Chapter Text
As they rode over the dunes, Sherlock was once again left to his thoughts. Just as he had suspected, Mycroft had readied everything for a hasty departure. At first, Sherlock had wanted to go it alone but both Lestrade and his brother had refused to let him go by himself. Hours later, Sherlock was happy that the two men had been steadfast in their desire to accompany him. For once, he could not do what he planned to alone.
He had been such a fool. Sherlock had never allowed something or someone to cloud his thoughts like he had Captain John H. Watson. However, it wasn’t that he found himself mad at the Captain; no, Sherlock was complete infuriated at himself.
Was it possible for a person to make so many mistakes? To miss so many links that made a clear and straight forward answer? Sherlock had failed in spectacular form and it was disgusting. Now with a long ride before them, all Sherlock could do was surrender to the negative thoughts swirling around in his mind.
He hadn’t came to Egypt expecting anything to change, let alone for his entire understanding on what it meant to be ‘human’ to change. Sherlock had never allowed anyone to get close, yet he had been drawn to the retired medical doctor and former Army Captain like a bee to pollen. There was just something that came with being close to John that made his entire body hum with life.
And Professor Jim Moriarty had seen it. Of course he had seen it. For once, he had been the ‘thick’ one. Blinded by the softer emotions and to look the fool for it. Well, now was his time to fix it all and make it right. It did not matter what the cost- almost any cost. John will survive this gross miscalculation. I refuse to have him die because of what I overlooked.
John’s life was the only sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make.
Moriarty had no idea what monster he had awoken in Sherlock. The sword that his brother had handed him hang heavy on his belt, along with John’s gun- it was strapped under his arm. No, it is a revolver. Webley revolver. Military standard issue 1887 to present day. This one has been kept in perfect servicing condition. John never missed cleaning it. In John’s place, Sherlock intended to use it for its designed purpose.
Sherlock could feel the heavy weight of what those words meant wrapping around him.
Leila, whene'er I gaze on thee
My altered cheek turns pale,
While upon thine, sweet maid, I see
A deep'ning blush prevail.
Leila, shall I the cause impart
Why such a change takes place?
The crimson stream deserts my heart,
To mantle on thy face.
He really had learned Arabic just to impress John.
Sherlock blinked back tears.
----
The sun had gone down and still they carried on. They stopped only when the camels where close to collapsing due to exhaustion. Sherlock felt his insides twist at the time wasting away in giving the animals rest. While it was true that they needed it too, Sherlock didn’t care.
“Drink something.”
Sherlock looked up to see Mycroft offering him a canister. He scoffed at it and looked away. Undeterred, Mycroft pressed it to him again. “It was not a request. I will not be dragging your dehydrated body across this godforsaken desert. Now drink.”
Frowning, Sherlock took the canister and started to drink. Once he had taken his first sip, Sherlock realized how thirsty he really was. He gulped at the warm fluid greedily. Unlike any other time, he could not ignore his body’s need for food and drink. After that, Sherlock ate some of the Aish Merahrah that had been packed for the journey. It was thick in his throat and make Sherlock’s stomach turn.
Sherlock glanced over to watch his brother and Lestrade talking. Mycroft’s hand lingered on the other man’s shoulder. Sherlock smiled bitterly to himself. To others the display would have seemed just friendly, but for Mycroft he was practically declaring undying love. Just like everything else, I have been blind.
Not that he really cared what his older brother did in his personal time. More, that it was further proof that after the conclusion to their journey, nothing could ever be the same again. Life was changing all around him and Sherlock wasn’t sure how much he liked it. He had always been in control, now his entire life, was seeping through his fingers like sand.
None of us are going to leave this the being the same person. We can never be what we once were. That’s if we even come back at all. In that moment, Sherlock knew that he had been childish in many ways- selfishness, blindness and the desire to live by his own rules, no matter what the cost, where only a few of the offenses piled up before him. It was easy to admit once he could look at it with his defenses of self-assurance where down- now that he was vulnerable.
Sherlock gritted his teeth. He was sick of drowning in self-pity. It was clear he had been wrong and now was the time to atone for his sins. He needed focus not on the past but on the present- the future. John needed him and Sherlock refused to let him down ever again.
Even if it meant John could never be his, Sherlock had to save him. Had to give John back the life he would have led if he had never met Sherlock Holmes.
“Let us be on our way.” Mycroft announced once the animals had rested long enough.
Sherlock stretched his legs one final time before getting back onto his horse. Although Sherlock knew they had to keep a moderate pace, so that they didn’t kill the horses before they could arrive to the temple, it barely kept Sherlock from spurring the animal into a frantic gallop.
---
The Temple of Seti I and the Osireion at Abydos.
If it hadn’t held captive the man he loved, Sherlock would have taken time to admire the symmetry and architecture of such a magnificent piece of history. No matter what anyone thought, Sherlock really did adore everything Egyptian and it fascinated him almost as much as his chemistry set did.
It was too easy. The entire temple looked deserted, not a single guard. It set the hairs on Sherlock’s neck up- something was wrong.
Mycroft and Lestrade dismounted but Sherlock turned his horse around, trying to spot an enemy; some sign that he hadn’t been wrong again. He couldn’t be wrong, not about this.
“Sherlock!”
Sherlock whipped his head around at the sound of his brother shouting his name. There was a black cloud erupting from the mouth of the temple. It resembled thick smoke and it spread out to engulf them before they had any time to react.
Sherlock’s horse reared up and he was thrown from the saddle. Hitting the ground hard, Sherlock’s breath was knocked out of him. He gasped for air and tried to reorient where he was. It was impossible to see what direction the temple lay. Sherlock scrambled back up to his legs and let out a grunt of pain when his bruised tailbone sent a jolt up his spine
“Mycroft!” Sherlock yelled. Then he yelled again. No reply.
Sherlock’s shouting was halted when he heard a sound echoing through the thick fog. Suddenly a shot cracked through the air. Sherlock turned his head around wildly but the sound seemed to have come from every direction. Sherlock withdrew his revolver.
Then came the muffled sound of fighting. Through the black fog erupted a figure. Without a second though, Sherlock shot at it. In horror, Sherlock realized what he had done. Opening his eyes, Sherlock saw the remains of a clay man lay at his feet. Sherlock had heard of magic like this but he had never actually expected to see it in practice. Then the fragments of the clay solider erupted into black smoke.
Moriarty had dabbled in powers that Sherlock had barely even fathomed were real. These were magic spells that one had to kill for- it was even thought that one had to turn into a cannibal. It made Sherlock’s skin crawl and in that moment, he knew why he had never been able side with such a man.
Sherlock holstered the revolver to unsheathe his sword. He won’t have enough bullets to deal with what Moriarty was in the middle of unleashing on them. Beside, he wanted to save the bullets for the man who could feel it. Another clay solider broke through the smoke and Sherlock’s sword stabbed him directly in the middle of his torso.
The solider started to crack around the sword and after shattering it erupted into black smoke, merging with the fog that surrounded him. The three of them would never be able to fight off the endless stream of magical warriors. Instead, they needed to run for the entrance of the temple.
After a moment of hesitance, Sherlock put his faith in Mycroft’s ability to reach the same conclusion as he had. After taking a moment to try and orient himself, Sherlock ran in the direction of the temple’s entrance. Another clay solider materialized before him and without a second though, Sherlock cut its head off.
His shirt clung to him with sweat and there was so much sand in his eyes that he was nearly blinded by it. He swung at another clay solider; it was different than cutting into flesh and the way the empty eyes just stared at him made Sherlock look away before the soldiers had even evaporated.
Sherlock felt a weight being lifted from his mind when he caught sight of the stairs leading up to the temple. However, Sherlock did not let his guard down as the clay soldiers continued to attack him even though he was reaching the end of the thick fog. A spear slashed through the smoke and Sherlock barely avoided being stabbed through the shoulder.
With one well placed thrust, the solider’s arm was cut off and then it was cut in half. Sherlock’s lungs burned and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he ran up the stairs. Nearly stumbling, Sherlock caught his footing and darted his way into the entrance of the temple.
The black smoke cleared immediately and Sherlock began to wipe the sand from his eyes. There was no sign of Mycroft or Lestrade but Sherlock couldn’t wait for them. He sent out a quick prayer of protection to them before running toward’s the Main Chapels.
Sherlock’s knuckles were taunt as he gripped his sword tighter. The only light came from the moon. The hot desert air was still stifling and sweat rolled down Sherlock’s brow as he creeped the final distance it took to reach the rooms that the thought held John captive.
When he was a few feet away was when Sherlock first heard the sounds of not being alone in the temple. It sounded like muttering. He could hear nothing else. John’s just been knocked out, that’s all. He is fine. Moriarty would not have killed him. But what was happening? That part still made little sense to Sherlock- what was the end goal to all of this madness?
Even after fighting off clay soldiers that had been brought to life by black magic, it was still nearly impossible to Sherlock to truly admit to himself what was unfolding around him. The fact that other worldly powers were at work and that Sherlock was combating with what had only ever been thought of a superstition. If all the legends of Egypt were true, than Sherlock had more to deal with than he could ever have imagined.
With a chill, Sherlock remembered the Book of the Dead that had gone missing. It was obvious now that it had been stolen with more than just the intent of selling it at a market.
Sherlock fought the urge to run into the Chapel. Instead, crouching down, Sherlock kept to the shadows as he snuck his way in. It wouldn’t help anyone if he was captured. The words that Sherlock could hear, were still completely garbled and his ears strained to just catch a word of it.
When Sherlock’s eyes adjusted to the harsh torch light, Sherlock had to cover his mouth to stop a gasp from escaping it. Clay jars all scattered all around the Chapel, there was a wrapped mummy before the chanting figure and as Sherlock’s eyes scanned the room, he finally saw John.
He was tied up and gagged. John’s body was limp and it was obvious that he had been knocked out. Sherlock’s shoulders stiffened as he took in the scene before him. It was worse than he had feared. Moriarty was bringing someone or something back from the dead.
Sherlock’s eyes turned upward as a bird flew through the hallway he had just come from. The chanting stopped and the figure raised up its hands. The hood fell back and Sherlock knew there was no mistaking that it was Moriarty.
The man’s eyes were bulging and the look on his face was manic as he shouted-
“Come for my soul, O you wardens of the sky! If you delay letting my soul see my corpse, you will find the eye of Horus standing up thus against you ... The sacred barque will be joyful and the great god will proceed in peace when you allow this soul of mine to ascend vindicated to the gods... May it see my corpse, may it rest on my mummy, which will never be destroyed or perish.”
It was a ba-spirit. Moriarty was in the middle of bringing someone back from the dead. Sherlock watched transfixed at the bird circled the mummy. It let out a blood curdling scream then it erupted into a shimmer of light that dissolved into the mummy. After a moment of thick silence, Moriarty returned to his chanting.
The mummy started to move. Sherlock watched in sick fascination as the spirit returned to the corpse. When the chest started to heave with breath, Moriarty let out a crackle of a laugh. He turned to where Sherlock was and head tilted to the side. They eyes locked.
“Enjoying the show? It is about to get a whole lot better.” Moriarty’s teeth gleamed in the torch light.