Fill: Find a Way to You - Chapter Four
Story Type: Prompt Fill
Fandom(s): Sherlock/The Swan Princess/Swan Lake
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Moriarty, Moran, Mycroft, Harry, Ann Watson, Vienne Holmes, Mike Stamford
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John, suggested Moriarty/Moran, very twisted semi-Moriarty/Sherlock
Warnings: Violence, torture, abduction, coersion, Jim Moriarty with access to magic.
Summary: The final part of The Swan Triad, following Till Now I Never Knew and Interlude. Sherlock struggles to escape Moriarty's prison with the help of two fellow prisoners. Meanwhile, John devotes every waking moment to a search and rescue of the man he loves.
Chapter Four
'Alright.' Said Mike, gingerly slipping the ear guards off his head. 'I think that'll just about do it for today.'
'Another.' John said, neatly sliding a new clip into place. 'I need more practice.'
Mike sighed. 'John, the little paper man isn't going to get any deader. And you've gone through three already. Let's go get something to eat, have a bit of a rest.'
John eyed him for a moment, then he said, 'This gun…it's not like the one I'm used to. A bit smaller, smoother. The weight's different, too. Personal handgun, not military. And if I've got to use it, really use it, in that split second between draw and fire, if I'm compensating for the wrong weight and aim, it could cost me my shot. So by the time I find Sherlock, I'd damn well better know this gun like the back of my sodding hand. So, I'll say it one more time: Set. Up. Another.'
Mike's eyes widened, but he gave no other indication of his discomfort. Instead he set his jaw and said, 'Okay, John. But this is the last one.' And he slipped the bullet-ridden paper target from the frame and replaced it with a fresh one before retreating to the safe zone.
John nodded. 'Yes. We're doing the obstacle course next. I want two seconds off my time over the wall by tonight.'
Mike slumped. 'John, enough. Please. You can't keep on like this!'
John raised his arm, and Mike barely had time to get the cups over his ears before the air was full of echoing, thunderous cracks as John pulled the trigger again and again. Each deafening shot was followed by a neat hole appearing on the target. There were nine in all, each one part of a tiny cluster located over the target's heart section.
John shifted his aim, squeezed the trigger a few more times, and another cluster appeared on the target's forehead. He nodded, set down the gun and removed his ear protection and goggles. 'That's enough for today.' He said. 'Mike, come on. I need you to time me.'
~~~
Sherlock flexed his wings, idly calculating their potential lift in ratio to wingspan, and watched Lestrade stomp his way up and down the shoreline.
'Thirteen! Fucking thirteen! No wonder she's so fucking… I mean come on! She was thirteen!'
*And Moriarty was fifteen at the time. We've established the timeline, Greg, may we move on?*
'Move-- Sherlock are you damaged? How can it not bother you that the sick freak abducted her when she was only thirteen?'
Sherlock ruffled his feathers and attempted to glare. Sadly, swans were just as ill-equipped for glaring as they were for everything else. *I never said it didn’t bother me, but there's no point in dwelling on it. We can't change what happened, the only way to help her is to free her as quickly as possible.*
'And, by extension you?' Lestrade sneered. Sherlock just looked at him.
*Yes. I want to get free. If my escape means you and Molly get out as well, that's all to the good. But my primary goal is as it has ever been. I want to get out of here and back to John.*
'Oh, John.' Lestrade snarled. 'John, John, fucking John! Don't you ever get tired of saying his name?'
*No.* Sherlock said. *I don't.*
'Fair enough.' Lestrade sighed and rubbed his forehead.
'Two years.' He breathed. It didn't seem like he was addressing anyone in particular, so Sherlock said nothing. 'Two sodding years.'
He dropped heavily to the ground, his back against his preferred tree. He looked up at the sky through the leaves and took a deep breath.
'Time to fly, Sherlock.' He said quietly. 'I need to fly.'
Sherlock nodded.
Lestrade looked at him for a bit, studying something by the look of it, then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, his entire demeanour changing in the space between seconds.
'Alright, in the water with you. This is flying 101, and the first rule is speed.' With that he stood and span round, hefting himself onto the lowest branch of his tree and scampering up the trunk with the ease of a squirrel monkey.
Sherlock waded into the water. It was colder than usual, and had been ever since Molly had told him her story. Even now, he knew, she was probably curled up somewhere in the depths, reliving that distant afternoon: the old man's papery hands on her arms, the darkness of the car's interior, the smothering feel of the blindfold and cloth gag, Jim's much younger voice speaking nearby, but not to her. Never to her.
'She'll do, sir. She's got that look about her. She's half-broken already.'
'You of all people should know better than to underestimate the quiet ones, Jimmy.'
'Ha. You underestimate me. Molly here is desperate to belong. I'm doing her a favour really.'
Jim's hand, curled into a claw and stroking through her hair.
'I'll let her belong to me.'
Sherlock shook his head. No point dwelling on a past he wasn't even a part of. And at least Molly had near-perfect recall of the event, that was helpful. Still, Moriarty's purpose behind imprisoning Molly remained elusive. At best, Sherlock figured Molly must serve some crucial function, but Jim never hinted at any benefit he reaped from keeping her, no matter how Sherlock pressed and cajoled him each morning.
*Maybe if I took off all my clothes and begged him to take me right there in the water I'd get somewhere.* Sherlock grumbled to himself. The water surrounding his legs instantly rose to scalding temperature before returning to its former chill, causing Sherlock to jump and let out a very undignified squawk.
*I didn't mean it!* He shouted to the water. A bubble rose to the surface and popped in his face. Odd. Swans couldn't glare, but it seemed lakes were perfectly capable.
Lestrade laughed from up in his tree. 'You done flirting with our little mermaid or should I take this flight solo?'
Sherlock ruffled his feathers and trumpeted irritably at the tree. Lestrade just shook his head and smiled.
'Alright!' Lestrade called. 'Now, your body knows what to do. The big thing is just to let go. You've got instincts now, learn to trust 'em.' He spread his arms, and between one heartbeat and the next he was a falcon again.
*What you need, mate, is to go fast. I do it by falling, you've got to swim. Faster than you've ever done, Sherlock. Get those wings moving, they're not just for decoration.*
*Right.* Sherlock muttered. *Speed. No…problem. Just…don't think about it. Just do. Like John. Just…do.*
He watched Lestrade launch himself from the tree, plummeting like a missile toward the ground. At seemingly the very last second, the falcon spread his wings, angled his tail and the downward motion curved over and up.
Lestrade beat his wings and shot toward the sky, where he circled and called out for Sherlock to hear, *Just fly, Sherlock! Build up some speed and forget all about gravity!*
Sherlock dipped his head into the water and jerked it back up, letting the drops slide over his guard feathers. He still felt a bit hot, though, so he did it again. Were he human, he surmised, this would be the part where he broke out into a nervous sweat.
*Go on, Sherlock. Fly for me.* Molly's voice drifted in his head. It was the first time he'd ever heard it when she wasn't in her human shape, and it fluttered across his synapses like butterflies' wings.
Sherlock swam further toward the centre of the lake and began to paddle his webbed feet. He moved faster, and tentatively stretched his wings. Something prickled in the back of his mind, and he struggled to grasp it. It fluttered just out of reach, evading his attempts to pin it down.
A sudden surge of water lifted him a couple of feet in the air before dropping him back down. When he got his wits back, he realised his wings were fully extended and flapping in an elliptical motion. He thanked Molly silently for the distraction and felt his body take over. He moved faster, wings and feet adding to his propulsion, and a breath later he felt himself leave the water, felt his legs tuck up under his body, and then there was nothing beneath him but air. It surrounded him, embraced him, lifted him higher and he was flying.
*Good on you!* Lestrade cheered. *That's it! Just keep going like that. Climb up to me!*
Sherlock angled his body, shifted his tail and beat his wings against the air. He rose into the sky, closer to where Lestrade was circling the clearing.
Unused muscles burned in his shoulders, and he struggled. *Greg!* He called. *Hurts…I can't…*
*I know. Don't think about it. Just a little higher!*
Sherlock forced himself to climb further still until he was almost in reach of the falcon. In an instant there was something almost solid under his wings, forcing them wide and keeping them locked.
*Updraft!* Lestrade crowed. *Best part of flying! No work, just flight!*
Sherlock couldn't help himself. He let out a triumphant trumpet and wheeled around the pocket of air, listening to all of his body's silent advice.
*This is brilliant!*He cried, and Lestrade whooped his agreement.
*Race you to the forest edge!* Lestrade called, and he was off like a bullet.
Sherlock squawked. *Oh yes, that's fair. Long-necked water fowl against the worlds fastest bird!*
*In free-fall, not in flight.* Lestrade shouted back. *Come on, put your flights into it!*
~~~
Later, on the ground, Lestrade panted and held his shoulder. 'Christ. That was a work-out, no mistake.'
Sherlock slumped on the ground, his neck bent at an odd angle. *I can't believe how that felt.*
'Yeah.' Lestrade smirked. 'I'll miss it. I mean, it'll be worth the trade, don't get me wrong. But I will miss it.'
*The eyes of Britain?* Sherlock asked, more or less rhetorically.
'Yeah.' Lestrade heaved a heavy sigh. 'I'll find a way. Once I've got Moll's Key, I'll figure it out.'
*We will.* Sherlock corrected him. *You're useless without me.*
'You think so?' Lestrade teased. 'Prove it.'
*I shall.* Sherlock sniffed. *Just…as soon as I can move again.*
~~~
'Where is he?' Harry asked, pulling the door closed behind her.
'Practising. Again. Training, I should say.' Mycroft answered. He lowered the folder and rubbed his aching eyes.
Harry sighed. 'He's got Mike with him?'
'Mm.' Mycroft nodded. 'For all the good it does. I confess, Harriet, I find your brother's new…proclivities unsettling.'
'Yeah.' Harry agreed, looking out the window to the front garden. 'He scares me, too.'
She moved over to sit on the arm of Mycroft's chair. 'Anything?'
Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned his head back. 'Too much. And yet nothing.' He let the report slip from his fingers and fall messily to the floor, papers strewn over the carpeting. 'I can't do this, Monster. I really can't.'
Harry leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mycroft's high forehead. 'You got me sober. You can do anything you like.'
Mycroft rested his hand on her knee. 'That wasn't just me, Harry.'
Harry smiled and went to retrieve the papers. 'And you're not alone this time, either. Walk me through it.'
Mycroft massaged his forehead and accepted the offered report. 'We've uncovered some level of interest in Sherlock starting around the time he was thirteen. His name was entered into several official databases following his inquiries into the Carl Powers case. We're currently working under the assumption that this was how his abductor became aware of him.'
Harry nodded and slipped into her own chair, and listened.
~~~
Sherlock staggered out of the water and nearly collapsed onto the shore. He couldn't hold back the straggled cry that burst from his throat, and had to steady himself with a hand against the ground.
Lestrade smiled and shook his head. He slipped out of his leather jacket and spread it on the ground. 'Take off your shirt and lie down.' He said, gesturing to the jacket.
Sherlock peered at him, wary.
'Trust me. I know what you're going through right now. Shirt off, belly on the ground. Now.'
Sherlock sighed and worked his way through the buttons on his shirt before shrugging it off. He folded it and set it aside on a patch of grass and laid his bare chest against Lestrade's jacket, resting his head on his folded arms.
'Okay, your wings are a bit different from mine. Tell me where it hurts the most.'
Sherlock winced. 'Scapulae. Toward the bottom. And up around the joint.'
'Right. Deep breaths, and this is gonna hurt like fuck for a minute.'
A moment later Lestrade's hands were on him, and his bones were on fire.
'AAH!' He shouted, squirming away from Lestrade's touch. 'Stop! Stop it!'
'Quite wiggling, will you? Man up! Or should I just toss you into the lake and let Molly anesthetise you?'
Sherlock whimpered but didn't pull away from the next touch. 'Just-- ow!-- Just be careful, alright? I've had quite enough of feeling my bones shatter for one lifetime.'
Lestrade made a noncommittal humming noise, and pressed his fingers deeper into Sherlock's muscle.
'Ow! Fuck! Stop doing that!' Sherlock cried.
'Oh, for the love of…just stay still and shut up, will you? If you'd let me do this two weeks ago we could've avoided all this.' Lestrade sighed and pressed again, and something…gave. The pain receded and was replaced by something loose and warm.
Sherlock moaned and arched up into Lestrade's hands.
'There. Better?'
'Much. Keep going.'
'Aye, sir.'
They kept silent for a while, Sherlock enjoying the feel of Lestrade's rough hands on his skin, Lestrade concentrating on his work.
'You're a sight, do you know that, Sherlock?' Lestrade said after a while.
'Hm?'
'How old are you?'
'Nineteen.' Sherlock said drowsily.
Lestrade froze, and Sherlock rolled his shoulders, trying to coax Lestrade back to work.
'Same age as Molly.' Lestrade breathed. 'Jesus.'
'John's twenty-two.' Sherlock murmured. 'He's a soldier, now.' He yawned and snuggled into his arms.
'You're serious? "Johnny's gone off for a soldier"?'
'John hates that song.' Sherlock sighed. His eyelids were far, far heavier than normal. He'd have to get back into the habit of sleeping during the day.
'How long you two been together?'
Sherlock considered. 'How do you mean "together"?'
Lestrade shrugged, and the movement travelled down to Sherlock's shoulder blades. 'You know. Lingering looks across the table, endless phone conversations that never end without a solid ten minutes of "no, you hang up", kissing till your lips are chapped and you can't feel your tongue. That sort of thing.'
Sherlock frowned and tried to ignore the hot, sharp stab in his chest. 'We've never done any of that.' He said, so quietly he wasn't sure Lestrade would hear him.
'What?'
'We did kiss. Once.' Sherlock winced. 'Well, twice, really. But the second time was hardly a kiss at all.' He blinked. 'That was two years ago.'
Something stung behind his eyes, and he tried to force it back. He wouldn't cry. He refused to cry. Not here, not in front of Greg.
The next thing he knew he was being bundled into Greg's arms, held against his chest and rocked like an infant. 'Oh, Christ.' Lestrade mumbled. 'Johnny's gone off for a soldier, right?'
Sherlock nodded against Lestrade's shoulder. The tears kept pressing, growing hot and painful against his eyelids, but he fought them. 'We got an hour. One hour, once a week. Usually his CO would disconnect us. God I wanted to murder that man.'
'When, uh. When was he due back?'
Sherlock breathed deeply. 'About two more months.' He licked his lips. 'Greg…I have to be ready. When he comes home, he'll be looking for me. I need to find a way to reach him by then.'
Lestrade sighed and pulled Sherlock against him so that Sherlock's back was to his chest. 'I might know a way. But it's useless if you don't know your Key.'
'What is it?'
He felt Lestrade tense behind him, heard the strain in his voice when he said, 'I'll fly to him. Tell me where he is.' He let out a long breath. 'Problem is, if I up and vanish Jim'll know something's up. I never leave Molly for more than a day unless he's got me on assignment. Jim notices those things.'
'So…'
'So it's gonna take me a while to reach him. By the time I get back, Jim'll be on alert. I think I can lead John back here, but if I do and you still don't know how to break your spell, it's all for nothing. You'll still be trapped, unless John fancies keeping a bird in the garden.'
Sherlock frowned and leaned back into the heat of Lestrade's body. 'How would you lead him?'
'The necklace. I'll carry it in my talons, make sure he sees it. He'll follow.'
Sherlock's hand flew up to his neck and he swallowed, painfully. 'I…you want me to take it off?'
Lestrade sighed again. 'Sherlock, which would you rather have? The token or the man?'
'John.' Sherlock answered instantly. 'I want John. I always want John.'
'Then you've got to give me the trinket.'
Sherlock closed his eyes. He hadn't removed the necklace in nine years, not for longer than it took to shower or pour acid, anyway. It was a part of him. He was even loathe to remove it for the sake of cleaning the thing, something it badly needed now. It was a connection to John, something tangible, something to wrap his hand around when the ache in his chest grew too large to bear.
'Don't let anything happen to it.' He said quietly.
'I'll guard it with my feathery little life.' Lestrade swore.
'But I still need my Key.' Sherlock said, slotting his thoughts in a row, joining dots inside his head. 'And the best place to find it is up there.' He nodded at the house, high on the hill, looming over the lake.
Molly shot up into her solid body and stared at him. 'Are you bloody MENTAL?' She cried. 'You can't go in there!'
Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. 'She's right, mate. Jim might bugger off to do his supervillan thing, but he's always got agents left at the house. Moran, usually. And that bloke's is just begging for an excuse to snap my neck.'
'Then don't go. But I've got to get in there. I won't find anything of use just sitting around here.'
Lestrade pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. 'Oh, Christ… Look, if you're going to go, I can't let you do it alone.'
'Fine. We'll do it the next time Jim takes a trip. I'll need my hands, though, so we'll have to do it at night.'
Lestrade sighed. 'Yeah, okay.' He rested his chin on Sherlock's bare shoulder, his breath hot against Sherlock's neck. 'You're fucking insane, you know that, right? I just hope you're as clever as you think you are.'
Sherlock tilted his head back. Lestrade's stubble scraped against his skin, and he wondered if John was still clean-shaven, or if he'd feel that light prickle the next time they kissed. He felt Lestrade shift behind him, and a moment later the leather jacket was wrapped around the pair of them, blocking some of the chill of the night.
Sherlock gripped his side of the jacket and pulled it close, turning to press his face into the pocket of heat at the crook of Lestrade's neck, wishing futilely that the skin was honey-coloured and the hair at the nape a sandy almost-brown.
'So do I.' He admitted.
'Aw. Isn't that sweet?'
They both jerked up and looked at the stone archway, where Moran was stood, holding a wooden box.
'Can't imagine your young man would appreciate it, though.' Moran went on, and Sherlock hurriedly moved away from Lestrade and grabbed his shirt, shrugging into it as quickly as he could.
'Shut it, Seb.' Lestrade drawled. 'Just 'cause Jim won't touch you unless you're dripping with someone else's blood.'
Moran sneered. 'Oh I got no complaints in that department, piggy. My bed's never cold. And, hey. At least I have a bed.'
'Piss off.' Lestrade sounded bored as he slipped his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.
'I suppose at least your bird's sleeping in a cold bed without you.' He paused, 'Oh, wait, I forgot. She isn't is she?'
Lestrade's face went cold and stony, he slowly rose to his feet. 'You son of a--'
'How long did she wait, anyway? Two weeks? Three? You know Jim's got the receipt for the ring. You want to know how much she got for it?'
'You bastard!' Lestrade lurched toward Moran, his fist raised.
'Greg, no!' Molly shouted, and she sent a thick torrent of water between the two men.
Sherlock stumbled back, nearly turning his ankle, and fixed his stunned eyes on Molly.
Lestrade, however, was unmoved. He kept his eyes locked on Moran, who was smirking.
'You gonna hide behind the little girl again, Gregory?' Moran asked.
Lestrade gritted his teeth and shook his head. His fingers were still curled into a fist, but he didn't move.
Moran laughed, deep and slick. 'You shouldn't play with Jim's toys, you know.' He looked at Sherlock and gave an exaggerated air-kiss. 'I know he's tempting, but you don't want to know what happens when you kiss him.'
Lestrade didn't move an inch, but Sherlock twitched, itching to slam his fist into that smug, smirking face.
Moran just smiled wider and knelt to set the box on the ground. 'Enjoy your dinner, lads. Compliments of the house.'
'Go fuck yourself.' Lestrade snarled.
Moran just chuckled, turned on his heel and walked away. Lestrade watched him go, but Sherlock didn't bother. He'd catalogued all the information he had about the house long ago, and the less he had to look at Seb the better.
Molly, however, was endlessly fascinating.
'How did you do that?' He asked. He tracked Lestrade in his peripheral vision as the man moved to the box and began to unpack their dinner.
Molly shrugged. 'I just…did. The water does what I want it to do.'
Sherlock tilted his head. 'And yet you haven't used it to drown Jim.'
Molly blushed and looked away. 'I'm not a killer.' She insisted. 'I won't let him make me one. Anyway, the water doesn't seem to work on him. It falls short.'
'Fascinating.'
'Yeah, bloody amazing. You done pestering our girl Mr Spock? Dinner's on.' Lestrade called from the box.
Sherlock waved him away. 'Busy. I shan't be eating tonight.'
Molly narrowed her eyes. 'Yes you are.'
Sherlock froze. 'No.' He said. 'I'm not.'
Molly crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. 'Sherlock Holmes, you are going to join us for dinner and that is final.'
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'I don't--'
'Best do as she says, mate.' Lestrade smiled. 'She can get pretty flipping creative with that water when she's in a mood.'
'But I--'
'It's a good idea to keep up your strength as well.' He added. 'Flying takes it out of you, and what if John showed up tomorrow? Or your brother?'
Sherlock sighed. 'Fine. Sabotage my work. It's only our freedom, nothing important or anything.'
Lestrade grinned. 'That's the spirit, mate!' And when Sherlock sulked down beside him he slapped his hand on Sherlock's back. 'Now tuck in.'
There was, as usual, a meticulously balanced meal large enough for the three of them. Sherlock loaded one of the plates with strawberries and brought it to the water's edge for Molly, receiving a sweet smile in return.
He was just about to bite into his own roast beef sandwich when he froze, and his eyes shot wide.
'Lestrade!' He said, and his voice was choked.
'Yeah?' Lestrade didn't look up from his pasta.
'What did he mean when he warned you about kissing me?'
Lestrade tensed and dropped his fork. Molly looked up, one strawberry halfway to her lips.
'A kiss…' She said.
'Very fairy tale.' Lestrade added.
Sherlock allowed a sly, wicked smile to creep along his lips.
'My friends, I believe we call that a clue.'
---
Chapter Five
Fandom(s): Sherlock/The Swan Princess/Swan Lake
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Moriarty, Moran, Mycroft, Harry, Ann Watson, Vienne Holmes, Mike Stamford
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John, suggested Moriarty/Moran, very twisted semi-Moriarty/Sherlock
Warnings: Violence, torture, abduction, coersion, Jim Moriarty with access to magic.
Summary: The final part of The Swan Triad, following Till Now I Never Knew and Interlude. Sherlock struggles to escape Moriarty's prison with the help of two fellow prisoners. Meanwhile, John devotes every waking moment to a search and rescue of the man he loves.
Chapter Four
'Alright.' Said Mike, gingerly slipping the ear guards off his head. 'I think that'll just about do it for today.'
'Another.' John said, neatly sliding a new clip into place. 'I need more practice.'
Mike sighed. 'John, the little paper man isn't going to get any deader. And you've gone through three already. Let's go get something to eat, have a bit of a rest.'
John eyed him for a moment, then he said, 'This gun…it's not like the one I'm used to. A bit smaller, smoother. The weight's different, too. Personal handgun, not military. And if I've got to use it, really use it, in that split second between draw and fire, if I'm compensating for the wrong weight and aim, it could cost me my shot. So by the time I find Sherlock, I'd damn well better know this gun like the back of my sodding hand. So, I'll say it one more time: Set. Up. Another.'
Mike's eyes widened, but he gave no other indication of his discomfort. Instead he set his jaw and said, 'Okay, John. But this is the last one.' And he slipped the bullet-ridden paper target from the frame and replaced it with a fresh one before retreating to the safe zone.
John nodded. 'Yes. We're doing the obstacle course next. I want two seconds off my time over the wall by tonight.'
Mike slumped. 'John, enough. Please. You can't keep on like this!'
John raised his arm, and Mike barely had time to get the cups over his ears before the air was full of echoing, thunderous cracks as John pulled the trigger again and again. Each deafening shot was followed by a neat hole appearing on the target. There were nine in all, each one part of a tiny cluster located over the target's heart section.
John shifted his aim, squeezed the trigger a few more times, and another cluster appeared on the target's forehead. He nodded, set down the gun and removed his ear protection and goggles. 'That's enough for today.' He said. 'Mike, come on. I need you to time me.'
~~~
Sherlock flexed his wings, idly calculating their potential lift in ratio to wingspan, and watched Lestrade stomp his way up and down the shoreline.
'Thirteen! Fucking thirteen! No wonder she's so fucking… I mean come on! She was thirteen!'
*And Moriarty was fifteen at the time. We've established the timeline, Greg, may we move on?*
'Move-- Sherlock are you damaged? How can it not bother you that the sick freak abducted her when she was only thirteen?'
Sherlock ruffled his feathers and attempted to glare. Sadly, swans were just as ill-equipped for glaring as they were for everything else. *I never said it didn’t bother me, but there's no point in dwelling on it. We can't change what happened, the only way to help her is to free her as quickly as possible.*
'And, by extension you?' Lestrade sneered. Sherlock just looked at him.
*Yes. I want to get free. If my escape means you and Molly get out as well, that's all to the good. But my primary goal is as it has ever been. I want to get out of here and back to John.*
'Oh, John.' Lestrade snarled. 'John, John, fucking John! Don't you ever get tired of saying his name?'
*No.* Sherlock said. *I don't.*
'Fair enough.' Lestrade sighed and rubbed his forehead.
'Two years.' He breathed. It didn't seem like he was addressing anyone in particular, so Sherlock said nothing. 'Two sodding years.'
He dropped heavily to the ground, his back against his preferred tree. He looked up at the sky through the leaves and took a deep breath.
'Time to fly, Sherlock.' He said quietly. 'I need to fly.'
Sherlock nodded.
Lestrade looked at him for a bit, studying something by the look of it, then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, his entire demeanour changing in the space between seconds.
'Alright, in the water with you. This is flying 101, and the first rule is speed.' With that he stood and span round, hefting himself onto the lowest branch of his tree and scampering up the trunk with the ease of a squirrel monkey.
Sherlock waded into the water. It was colder than usual, and had been ever since Molly had told him her story. Even now, he knew, she was probably curled up somewhere in the depths, reliving that distant afternoon: the old man's papery hands on her arms, the darkness of the car's interior, the smothering feel of the blindfold and cloth gag, Jim's much younger voice speaking nearby, but not to her. Never to her.
'She'll do, sir. She's got that look about her. She's half-broken already.'
'You of all people should know better than to underestimate the quiet ones, Jimmy.'
'Ha. You underestimate me. Molly here is desperate to belong. I'm doing her a favour really.'
Jim's hand, curled into a claw and stroking through her hair.
'I'll let her belong to me.'
Sherlock shook his head. No point dwelling on a past he wasn't even a part of. And at least Molly had near-perfect recall of the event, that was helpful. Still, Moriarty's purpose behind imprisoning Molly remained elusive. At best, Sherlock figured Molly must serve some crucial function, but Jim never hinted at any benefit he reaped from keeping her, no matter how Sherlock pressed and cajoled him each morning.
*Maybe if I took off all my clothes and begged him to take me right there in the water I'd get somewhere.* Sherlock grumbled to himself. The water surrounding his legs instantly rose to scalding temperature before returning to its former chill, causing Sherlock to jump and let out a very undignified squawk.
*I didn't mean it!* He shouted to the water. A bubble rose to the surface and popped in his face. Odd. Swans couldn't glare, but it seemed lakes were perfectly capable.
Lestrade laughed from up in his tree. 'You done flirting with our little mermaid or should I take this flight solo?'
Sherlock ruffled his feathers and trumpeted irritably at the tree. Lestrade just shook his head and smiled.
'Alright!' Lestrade called. 'Now, your body knows what to do. The big thing is just to let go. You've got instincts now, learn to trust 'em.' He spread his arms, and between one heartbeat and the next he was a falcon again.
*What you need, mate, is to go fast. I do it by falling, you've got to swim. Faster than you've ever done, Sherlock. Get those wings moving, they're not just for decoration.*
*Right.* Sherlock muttered. *Speed. No…problem. Just…don't think about it. Just do. Like John. Just…do.*
He watched Lestrade launch himself from the tree, plummeting like a missile toward the ground. At seemingly the very last second, the falcon spread his wings, angled his tail and the downward motion curved over and up.
Lestrade beat his wings and shot toward the sky, where he circled and called out for Sherlock to hear, *Just fly, Sherlock! Build up some speed and forget all about gravity!*
Sherlock dipped his head into the water and jerked it back up, letting the drops slide over his guard feathers. He still felt a bit hot, though, so he did it again. Were he human, he surmised, this would be the part where he broke out into a nervous sweat.
*Go on, Sherlock. Fly for me.* Molly's voice drifted in his head. It was the first time he'd ever heard it when she wasn't in her human shape, and it fluttered across his synapses like butterflies' wings.
Sherlock swam further toward the centre of the lake and began to paddle his webbed feet. He moved faster, and tentatively stretched his wings. Something prickled in the back of his mind, and he struggled to grasp it. It fluttered just out of reach, evading his attempts to pin it down.
A sudden surge of water lifted him a couple of feet in the air before dropping him back down. When he got his wits back, he realised his wings were fully extended and flapping in an elliptical motion. He thanked Molly silently for the distraction and felt his body take over. He moved faster, wings and feet adding to his propulsion, and a breath later he felt himself leave the water, felt his legs tuck up under his body, and then there was nothing beneath him but air. It surrounded him, embraced him, lifted him higher and he was flying.
*Good on you!* Lestrade cheered. *That's it! Just keep going like that. Climb up to me!*
Sherlock angled his body, shifted his tail and beat his wings against the air. He rose into the sky, closer to where Lestrade was circling the clearing.
Unused muscles burned in his shoulders, and he struggled. *Greg!* He called. *Hurts…I can't…*
*I know. Don't think about it. Just a little higher!*
Sherlock forced himself to climb further still until he was almost in reach of the falcon. In an instant there was something almost solid under his wings, forcing them wide and keeping them locked.
*Updraft!* Lestrade crowed. *Best part of flying! No work, just flight!*
Sherlock couldn't help himself. He let out a triumphant trumpet and wheeled around the pocket of air, listening to all of his body's silent advice.
*This is brilliant!*He cried, and Lestrade whooped his agreement.
*Race you to the forest edge!* Lestrade called, and he was off like a bullet.
Sherlock squawked. *Oh yes, that's fair. Long-necked water fowl against the worlds fastest bird!*
*In free-fall, not in flight.* Lestrade shouted back. *Come on, put your flights into it!*
~~~
Later, on the ground, Lestrade panted and held his shoulder. 'Christ. That was a work-out, no mistake.'
Sherlock slumped on the ground, his neck bent at an odd angle. *I can't believe how that felt.*
'Yeah.' Lestrade smirked. 'I'll miss it. I mean, it'll be worth the trade, don't get me wrong. But I will miss it.'
*The eyes of Britain?* Sherlock asked, more or less rhetorically.
'Yeah.' Lestrade heaved a heavy sigh. 'I'll find a way. Once I've got Moll's Key, I'll figure it out.'
*We will.* Sherlock corrected him. *You're useless without me.*
'You think so?' Lestrade teased. 'Prove it.'
*I shall.* Sherlock sniffed. *Just…as soon as I can move again.*
~~~
'Where is he?' Harry asked, pulling the door closed behind her.
'Practising. Again. Training, I should say.' Mycroft answered. He lowered the folder and rubbed his aching eyes.
Harry sighed. 'He's got Mike with him?'
'Mm.' Mycroft nodded. 'For all the good it does. I confess, Harriet, I find your brother's new…proclivities unsettling.'
'Yeah.' Harry agreed, looking out the window to the front garden. 'He scares me, too.'
She moved over to sit on the arm of Mycroft's chair. 'Anything?'
Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned his head back. 'Too much. And yet nothing.' He let the report slip from his fingers and fall messily to the floor, papers strewn over the carpeting. 'I can't do this, Monster. I really can't.'
Harry leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mycroft's high forehead. 'You got me sober. You can do anything you like.'
Mycroft rested his hand on her knee. 'That wasn't just me, Harry.'
Harry smiled and went to retrieve the papers. 'And you're not alone this time, either. Walk me through it.'
Mycroft massaged his forehead and accepted the offered report. 'We've uncovered some level of interest in Sherlock starting around the time he was thirteen. His name was entered into several official databases following his inquiries into the Carl Powers case. We're currently working under the assumption that this was how his abductor became aware of him.'
Harry nodded and slipped into her own chair, and listened.
~~~
Sherlock staggered out of the water and nearly collapsed onto the shore. He couldn't hold back the straggled cry that burst from his throat, and had to steady himself with a hand against the ground.
Lestrade smiled and shook his head. He slipped out of his leather jacket and spread it on the ground. 'Take off your shirt and lie down.' He said, gesturing to the jacket.
Sherlock peered at him, wary.
'Trust me. I know what you're going through right now. Shirt off, belly on the ground. Now.'
Sherlock sighed and worked his way through the buttons on his shirt before shrugging it off. He folded it and set it aside on a patch of grass and laid his bare chest against Lestrade's jacket, resting his head on his folded arms.
'Okay, your wings are a bit different from mine. Tell me where it hurts the most.'
Sherlock winced. 'Scapulae. Toward the bottom. And up around the joint.'
'Right. Deep breaths, and this is gonna hurt like fuck for a minute.'
A moment later Lestrade's hands were on him, and his bones were on fire.
'AAH!' He shouted, squirming away from Lestrade's touch. 'Stop! Stop it!'
'Quite wiggling, will you? Man up! Or should I just toss you into the lake and let Molly anesthetise you?'
Sherlock whimpered but didn't pull away from the next touch. 'Just-- ow!-- Just be careful, alright? I've had quite enough of feeling my bones shatter for one lifetime.'
Lestrade made a noncommittal humming noise, and pressed his fingers deeper into Sherlock's muscle.
'Ow! Fuck! Stop doing that!' Sherlock cried.
'Oh, for the love of…just stay still and shut up, will you? If you'd let me do this two weeks ago we could've avoided all this.' Lestrade sighed and pressed again, and something…gave. The pain receded and was replaced by something loose and warm.
Sherlock moaned and arched up into Lestrade's hands.
'There. Better?'
'Much. Keep going.'
'Aye, sir.'
They kept silent for a while, Sherlock enjoying the feel of Lestrade's rough hands on his skin, Lestrade concentrating on his work.
'You're a sight, do you know that, Sherlock?' Lestrade said after a while.
'Hm?'
'How old are you?'
'Nineteen.' Sherlock said drowsily.
Lestrade froze, and Sherlock rolled his shoulders, trying to coax Lestrade back to work.
'Same age as Molly.' Lestrade breathed. 'Jesus.'
'John's twenty-two.' Sherlock murmured. 'He's a soldier, now.' He yawned and snuggled into his arms.
'You're serious? "Johnny's gone off for a soldier"?'
'John hates that song.' Sherlock sighed. His eyelids were far, far heavier than normal. He'd have to get back into the habit of sleeping during the day.
'How long you two been together?'
Sherlock considered. 'How do you mean "together"?'
Lestrade shrugged, and the movement travelled down to Sherlock's shoulder blades. 'You know. Lingering looks across the table, endless phone conversations that never end without a solid ten minutes of "no, you hang up", kissing till your lips are chapped and you can't feel your tongue. That sort of thing.'
Sherlock frowned and tried to ignore the hot, sharp stab in his chest. 'We've never done any of that.' He said, so quietly he wasn't sure Lestrade would hear him.
'What?'
'We did kiss. Once.' Sherlock winced. 'Well, twice, really. But the second time was hardly a kiss at all.' He blinked. 'That was two years ago.'
Something stung behind his eyes, and he tried to force it back. He wouldn't cry. He refused to cry. Not here, not in front of Greg.
The next thing he knew he was being bundled into Greg's arms, held against his chest and rocked like an infant. 'Oh, Christ.' Lestrade mumbled. 'Johnny's gone off for a soldier, right?'
Sherlock nodded against Lestrade's shoulder. The tears kept pressing, growing hot and painful against his eyelids, but he fought them. 'We got an hour. One hour, once a week. Usually his CO would disconnect us. God I wanted to murder that man.'
'When, uh. When was he due back?'
Sherlock breathed deeply. 'About two more months.' He licked his lips. 'Greg…I have to be ready. When he comes home, he'll be looking for me. I need to find a way to reach him by then.'
Lestrade sighed and pulled Sherlock against him so that Sherlock's back was to his chest. 'I might know a way. But it's useless if you don't know your Key.'
'What is it?'
He felt Lestrade tense behind him, heard the strain in his voice when he said, 'I'll fly to him. Tell me where he is.' He let out a long breath. 'Problem is, if I up and vanish Jim'll know something's up. I never leave Molly for more than a day unless he's got me on assignment. Jim notices those things.'
'So…'
'So it's gonna take me a while to reach him. By the time I get back, Jim'll be on alert. I think I can lead John back here, but if I do and you still don't know how to break your spell, it's all for nothing. You'll still be trapped, unless John fancies keeping a bird in the garden.'
Sherlock frowned and leaned back into the heat of Lestrade's body. 'How would you lead him?'
'The necklace. I'll carry it in my talons, make sure he sees it. He'll follow.'
Sherlock's hand flew up to his neck and he swallowed, painfully. 'I…you want me to take it off?'
Lestrade sighed again. 'Sherlock, which would you rather have? The token or the man?'
'John.' Sherlock answered instantly. 'I want John. I always want John.'
'Then you've got to give me the trinket.'
Sherlock closed his eyes. He hadn't removed the necklace in nine years, not for longer than it took to shower or pour acid, anyway. It was a part of him. He was even loathe to remove it for the sake of cleaning the thing, something it badly needed now. It was a connection to John, something tangible, something to wrap his hand around when the ache in his chest grew too large to bear.
'Don't let anything happen to it.' He said quietly.
'I'll guard it with my feathery little life.' Lestrade swore.
'But I still need my Key.' Sherlock said, slotting his thoughts in a row, joining dots inside his head. 'And the best place to find it is up there.' He nodded at the house, high on the hill, looming over the lake.
Molly shot up into her solid body and stared at him. 'Are you bloody MENTAL?' She cried. 'You can't go in there!'
Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. 'She's right, mate. Jim might bugger off to do his supervillan thing, but he's always got agents left at the house. Moran, usually. And that bloke's is just begging for an excuse to snap my neck.'
'Then don't go. But I've got to get in there. I won't find anything of use just sitting around here.'
Lestrade pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. 'Oh, Christ… Look, if you're going to go, I can't let you do it alone.'
'Fine. We'll do it the next time Jim takes a trip. I'll need my hands, though, so we'll have to do it at night.'
Lestrade sighed. 'Yeah, okay.' He rested his chin on Sherlock's bare shoulder, his breath hot against Sherlock's neck. 'You're fucking insane, you know that, right? I just hope you're as clever as you think you are.'
Sherlock tilted his head back. Lestrade's stubble scraped against his skin, and he wondered if John was still clean-shaven, or if he'd feel that light prickle the next time they kissed. He felt Lestrade shift behind him, and a moment later the leather jacket was wrapped around the pair of them, blocking some of the chill of the night.
Sherlock gripped his side of the jacket and pulled it close, turning to press his face into the pocket of heat at the crook of Lestrade's neck, wishing futilely that the skin was honey-coloured and the hair at the nape a sandy almost-brown.
'So do I.' He admitted.
'Aw. Isn't that sweet?'
They both jerked up and looked at the stone archway, where Moran was stood, holding a wooden box.
'Can't imagine your young man would appreciate it, though.' Moran went on, and Sherlock hurriedly moved away from Lestrade and grabbed his shirt, shrugging into it as quickly as he could.
'Shut it, Seb.' Lestrade drawled. 'Just 'cause Jim won't touch you unless you're dripping with someone else's blood.'
Moran sneered. 'Oh I got no complaints in that department, piggy. My bed's never cold. And, hey. At least I have a bed.'
'Piss off.' Lestrade sounded bored as he slipped his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.
'I suppose at least your bird's sleeping in a cold bed without you.' He paused, 'Oh, wait, I forgot. She isn't is she?'
Lestrade's face went cold and stony, he slowly rose to his feet. 'You son of a--'
'How long did she wait, anyway? Two weeks? Three? You know Jim's got the receipt for the ring. You want to know how much she got for it?'
'You bastard!' Lestrade lurched toward Moran, his fist raised.
'Greg, no!' Molly shouted, and she sent a thick torrent of water between the two men.
Sherlock stumbled back, nearly turning his ankle, and fixed his stunned eyes on Molly.
Lestrade, however, was unmoved. He kept his eyes locked on Moran, who was smirking.
'You gonna hide behind the little girl again, Gregory?' Moran asked.
Lestrade gritted his teeth and shook his head. His fingers were still curled into a fist, but he didn't move.
Moran laughed, deep and slick. 'You shouldn't play with Jim's toys, you know.' He looked at Sherlock and gave an exaggerated air-kiss. 'I know he's tempting, but you don't want to know what happens when you kiss him.'
Lestrade didn't move an inch, but Sherlock twitched, itching to slam his fist into that smug, smirking face.
Moran just smiled wider and knelt to set the box on the ground. 'Enjoy your dinner, lads. Compliments of the house.'
'Go fuck yourself.' Lestrade snarled.
Moran just chuckled, turned on his heel and walked away. Lestrade watched him go, but Sherlock didn't bother. He'd catalogued all the information he had about the house long ago, and the less he had to look at Seb the better.
Molly, however, was endlessly fascinating.
'How did you do that?' He asked. He tracked Lestrade in his peripheral vision as the man moved to the box and began to unpack their dinner.
Molly shrugged. 'I just…did. The water does what I want it to do.'
Sherlock tilted his head. 'And yet you haven't used it to drown Jim.'
Molly blushed and looked away. 'I'm not a killer.' She insisted. 'I won't let him make me one. Anyway, the water doesn't seem to work on him. It falls short.'
'Fascinating.'
'Yeah, bloody amazing. You done pestering our girl Mr Spock? Dinner's on.' Lestrade called from the box.
Sherlock waved him away. 'Busy. I shan't be eating tonight.'
Molly narrowed her eyes. 'Yes you are.'
Sherlock froze. 'No.' He said. 'I'm not.'
Molly crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. 'Sherlock Holmes, you are going to join us for dinner and that is final.'
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'I don't--'
'Best do as she says, mate.' Lestrade smiled. 'She can get pretty flipping creative with that water when she's in a mood.'
'But I--'
'It's a good idea to keep up your strength as well.' He added. 'Flying takes it out of you, and what if John showed up tomorrow? Or your brother?'
Sherlock sighed. 'Fine. Sabotage my work. It's only our freedom, nothing important or anything.'
Lestrade grinned. 'That's the spirit, mate!' And when Sherlock sulked down beside him he slapped his hand on Sherlock's back. 'Now tuck in.'
There was, as usual, a meticulously balanced meal large enough for the three of them. Sherlock loaded one of the plates with strawberries and brought it to the water's edge for Molly, receiving a sweet smile in return.
He was just about to bite into his own roast beef sandwich when he froze, and his eyes shot wide.
'Lestrade!' He said, and his voice was choked.
'Yeah?' Lestrade didn't look up from his pasta.
'What did he mean when he warned you about kissing me?'
Lestrade tensed and dropped his fork. Molly looked up, one strawberry halfway to her lips.
'A kiss…' She said.
'Very fairy tale.' Lestrade added.
Sherlock allowed a sly, wicked smile to creep along his lips.
'My friends, I believe we call that a clue.'
---
Chapter Five