Chapter Text
July 22th, Thursday.
The warm of the gold in his back made his mind focus, Smaug opened his eyes and that unnamed feeling was bubbling his chest again, he can’t allow lose his mind again, he needed his mind clear to escape to this trickster on his lap, this trickster that had cold hands and wet lips and a clever quick mind. Smaug felt his breath became slow and shallow, those fingers were on his chest making circles and his skin shiver. He barely remembered that he turned himself into something that looked alike at that trickster. He now was small, very small, and pink without his armour and spears, he was very haired and oh dear, those waves again, they were roaming over his body, they were numbing his mind, the fingers felt colder and the lips over his mouth tasted , tasted so sweet.
Smaug needed to focus, he needed to pull himself free from this beautiful trickster, he needed to do before the bond set in, he needed to escape from this unnamed, cunning trickster, he needed but, he couldn’t. All of this tiny body was vibrating with every move this creature do on his lap, swallowing a part of Smaug that until today it was reserved only for female dragons.
“Let it go” he whispered in his ears, the hot breaths on his skin forced him to close his eyes and feel the coins on his back, the cold hands on his chest and oh dear, there wasn’t coins on his back, only that warm humidity around him, that cold on his heart grabbing his mind, there was only one smell that come from his tongue. His claws, no they were now hands, tensed, touching warm skin very close to his lap. “Yes, let it go” He whispered again.
For all the stars in the sky, he needed... what he needed? Smaug had everything a dragon could wish, he had large hoard, he had a massive lair, and he doesn’t need a mate. No he don’t need a mate, he had one. Smaug had a mate and it was dancing on his lap, his mate.
“I love you Sherlock”
He once had a mate.
Sherlock opened his eyes; he felt his body shiver, his skin too hot and a trouble under the sheets. He sat down and remained himself that this was the closest to home he was. This was his flat on Baker Street on this hateful London. He fetched his mobile and watched the hour and the day, it was July 22th and it was eleven in the morning. Thank whatever the gods were for small mercies. If John was still in the flat he will attack him with questions about his dreams or worse, what make the Great Sherlock Holmes had an early morning glory.
But precautions were never unwelcomed.
He pulled the covers and the sheets around himself and fumbled down the bed, he walked proudly to the bathroom, he walked as silently man covered in sheets and coverts manage. Lucky him, there wasn’t any sign of John, yet.
Hot water on his skin, shampoo on his black unruly curls and a hand to alleviate his early and recurrent problem. Thinking on that, Sherlock discovered that, his wet dream started in early April, no so long after the pool incident, they begun the very same day John informed him that he was taking a holyday with his, girlfriend. Who was? Sandy? Sammy? Sasha? Whatever. Sherlock began dreaming on his old days with his mate from that day. At first the dreams only involved sharing kissing, then they turned erotic and with the John’s return the dreams become very explicit.
Sherlock needed to find better ways to stay awake longer than usual, he needed to keep something covering his body for quick escapes, and in the possible, distract his mind.
And today, it was going to be one of those long days, his hand had trouble helping his painful erection, the burning hot water felt cold and his mind was drifting back to John’s suddenly return. He stopped all motion.
Logic Sherlock, he told himself. If John is the problem, then is the solution, that hand, it’s his hand.
Sherlock tried again to help himself. It wasn’t working. Sherlock sighed. Then what?. The solution was terrible simple. John had the same shade of eyes as his mate, his voice was almost the same but their smells were so different, like the smell of coffee and the smell of the lily. Oh dear, there it was.
John was not his mate, but thinking that he was alike was triggering what in that moment he needed and also his wet dreams.
An hour late Sherlock contemplate a white sheet, he was replaying in his mind an old lullaby, he was trying how to put that sweet song in the paper and at the same time hide it with another piece, when John arrive finally.
He hung on his coat and throw himself in his armchair, from his mouth erupted a long string of curses, marching like bullets in a machine gun. A quick glance told him that, it was a patient that had bother him to no end, then the subway.
“You missed, bugger” Sherlock commented in a moment John take to breathe.
“How could.... never mind” John said, paused and walked to the kitchen, few seconds later he returned. “Why are a pile of sheets in the kitchen Sherlock? No wait, I don’t want to know” He returned to the kitchen.
Sherlock put his project on hiatus, he begun to play a song he once heard, it begun with a slow sombre pair of notes that quickly changed in a waltz like tune, it was short and able to change the note once the melody was recycled. John stopped whatever he was doing just for come and watched him play the violin. Sherlock put a smile as the song drifted slowly in a quicker rhythm; suddenly it changed to something violent but still waltz like, John giggled at the sudden recognition of the tune.
“That’s the waltz of the monsters” John returned to the kitchen. “From the movie we saw a couple weeks ago, what was it’s name... oh yes, Amelie” The teapot whistled.
As the song ended, John returned with a pair of cups, Sherlock for a moment closed his eyes, he kept his violin under his chin, the smell of tea comforted him. Sherlock for one instant, felt like in home, if he opened his eyes he would see a table filled with wonders, if looked at once side he would see an opened door leading to the most beautiful garden filled with all kind of flowers. But it was just a fleeting feeling.
Sherlock opened his eyes, scalding himself to lose in that way. He placed his violin on its place and joined John to drink tea.
“Should I give you more French films?” John asked.
“You looked troubled John” Sherlock answered. He tasted the tea, it was good as it smelled.
“Bloody traffic” John cursed almost instantaneous, Sherlock braced himself to hear a long string of curses of John about people and the steering wheel, a long insufferable retelling of patient in the clinic. Sherlock smiled, sipped his tea and quick adjusted his vision to a blank point, selling his best face of attention to John when he could wander in his memories for something better to do.
And that was when it hit him.
“Blast!” Sherlock stood up, he ran to the window and literally glued his face to the crystal. John curse was the quickest reaction to the hot water on his lap. “Bloody hell Sherlock” He called, Sherlock scanned the street but its view was narrow, too much for his taste. He flight to the door barely catching his coat, he jumped three steps on the stairs each time, dashed to the door and exited the flat.
The scent was still fresh and he could follow easily. “Sherlock?” John was quick behind him struggling with his coat.
Quick. Sherlock dashed north, John yelled something. He can’t wait or he will lose the only hint he had in so many years. The smell of tobacco, of dust and rain, of books and laughter, the unforgettable essence of someone he once believed his friend, one he once trusted his most precious treasure.
The trail vanished in the middle of the street. There wasn’t a hint of which direction the smell went. He hated more the city. This massive city. Sherlock had lost again the trial.
“Bloody idiot!” John yanked as the sound of angry horns sounded around him. Sherlock tried to see if there were cabs or busses nearby, but as always there were hundreds of them.
“What are you thinking? You could get yourself killed” John was yelling at him. He focused on his voice and his anger pouring on the words, he breathed once, twice and began the walk back to the flat.
“Sherlock!” John called again.
“I just thought I saw someone” Sherlock admitted, saw was more sociable acceptable than smelled.
“You know, there are easy ways to track people these days than just follow them into the traffic” John added.
Yea, like use the keywords: wizard, old, white and cunning would give him the direction of that old man. And use one of his names it will give him like a million on hits.
Not even his powerful elder brother was able to locate the old wizard. The man has adapted as well he did.
“Sherlock what’s wrong? Can I help?” John soft voice remained him that he wasn’t walking alone anymore.
“John” What he can explain? At this point? Still nothing. But he stopped and watched John at the eyes. “If you were spying an old friend where did you go to hide?”
As usual John face was a contraction of questions and answers, thoughts and blanks. It was always a curious thing of this doctor.
“Is this some kind of rhetorical question? Or there is someone, namely Moriarty’s henchmen spying on us?” John always asked the right questions.
“Neither John, this is something different” Sherlock assured him.
“Why I can’t find that believable?” John asked crossing his arms.
There it was again, the human nature. Their natural untrusting toward him, their doubt before the absolute true. Sherlock sighted in frustration and resumed his walk to their flat.
“Bloody hell Sherlock!” John called after him “For once Sherlock, stop being so mysterious and tell me, I can help!” But Sherlock has made his mind long ago.
If he ever wanted to find Gandalf in this London, he needed to do alone. He don’t needed another human being telling him that his truth it was just a distortion version of some children’s book. He went to his violin and resumed his project ignoring John calls for the rest of the day.
August 13th, Friday.
John woke up at the sound of the violin. He sighed, then moved trying to find a good position to return to the land of dreams, but the tune in the violin was so mesmerising that he sat down and enjoyed the piece. The tune was soft almost playful but in some notes it had sadness. John soon noted how the song slowly turned into a grieving lullaby and suddenly ended. It was as it Sherlock heart didn’t want to heard that tune and ripped apart the instrument from his hand. John looked the time. It was two in the morning, and it was Friday and he had a shift in the surgery in less than six hours. He tried to go back to dreamland again.
As soon his head touched the pillow, the violin sang again. This time its voice was tender. The tune was slow but the same sad note was there. John braced himself for a long night of a sorrowful violin. But the song drifted tenderly into love notes. It was like a poem that asked the time and the love to give the answers, like a song of undying hope. And then there were tears. The melody was beautiful in the end. Sherlock paused the violin one moment, like he was singing as was recovering his breath after a long note. The piece continued slowly, John imagined some of the words being said in some particular repetitive notes. It made him smile, it made him dream of a land of blue grass and orange skies.
The second time John woke up, the violin was still playing. The same piece playing, somewhat different but kind of more beautiful, lovely and tenderly. It was like the soft touch of a lover on the first kiss. It was nearly six am. John with a smile in his face ready himself for the day. By far this piece was his favourite.
He walked to kitchen first; Sherlock was engrossed with his violin in the middle of the room. His eyes were closed and his curls were falling on his face, he noted the trails of tears on his face. The violin gave three strange long notes before end its song, Sherlock remained in the place he was, if John didn’t knew Sherlock he would said that he had been caught stealing eyes from a corpse.
“Good morning John” Sherlock said, he looked indecisive like he tried to return playing the violin or ran to his room.
“That was a beautiful piece” John acted before Sherlock could say anything more, he went to the bathroom, and waited. He wanted to hear that piece again, but the violin didn’t sing anymore, he instead heard Sherlock walk to his room and close the door.
That had been awkward for Sherlock.
He left the flat with the tune in his head, even as sad it was, it was beautiful and at some point in the tube he hummed it. A redhead child on the arms of his blond father liked the tune and asked John if he can sang it for him and John told him the true. “My flatmate played his violin, I don’t know if it had lyrics”. The child was disappointed but he hummed the melody after a while.
Once he arrived at the clinic, the melody was still on his smiling lips, the nurses and others doctor greeted him with a smile too. At this point John thought the melody was somewhat of magical spell that made people happy. More than once he hummed meanwhile he examined a patient and the patient left smiling.
“And they said today all kind of bad luck happens, Friday 13th and all” She giggled and continued “What are you doing tomorrow?” Sarah asked to him during their break.
“Saturday? Don’t know, probably watch some reruns or pray for a good murder” He joked, his hands finished mixing the milk the sugar and the tea on the cup, he hummed the melody.
“That’s a beautiful song” Sarah said. “What is called?”
“I don’t know, Sherlock was playing it this morning” He admitted, her surprise was evident in her face.
“He also composed songs? wow”
“Sometimes” John tried to recall other melodies he heard Sherlock compose. It came in blank.
“It must be lovely to wake up to his violin” Sarah sounded a little angry, perhaps jealousy. But next instant that was gone.
“No” John declared. “Most of the times he plays at two in the morning and they are furious songs or very, very long pieces, it’s very rare for him to play lovely pieces”
“At 2 in the morning?” Sarah surprise was wilder than before.
“And doesn’t end until I woke up or Mrs Hudson or Lestrade calls” John felt the need to see at the sky for the only window they had in that particular room. He tried to hum the melody but he discovered that he didn’t remember at all.
The melody was gone from his head.
“No wonder you come like a walking dead some days” Sarah joked.
“That’s funny” John said, Sarah was about to comment on that but John continued. “I can’t remember the melody”
Sarah eyebrows knotted, she tried to recall the song, but she also discovered that the melody wasn’t in his memories too.
“It’s strange” Sarah said. “I heard you a moment ago, hum the song and I can’t remember how it goes”
“Like a spell” john whispered. “That’s why he....”
They changed the topic of conversation, later returned to their patients. John kept thinking of that song and how strange was.
Baker Street was blessed with silence, John found Sherlock looking at his mobile with distress, with the unfortunate of an unwanted discovery. In his other hand was his violin, he was on his knees and he sighed, very deeply.
In all the time he had never seen Sherlock like this, so devastate, his eyes shining with unshed tears, “Too long” He said, giving up something. He took a deep breath and stood up. “I was an idiot” He said smiling, John knew that face, that you should had done something in the past and now you’re regretting with all your heart never had done it. “I am, still I am” he corrected himself, he put his mobile on the table and went to place his violin on his place.
“No, you’re brilliant” John intervened, looking at Sherlock like this make his chest hurt. “You’re bloody brilliant”
“Thank you John, but that doesn’t help me with concurrent my problem” Sherlock sat in his armchair, and his finger pointed to his mobile “I finished the piece of this morning John, but I just realise that I can’t send it”
John sat in his armchair and looked at Sherlock eyes; he didn’t understand the problem at all. “You can use YouTube” John offered lamely.
“There are not computers or internet where I want to send it” Sherlock proceed to explain. “I can only mail it, but I never bothered to learn their music writing system” John mouth opened and closed.
“Can’t send a portable player with packages delivery?” John asked, Sherlock looked at him like he had said the most idiotic thing ever, then proceed to laugh. He shocked his head.
“Neither” was it last word of the day. Sherlock went to his bedroom and stayed there the rest of the day, only joining John for dinner.
John thought what place on earth had no internet and no package delivery. He just comes to couple of places, the middle of the desert, the middle of the ocean and the middle of the poles. The only places where humans haven’t build a city yet. So where?
The mobile left on the table picked John’s curiosity. He knew that sometimes Sherlock recorded his violin playing using the little device, and he had wanted to hear the melody once again. He fought himself, telling himself that heard the melody without Sherlock’s permission was a direct violation of his trust. But once again, Sherlock had never told something against the first time John took the mobile and used it without Sherlock permission.
John went for the mobile, oddly unlocked as always, and searched for the melody. It was easy to find, the last records always showed first. The melody had a name.
“Songbird” John whispered. That was a beautiful name for a song that he remembered being tender and beautiful but forgot its melody.
The violin sang tenderly as john hit the play button, the piece was slow and delicate, the melancholy tune was still luring but the playful notes were dancing at their own rhythm, the melody recycled and it went a little faster. John found himself giggling at the melody. He returned at his armchair enjoying the song. He closed his eyes.
He imagined himself again in the field of blue grass and orange sky, he almost felt himself swimming in the ocean and at some point, he yearned for apple pie.
The song lasted good ten minutes, John loved every note played, loved the tempo and the tune. It was perfect.
“I will fetch dinner, want Chinese or Indian?” John asked but no answer came. John settled for Indian food.
When he exited the flat he discovered that this time, the song didn’t vanished of his mind, he hummed all the way to the Indian restaurant, meanwhile he waited.
“That’s a brilliant melody” A stranger said. The man had grey bright eyes, a long white beard tied beautiful in braid with some daisies embroider. He was also wearing a white long-sleeve shirt and white trousers, shining white shoes and white gloves. “May I ask its name?”
“I think is called, Songbird” John answered the old man.
“Oh” He whispered. “I may said that it’s not your the song. Am I wrong?”
“Not at all, it’s my flatmate” John said, the man smiled then.
“He’s still grieving” the man whispered. “Thank you” He said and walked out the place. John looked at him, but as soon his food was ready, he forgot about the stranger. He hummed the song on his way back home, he served the dinner.
The only thing he shared with Sherlock was the dessert, the slice of apple pie. Well enjoyed these calm days, he played again the melody and was tempted to copy to his mobile. It had some spell that relaxed and made him happy at the same time.
That night, John’s dreams were pleasant. The melody played in his mind here and there, changing his dreams, from oceans to skies, from fields to forest, and even the deep space filled with stars and massive planets.
September 11th, Saturday.
Smaug was looking at the stars, it had been so long since he had watched the stars, sleep at the open sky, his now bluish green eyes wandered to where the elvish star was shining. It was indeed beautiful, not exactly as the old poems and songs said it was, but it filled his chest with an unnamed feeling in his chest. He will ask Bilbo in the morrow, but for now he was content to just watch the stars and feel that sensation bubble in his chest. Bilbo stirred in his sleep, his hands tightened his hold over him. Smaug looked at him.
Bilbo was cuddling around him, his arms embracing him and his legs tangled with his. But his face, Bilbo had that odd smile, Smaug was growing fond on that smile. It made that bubbling feeling burst and wash his new tiny body. He buried his nose on Bilbo’s golden curls and took a deep breath.
In this field at the skirts of the lonely mountain, where no tree can be seen in miles but the grass and the flowers grow happy Smaug held tighter the hobbit against his body. The creatures of the night sang in the distance, afraid of the mighty dragon but at the same time touched to see it small and cuddling.
The dragon returned his gaze to the stars. That old song about two lovers sailing every night on the sky returned to his mind, he hummed it happily. Then it hit him. What he was feeling right now, what was bubbling in his chest it was the same that old song sung in its words.
He felt like an idiot for not seeing before.
Smaug wondered how long will last his life now that it was tied to a tiny creature that he now loves.
He woke up with that question on his mind, his eyes glanced at the ceiling. No seeing stars or clouds.
“Did you have a nice dream Sherlock?” John greeted him, John was seated on a chair, he was looking at the telly, Sherlock sat and looked at the telly briefly. They were showing images of people around shrines with flowers and photographs, then the skyline of New York was showed. It was the ninth anniversary of something. Sherlock stood up and stirred.
“Yes, I had. Thank you” answered Sherlock, he looked at his fingers. The ghostly feeling on his wings was still there; every time he woke up he felt it more and more. John seemed to note it.
“If you sleep in your bed, like any normal human being do, you won’t feel cramp again” John stated.
Oh how he wanted to stir his wings and fly all the way to Moscow and back, or maybe the desert and bury himself in the hot sands. And the only thing he could do for now was stretch his arms as long he could and flap them several times; that always alleviated the cramped feeling.
He went to his bedroom to fetch clean cloths, boiling hot water will ease the lonely feeling he get after dreaming, and also will annoy John to no end.
Once he exited his room, bathed and with clean cloths he looked at John, he was still watching the news. But also was ready for anything. That was good.
“Fancy a walk?” Sherlock asked and in the moment John turned off the telly, jumped out from his chair and went for his coat.
“Sure”
They exited the flat and walked south. The Saturday morning was filled with tourist wandering on the city, shoppers walking and chitchatting, taking breakfast on the pavement. Sherlock had in mind to go the Hyde park, grab some fish and fries on the way and just enjoy the giggles John will burst when he deduce the people on the park.
But when they were on the cross with Crawford street, Sherlock picked the smell of books and rain, dust and laughs, and the most strangest of tobacco. He stopped and took a deep breath; yes the smell was still lingering there, no so far.
“Sherlock? What’s the matter?” John asked.
Sherlock turned following the scent, literally. He walked only a block, in the next corner was a restaurant or a pub, and the smell was coming from that place. “Breakfast?” He asked at John and John raised a single brown.
“I just had one” John answered.
“Fancy a second?” Sherlock smiled at the sudden return memory of second breakfasts made him happy. But for John, it sounded weirdest.
“All right” He conceded not so convinced.
At the very moment Sherlock and John entered The Beehive, Sherlock was struck for the strong smell, he immediate land his eyes on the silhouette seated near the chimney. He almost jumped of happiness.
“It’s too fancy for my taste” John whispered, Sherlock ignored him and walked to the man. “Sherlock, there is plenty room.... oh whatever” John protested behind him.
“Aiya meldomelin nolmo” Sherlock whispered to the man before seat himself at the other chair, at the lack of answer Sherlock glared at the man. John stood in front of Sherlock divided in scold Sherlock or apologise with the man first.
“I know that that cloths aren't yours” Sherlock said aggressive.
“What ya mean mate?” The man, was quite young, twenty five or twenty six, his eyes where black and his hair blonde, dyed no so long. The cloths however fit him very well. The pure white hat, the white robe, the skin bag and Sherlock noted the white wooded staff at his feet. “That sound stunning, can ya teach me?”
“Where is the man that you stole this cloths” Sherlock pointed at the staff with his fingers, John cleared his throat.
“Hey, I didn’t stole nothin’, some guy sell me the whole set for few quid’s” the man said suddenly scared. Sherlock glared once at him and the young man blanched and gulped.
“Tell me who and where and I will not call the yarders” Sherlock threatened the boy, he nodded and stood up. John was about to say something, but Sherlock was fast on his knees recovering the staff.
“Some guy sells me these near the entrance of Northwick Park station” The young man take of the hat and robe with eased practice. “I didn’t knew these were stole”
Sherlock felt the magic numb his fingers at the moment he picked up the staff, but he quickly told the staff that he will return it to his master; the staff understood the dragon and allowed him to carry him without further numbing.
“Wow, I can’t carry that without this” The young showed him a harness.
“Obviously” Sherlock said. Then Sherlock took the bundle of cloths. “The staff is not a toy, not this one”
“Am I getting back my quid?” The man asked.
“I afraid that’s your lose mate” John said suddenly. “Be careful next time and buy only at stores”
Sherlock smiled, then they exited The Beehive. The sweet smell of Gandalf filled his nostrils, it made him cheese. “Sherlock what is these?” John asked pointing the wooden staff.
“This, my dear friend, is the most powerful weapon on earth” Sherlock said, they started their walk back to Baker street, if he wanted to find Gandalf he needed to leave his cloths behind.
“That’s a joke? John giggled “Right?” John glared at him for a few seconds, Sherlock granted him a serious look and the smile on John vanished. “Not a joke, fine. But how a wooden staff can be the most powerful weapon of earth? ”
“Hold it and tell me” Sherlock offered, John debuted but didn't try to grasp the staff.
“I can’t” John admitted stunned. “It’s weird, I want but there is something, like a feeling that I must not grab this staff”
“You must see the face of that boy when I took the staff” Sherlock said, their flat was crossing the street.
“He was surprised”
“His arm was numbed, he was flexing his finger. The makeshift of harness told me that the kid had been suffering of numbing since he took the staff, it is a self protection mechanism of the staff” Sherlock explained. Once inside the flat, Sherlock leave the bundle by his armchair.
“You talk about the staff as it has life” John was about to take off his coat but Sherlock moved to climb down the stairs, John groaned behind him but followed.
“It’s sentient” Sherlock awaited in the pavement, as soon he spotted a cab he called it. John was bemused at his side.
“Sherlock, are you aware of what you has just told me? Things are not sentient” John debated as he climbed inside the cab.
“Northwick Park” Sherlock said to the cabbie, then returned his attention to John. “Oh John but you just had feel it. This staff doesn't like you”
John was about to answered but waited, another question was filling his mouth. “But you seem to carry it without problems”
Sherlock looked at his hands and the staff between them, the magic running through the staff was restless, the hold of the dragon was the reason it was so fidgety.
“Not at all John. It will knock me out at the first chance” Sherlock admitted, he once again tried to calm the magic in the staff but only served to made the magic wary. “and it dislikes how I know it”
John looked at him suspicious. “Sometimes I don’t know if you speak the true or you’re just pulling a fake tale to do something else, like the times you lie to people to obtain information”
Sherlock sighed in frustration. He disliked when people questioned everything and rejected the truth. He felt the staff doing the equivalent of a laugh, but then it sent comfort, telling him that his master had suffered the same in the past.
“Thanks” He whispered to the staff.
“Pardon? You said thanks to the staff?” John said unbelieving his own ears.
“Yes I did” Sherlock resolved to watch the city pass through the windows. “It had been so long since I laid eyes on the staff, and I almost forget how empathic is” Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the staff. His own magic was shaken awake and it gave shivers to his human skin. It felt nice and ticklish. He couldn’t stop the giggles.
The staff had felt Sherlock yearning for the sky and his home and tried to make him forget for few seconds. The staff also filled with comfort and began to wonder about the human friend Sherlock had. Sherlock show him everything he knew about John.
“Are you giggling Sherlock? What was the joke?” John asked concerned.
“The staff just tickled me” Sherlock confessed opening his eyes, they were arriving finally to Northwick Park. “It was invigorating to had my own magic tickled like that”
“Wait what? Your magic tickled? Sherlock, nobody has magic, that is a scientific fact” John called once they were off the cab and john paid the trip.
“That’s true John, humans did not have magic” Sherlock conceded but said no more, he had passed for this very same conversations before and the end was very unpleasant for Sherlock. He walked to the park instead. The staff hummed in agreement with him, its own master had the same conversation and the very same result.
Whoever they tell what they really are, this person would laugh and call them a bunch of idiots or worse, it will demand an example of magic and once seen, they will say it was only mirrors and a well trained hand.
“Sherlock wait” John called behind him “Wait!” he was trying to keep the closeness between them as Sherlock walked in the park looking at the trees searching for a squirrel or a bird that can help him. Finally John pulled him into a stop by grabbing his wrist and looked at his eyes. “Whenever you said humans you said in a way you despise them, us. You said you had magic and yet you don’t bother to contradict me about the lack of magic on people. Is that a hint that you’re not human? Sherlock, no matter how many insults people throw at him, for me and the people you help you’ll always be the kindest human being”
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the same time he stopped the ground with the staff. “John you’re right, I’m not human but I look human and certainly I am not kind”
“You’re an idiot” John said. Sherlock glanced sideways, he felt embarrassed and at the same time comfort to be that close of John and John didn’t seem to notice that little fact. Even the staff was purring in his hand.
“Want me to prove you about real magic?” Sherlock asked returning his eyes to John’s
“Magic isn’t real, but you can try” John conceded. The staff suddenly disapproved the choice and went cold in his hand, Sherlock assured the magical item that he wasn’t to use it, he was about to use his own magic for that little demonstration.
“All right” John gave some steps back without looking away Sherlock or blinking. “Can someone show me where is Mithrandir, the white?” Sherlock asked and John raised a single frown.
“That’s it?” John asked confused. “Just a question? Not a big trick with all that mambo jambo effects?”
“Real magic doesn’t need movies visual effects John” Sherlock answered, soon at John feet was a big grey rat shivering. “And certainly not Disney’s” Sherlock kneel and offered his hand to the big rat. “For armour and spears I swear to you that no harm will fall to you” Sherlock pleaded to the rat. John looked at his feet and jumped scared of the big animal. The rat seemed wary of the oath but cried.
“Fine” Sherlock said suddenly pained. “I swear on my hoard and my mate that I won’t eat you” John was about to say something but the big rat cried relieved, then proceed to ran.
“Don’t lose the rat John” Sherlock said jumping afterwards the rat, he heard the army doctor yell behind him. They crossed the streets and submerged in the suburban landscape, they ran after the rat some blocks, turned some corners until they come to an alley. The rat cried some more and they disappeared under a nearly fence.
John was at his side grasping air, he looked happy and stunned, then he busted into giggles. “I can believe, we ran after a rat” he commented still laughing. “But what was funnier, you swearing to that rat that you won’t eat it”
“Rats are very distrustful of my kind since the begging of the songs” Sherlock said offhanded; he closed his eyes sniffing the air. The hint of tobacco was very dim but enough to follow “This way”
“That’s new” John said walking at his side “The begging of the songs. Where did you hear that?”
“In my youth” Sherlock said, his eyes were scanning every brick of the alleyway. “From a queen” Sherlock didn’t expand on the topic, John was temped to ask again but Sherlock was fast “Not the queen known in politics”
“Oh” John sounded dazed. “So what was the thing you asked? A Me drank till?”
“It was a who John” Sherlock slowed his steps “The owner of the robe and the master this staff, Mithrandir the white”
“A friends of you?” John asked, he was walking looking at the same places Sherlock did but quickly rescanned wall opposite. He was getting bore of that alleyway. Empty and lonely alleyway, there wasn’t even a leftover of a trash can or a box, it was empty.
“Just acquaintances” The smell of tobacco was strong in that place, but there was nothing to see, the staff also seemed baffled. Sherlock stood in that place and took a deep breath, rain and books were there, emanating slowly. He wondered if the rat tricked him.
But then John made the grate discovery.
“Here are shadows that aren’t supposed to exist” John said looking at the floor in front of him, he was moving his hand and its shadow was playing with another one in the bricks.
“Old idiot” Sherlock said warmly, he knew that the wizard was using some magic to disguise himself or was wearing that idiotic cape that had no smell and allowed the wearer to blend in the surroundings. Sherlock motions John to step back, then grabbed the staff with tow hands and proceed to hit where the object projecting shadows must be.
A deep ground sounded, then fast a man discovered itself throwing the fabric at his said. Sherlock smiled, Gandalf the white was there looking at him mildly furious and mildly shocked. Sherlock then noted that the old wizard was naked and the only thing that covered his bare body was the elvish cape.
“Woa, Sherlock that was rude!” John chastised him the next moment, but being a British gentleman as he was, John went and pulled Sherlock’s coat and helped the wizard to put on. “I am so sorry sir, he is rude most of the time”
“Thank you boy” The man said admiring John. “You will be rude if someone take you and then leave you in a strange city” Gandalf smiled. “Not bad feelings here?”
“I got you hat too” Sherlock said showing the staff to the wizard, Gandalf smiled.
“Oh wonderful, wonderful, keep that thing safe can you? I lost it twice this year; the thieves are worse this days” Gandalf looked at the coat with a big smirk “Who is this?” Gandalf suddenly asked “He looks exactly as my dear friend Mr B....” Gandalf bite his tongue, John looked at them both bemused.
“John meet Gandalf the white, Gandalf this is John Watson, doctor” Sherlock said pushing some of his own weigh on the staff, the staff gave Sherlock a big wave of disappointment and sorrow, but did not try to escape.
“nice to meet you John Watson, doctor” Gandalf shake John hands with enthusiasm. “Can we go to eat? I’m so hungry and I hope you still perform those odd customs of you family”
“it’s very late for second breakfast and a little early for elevensies, I think we can manage” Sherlock answered looking at his watch.
“Splendid, you’re still eating your seven meals at day” But the look on Sherlock made him shiver. “I keep forgetting, I am so sorry friend” Gandalf put his hands on the coat and retrieved Sherlock’s mobile.
John busted laughing “that’s a good one” John said as his laughs calm down “We’re lucky he ate a single meal in a day”
“Can we go to the flat?” Sherlock asked pained.
“Sure thing, I once had one of these Sherlock but I gave up on having them, they seem to attract the thieves and robbers” Gandalf didn’t move at all, John signed frustrated.
“The cabs didn’t pass around here magically” John said beginning to walk to the main avenue. Sherlock saw him walking and wait for them at the end of the alleyway.
“He really is looks him” Gandalf added. “He almost fooled me the first time I saw him”
“I know” Sherlock conceded, they began to walk to where John was waiting. “as far I gathered he is human, born and raised in the Watson family and nothing special”
“But that’s not the reason you set your mind into finding me” Gandalf asked hesitating, John looked at them, he nodded and began they short walk to the avenue.
“No. I find you this time because I had lucky this time; I stumble with someone that had your belongings. I want to say something to you and ask for that key.” Sherlock stopped at the side of John, he had hailed a cab.
“I’m sorry they stole even the key, they thought it was for a bank account” Gandalf entered the cab with such grace that John looked at the man bemused.
“Sherlock can locate almost anything” John said proudly once the cab start the trip back to Baker Street. “He is very good at that”
“It’s that so?” Gandalf giggled “I see that you put at works your talents, my friend would be so proud of you”
“Who is this friend you speak so fond of?” John asked.
“Our mutual friend or I shall say, was our mutual friend” Gandalf said saddened, Sherlock just grabbed the staff with both hands resisting the sting in his chest, even the staff feel it and bathed him with comfort and hope. He closed his eyes allowing the staff washed him with the magic.
“All you all right?” John noted his distress friend, Sherlock masked his pain and the mixing magic with a grin.
“Yes, John. The staff is just wondering why I haven’t returned to it’s master” Gandalf knew he had lied and John looked at him sceptical. “I haven’t told it yet”
“You should do it before it knocks you out” Gandalf helped out, Sherlock thanked for the change of topic. “You know, she is pretty sentimental”
“Wait?, you too believe that this staff is sentient” John asked scandalized.
“I don’t believe Mr Watson, she is and she is quite powerful too, and I’m relieved that Sherlock had found her , my star, and I’m more relieved if he guard it for me, for he is a dragon on a hoard” Gandalf giggled making his statement less serious.
Sherlock glared at him but Gandalf continued to laughs. “I really need cloths and a good hot meal”
“We can get you news” John offered.
“I really appreciate that” Gandalf said and Sherlock felt the good mood on the staff risen, she was happy even when she knew that she could be with her master anytime soon.
Sherlock wondered what to do with the staff in the meanwhile, she suggested to be part of his hoard, to accompany him, to help him in the meanwhile Gandalf didn’t need her. She also suggested that she can help him with his work. Sherlock pondered that suggestion, but at some point found it agreeable, sometimes he needed help, but not with his work, he needed help with his wandering mind and his aching heart. She asked Gandalf if that was all right and the wizard giggled aloud. She asked then for a nice cleaning.
“All right, but once we’re in the flat” Sherlock whispered to her and Gandalf giggled.
“Sherlock that’s not good, you must not talk to that think” John scalded.
“Not good?” Sherlock looked at John, Gandalf laughed even more.
“Mr Watson, I like you” He said.
They arrived at Baker Street still laughing.
Sherlock stood in front to their flat, John wandered what on earth had made him stop, the old man Gandalf just waited for them to walk, the man looked like those perverted man that flashed anyone on the alleys. But his hands safety in the upper pockets and his white hair falling made him look also as a forgotten grandpa.
“What is it Sherlock?” John asked.
“It’s Mycroft” Sherlock answered sour, he held the staff tight with his tww hands, he looked torn between enter the flat and knock his brother with the staff and run through London until the elder Holmes vacate the flat.
“Aren’t you to introduce me to that man?” Gandalf asked trilled.
“Fine” Sherlock finally allowed John to open the door, he was reluctant to enter the flat but in the end, he entered first and climbed the stairs.
“He hates the man but it’s like he won’t ride of him neither” John explained miserably, Gandalf hummed.
“He won’t unless it is strictly necessary” Gandalf said “but pray tell me, what is the relationship of Sherlock with that Mycroft?” Gandalf asked climbing slowly the stairs.
“They’re brothers, I thought you knew that” Gandalf giggled at his answer.
“Now I see” He continued giggling. “You have to pardon this old man, the last time I saw him it was about twenty seven years ago and we part ways in not good terms” Gandalf explained little and once they were in the flat, the old man went directly to the bundle of his white cloths.
John saw Mycroft seated on Sherlock’s armchair, he was disturbed by the presence of the staff on his hands.
“Hello Mycroft” John greeted the elder Holmes.
“Hi John, I see that my brother has picked another stray cat” Mycroft said with disdain.
“You can say that” Gandalf take off the coat and hung it in the perch, Mycroft immediately glared at Sherlock who was standing at the entrance of the kitchen with the staff as if belonged just there. “You must pardon me, but I was robbed three days ago and Sherlock kindly retrieved my things”
“and doing charity Brother mine, I never knew that side of yours” Mycroft returned his glare to the old man. “But what concerns me it’s his astounding appearance to one of your imaginary friends you used to keep telling. How much is my brother paying sir?” Mycroft asked standing up.
Sherlock growled but his eyes never left Mycroft. Gandalf revised his robe with care onece he was wearing it.
“Dear sir, I assure you, I am not imaginary and much less his friend” Gandalf said stilling his body. “I lose that right long ago when I did a great harm in believing otherwise. Now he is helping me, only because he is honouring the customs of his family and I risking my life just for coming to his, place.” Gandalf made a struggled for the last word. Mycroft looked uninterested in that speech.
“I fail to see how my brother will be a danger to your life, just tell me how much he owns you, I will pay it” Gandalf giggled at took seat on the sofa, he make distance in a good way.
“Mr Holmes I know you’re trying to protect him from himself, but in my experience, that only serve to earn his wrath. If you want to protect him, you must to trust him. There was only one creature that manage to keep him save and also to restrain him, and it wasn’t me” John noted how uncomfortable Sherlock was getting. The old man knew too.
“Please dear Watson, I would be so happy to have that meal you promised” Gandalf stood up, “Please dear sir, join us, he will be fine”
“Sherlock please stop this charade, this will only hurt you more. Don’t mix John in that nonsense about dragons and wizards, please Sher...” Mycroft turned to look at Sherlock and that was the final drop, Sherlock stood rigid hearing his brother words, then said “quiet” stomping the floor with the staff and Mycroft’s mouth muted at mid word.
“Two days” Sherlock said retiring to his room, the door slammed and John would see Sherlock the next morning.
“Dear me” Gandalf giggled. “I can tell it’s not your first time with his spell”
“Mycroft are you all right?” John asked wondering what happened just right there. Mycroft put his fingers on his forehead and sighed. He pulled out his mobile and texted John.
Please convince my brother to revert the damage. I have a very important meeting tomorrow morning. MH.
John read aloud, Gandalf giggled again, the man was fond of laughing. “I will happy to help you, nut I’m afraid I can’t right now and I don’t want, you see, I already manage to earn his disdain. I promised to a dear friend that I will keep him safe but I failed him and I had brought him so much misfortune that I felt honoured for his help right now. I don’t want to try my luck any further.”
Mycroft looked at the man, his grey eyes scanned merciless the man. John received another text.
“Mycroft, I believe them, your silence is a big fact now. If you want to talk I suggest you to apologise with him, you know him better than I do” John said. Mycroft sent another message.
“Thank you my dear boy” Gandalf put his hand on his shoulder, John felt the gratitude radiates the hand. “I can see why he tolerates you.” John felt suddenly proud of himself.
“I wont!” Sherlock shouted from his room.
“Downstairs, the Speedy serves a wonderful breakfast, they can solve this” John ventured to said looking at Mycroft typing furiously in his mobile, Gandalf nodded. “And if you want, we can arrange for you to stay with us until we can find you something better”
“I like your thinking Mr Watson.”John and Gandalf leave the flat in search for breakfast.
From the inside of the Speedy’s, they saw Mycroft marching very angry to his black car. They laughed. The afternoon was spend shopping cloths and making a deal with Mrs Hudson for the flat 221c. Gandalf slept on John’s bed, John slept in Sherlock’s and Sherlock spend the night watching the stars from the window, for sure talking with that staff.