Sherlock felt hands touching him, voices spoke in ancient Greek, "Ssh rest now, your body is so beautiful a work of art," a female voice whispered as she rubbed sweet smelling oil on his face, his neck, his chest, his abdomen, his pelvis, his…."Jesus, wherever I am is….marvelous," Sherlock breathed as he physically responded to the erotic touch that held him prisoner.
Sherlock took a deep breath and thought that was the strangest dream he had ever had. "Where am I?" Sherlock thought as he looked around him in confusion. His chest was bare and his torso was wrapped in white folds of material that felt like linen, or something close to it. The air around him was warm and dry, an arid breeze dehydrated Sherlock's moist skin and in the distance he could hear the flow of a river; its lapping made him lean back on the small pallet he was lying on and he stared up at the white linen canopy that provided him with shade from the blistering sun, and beyond that Sherlock stared at the beautiful blue sky.
"Glad, to see you're awake," a female voice purred in Greek, as she stroked the side of Sherlock's cheek.
Sherlock sat up to look at his captor or perhaps savior and gasped, "Irene Adler?"
The woman laughed, "I'm known by another name in this time. I am known as Cleopatra-lover." She whispered to Sherlock.
Sherlock jumped up, stepping on his garment, almost ripping it off as he did so. Hastily, Sherlock grabbed at the folds of the material, as the woman laughed, "Oh Sherlock, don't worry it's nothing I haven't seen before or touched." She said as she leaned in for a kiss.
Sherlock pushed her away and spoke aloud to no one in particular," I was supposed to go back to 1125 A.D. Jerusalem, what the hell happened?"
"You Sherlock are in Ancient Egypt, 47 B.C..." The woman whispered.
"Why, I mean I don't understand…Where is John? How…" Sherlock's voice trailed off as she put a finger to his lips.
"Ssh silly boy, I will explain all in good time. Sherlock, do you honestly believe that transmutation originated with the Rosicrucians? Oh no my dear boy the origination of their power started here in Egypt and if you are good boy I will show you how to rescue your beloved John Watson, but first you must do something for me. Agreed?" The woman said mockingly for she held all the cards and it gave her great pleasure to see the great and mighty Sherlock squirm.
Sherlock would look back on this moment as one of the most devastating moments of his life and as often in times like these, Sherlock would remember the smell of the perfumed oil that had been rubbed into his skin, the smell of the woman's hair, the feel of the dry desert breeze and the feel and smell of the moisture that reached his senses from the river. "What choice do I have?" Sherlock commented bitterly.
The woman wrapped her arms around Sherlock from behind and spoke softly, her warm breath tickling the inside of Sherlock's ear, "Oh come now. Why so downtrodden? You stopped whimpering for John soon enough, as I pleasured you." The woman laughed when Sherlock's eyes widened. "Oh, yes Sherlock it was not a dream. I had you. I had you several times; in fact maybe you will be the father of my child. What do think of that Sherlock? Daddy Sherlock, it has a nice ring to it doesn't it?"
Sherlock turned around and grabbed the woman by the throat, "Stop it now or I will crush your windpipe."
The woman sighed. "Sherlock, that feels so good, your lovely long fingers bruising my neck, but you know all I have to do is call for my guards and you will be thrown to the crocodiles this very day and then what will happen to John? The thought of your white flesh being torn apart, blood filling the water as children cheer and crocodiles fight over the pleasure of eating you whole, Sherlock, I almost hope you make me call for them for the thought of the intellect of Sherlock Holmes being eaten up by the crocs is so..so exhilarating. Come on Sherlock, come out to play." The woman simpered.
Sherlock stood there fighting down the urge to scream, as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "What do you want, Irene,… Cleopatra,… woman?"
The woman reached up and smoothed down Sherlock's curls, "Aw, now that's a good boy. Play with me and you just might be able to rescue your precious Doctor."
Sherlock slapped her hand away, "What do you want me to do?"
"I need you to travel to a difference plane of existence. I need you to get something for me from Duat." The woman said as she smiled slyly at Sherlock.
"Duat, you mean the ancient plane of existence that the Egyptians believed to a parallel of our own in which Ra crossed over the earth to the underworld, only to be re-born again at dawn?" Sherlock asked incredulously.
"Oh you are such a clever, boy, Sherlock. Yes, there is something of power I need you to get for me. Something made of light, something very powerful. Sherlock,… something new." The woman said seductively, knowing Sherlock's weakness for exotic, unchartered adventures.
"Why can't you just go get it yourself?" Sherlock snapped.
"I am not on the side of angels Sherlock, my soul is not pure, as is yours. You must get it and bring it back to me." The woman pressed.
Sherlock still wasn't convinced that he wasn't dreaming, so he replied, "Whatever, you wish my Queen. So, when do I go on this..this errand for you?" Sherlock asked in a bored monotone voice.
"Patience, Sherlock, all in good time. First you must be trained. The underworld is a dangerous place fraught with peril, and it would break my heart if something were to happen to my little pet, Sherlock." The woman crooned.
Sherlock felt so consumed with hatred that he wanted to kill the woman then and there, instead he just replied back in a syrupy, sweet voice, "Fine, when do we begin?"
Mycroft wanted to strangle the little man, Isaac that smiled sadly up at him. "Mycroft, Sherlock has meditated to another plane of existence."
Mycroft could resist the urge any longer, as he reached out and grabbed Isaac. "Where is my little brother?"
Isaac was stronger than he looked as he wrenched himself out of Mycroft's grip, "Your little brother is in 47 B.C. Egypt."
Mycroft leaned heavily against the wall, "Why?"
Isaac gazed into Mycroft's eyes, "It has always been his path to right this wrong."
Mycroft felt anger burning through him once more, "How is he supposed to accomplish this? What if he can't get back?"
"If he does not make it back, you will not remember him," Isaac replied heavily.
"He's my brother; of course I would never forget him. I just couldn't…I just couldn't." Mycroft said as an involuntary image of young Sherlock running through a meadow with his dog Redbeard came to mind. "I don't believe it's possible."
Mary hated to see Mycroft struggle and so she didn't tell him that she thought that is was possible to lose someone in time. She believed that a person could be swallowed up and never brought to mind. After all wasn't she, Mary, a forgotten person?