The necromancer — Chapter 3: The old man

Post Reichenbach. Sherlock returns to London. The London he left behind is long gone to be replaced by something else entirely. AU. Fantasy!lock. Please read and review!

By now the old man was standing at the window. He had finished his tea and had moved about a lot to add drama to the whole story. The tourist just sat there, his tea untouched, his face in a frown. For a bit he had looked around as if half expecting the necromancer to come crashing into him any moment. The story seemed to have affected him deeply. "And you? You never said who you are sir", he said slowly, as if trying to shake off the awe. "Me? The man turned to face him. You may say I am the caretaker of the sleepers….." he chuckled. His eyes held him as he clutched his staff and asked the tourist, "What do you think about the story huh? Would you like to live in a land of dreams boy? Immortal…. I could care for you too then….." he was clutching his staff hard….his knuckles were white….."just like them….only….." With a sudden moment the tourist was up, the chair flying away from him. With lightning speed he caught both the knives that had come spinning towards him from behind. Blood dripped from his palms, and he grabbed his staff. Time stopped breathing then and the scene was revealed. Behind him, there stood a man who looked about the tourist's age, his attacker. Strewn around him were bars of gold. The old man was standing in front of him, his eyes were wide. The tourist was at the table. His handsome face did not betray his past. His thin body held a tremendous amount of strength. And his eyes…..his ice blue eyes burned with the power of a thousand splendid suns. "How dare you try to impersonate me!", he wasn't shouting, but the anger was apparent and his voiced boomed between the two walls. "I remember everything now. You scoundrel, where is the snag in the mist that you use to get in here?" The old man told him. The snag was there no more. "You filthy thieves", the necromancer still in his guise of the tourist nearly spat those words. "No wonder this city is in this state! You have depleted the magic so much…..taken it all away…. Away from the rightful owners, the dreamers. Because of you their dreamworld will be losing its colors and life. Your punishment will be given by them, for eternity. Go, go dream with them but your dream will be a nightmare." And the thieves both collapsed. Their sleeping bodies not betraying a hint of the punishment their souls were facing in the dreamworld. The necromancer remembered everything. How just like this he had been pulled into the city. The terrible disease plaguing the people. He couldn't help them though….. all he could do was this. That's all the Dream lord had given him. But they were happy there, happy once again. Forever. And he remembered Molly. His poor Molly, how she had died. How he had tried everything to bring her back, but she was dead too deep. Even he couldn't help her. Of course he had helped these people, saved all their love! And these were the stories they told of him… He stood there a broken man and all his age was revealed to no one. The wind was howling in the background, weeping for love and loss. He picked up his staff and decided to put himself to sleep as well, final use of the magic. There, he could be with her…..in his dreams... Forever. But before he could do anything the city spat him out onto the outskirts of London. It was still twilight. And his mind already began to forget the city….. he walked on and soon all he remembered was Molly, something to do with Molly. He went to bed that night and dreamed of her. And he was with her…..in sunshine and rain… in summer and winter. He was happy and she would be with him…..Forever.

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