ihadabadday | In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed

None of the other gods understood why Sherlock had taken the job of Hades, the Lord of the Dead. It was dark, depressing, morbid.

All the things that Sherlock enjoyed.

So he settled into the job, with its ferrying souls and mortals asking for favors, and the occasional visit to Cerebus, his three headed dog that he had nicknamed 'Redbeard' because the blood that dripped from his center head often made a red ringed "beard" of blood around his chin.

It was interesting enough, he figured, as far as jobs went. Eons passed and he did his job well, listening to all of the Blood Whispers. Sometimes they were to him, sometimes to other gods. It amused him to hear what mortals thought about in their dying moments. Many thought of family, others of what they had never been able to do. The most interesting ones were the ones who were angry with the gods for letting them die.

It wasn't the gods' faults what these idiotic mortals did to kill themselves.

Lately, he had been spending time watching the war in Afghanistan. Oh, there were lots of very gruesome deaths there. Always a treat to see the new and interesting ways those pitiful humans found to kill each other.

One rather boring day, he heard a Blood Whisper come in. A human, one of those.. doctor people. He had been trying to help others when he was shot.

Well, a shame that.

He was about to look elsewhere when he listened to the plea. It wasn't for himself, but for others. This man, in his almost dying moments, wasn't even thinking about himself.

How... fascinating.

He couldn't make the man survive, he could only find the dead, but thankfully, the man called John Watson did survive.

Sherlock thought about the man after his image faded from the crystal he used to view the Overworld. Occasionally, he would check up on the man. He had no idea why this human was constantly in his thoughts. Even though he had no money, he gave to charities and helped other veterans.

There is no way that this man was a normal human, a regular mortal. There had to be more to him.

Sherlock took his human form, about 6 foot tall, lean and chiseled, wearing black shoes, black trousers, and a long black coat over a shirt that was so dark red that it almost looked black as well.

Unfortunately, when he walked the mortal plane, though he couldn't die, he had no powers either. A couple of hoodlums found him in an alley in a city called.. London.. yes it was London, and tried to beat him up for money that he didn't have. He had no Overworld currency to use. but they didn't like his weird way of speaking and looking, so they beat him .

Until HE arrived.

Sherlock couldn't believe it. It was the mortal, John Watson who scared the men away.

The scrying crystal had done him no justice when it came to how the man looked. For a moment Sherlock was silent, before he adopted what he hoped was a decent London accent.

"John Watson." He said, his voice a low baritone with a resonance that was just this side of not human.

Edited 2018-02-01 21:09 (UTC)

John's head snapped up, his normally blue eyes a blistering gold. He lifted the cane and pointed it at the man. He didn't say anything before the aura around him faded and he stumbled forward a bit. He was able to put his cane under him in time to keep himself from tumbling and falling. He gasped, feeling as if something was... Something was. He wasn't sure. There was this odd feeling in his chest.

But at the same time he felt weak, cold and his limbs were heavy. He looked up at the man, his own face pale. The man looked like... He wasn't sure. The man wasn't human though, he could tell.

"How do you know who I am?" He asked. John was surprised with how steady his voice sounded when his body was not.

Sherlock's eyebrows went up.

Well, that was.. unusual.

So that was why I was so.. drawn to his aura. There is something else about this man. He is mortal, but not.. fully mortal. There is something within in. And it looks like it is something that he doesn't even know exists, something he taps without thinking about it.

That is why this fascinating little man had survived when others had died around him.

But what was it? He wasn't sure, yet.

Sherlock took his jacket and wrapped it around the man. It was way too large and long for him, but it would keep him warm until he regained his senses fully.

"I heard you." He said simply. He didn't usually go around announcing that he was the god of the underworld, but this man intrigued him like no one else in eons ever had.

John straightened, shrugging the coat off. He looked at the man, still a touch pale, but slowly coming back into himself. "Good for you." He spat, "Now if you will excuse me."

It was a fine line between the anger that simmered in him and the ingrained politeness to strangers. He turned and started to walk back to the mouth of the alley. John Watson was not one to meddle in the affairs of gods, if that was what this man was. He knew there were plenty of regular people who pretended to be gods to get things.

Sometimes the actual gods found out, sometimes not. He would rather not deal with what might be a fake right now.

He stepped out of the darkness of the alley and into the sun. The warmth helped. His shoulders relaxed and more color rushed to his face.

Sherlock, with reflexes faster than that of a human's, caught the coat before it fell to the nasty Overworld ground. He put it back on, taking a little whiff. His senses far exceeded a normal mortals, that included his reflexes and his sense of smell.
He smelt a hint of gun grease, sandalwood aftershave, a cheap shampoo, the fatty, soapy smell of his cleaning products.

And underneath it all, just a tiny whiff of the man himself, musky and.. quite alluring.

John had walked out to the end of the alley by the time Sherlock had noticed. He ran after the man, hissing when he stepped into the sun. It didn't weaken him or anything stupid like that, but he wasn't a fan of it.

"You don't believe me." He said to John, his voice even and low.

"I don't have the time to fall into the delusions of those who have visions of grandeur." John snapped as he walked down the street.

And he didn't. He didn't care. Gods had failed this world, they sat back while things went to ruin. They laughed and they joked while innocents died. People who had no place in war, in strife. He was angry at the gods. He didn't care if this was a god. To him it was just a man. An irritating man. Maybe he should have let the mugger cut his pretty face.

"Hmmph, delusions of grandeur, indeed." He smirked to himself.

He fell into step behind John. Once they were in sync, he grabbed John's arms and closed his eyes, willing himself (and the person onto whom he was holding) back to the Underworld.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in front of Cerberus, who growled and licked his lips, thinking that his master had brought him another nice treat from the Overworld. The heads nipped at each other, trying to lunge at the new meat.

"Cerberus. No. Stay." The creature whimpered and dropped his heads.

John, to his credit, did not panic. He stared blankly at the three headed dog before turning back to the man. "Take me back." He said coldly. One of light, such as John, did not belong in this place.

He did not flinch as he stared down this god, this sham of a man who no doubt walked the Earth to take what he wanted. And he was not about to be another trophy this this god.

Hmm.. the man wasn't pissing himself in fear. This John Watson never ceases to amaze Sherlock.

"I can't." He answered simply. "I can only walk the Overworld once in every one of your mortal years."

That gave him time to explore this man, and figure out what was different about him. He was not a normal mortal, and Sherlock wanted to know

"Follow me, if you don't want Cerberus to eat you." He started to walk towards his main entrance room.

John snarled, that aura starting to appear. It resonated in this place, almost singing. He clenched his hand tightly into a fist, but stubbornly, irritatingly followed that man. He had to find a way out. A way back to London and his home there. This man abducted him form his life. From everything he had known.

The deeper they went, the more the glow around him seemed to grow. Almost as if it was trying to summon something.

Sherlock felt an odd tingling behind him. When he looked back over his shoulder, he could see, and feel the aura around this man. He stopped and turned around, trying to figure out what was going on with this mortal.

Or was he?.

"What.... are you, John Watson?" He stepped closer to the man, staring at him, taking him all in, his look, his smell.

There was something.. powerful about this man, and it both interested and aroused Sherlock.

"A soldier." He answered, "If you can't take me home, find someone who will." There was a force behind his voice, a tone that indicated to many that he was not one to be messed with. That his words were to be taken as orders.

He didn't flinch as he stared down the god, the man who controlled the underworld. He wasn't scared, he had long ago given up on the gods among them.

Sherlock chuckled, a low, rumbling laugh that echoed around the huge 'throne room'.
He was MUCH more than just a soldier. And Sherlock was going to find out how.

"The only others here besides Cerberus, you, and myself are all of the souls of the dead that I have collected over aeons I don't think any of them would be able to help you." He swept his hand around.

"Feel free to try to ask them, but don't fall into the Pool of Souls. Even I can't get you out. "

John's careful mask of calm cracked, and one could see the anger that was hiding under it. There was a rim of gold to his eyes and he just... The entire 'throne room' seemed brighter.

There were only few that could brighten the realm that Hades called home. But none of them were John Watson. So how was he doing it?

Sherlock took a few steps back.. For the first time in eons, he actually felt a little bit of fear. There was a power of the gods in this man. But who, and why? Was he one of those half breeds? Some of the gods liked to doodle around with mortal women. Usually this killed them, but occasionally they lived, and even less occasionally there was actually a prodigy that came of it. And when there was a child, the gods almost always took care of it. Maybe they had missed one.

But.. who was his sire, then?

"What.. are... you..?" He asked, his voice actually sounding not completely sure of himself.

"Take me back to London." He demanded. John didn't care about protocol or standards or anything these gods did. He wanted his own life back. As miserable as it was to some, it was still his life and he was working to make it better for people.

"If you can't, get someone who can or I will bring this place down around your ears!"

Sherlock frowned. "I already told you that I cannot. I was not lying when I said that I cannot go back. What do you expect me to do, have Cerberus put you in his mouth and take you up there to drop you off?" He was the god of death, it wasn't like he just popped up to Olympus to see the gods all the time. He couldn't ask them to help this... whatever he is.

If he was a half god, there was no way that he was going to be able to bring down the underworld.

"Okay, this is tedious." Sherlock was tired of this, being threatened in his own land. He held out his hand towards John. Electricity flew from his fingertips. shocking John and taking him down.

"I do not want to spend a year down here because you were too damn oblivious for your own good!" he snapped at the man. He was not backing down, where some would... He di dnot.

John was no match for the God of the Underworld. He collapsed into a heap, the aura fading, bringing the throne room back to darkness.

Who was John Watson? How was he related to the gods?

He breathed out a little sigh. "Much better."

While John was unconscious, Sherlock ran his hand down the man's cheek. "What are you, John Watson?" He had asked the question, multiple times, and he was still no closer to having the question answered.

Sherlock levitated the man, so he was floating in the air, trailing behind him as he took John to another room. He burnt off the man's clothes, leaving him as naked as the day he was born, and chained him up so that the chains kept him in a kneeling position, even as he was unconscious, the chains held his weight.

"You are going to stay there for a while, and I am going to get to the bottom of who you *REALLY* are, John Watson."

He stood for a moment, admiring the fine, chisled lines of his body. He couldn't fight the arousal that rose within him, but he tamped it down. A god having an affair with a mortal was why this man was here right now. That was the mystery to be solved.

It took all his willpower to walk away from John without having his way with him. It wouldn't have been the first time that he had.. dallied with the unwilling. But something stopped him when it came to John. Even he wasn;t sure what that was.

Finally he left and went to his scrying crystal. He was going to call in some favors from the powers above- literally.

John wasn't sure how long he had been out when he came to. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. He tried to move, and that's when he realized that he was one, completely nude and two, chained.

Panic tried to set in, but he took a deep breath. Panic would not help now. John tugged at the chains, but found them to be stronger than anything he had encountered in the past. He tried to pull his head back. But he had a collar around that tightened if he moved too far.

Fuck. He was confused and aroused. And fuck.

Sherlock stalked over to the scrying crystal. He wasn't looking forward to this.

He attuned himself to it, then sent out a summons through it for Zeus.

Of course his brother kept him waiting for a while. Sherlock was anxious to get back to see how his prisoner was doing. He was feeling a bit lusty and wanted to see if the possible half god could take him. If not, oh well. He would get another plaything later.

Finally, Zeus showed up.

"Mycroft."

"Brother mine. What do you want?" Of course he sounded annoyed, He always sounded annoyed.

"I need to know about a mortal. I think he may be the child of a god." Usually Sherlock didn't like to play all his cards at once, reveal his hand, but in this case, curiosity trumped mind games with his brother.

"A mortal? What do you care about a-" There was a pause. "Oh, found a new... goldfish have we?"

"No." Sherlock replied pertulantly.

Oh, he could hear Mycroft's smile in his answer.

"Another like that... Adler woman? She was nice, but she didn't last very long. Didn't have fortitude to handle a god."

"Mycroft..."

He sighed. "Fine. Who is it?"

"John Watson, of London, England. In the Overworld."

"I'm sure there are a lot of John Watsons in London, Sherlock. You have to do better."

"He was a solider. I saw how he held himself, his hair and stance were military. And he was injured. He used a cane but the injury was not to the leg. I am guessing left shoulder. Short, stocky, about 1.7 meters at the most. Sandy brown hair, very dark blue eyes. I met him on Gower Street, so he most likely lived close by. That should be enough to go on."

Mycroft was quiet for a moment.

"And, what do I get in return?"

"A favor to call in later. Look, are you going to do it or not?"

Mycroft sighed again. "Fine. I had nothing better to do today. Summon me this time tomorrow. I should have your answer for you. "

"Thank you."

"And try not to kill him. Yet. If he is the son of a god, then we are going to have some.. questions for him."

Mycroft rang off before Sherlock could answer.

Well, that meeting had killed his lust. But maybe seeing his new little plaything all naked, chained up, and helpless would help.

He looked down at the clothes that he hadn't bothered changing out of since he went to the Overworld, and the tenting in the front of those trousers he had created.

Apparently, it already was.

Eagerly he headed back towards his antechamber to see if John was awake.

Not that his state of consciousness would stop what was going to happen, anyway.

John's head shot up when he heard someone coming. He swallowed as he composed himself. He did not want his captor to see his panic.

That neutral expression came over his face and he just relaxed. The tension eased out of him.

He had to survive a year, at least. If he could do that, he could return to London. But then what? He will have been reported missing, people would have been looking for him. He would worry about that when the time came. For now he would need to simply survive.

"Ah, awake, are we? Good." He said, striding into the room. "I prefer my meat... alive and wiggling."

Sherlock stopped in front of John, looking him over again. "A bit more well endowed than the normal mortal, though, not the.. finest specimen that I have seen." He walked in a semicircle around John, admiring him from all views. "Quite takeable, I am sure." He sounded like he had come to a decision.

"Putting on the brave, hero face, I see. Such a noble man you are, John Watson." Sherlock leaned down and held John's face in his hands, his long fingers leaving little red burn marks where he touched John's cheeks. "I will find out who you are. I will have my fun with you, and maybe if I'm feeling generous, I will give you over to my brother before I kill you"

He leaned in and gave John's face a long lick with his slightly forked tongue.

"Or... maybe not."

John hissed when the man, no god, touched him. It stung. It burned. The light against the dark. But he... He didn't know what to do. He was chained, he was naked. And damn it he was feeling uncomfortably horny.

"People have tried to kill me in the past." He snarled, "No one has succeeded." The collar seemed to tighten at those words, as if challenging him.

Sherlock's lips were right against John's ear as he whispered to the man.

"Do you honestly think that I couldn't kill you, if I wanted to? Even if you are a... halfbreed, you have no chance against me. " As he spoke he twiddled his fingers, which caused the collar around his neck to magically tighten, more and more.

"I could choke the life out of you, have my way with you while you were gasping for breath. And maybe, just maybe, you would have the honor of feeling me burn your insides with my essence before you passed out and choked to death."

Just when John was on the verge of passing out, he leaned away and twiddled his long, lithe fingers again and the collar went back to being just uncomfortably tight.

He chuckled. "I think this is turning you on. Oh, you are a little masochist, aren't you? Thinking about me fucking you has you all hot and bothered, doesn't it?"

In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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