Chapter Text
He had anticipated the terror a sea so vast would inflict upon his soul the very moment the water touched his skin —never having been particularly, or at all, fond of deep waters— but the cold came as a surprise. Night had rendered the water just above freezing and all the muscles in his body suffered greatly for it. His body began to sink slowly, the coat floating around him as if he were suspended in a night firmament so dark you could hardly see anything around you, and nothing from below.
Perhaps it would have been good measure to try this spell before literally diving headfirst into it, but caution had never really been his forte. Him, hardly a ‘beginner’ in any circumstance. Now was the perfect and only time to perform it, to satisfy his curiosity on seeing whether he could really circumvent his inability —or inexistent desire to learn how— to swim using magic and never bother with it again after its usefulness had been spent. He didn’t see himself making use of such a spell again when it didn’t involve getting a hold of his stray sister, and he knew himself enough to know he would have never even attempted so if not for the desperate circumstances; what better motivation was there than his own destruction upon failure?
He concentrated beyond the panic and distress as the enchantment in his mind rushed through him and he did his best to ride the undertow. His lungs filled with oxygen and the water around him appeared to support his weight instead of desiring to pull him under. He had no way of reliably determining how deep the ocean bed was from his feet or how many kilometres the water around him extended. And he found he didn’t care. Stupid small things such as time and measures were of no consequence there, where the black stretched around him endlessly. For the first time in eons he didn’t feel as if he were sinking through the surface of the earth. The fear was not gone. It was very much present still, but it was exactly what made him relish this, now that there was no threat of succumbing to its force, the fear was welcome.
The spell had worked.
Some oceanic night creatures crept around him, not close enough to interact, but Sherlock could discern their shapes passing by through the darkness. He continued forward, the alien sensation of moving across water making him smirk in curiosity as he advanced. His silver gaze scanned what he was able to in his proximity, swiftly covering some space in his search for the witch of the sea he had misplaced after his attempt to banish her back into The Isle; with no way of knowing whether he had been successful.
For a few seconds he squinted at his surroundings, but there was no way he would be able to find someone as skilled at hiding with such poor lighting. There was no reason to be inconspicuous now, if his sister was indeed still roaming those tides, she knew he was there the moment his heavy boots had touched the water. In his head he composed a string of chants and created a spell to aid him. After a moment, the rebel opened his eyes slowly, anticipating the full view of the ocean’s depths, only to find no change before him. The rebel turned around, frowning as he calculated the reason his spell didn’t seem to have made a difference. His vision wandered aimlessly, until from above him, he was startled to make out tiny little sparks that appeared hovering near the surface. First just a few, then hundreds growing bright as they created a shinning ceiling over him made entirely of glowing jellyfish. The vast of the oceans lighting up around it as he hovered alone below.
Sherlock wasn’t one to care for such things, beauty not often an important detail for him to note. He noticed it as he took in any other information to assess from an object, only relevant as a mean to the end of understanding the deductions entering his brain. Yet not even him could dismiss this. His kaleidoscope eyes turned upwards to wonder at the incredible sight as they too reflected back the tiny blue ocean stars. Thankfully Lestrade and Irene were not there to watch him gape at the sight like an idiot.
He smiled in satisfaction at how his intention had been interpreted by the universe, then turned to face once again the vastness of the sea, except now its mysterious planes had revealed some of their secrets. He could see the animals more clearly and in the distance he could barely make out a shape, some silhouette partially concealed by the colourful reefs —now painted with an azure glow— in his line of vision. A very large silhouette, that was potentially more massive than he could calculate from his position.
He swam forwards —still attempting to lock the sensation to the furthest part of his Mind Palace where it could not send his concentration away from the chasm that was currently keeping him alive— and rushed to it, recognising the shape as a sunken ship once he was close enough to notice the broken mast and vessel body. It appeared to be part of the royal’s fleet. There was even a wooden mermaid carved smiling at the figure head, but the violet-haired boy doubted her rotten expression had been any less disturbing before it had capsized. The whole ship had suffered severe water damage, as if it had been there for several cycles already, and he quickly recognised the reason.
The wood on one side looked as if it had been attacked by cannons or some other instrument of combustion. Almost the whole rear left side was gone; and there were scorch marks at the edges of the remaining planks. He figured this was the perfect place for a psychotic pirate to hole up in and he may as well had found the biggest entrance.
The inside was in no better shape than the exterior. If anything, the decaying furniture was even more striking in its vacancy of living entities. The destruction left no survivors in terms of material possessions, but he couldn’t identify anything that indicated human —or humanoid— remains, as if the ship had already been empty before it had gone under.
A battle was the most probable explanation, and judging by its location it could only mean one thing. For not the first time Sherlock wondered whether The War of the Light had really been intended at such scale or if it had just spiralled out of the royal’s hands. Surely even morons like them should have known the amount of desolation it would leave behind would not work in either of their favours. Or perhaps that was exactly the point, since there was already someone perfect in which to place all the blame; that's not to say his mother wasn’t deserving of much more than what she actually got though.
He sighed and inspected his surroundings once more for good measure, even if he suspected that for all the deserted piece of goods present, what he was really looking for wouldn’t be found there. It was a stretch and he knew it, Eurus was not Moriarty, irony or satire were not anywhere near her brand, but he had no other leads.
Sherlock stretched his body forward, letting the coat float behind him as he silently analysed what remained of a drawing desk for any clues. Finding none, he moved on to what was left of the sofa and next to it he found a chest. An old-fashion metal trunk intricately chiseled and appearing to have come out from every stereotypical nautical fairy-tale. The rebel rolled his eyes in exasperation at always finding himself in such situations and pushed the lid open, taking in the shiny gold contents, which appeared to be just normal riches as he had anticipated. His hand extended and picked up a medallion, he frowned as his silver gaze took in its engraving. It appeared to be some royally owned ancient relic that was probably worth millions. Sherlock stared at his own reflection on its metal surface for a moment, then tossed it aside when something far more interesting caught his vision. Through a hole in the structure of the ship he could see several pale rock formations outside, however, their shapes were not in mere amorphic nature; but distinct and recognisable in pattern.
The silver gazed moved towards the opening to confirm his deductions and wonder at the unexpected sight of human statues. Dozens of them, standing at the bottom of the ocean in no particular arrangement. Dead eyed, still and silent. And quite eerie in their own questioning existence. Whoever had sculpted them had clearly been at the height of skill, since they were so life-like you could almost perceive vibrance underneath their stone-made skin. The rebel felt a cloying sensation invade him the more he stared.
Sherlock pondered whether the same villain responsible for the black ritual in the woods could have placed them there as some part of their chasm, and if perhaps the ship was searching for them before being attacked. Not realising they were being murdered just on top of what they so desired to find. What he couldn’t understand was why there was no hint of any of this in any book he encountered, and why the kingdom was filled with gaps in information every way he turned. He made sure to add it to the ever-growing list of cases to which there appeared to be no solution. Once this whole ‘Eurus roaming free and Moriarty potentially cursing the whole kingdom in advance’ business was done, —granting he had managed to come out of it not dead or in custody— he anticipated to be very busy finding answers to every one of them.
The rebel stared at the sculptures a moment more, the quiet mystery not abating from his soul. He swam backwards, anxious to proceed and get this whole thing over with so he could return to yearned dry land; when he heard something through the waves. A faint noise that sounded very much like drowned laughter but with nothing ordinary to be found in it. The same he had heard on the woods and had seemed to follow him all the way there. While his heart pounded in his ears, he rushed towards it, expecting to find proof of what he already suspected; he passed banks of fish until the ship’s outline was just a shadow in the distance at his back; but every time he thought he was coming closer, the direction from which it came changed, and after several minutes of chasing it he looked around to find he had been led adrift.
Sherlock had no idea how much he had traveled, and the echoing was beginning to make him feel dizzy once more, the water around him pressing on him despite the spell he had casted, like something unnatural was attempting to either pull him in or expel him out of the ocean. Thankfully, the violet-haired boy was nothing if not stubborn, and being in the water was already distressing enough to render any other feeling of anxiety moot. No matter if his siren sister wanted him out of her dominion, or even if this was her attempt of an attack, he would not abandon his search so easily.
He barrelled forward, reciting enchantments to counter every malediction the tides were trying to inflict on him. If the ocean wanted him out, it would have a hard time achieving it. John could attest to the fact that if he wanted to stay, there was no force, natural or otherwise, that could move him. He ignored the siren song, knowing it only wanted to strand him or guide him too far out into the sea he wouldn’t be able to find his way back home; his eyes were his best lighthouse now, as he followed the route he had mapped out before and inspected for clues under the magical glow of the jellyfish.
After some time, he was almost anxious to give up, the sun probably threatening to rise soon and he was not looking forward to the questions that would arise were he to come late to breakfast. ‘Oh! I was out all night searching for my deranged half sister and found impossible magic-sucking fire and creepy human statues at the bottom of the ocean.’ was not an answer John would appreciate much. Specially since he had the peculiar habit of wanting —nay, needing— to accompany him whenever the situation looked dangerous. Sherlock deduced he never really did shake off his dream of becoming a healer or a knight.
However, he felt as if he had no right to abandon his search this early; he was responsible for the majority of the things happening at the moment. And with that thought in mind, he proceeded. Turning to go back and try another area, but he halted when he encountered himself in dire circumstances again.
There, at the bottom of depths unknown, little blue flames were burning underwater, scattered around the ocean floor like tiny candles. Too many to count. Far too many to contain; and he was probably the only one in the kingdom who knew about them.
His insides twisted at the sight, as his blood curdled and the unavoidable need to breathe real air became imperative in his soul. He gasped, not recognising his own reactions, and found the grip on his spell waning, slipping through his fingers as his intention was completely erased from his mind. The honesty gone from his adamant statement of wanting to remain in the water a moment longer. Sherlock recognised he had lost, and had to get to the surface or the chasm would break and he would drown in the very near future.
Swiftly, he swam upwards to the best of his abilities, trying to aid himself with a bit of magic, but to no avail, his clothed figure and frightened brain pulled him under with every move he made. He gasped for air, his lungs burning at the lack of oxygen as his limbs struggled to save him. The tiny sparks around him still shinning, going blurry as his vision swam.
Then, as he started to ponder the real possibility of dying, he felt something at his back, some invisible force that pushed him upwards and all but threw him out of the sea. The moment his figure broke out of the water line he felt life return to him in a rush of clear oxygen. The curse echoing inside his brain vanished into the very early morning air while he panted and fought to stay afloat. The wet curls on his head were plastered to his forehead as he frowned and looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. His kaleidoscope eyes soon found the shore. There, in the distance, beneath the now lilac brush strokes in the sky, was the golden castle of Auradon’s royal family, standing in the middle of obscured flora and a thriving city. What Sherlock had come to know only as ‘John’s home’ and which made his chest constrict at the mere sight of. Although that could very well be the oxygen deprivation.
Not bothered —or willing— to attempt swimming that far, the violet-haired figured out an enchantment for the waves around him to bring him there, and after a few moments his body was finally emerging at the beach, wet to the bone in the silent white sand coast.
With a flick of his hand Sherlock returned his figure and hair to their original perfection and sighed, resisting the urge to stew; definitely not displaying what John often called ‘one of his sulks’. He would figure it out, and no amount of vast oceans would stop him. He could take everything this kingdom could throw at him and more.
Granted, the rebel would have been enraged to come home empty handed if it weren’t for the fact that new mysteries were as appealing to him as the most delicious chocolate-dipped strawberries. He decided the situation was beyond what he had ever experienced and, not taking into account the bruised confidence, he was adamant to solve it. No matter how unsolvable it looked, how surreal it had been. Were he prone to flights of fancy as John was, he would say it all had felt as if a dream had swallowed him into its clutches.
He made his way back to the castle with sure steps, the rising sun over the Auradon landscape a backdrop as he walked towards the day and left the night behind. Not remembering that a dream long left untended would surely become a nightmare.