Chapter Five or Chapter Seven
Chapter Six:
“Camelot, knights, dragons… King Arthur? All of this is
actually happening?” Tom asked a he
swallowed hard a final gulp of water. Staring down at a plate that once held a
fairly generous amount of food that he has since quickly devoured. Across from
him sits the beautiful and stoic Morgana Penn- dragon, whose account of the
lands and of the world that Tom Jackman has just woken into has left him, of
all people in some disbelief.
“As opposed to the alternatives you’ve offered up? You speak
of missing memories, while also speak of worlds beyond any I have seen and
boxes that are larger on the inside,” Morgana replied as she produced from her
pocket a small digital wrist watch, though what it was exactly she knew not,
only it was on his person when she discovered him. “I’m inclined to believe
you. Not that it holds much weight for you now, if what you seek is held so
deeply within the castle walls.” She added as she held up the digital device,
studying it. “Intriguing little device – what is it exactly?”
“It’s called a watch; helps track the movement of time. Not
that unlike a sundial or shadow clock – if you have such devices of your own.”
Tom replied, honestly. If everything around him was actually happening and not
some vivid dreamscape, he felt he was beyond the point of concern for histories
sake, besides in his mind, not that the idea of time travel ever crossed it
with serious thought, but when it had he always been more a fan of the idea that
paradoxes would right themselves in the end – an idea his mind was fully
embracing in order to keep from becoming over whelmed at this point.
“It’s unlike any shadow clock I have ever encountered – what
keeps it progressing?” She asked, her guarded demeanor faltering in way of her
curiosity.
“An alkaline battery – a tiny energy source of sorts,
apparently a good one too,” Tom answered looking upon the screen as it flashed
with each changing second. “I would have had another device on me – a small
long box or rectangular shaped one, same sort of glowing screen – you didn't
happen to come across it, did you? It would have been in my shirt pocket.” He
asked as he looked over his shirt, it was basic button down, but stained with
blood, unlikely his, and torn and tattered and his pocket a clear victim of the
troubles that had fallen upon him.
“No, this was all I found upon you,” Morgana replied
truthfully, Tom was worse for wear by the time she ran across him in the
surrounding woods, unconscious and clearly
victim or victor of struggles.
Just then the watch’s digital face seemed to flicker and
dance, the images becoming mixed and chaotic as if for a moment it was
struggling against some force of magnetism. Before Morgana even has a chance to
question the odd activity, Tom is already to his feet. “I need to be locked up;
you need to lock me up now,”
“I have you entirely under control – you’re as good as
locked up now,” Morgana answered as she too stood from her seat. His sudden
shift in manner and call to urgency struck her as odd given the last hour she
had spent conversing with him as he regained his strength from her hospitality.
Tom shook his head as he persisted to argue with her “Me
yes, but not him. You need to lock me up, we need to lock him up before he gets
here – which way back to the cells?” he asked, his tone growing more panicked.
“I don’t understand,” Morgana admitted her confusion as she
started to lead him back through the corridors to a small row of rooms that she
had originally retrieved him from.
“You soon will” Tom replied as he pushed his way into one of the cells, shutting the door
behind him “Lock it, lock it good and go
- go and stay away. And whatever you do don’t tell him anything. I don’t
know what he knows; I think it’s only fair I keep him at the same
disadvantage,” he reasoned as he took a step back, closing his eyes.
Morgana did as asked, locking the cell door behind him, but
failed to walk away after all “Don’t mistake my hospitality for submission, I
take orders from no one,” she insisted.
Tom, still standing in the dark cell with his eyes shut and
his head down, took one last deep breath in and exhaled a final reply “These
aren't orders, Morgana, just suggestion.” And with that he exhaled a final
breath which was followed by a long pause. Morgana looked on, confused by what
she was, or was not seeing. No shift in the air, no sound, no interruption in
the silence that surrounded them. It was dark, very dark and she couldn't
really see much of the figured that stood captive before her, but somehow –
perhaps a trick of her eyes, but the shadowy outline appeared to change, to
shift ever so slightly in length. It surely must be a trick, Morgana thought to
herself as she turned to pull an unlit torch from a nearby, with a small whisper
she brought the cold dead torch into fiery new life. Returning back to the
cell, she held up the torch to illuminate the figure that stood only a few feet
away only to reveal what appeared to be more tricks. There stood Tom Jackman as
he placed himself just shy of the gated bars, but something was different,
several things appeared different. He,
in fact was taller, his hair darker and his hair line reached further forward
than before, his chin bore a cleft that wasn't there before. He even appeared
leaner, his clothing still torn, no longer fit as they previously had before.
Finally, he lifts his head to the new light and opens his eyes. The eyes he
reveals now only cement the reality of the other changes – dark, cold and black
as the night sky, entirely unlike the pale greens ones that had clearly been
replaced. Morgana’s demeanor shifted once more, she was still clearly as
confused as before, but now her guard was once more being raised. “He was
telling the truth – you’re not him, are you?”
The new man stared coldly back at her as a wiry smile pulled
at his lips and spread to a full baring grin, not entirely unlike that of a
hyena who had just stumbled across some prey “You’re a fast one,” he began as
the smile slipped from his face “but I promise you, I’m faster…” he added and
with that he moved quickly towards her, not like a flash but rather a shadow
that seemed to extend, he stood pushed against the bars, reaching out and
taking hold of her arm with a tight grip, his nails like claws digging into her
forearm, her guard over turned and found wanting. “so much faster!”
Morgana didn't jerk away, she could feel her blood as it
pooled around his grip. She simply smiled, confident as ever, a smile that
rivaled his own “I don’t know who or what you are, but this is Camelot and in
Camelot speed is not a contending strength.” She replied, as she did so her
pale green eyes flared into a copper fire and force unseen sent her assailant
back against the stone wall on the opposite side of his cell. Now freed she turned
to leave, but paused when his reply returned in laughter.
“The name’s Hyde and this was just the appetizer – the
entree will be the real show stopper” He said aloud, as he continued to laugh,
sitting alone in the cell with his back to the stone wall, the bars in front of
him and the sight of torchlight disappearing as Morgana made her exit. Once he
was alone in the darkness with only some small moonlight to share the space
he looked down at his hand now smeared with Morgana’s blood, in his same palm
he held a key that he had ripped from her wrist as he was pushed or moved back
– of course she hadn’t felt him remove it from the safety of her wrist through
the pain of the flesh he had wounded. “Camelot, huh? Oh Daddy, how did we ever
manage that?” he asked himself aloud as he pushed himself on to his feet once
more. Moving quickly and quietly, he unlocked his cell and secured his freedom,
leaving Morgana unaware and injured, but relatively unharmed. After all he felt full, and Camelot awaited
and Camelot sounded like fun.
Another night passes over Camelot and the sky is only just
beginning to be reclaimed by the sun as Merlin finds himself busy packing
weapons and tools, preparing for what could prove the be a very interesting
day. The others are up alongside him, finishing up a very early impromptu
breakfast. “I spoke with Gwaine last night; he said he would meet us by the
creek side for some training. Tonight there will be a feast at sunset that
ushers in the tournament that will begin tomorrow at dawn. So that gives us all
day to train the basics,” Merlin started explaining as he assigned packs to
Dean, Sam and Castiel. “Now you three will be expected at the feast, now that
you are honored guests. Sherlock as your herald will need to announce you at
both the feast and at each event that you place in.” He added, glancing from
the three new knights, over to Sherlock “aside from these times, you are free
to move about, but fail to meet these responsibilities and you will arouse
suspicions.”
Sherlock nodded signaling he understood the severity that
Merlin was pressing upon “Of course should complications arise in my absence,
I’m quite certain the Winchesters and their angelic companion can manage.”
“Of course we can” Dean replied with a smirk.
“But they won’t have to, will they, Sherlock?” the Doctor
asked, cutting in.
“I wouldn't even bother, Doctor, getting any kind of a
definitive promise on timing with him is like pulling teeth, and a lot less
satisfying.” John commented with a sigh. “As for me” John began, not that anyone
had inquired or opened the floor for the concern “Gaius has things pretty well
taken care of, so I can be of use somewhere.”
“The Doctor and I are off to search the citadel and the
surrounding village, you services will likely be best served with Merlin and
the others should training go poorly, or exceptionally for that matter.” Sherlock
suggested, pawning John off on the Winchesters “I believe it would be in
everyone’s best interest if the group stand portioned in lieu of contemporary
division.”
“Yeah, right – good point I suppose” John replied as he took
up one of the packs Merlin had prepared
.
“Wait, what did he just say?” Dean asked looking from John
to Sherlock and back again.
“Hard to say, but I think the point he was making in short
is actually in long; that he doesn't trust the Doctor, the Doctor doesn't trust
Castiel, you three don’t really seem to trust anyone and not one of us really
trusts another to be alone entirely and not expose us, so certainty in
numbers.” John explained to the best of his abilities.
“Well if that’s the case then shouldn't one of us” Sam
began, referring to himself, Dean and Castiel as us “go along with Doc and
Sherlock?”
“Probably, but each of you need to train and prepare. That
and whoever went would only get in the way,” John replied sighing.
“Well that sounds mildly ominous” Sam replied, his own
curiosity clearly peaked.
John nodded with a small smile “You think that’s bad you
should meet his brother, his family has just about cornered the market of
hidden agenda.”
At that moment everyone looked over towards Sherlock who
just sat there smiling as if agreeing with John’s assessment.
Merlin stood up, moving to open the door for the others
“Sunset will be upon us in no time, we should hurry, a year’s worth of work ahead and hours to do
it in.” He announced calling the attention of Dean, Sam, Castiel and John who
followed suit.
After the first group consisting of the Winchesters,
Castiel, Merlin and John, had departed, Sherlock stood up, draping the long and
wide blue scarf about his shoulders, glancing over to the Doctor who was
already in his clever poncho disguise, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes
over the prospects that awaited the pair they made. “We should get a move on as
well. It’s been my experience that mysteries rarely solve themselves.”
“Oh yes! I can’t wait to take to the streets with you, – The
Great Sherlock Holmes! World’s only consulting detective, out there solving a
mystery, detecting what can be detected, consulting what can be consulted upon”
the Doctor began as he took the lead towards the door. “In other words, fun” he
added as he glanced back over his shoulder towards Sherlock, baring a smile
that wasn't that much unlike a child who had been presented with a shiny bike
left behind by Father Christmas, an unplanned and unexpected new world had just
presented itself before him.
Sherlock did follow, but not with the same enthusiasm and
certainly minus the joyful smile. He did however bare a smirk of his own, he
may not demonstrate the said same enthusiasm - but he, without voicing his
agreement, agreed still –in other words,
fun indeed, he thought as he followed a different sort of Doctor into a new
day.
The day moves on and hours pass by, not that anyone really
bothers to mind the time – too much to be done and the only way to accomplish
any of it is to simply press on, which is exactly what a small group of six men
do as they work to prepare for the challenges that lay before them. Worn out
and paused for a moment along the side of small creek, Merlin passes around a
canteen to quench thirsts all around. “Well it is safe to say that jousting is
really the place for Sam. He’s tall and quite broad and there for a larger
target, but his weight and arm strength would seem a great advantage.”
“You certainly had the best form on the horse.” Gwaine added
in agreement.
“Well Sammy always did have a way with animals.” Dean
snickered.
“And you of course are quite skilled with the bow; clearly
have an eye for the target.” Merlin pressed on, this time addressing Dean.
Dean smiled “Well, what can I say, when I want something not
much gets in the way of me getting it.” Dean replied, a bit full of himself.
“Really? I just figured the skill was honed from all those
years playing second fiddle to Dad, picking off the strays.” Sam remarked
teasingly.
“Bitch” Dean replied.
“Jerk” Sam echoed back, as a smirk was shared between the
two of them.
A moment shared between brothers, which left John, Merlin
and Gwaine a bit confused. “As best I can tell referring to each other as
either a female canine or a quick, sharp, sudden movement are sort of terms of
endearment between the two of them.” Castiel explained, unprompted and aloud.
Merlin and Gwaine responded to Castiel’s assessment with
nods, meanwhile John rubbed his eyes for a moment followed by a sigh that was a
resounding sound of frustrations and patience and boredom waging war with each
other, finally patience stands as the victor as he clears his throat bringing
himself back to the group attention “Right, so that’s the Archery and Jousting
in the bag – that just leaves melee, right?”
“Yes, I think so - I
mean there are some other games, but these three are the main spectacles.”
Merlin replied as he started to unpack the swords, presenting one to each of
the three competitors as Gwaine drew his from the sheath that he wore upon his
belt. Gwaine was clearly ready, he presented a small series of fluid movements,
allowing the metallic blade to glisten in the light, displaying his natural
skills with the weapon, it was more of an extension of his own self then a
simple tool which is how similar objects presented in the grip of both Sam and
Dean who also took a few measures from the air getting said grip into place,
meanwhile Castiel didn't put forth any flash or flare, simply gripping the weapon
in his hand as he steadied his eyes upon Gwaine.
“We might want to step back a bit.” Merlin instructed to
John as he picked up the pace to place himself along with John a few yards out
of the way.
“Right so, how do you guys want to do this? Team up or each
just take turns with Sir Expert here or?” Dean asked referring to Gwaine as
the clear stand out.
“I just figured the fastest way to narrow things down would
be to just jump right in…” Gwaine began and as quickly as the words left his
lips he lunges forward towards Sam swinging across from his elbow. The sword
moves smoothly in its intended direction, Sam reacting as best he could manage
presents his blade in time to block the oncoming attack, for a moment their
eyes connect and Gwaine smirks “Good – rule number one, those who can’t be
moved to attack should still be ready to block.” He instructed, as Sam pulled
up from the block and pushed outward, causing Gwaine to step back, but still
Gwaine continued to lay strike upon strike, each met by Sam, block for block.
Finally when Sam had cleared a bit of room between them, he moved from defensive
to offensive, narrowing his base and lunging towards Gwaine with a straight
thrust, which Gwaine met with smooth agility, stepping aside and out of the way
of the sword, but grabbing Sam’s wrist as it moved past him, and with a further
push sent Sam’s momentum into a turn, stumbling off the side line. Still before
Gwaine could take a moment to boast in remark, Dean came in with a swooping
attack from over his shoulder. Of course in true form Gwaine moves to block,
falling back onto one knee to absorb the shock of the formidable blow. As Dean
bore down hard, Gwaine pushed back and onto both feet once more, still Dean
presence held. Moving a step back, blades still matched, Gwaine allowed him
enough room to maneuver his blade to bring the two opposing objects into a more
paralleled state, allowing him with a sudden twist and thrust of his directing
wrist to free Dean of his weapon tossing it into the air, allowing him to take
hold of the weapon, and leaving Dean hapless and unarmed. “Rule number two, or
rather this should be first and foremost; never let go of your weapon.”
“Sam” Castiel said aloud, extending his open and free hand
out towards Sam who had finally started to catch his breath. No further
instruction was needed, as Sam followed the lead, tossing his own sword off to
Castiel who plucked it from the air with ease, stepping form a ready stance, to
one that was clearly on guard.
Gwaine turned to face Casitel, his own stance more relaxed
“That, my friend, is not advisable – rule number three; in sword fighting, two
swords are rarely better than one. As an added warning; I am not the man you
want to go blade to blade with when dual blades are involved.”
“As an Angel of the Lord, I feel I should be able to
manage.” Castiel replied. And so it
started as Gwaine moved in forward, one sword in full thrust and the other
already falls into a swing motion; both movements not only met, stopped and
blocked by Castiel's fluid movements, but also countered allowing him to become
the advancer in the fight. Strike after strike, one echoing clang after the
other and all the while Castiel was forcing Gwaine step after step back, but
with each strike, Gwaine blocked and when he could he swung over or swooped
under, bring his blades in for strikes of his own keeping the fight from the
direct center, driving it further and further away from a structured and controllable
form, which was clearly what his opponent Castiel was far more accustomed to. A
step here, a twist there and each opponent traded places and licks, leaving the
others to only stand and watch in amazement. The seconds felt like minutes and
the minutes like hours, but neither faltered or lost form, though clearly the
exhaustion was getting to Gwaine as his breaths grew shallow and quick, yet
Castiel showed no sign of exhaustion, no sign of tiring and no sign of slowing
down. Eventually Gwaine's stance slipped and Castiel took advantage of his uneven
base and swung in, knocking one sword from Gwaine’s grip as he bore down upon
Gwaine’s other armed hand, forcing him down and pining him to the ground.
Castiel, now certain his point and position was made clear eased up and stood
back, allowing Gwaine to catch his breath as he regained his standing, looking
over to Merlin with a wide smile “I
think we have just found our melee champion!” Gwaine shouted aloud to his friend.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Gwaine asked, still regaining steady
breath, looking to Castiel.
“The armies on high – you did show great strength for a
human, but like most humans your stamina will fail even the greatest of men.”
Castiel replied.
John, still standing aside with Merlin, stood silent in a
moment of unease and awe of what had just played out before him, when finally
he turned to Merlin “I think I’ll go check on Sherlock and the Doctor…” He
announced as a sort of departure as he turned to head back towards the walls of
the citadel once more.
Around this time, a very frustrated Sherlock Holmes finds
himself pacing along a small stretch of wall that plays its small part in
securing the population and structures within. The same small stretch of wall
that has been smeared with blood in different places, the patterns erratic, but
shapes alike to hand prints can be clearly seen even if the smearing is too
great to define any prints. Meanwhile his new and temporary companion stands
examining the smears closer with a strange tool he continually refers to a
sonic screwdriver. “Well it is definantly a human.” The Doctor finally said
aloud.
“I felt that was fairly obvious, given the height, placement
and of course the hands prints themselves – clearly suggesting that the vandalization – if we can call it that, was clearly
committed by a human.” Sherlock replied sarcastically.
The Doctor, paying Sherlock no real mind continued his
examination “No, I meant the blood – it’s human” he began to explain “But I am
getting more than one blood type…” he paused checking over his sonic screwdriver
curiously.
“Well at least five men nearly died at the hands of this
monster, maybe others, less notable victims have encountered similar fates.”
Sherlock suggested as he leaned against a place along the wall that was
evidence free.
The Doctor shook his head “You and John already determined
this monster was likely human, and I don’t think you were wrong. The prominent
blood type is O…”
“Not uncommon in any century – I would imagine, roughly 37%
of the Caucasian population is O positive, and we are in the early beating
heart of England herself – at least I think we’re in England still.” Sherlock
remarked, looking around as he did so, kicking around a few layers of dirt with
his shoes “Evidence, evidence everywhere but not a single optical microscope to
examine it with” he mumbled to himself followed by a sigh.
The Doctor glances back and forth a bit between the wall,
Sherlock and his screwdriver, a bit unsure about which problem should call his
attention first. Still despite confusion and growing tension, he continues
“Yes, but O negative, is far less prominent in any century – well in earth’s
history at least.”
Sherlock nodded agreeing “So, tell me Doctor, which is it?”
“O Positive and O Negative exclusively, with the latter
being the most prominent.” The Doctor replies, as he slips his screwdriver back
into his coat pocket “The smearing is even, the points where the types combine
– there is no unusual activity even on the sonic level. I’d swear it’s all the
same, but my screwdriver is fairly accurate.”
“Well clearly its separate people, maybe a pair working
together, or attacker and victim – I mean an rh factor can’t simply come and go
as it pleases. The circumstances surrounding its application may have just
hindered its preservation, left to the elements and all.” Sherlock attempted to
reason, though even the attempt was an effort of struggle.
“You've seemed rather distracted over these last few hours –
is there something you’re keeping from the rest of the class?” The Doctor asked
as he took to leaning alongside Sherlock, crossing his arms as he did so.
“We've been searching this place for hours, talking with
people, collecting bits and shreds of what may or may not be evidence – I’m at
a great disadvantage without my tools. It’s just been a very illuminating
experience; I’m accustomed to my time – to the monsters of my modern world.
Very little of what I can observe here can be correlated with my experience and
reasoning. My hands are to a measure of extent, tied” Sherlock replied with a
heavy sigh “And not an ounce of tobacco for what is likely 5,000 or more
kilometers”
“I would imagine not.” The Doctor replied in an almost
empathetic tone “We all have our vices – mine’s fish fingers and custard and I
don’t want to think how much time separates me from that familiar taste. I
might have some jelly babies tucked away in the TARDIS somewhere, but not much
use right now” the Doctor’s words and thoughts began to stray, but as always he
quickly returned to focus “Of course your hands are tied, mine are always tied,
curse of time travel! But humanity never changes, and I can’t think of a
greater expert on that subject the great Sherlock Holmes.”
“I’m sure there is something quite comforting in that that I
am simply not detecting” Sherlock joked, a joke that did produce a chuckle
between the two. “That does bring up another distraction, I don’t normally
ponder upon time travel too much, the idea seemed a bit unlikely to me, but now
that I am here, standing in a very young and very ancient world of Camelot, I’m
finally starting to give it some thought. All this we are doing, I mean even
though we have been mostly restricted to the tools of the era, the knowledge we
are using, John’s especially with saving the lives of those men, the
conversations we are having, only heaven knows what the Winchesters are
introducing – what sort of effect will all this have on history or more
specifically our futures?”
The Doctor shrugged “To be honest with you, I rarely ever
pay it much mind. I mean there are these points in time, these fixed points
where we have to step carefully and not interact or at least restrict
ourselves, but in the end – most of the time all comes out well in the wash,
usually for the better.”
“And Arthur and his knights, Merlin and all this, this
wouldn't fall into that fixed category?” Sherlock asked curiously, which was
finally, more like him.
“No, I don’t think it is. I mean we’re standing in a time of
myth and legend; I can’t imagine anything we do here will have too great an
effect on the world to come after. Normally I would be very weary and tell you
to tread carefully – wary of butterfly wings as an old friend would put it.
Not here though. Let’s not overdo it and have ourselves hanged or beheaded, of
course, but no, we find ourselves in one of the rarest of opportunities. We
have landed in a time that will never be forgotten, but also one that history
has misplaced” the Doctor explained as a smile finally took his face “This
might actually be a first for me – haven’t had one of those in a while.”
“What haven’t you had in a while?” a voice said aloud,
interrupting the pair. It was John walking up, taking a step back as the bloody
mess along the wall came into view. “Well that is disturbing, but then again
that has pretty much been the overall theme of this misadventure, hasn't it?”
he asked as he reasoned himself into more ideal reaction tone.
“Well whoever this is, they are certainly no Moriarty. I
never imagined I would so miss the sophistication that comes with the more
modern criminals that we are more accustomed to perusing.” Sherlock replied honestly, but with an air of
sarcasm for face.
“Right – agreed” John replied as he tried to examine the
blood closer. “So what do we think we have here?”
“Hard to say, I mean we know its human and it's two types,
maybe a sign of a struggle or a marker for where another victim was born or – I
really don’t know.” The Doctor replied honestly.
“Everything else we have found will require closer
observation – which we may or may not be capable of achieving with our limited
resources.” Sherlock added.
“Understandably…” John replied as he knelt down, using a pen
to push around some of the soil “And I assume this too is blood from the same
incident.”
“We think so, yes” Sherlock replied. All of a sudden a
glimmer of light reflected out catching Sherlock’s eyes, it wasn't sourced from
John’s metallic pen directly, but rather a secondary reflection being picked
up by the pen’s metallic surface
initially. “What’s that? Where is that reflection coming from?” He asked as he
hurried to join John at the site.
“I’m not sure. It’s something metal sort of buried or smashed
into the softer soil here.” John replied as he used his pen to further uncover
the source, the object was small, about half the size of a mobile telephone,
chrome metallic plating and rectangular in design. John used a handkerchief
from his pocket to pick the object up, holding it out for the Sherlock and the
Doctor to examine. “Some sort of recording device.” John added as he handed the
device to the Doctor, who in turn brought out his trusty sonic screwdriver once
more, and almost like magic, with just a quick flick of his wrist a few notes
buzzed aloud. The screen on the device lit up and the menu displayed, listing
entry after entry only marked by the date and time they were cataloged away. A
bit of navigation reveals the most recent recordings, and without a further
moment of hesitations, the three curious minds almost telepathically decided on
play, unsure of what exactly they
would hear.
“I’m not sure where I am, but I suppose that’s fair, I
wasn't really sure where I was last time I was hit with an unscheduled change…
speaking of, note to both of us, we need to reestablish a schedule. Anyways
this place, it’s different, there’s a control center of sorts, railing and walk
ways. Everything seems to lead elsewhere – not like any place we've ended up in
before. No guards, no cages, no lab coats. There is a door that’s different
from the others, but I can’t get it open. I think I’m trapped – what have you
gotten me into this time?” The voice was
Irish and the words and dialogue more accustomed to the world John and Sherlock
left behind.
“Must be talking about the TARDIS” the Doctor commented
softly as they moved on to the next message.
“Right – I know you’re still waiting on an explanation, but
I gotta tell ya, Daddy, as soon as there is one, you’ll be the first to know –
What I do know, however, is we aren't getting any sleep, we are tired, covered in
blood and most recently, been shot in the thigh with an arrow, one I don’t
think I can remove without killing us both, and I don’t want to die daddy and I
know you don’t either, so good luck.” This voice was also a native Irish
tongue, the slang and energy behind it was different, the tone as well, but
there was something unnervingly similar between the two.
John and the Doctor both simultaneously look over to
Sherlock who seemed the least disturbed by the discovery, but also the most attentive,
finally John spoke up “Any ideas?”
“Yes, several – I think – but the sun’s beginning to set,
and I don’t want to blow our cover just as things are getting really
interesting. Back to the castle.” Sherlock replied as he turned away, leading
the way back towards the fortress’ heart, Arthur’s castle, John and the Doctor
moving to try and keep up behind him, while tucking away the device beneath the
Doctor’s poncho. Of all the evidence that they had gathered that day, this was
clearly the gem of the hunt thus far. Albeit the strangest discovery any of
them could have imagined happening across.
.JPG)
Fan Art By: Lyndsey Gerlach Summer 2013
"Sherlock" and "John"
Chapter Seven is in the works and will be here soon - maybe not 2 weeks soon, but not 4 months soon either! Thank you once more to my loyal readers - I truly hope these ext few chapters will bring about the conclusion that is worthy of your time and patience!
Chapter Seven is in the works and will be here soon - maybe not 2 weeks soon, but not 4 months soon either! Thank you once more to my loyal readers - I truly hope these ext few chapters will bring about the conclusion that is worthy of your time and patience!
