A Righteous Return - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

[ihadabadday]

Once Upon a Time in a kingdom far away and filled with magic and dragons, there was a King and his Wizard. Together they did great things, bringing peace to the world and to its people. They were the best of friends, as close as any two men could be. Until one day the King was gravely injured defending his Wizard...

He gasped as the arrow struck his shoulder. Just between the gap in his armor. Too low to be anything but fatal. He knew that. But he was the King of England. He wielded Excalibur. He would not go down with out a fight. Of course /he/ would call him foolish for this. For defending him in this way. He was a sorcerer, a wizard, after all.

His knees gave out as the blood loss started to affect him. He barely noticed as strong arms came around him.

"It's okay." He assured the man, "You'll be okay. If... I'll return." He coughed a bit, feeling the pain. But it was all okay. His friend. His Wizard was alive. He pressed Excalibur into the man's hands.

"Return this to the Lady of the Lake. Please. It needs to be safe." He knew what would happen if it was in the wrong hands.

He didn't have much time. He knew that. He reached up and touched his Wizard's face. "Find me again." He managed before he closed his eyes, arm falling limply to his side.

The King of the Brits, of England, was gone.

---

John shot up in bed, gasping for breath. He pressed a hand to his face and took a deep breath. Another nightmare. So many had piled up over the years. Loosing Arthur, the two Great Wars. Even recent events were enough to make him frightened. He got out of bed and walked over to the window. After opening the blinds, he stared out at the blinking lights. Albion had changed so much in recent time. Just the past hundred years alone. He let out a sigh.

There had been one time in all these years the had started to feel Arthur return. During the second Great War... The need for him was great then than it had been years earlier during the first. He pressed a fist to the window and sighed. "Arthur, we need you..." There was the unspoken, I need you. It was always unspoken. He had never dared tell the King. He couldn't, not when he had a Queen that adored him so and who he adored in return.

He let out a long held breath and looked back out to the night sky. He didn't need this flatshare, but it was convenient to be around people again.

---

He had been living with Sherlock Holmes for three months now. Just long enough to know he could stand the man, but not long enough to really know how he felt about the man. Other than... Okay.

John had left Sherlock lying on the couch when he went off to work. The A&E. He loved working in emergency medicine. He could help people and keep an eye out for Arthur and the Knights.

Of course, this was the day when a psych patient broke out and started to wave a scalpel at everyone. John stepped in front of a nurse only to get stabbed in the neck. He put his hand up to press against the wound, trembling. Oh, shock. He slowly sunk to the ground as he heard his coworkers starting to swarm.

And it was about fifteen minutes later that Sherlock's mobile started going off.

Comments

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock watched John work. He felt awful, the man had just almost died, and here he was, being feeble and infirm, laying down on the couch when all he'd done was..

Well... what? fainted? Seen visions in his head? He still wasn't really sure what had happened, actually. And that was what both vexed and frustrated him. He was Sherlock Bloody Holmes, he could figure anything out.

And yet, he was stumped by what had happened to him when he simply laid a hand on his flatmate.

Once again this thoughts were interrupted, this time by Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Graham." Sherlock said with a frown. Normally he would be happy to see the man, he was itching for a case, but John needed to rest, and he needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

"We can't help you, John is convalescing." It looked less convincing considering he was the one laying down with a cloth on his hed and John was in the kitchen, but it was essentially true.

[ihadabadday]

John looked up. "Detective Inspector. Hello. Don't listen to him, I'm fine." He hadn't removed the bandage yet, not wanting Sherlock to freak out with how quickly he healed. Magic. Again. Defies the laws if reality. Just how it was. Then again he was an immortal wizard looking for a reborn legendary king.

It was all a bit strange.

He stopped and stared at Greg, something seemed... Familiar. He frowned and tilted his head to the side.

Why.

That damn point of light wa...

His eyes widened and he let out a breath. "Oh..."

[seaweed_writes]

Greg looks surprised at first. He thought it'd just been hyperbole, that Sherlock was being... well.. Sherlock and stretching the truth. But even if he hadn't been a detective, he would have seen the bandage on John's neck. Immediately he felt bad. John really had injured himself, and this had been a bad idea.

But it was too late now, he was here.

'Are, you okay?" He asked, taking in the shocked expression on John's face. "I can come back another time if you'd both rather. I had no idea John'd been 'urt." He spared a quick look to Sherlock, who looked as puzzled as he did about the look on John's face.

"John?" Sherlock asked quietly, question and concern in his voice. The man looked like he had seen... a ghost perhaps? He wasn't quite sure.

[ihadabadday]

He made a quick motion with his hand, momentarily freezing the room. He stepped out of the kitchen and walked over to Greg. Could it really be that easy? Could one of them be right here?

He pursed his lips together. If this didn't work. If Greg wasn't what he suspected...

He put his hands on Greg's face and closed his eyes. He thought of his King's most faithful knight. Galahad.

It fit.

If Greg was... There was no one else that he could be.

He pulled his hands back and let just Greg unfreeze, keeping Sherlock suspended.

[seaweed_writes]

One moment, John had been just walking out of the kitchen, and the next moment, John was right here, just centimeters away, pulling his hands back to his sides. He looked around, and his pulse jumped, his eyes going wide.

Sherlock was sitting where he had just been, but he wasn't moving a muscle, wasn't blinking, wasn't even breathing!
He stumbled back a step, his coppers' instincts coming to bear. He sure wished that he had a gun right about now. He didn't think he;d need,it going to 221B Baker Street.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

Greg looked around, panicking, trying to keep his wits about him. "Wha' the hell is goin' on here?" He yelled, looking back to John, who seemed to be taking this all quite calmly.

[ihadabadday]

"You're in there, aren't you. Memories just under the surface..." John mused, "Do you have dreams about impossible things?"

He didn't stop to let Greg answer. "Do you see things out of the corner of your eye that don't make sense? Flashes of another life?"

"Tell me. Do you?"

He had to know.

He needed to know.

He had last found Galahad during World War II. He had been in the front lines. Many of the others had been as well.

They had only been missing their King.

[seaweed_writes]

He listened with rapt attention. Of course he had had weird dreams, feelings. That was part of the reason that he was estranged from his wife. He had told her about it, and she thought that he was going mad, so he he never, ever told another soul.

Should he tell this man, this doctor and ex-soldier that he had only known for 3 months, and only because of Sherlock?

He opened his mouth, at first, with the intention of lying, but the words that came from his mouth almost didn't seem like his own.

"I..... have." He admitted, surprising himself, but he continued, guessing that the cat was out of the bag anyways now. I've had dreams where I was... " He hesitated, this sounded to stupid to say it out loud. "I.. er.. was a knight. I remember great battles, impossible magic, and a king, our king, struck down in his prime." He sighed and ran a hand over his eyes.

"You must think me a loony." He looked around. "But that still doesn't explain why everything else around us isn't moving... What the 'ell is goin' on here, John?"

[ihadabadday]

He laughed and smiled. "You brilliant, nutter." John shook his head.

A knight. Here.

A knight.

But that meant the King would wake eventually. Was he ready for that?

"Magic is real. So are the knights."

John took a leap and held out his hand. Ab image appeared, of a battlefield. Not one where the king was struck down. No. He never revisited that memory.

[seaweed_writes]

"Magic is.... real?" Greg cocked his head to the side. Once again, he looked over to Sherlock, who still hadn't moved. Well, he had no other way to describe what was happening right now.

"Magic.. and knights? What knights, John? What are you talking about?"

Before he could ask anything else, John was holding out his hand. Greg looked at it for a moment, not sure if he wanted to take it, this was all so strange. But he trusted this man, even if he couldn't describe what the hell was going on.

The moment he took John's hand, all the things he had seen in his dreams came back to him.

But it was so real.

He could smell the fires of battle, feel the breeze through his hair, see the men in their battle dress, swords and pikes ready to fight, and to die.

He looked down at his own hands, and saw that he wore leather gauntlets, and held a sword in one hand and a wooden shield in the other.

"What the-" At that moment he blinked back to 221b, his heart was racing, his breath fast and shallow... What the hell had that just been?

[ihadabadday]

"Memories. Your memories." He said softly, "not mine. Yours. My place was with someone else. Of course, I looked far different back then."

He released Greg's hand.

"Say your name. You must know it. Please."

There was hope in him. For the first time in ages. He had hope. Hope that things were happening. That maybe he would get to see his King again.

[seaweed_writes]

Of course Greg knew his name it was..

"G-Galahad?" He stuttered out, once again surprising himself by saying something contrary to what he was going to say.

"Was... that my name... in.. another life?" He asked. His knees felt weak, and he stumbled over to Sherlock's chair, slumping down in it, not even caring what Sherlock would say.

Wait. He was still frozen.

Greg looked over to Sherlock, then back to John. "What... is.. this.. what am I? What are you?" Even as he said it, the visions in his head became clearer, the dreams he could remember more vivid.

What was happening to him? Had he finally gone around the bin? Was he has loony as his wife said he was?

[ihadabadday]

"You know who I am. You know. Just as you know who you are."

John moved over to his chair and sat down. "My place was by the King's side." Oh the guilt. The guilt for letting the King die. For not protecting him. He would live with that forever.

"You're not crazy. The memories bleed into your life until you fully accept who you are. What you are."

[seaweed_writes]

Greg's eyes thinned for a moment, the he reared back, his eyes wide.

"M-M-Merlin?" He asked, his voice shaky. "Is... that you?" He shook his head. "B-but... how? I'm just a lowly copper, not some legend that kids read in Secondary School. I thought they were just legends...But.."

He paused and looked over to Sherlock. There was something about him, but... what? He looked back to John with a question in his eyes.

"What about.. Sherlock? I... assume you are somehow freezing this room, or maybe this building.. But... Sherlock.. does he know about any of this?"

[ihadabadday]

"You were never a lowly copper Greg. Even before this. You're so much more." He said firmly, staring at the man. "You are brilliant and you do your job so well. Yes sometimes you're out of your element and need Sherlock's help. But those are the odd cases."

He shook his head. "You're brave and steadfast. You're kind and guiding. And if I ever hear you say you're a lowly copper again, I'll kick your arse."

"No. Sherlock doesn't know any of this. Magic goes against everything he knows. I thought it best that I not share that part of my life with him."

[seaweed_writes]

Greg took this all in, giving John a little smirk about the arse kicking comment. When John was done, he was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"So..." He finally started. "What... does this all mean? I mean, if you're the reincarnation of Merlin, and I'm the reincarnation of Galahad.. I mean.. does that change anythin'? Well, I mean, it changed everything, turned my world upside down, but.. will things be different now? Will I start doin' something else?" He had a million questions and no answers.

"I mean, there has to be a reason you sprung all this on me now. You can' just tell me, 'Hey, you're the reincarnation of a famous knight from an millennia ago and then just expect me to do nothin' about it."

[ihadabadday]

"I'm not a reincarnation Greg." He said after a moment, "I'm the same person I was then. It's been a very long life."

"I didn't wake you. You were already waking, I just helped it along. There is something threatening Britain. But I don't know what."

John got up. "Get back to where you were before I froze the room."

[seaweed_writes]

"Not a....." Greg paused. "That would make you.. a thousand years old. But... how.. and am I a relative of the original Galahad?" With every answer came more questions.

HIs mind was still boggling when Greg gave the command to get back where he had been. Sherlock was observant, if he moved even a bit the man would know, so he went back to where he hoped and thought he'd been standing, hoping he was close enough to not raise suspicion.

He did the best he could to try to clear his mind so he wouldn't look as boggled as he felt right now.

"Okay, I am ready. But you and I need to have a long talk, John Watson." He said in a stern voice, then went to the stance and position he has been in what now seemed like a lifetime ago.

[ihadabadday]

John just winked at him and then made sure it was in place before unfreezing the room.

"Sherlock, maybe a case is just what we need." He said to the man, "I'm fine."

He finished cleaning, or looking like he was cleaning and stepped into the sitting area.

[seaweed_writes]

Greg couldn’t help but give a small smile and a shake of his head, but before Sherlock could question him, he filled the man in on the case. Greg hadn’t even finished before the tall lanky detective was on his feet and gathering his coat and scarf.

“John, rest up. I may be late.” As much as Sherlock would have liked to have John along, he’d been in hospital not 24 hours ago.

He turned to Greg. “Let’s go, Gavin.”

[ihadabadday]

John huffed and then rolled his eyes. Fine then. Once Sherlock and Greg left, he threw himself on the couch. Damn it.

The lanky idiot was going to get himself hurt.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock was honestly surprised that John didn't put up more of a fight. It was strange, but something he would file away for later.

It ended up taking until near midnight. What has started out as barely a 7 turned out of be a solid 8 or maybe even a 9. It had mystery, intrigue, and more plot twists that that movie about dead people. Sherlock of course couldn't be arsed to remember its name.

By the time Sherlock returned to the flat, it was pat midnight. He assumed that John would be asleep, so he took the stairs quietly, avoiding the creaking third step, and and without a word, hung up his coat and scarf before turning towards the living room.

[ihadabadday]

John as asleep on the couch. He had removed the bandage from his neck. There was no wound, just a faint scar.

Sherlock had seen the wound when the nurses changed the bandage when he was in the hospital.

John shifted and moved onto his side. "Arthur..." he muttered. It was the same annoyed tone he tended to take with Sherlock from time to time.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock saw John's sleeping form and grabbed one of Mrs. Hudson's homemade afghans from the airing cupboard. He came back to gently lay it on John when he noticed.

Where was the scar? He'd almost been killed yesterday, and there was only the tiniest mark where the scalpel had only been millimeters away from his jugular.

He leaned in closer, trying to study the wound, when John turned over and muttered the one word.

Arthur.

The afghan dropped from Sherlock's hands, falling into a quiet pile on the floor at his feet. He could feel his world whiting out again. He could see knights, and magic and...

What was going on?

Without even realizing what he was doing, he put his hands to his head and yelled out ":Stop!" while shutting his eyes tight against the sudden throbbing pain in his head..

And in his shoulder.

[ihadabadday]

John was awake in an instant. He shot up and grabbed Sherlock's shoulders. "What is it? What happened? Sherlock!"

Panic gripped him. What was going on? Was this related to him? He wasn't sure. He pressed his forehead to Sherlock's. He had to see. See what Sherlock was. It would be the only way he could figure it out.

He didn't was harm to come to his flatmate. He cared for him. He... His throat tightened. He suspected he loved him. But that was neither here nor there.

"Relax. I have you. It's alright. You're safe." John whispered to the man.

[seaweed_writes]

The moment John shot up and pressed his forehead to his own, the pain stopped instantly, like a light switch had been turned off.

What was going on here? The mystery grew deeper and deeper.

Sherlock relaxed under John's touch. The visions came back, but this time it was real, not like he was watching it from afar, but like he was there. He could smell and touch and see everything, the grass under his feet and the mutton in the air from cookfires and the gleam of steel weapons and armor.

"What... is this?" He said, though one one around seemed to hear him speaking. He was here, but he was alone, and he had no idea what was happening to him. Was this a dream, or was it more?