional because he doesn't know what's at stake, what he means to this world."
"Oh, he does," Snape was almost chuckling. "He knows but he's not ready to embrace it. Potter is still very much a child, and although he wants to have responsibility, he doesn't want to know what that responsibility is. He relies on unstable protection, from his godfather to us and Dumbledore. You called me here to ask what we can do for Potter, but there is nothing but to wake him up. And Dumbledore won't stand for it."
Dumbledore. He was lenient as a headmaster, but not as a protector, as someone who help such a high position in their world. To go against Dumbledore would be to defy high order, the only power with their mind set straight.
"We can allow him small pieces of information," Holmes suggested. "Surely Dumbledore knows that he'll have to tell the boy something soon, whether it be his place in the world or the weapon with which he must fight?"
"Love. He'll go on about it for hours, but that won't do the boy any good," Snape practically spat. "Love is a driving force, of course, but it is no protector. We cannot place our fates in the hands of a fickle feeling, in the hands of something the Dark Lord scorns at and half of our own followers are losing."
The hope Holmes had held was dying, like a flame retreating into the wax. There was nothing, if the attitude of people such as Snape was like this. The world was doomed for war, greater than those that had preceded it. War did some good, but the loss would be too great, and Holmes had to protect those he had left behind-
Because if they got caught up with it-
If being here did them more bad than good-
Holmes would run.
"The Muggles."
"What about them?" Snape chuckled. "They're unaware. We feed them lies everyday through that Prime Minister and they lap it up. You would know."
Of course, Sherlock Holmes knew. When John thought something in the speech was off, too scripted and fearful, he knew. When Lestrade commented on a shake-up at the Yard, he knew. When the morning paper was left on the taxi seat at page five, pointing out a rise in depression rates, Sherlock Holmes knew. There was nothing left in their news that was true, nothing to explain the strange incidents that left families scarred and police baffled. It was control, that the wizarding world held, a control not unlike the control Voldemort held over those who feared him.
Did Sherlock Holmes fear Voldemort? Yes. But until he met the man, Sherlock Holmes couldn't judge exactly how scared he was supposed to be.
"And those lies are getting more ridiculous by the day. I've watched them frown and try to find other explanations. Some people are getting desperate for answers. You either need to up the creativity or tell the truth-"
"This is as much your problem as mine," Snape spat. "You're one of us, and you always will be. Your breaks are an escape but only a temporary one, and there's not running from the fact that you are a wizard Mr Holmes, and that you have as much of apart in this game as the rest of us."
Oh, he was right.
But Sherlock Holmes didn't want that.
Sherlock Holmes didn't want to have to tail his best friends just to make sure that his own kind wasn't going to kill them. He didn't want to have to live in fear of being spotted, of being singled out. Sherlock Holmes didn't want to be that person, especially not in this world.
After all, the one he had hidden in had become too dangerous. Who was to say that his native one would be safe for much longer?
He nodded.
"Very true." Holmes mused. "So. We keep fighting."
"We've never stopped."
Unsent letters littered the floor as Holmes watched the Sun rise above the trees, only to shield itself behind the clouds. That was what he was doing: putting himself back at the top, but always wavering behind a disguise. That was the role of a detective, and a role that Sherlock Holmes was ashamed to take.
I know, I know. I haven't done this for… a long time.
Good news: I won NaNoWriMo! Bad news: I'm so burned out. But it was totally worth it. Anyway, I'm going to get more regular with this, I actually promise this time.
Thank you so much for reading!