prettybirdy979

Titles: Sterotyicpal Witch
Setting: BBC! Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: John, Sherlock, Lestrade, brief mentions of other cast members
Genre/Warnings: Angst, Drama, Supernatural
Summary: Sherlock and John face a very different type of criminal... Thirteenth in the Witch Verse.
Author's Notes: This was written as a part of NaNoWriMo. I found it while organising my files, realised I hadn't uploaded it and here it is. It was written well before Blue Moon and therefore Lestrade is not aware of John's... differences. =)

Serires starts Here

Another day, another crime scene. John had been dragged along, turned around on his way in the door from work and was now tired, hungry and cold in the winter air. Sherlock was dancing around the scene as normal while Anderson and Lestrade looked on.

The woman here had been found in a locked room, with the outside wall blown out. The odd thing about it was that nothing, except the body and the wall showed any signs of being in an explosion. And the body hadn’t been moved and it was halfway across the room, nowhere near the wall.

John shifted a bit, trying to warm up when a little sack in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Discretely, he walked over to it thanking Sherlock for getting into another fight with Anderson over his horrible crime scene management skills. Quietly he picked it up and immediately felt the cold around him increase as if he had stuck his hand in ice water. He dropped the little bag and the feeling disappeared.

He quickly turned and ran a new eye over the crime scene. Now he knew what he was looking for he could see signs of the woman’s second, hidden life. There were charms for protection hidden in the paintings and over the doors. A charm for prosperity hidden under the sofa and bags of herbs stashed in and under items all over the room.

And the bag that John had dropped, containing some form of anti-magic charm. It had clearly been left by the killer.

‘What is it?’ Sherlock asked quietly from behind John. John jumped slightly and turned to face Sherlock. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Anderson sulking, having clearly been put in his place by Sherlock.

‘Pick that up.’ John quietly ordered. ‘It’s an anti-magic charm.’

Sherlock bent down and picked the little bag while eying the room again. He quickly spotted the signs that John had picked up on and came to the same conclusion.

‘She’s a witch.’

‘Yes.’ John said. ‘And so was her killer.’

********

Sherlock hadn’t taken anytime in dissembling the little bag when they returned to their flat. It simply contained a small metal charm which looked to be a series of squiggles and a small bunch of herbs. Confused and knowing he was a little out of his depth he marched over to John who was sitting in his chair watching telly.

‘What’s this?’ Sherlock dropped the charm onto John’s lap. The reaction was immediate and unexpected. John leapt out of his chair like he had been burnt and threw the charm across the room. He was breathing heavily and Sherlock quickly observed a slight redness on his hand.

‘John?’

John heard the hidden concern in Sherlock’s voice. ‘It’s an anti-magic charm. Like the one Moriarty had except…’ he trailed off.

‘Yes?’

‘This one was made by an expert. It doesn’t have the curses Moriarty’s had because it doesn’t need them. It works fine without them.’

Sherlock quickly processed this. ‘And the herbs?’

‘Stop it working.’

Sherlock blinked in confusion. ‘That is illogical.’

‘Not really. That charm burns as soon as a witch touches it, meaning they know it’s there. If their hands aren’t restrained…’

Sherlock continued the explanation. ‘They’ll be able to get it off them and stop the anti-magic part of the charm working. So the herbs nullify the charm enough so the witch can be over powered.’

John nodded. ‘And hide the charm. You would have to be a very good witch to spot it… or sense it.’ He then frowned and grabbed the case file off Sherlock. John pulled out the crime scene photos and began to place them all over the coffee table. In a few seconds Sherlock was by his side helping, noticing he was concentrating mainly on those of the burned wall and moving those ones to the centre of the table. Once they were out John just stared at them, before his eyes widened and he grabbed a photo from the very centre of the table.

‘She’s a battle witch.’ John breathed in awe.

‘Battle witch?’ Sherlock asked, confused.

‘Remember what I told you about witches when you first found out about me? That we are ‘classified’ by the magic we’re best at. Like, I’m a healing witch because healing comes easily to me and Harry’s a transfiguration witch because she’s good at that.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well a battle witch is someone to whom magic specifically used to attack others comes naturally. They’re really rare and nearly always evil.’

‘Nearly always evil?’

‘You try doing magic to help others when your magic seems to only want to hurt them. It takes a lot of work to work against your nature.’

‘So you would find attacking another with magic hard.’ Sherlock stated.

John raised an eyebrow, but other than a nod, drew no attention to how quickly his friend had picked up on the nature of his magic.

‘So our killer is one of theses. How can you tell?’ Sherlock asked stealing the photo from John.

‘Look at the side of the wall blown out. It would take a lot of magic to do that, magic which would knock most witches out for at least an hour.’

‘And the victim had only been dead half an hour at the most when she was found.’ Sherlock picked up on what John was saying.

‘Exactly.’ John said with a smile. ‘The only way she would been able to do that is if it came easy to her and didn’t require as much magic.’

‘Does this help find her?’

John opened his mouth, thought for a second then closed it. ‘No.’ he admitted after a moment. ‘But it does mean we’ll have to be so much more careful.’

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow at John, questioning the sensibility of what he had just said.

‘I mean it!’

********

It was two hours later that Sherlock got a text from Lestrade, summoning him to another crime scene. Another woman had been found dead, this time frozen completely in ice. ~~In her bath.~~ In her indoor sauna.

It was baffling the police and even Sherlock found himself stripped for answers. Well at least answers he could give the police. He knew perfectly well what had happened here and John’s nervous glances around the room were only confirming his suspicions. Spotting one of the little bags from the earlier crime scene he caught John’s eye and then flicked his towards it. John shook his head slightly until Sherlock gave the box of gloves by Anderson a meaningful glance.

Having communicated an entire plan without words, Sherlock began an intricate performance detailing everything about the woman and her life he could. While he distracted the police John slipped around the room carefully grabbing every cursed bag he could see. As soon as he had them all, he used the pickpocketing skills Sherlock had taught him to slip them into the pocket of Sherlock’s big coat and therefore got them far away from him.

Sherlock smirked as he left the scene. People were so blind! He hadn’t told the police anything they didn’t (or shouldn’t) know, but the way he had presented it had made it seem new. And all the while they had forgotten his companion, allowing him to steal right under their noses.

And all without magic.

As the pair walked away, neither of them noticed the eyes in the shadows that watched them go.

********

A careful examination of the charms from the second scene had shown them to more powerful than the ones from the first scene. Sherlock was delighted, he did love a challenge. John wasn’t so happy, he had a very bad feeling about this whole affair.

‘There must be some way you can trace her using magic.’ Sherlock demanded of John suddenly.

John was taken aback and answered without thinking. ‘Yes, but it’s not very accurate.’

‘How accurate is it?’

‘I can get you a general area, within a hundred feet of the witch.’ John shrugged. ‘If I have something of hers it would be far better.’

‘Don’t the spell bags count?’ Sherlock held up one of the little bags from the latest crime scene as an example.

‘No, that’s what is giving you a hundred foot radius. They’re just not important enough to her to do any better.’

Sherlock huffed in disgust. ‘Emotion.’ He muttered under his breath.

John gave him a slightly dirty look but stood up and went working for the items he needed for the spell.

********

‘This would have worked far better if I had come alone.’

John gave Sherlock a dirty look. ‘And have me leave you alone while searching for a murderous witch?’ he shook his head in disbelief. ‘Not on your life.’

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but a slight movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he forgot what he was going to say. Or deleted it as it wasn’t relevant.

Turning slightly, he made it look as he was watching everyone on the other side of the street while really watching the woman a few steps behind him. Sherlock made sure she couldn’t see his lips and spoke softly to John.

‘Any witches around?’

John was thrown for a second before he replied. ‘Umm…hang on.’ He closed his eyes and focused for a millisecond. Then his eyes widened and he looked Sherlock in the eyes. ‘Yes. A very powerful one and they’re very close.’

‘Excellent.’ Without another word, Sherlock turned and headed straight for the woman watching them. She spotted him heading for her however, and with a smile turned herself and headed down a nearby alleyway. Sherlock didn’t even stop to think about consequences of following her, he just did, ignoring John swearing under his breath and trying to stop him.

‘Sherlock!’

********

Two minutes later the woman stopped, having come to a dead end. She turned to face Sherlock, who was right behind her. John paused at the alleyway entry for a moment, and then moved to stand beside Sherlock.

‘So you two are the ones the police think can catch me?’ the woman said in a soft, sing song voice.

‘No, we’re the two people who the police know can catch you.’ Sherlock retorted. The witch’s eyes flashed and a small ball of fire appeared in her hand. John immediately began to think of ways to get Sherlock out of the line of fire.

‘Sherlock when I say so, I want you to run.’ John kept his eyes on the woman as he spoke, softly enough that Sherlock barely heard him.

‘I won’t’

‘You will go. Sherlock, I’m not going to be able to hold her off for long. You need to get…someone. Witnesses, help whatever you can find. I’ll buy you a few minutes but you have to go when I say so.’

Sherlock nodded, but then realising his friend was in front of him and couldn’t see him, he said ‘Yes.’

John tensed for a second then yelled, ‘Now!’ and Sherlock was off.

He turned his back and sprinted down the alley, ignoring the cry of the woman behind him. He ducked when John yelled ‘DUCK!’ and thus avoided the fireball throw at him. Then he turned a corner and was safely out of the line of fire.

Now he needed to think of something. Some way to save John…

********

John had never really been in a magical duel. Sure Harry and he had had fights as children and had often involved magic. But those had rarely been serious…well except for the time John had thrown the refrigerator at Harry. Or the time she had turned him into a snail and not told anyone where he was for a whole hour.

But they weren’t life-threatening fights like this one. John knew that there were places he could have gone to learn how to fight with his magic but like he told Sherlock, he found it hard and had decided not to do it. Then his University roommate had died because of magic and he had sworn never to actively practice it again. He was never going to let another person be hurt because of his powers.

I wished I had known then what my life was going to be like now, John thought as he ducked the first fireball. I might have done things differently.

John knew his only advantage laid in the fact the woman didn’t know he was a witch. He was quite sure it would never have crossed her mind to use her magic to check. The stereotype of a female witch was so strong, even witches believed it. But once he used his first spell she would know and he would lose his only advantage… it was a dilemma.

‘You are nothing. I’m going to crush you mortal!’ she suddenly cried and raised both her arms. Fire reappeared all around her, headed straight for John. There was no time for him to duck.

He did the only thing he could. Pulling together his magic, he created a shield in front of his arm, which he held before his face. The fire couldn’t get though the shield and went harmlessly around him. However, he lowered the shield a little early and so got a little singed from the tail end of the attack.

But he could see the look of shock on the woman’s face. John quickly ran the events of the last few seconds though his mind and realised that the fire had hid his shield and it looked like he had survived the attack with nothing to assist him.

A little more cautiously, the other witch threw another thing at him, this time the garbage bin beside her.

John smiled grimly he threw himself at the ground, discreetly using his telekinesis to change the trajectory of the garbage bin so it only just passed above him. To the woman, it simply looked like he had ducked again and she had missed. She had obviously decided his survival before was a fluke, a protection spell from another witch that was wearing off.

Enough is enough, John thought as he stood up. I’m ending this.

He raised his hand exactly as she had been doing, causing her to smile. ‘What, you think you can do what I am doing?’ she laughed. ‘It’s magic, you stupid mortal. You can’t copy it. And your little protection spell couldn’t have survived that last attack intact.’

John started to mutter under his breath, causing her smile to grow larger. ‘You still think you can do what I’m doing?!’ she said in disbelief.

John smiled. ‘No, I know I can.’ And with a shout, the bubble of water that had appeared behind John flew at the other witch.

She ducked, but she didn’t have John’s reflexes. The force of the water hit her in the chest, throwing her against the wall. She slid down it and sat on the ground, eyes wide with disbelief and focused on John.

John closed his eyes for a second against the weariness that came from casting the spell. The other witch spotted this and her eyes narrowed. She went to stand, but the pain in her chest stopped her. Clearly the fall had broken a few of her ribs. Suddenly an idea came to her.

With the last of her magic, she conjured a gun.

********

Lestrade wasn’t sure exactly where Sherlock and John were. All he knew was that they had gone after their serial killer about an hour ago and hadn’t been seen since.

When he found them he was going to make sure they were okay. Then he was going to kill them for running off on their own again. He was also going to continue to ignore the feeling that he sounded like he was thinking about a child and when on Earth did he become a Dad to a sociopath and ex-army doctor?! Why was he always doomed to be the voice of reason?

He was racing around the streets of London, following rumours and chasing ghosts; with a complaining Donovan at his when he happened to spot a swirling black coat in the corner of his eye. He turned rapidly and there was Sherlock, wild-eyed…well as much as Sherlock got wild-eyed. He was scanning the street, clearly looking for something. He looked up and his eyes met Lestrade’s. He smirked, then turned on his heels and sprinted down the street. With a cry to Donovan, Lestrade was following him only just keeping him in sight.

But he was keeping him in sight. Which was new. Sherlock knew London so well, he could all but disappear. You could only chase him like this, if he wanted you to chase him like this. So why does he want us to follow him? And couldn’t he take two seconds to stop and explain what he wants and have us follow him of our own free will?

Sherlock turned another corner into an alleyway, Lestrade seconds behind him. When he reached the beginning of the alley Lestrade could see Sherlock about to turn another corner. He sighed and picked up the pace, ignoring his tightening chest.

However, Sherlock suddenly reappeared at the other end of the alleyway, throwing himself at the ground behind the wall. A fireball hit the unprotected wall where he had been s moment ago.

Sherlock used the momentum he had from his fall to keep moving, rolling and ending up crouching on the ground. He swang up, and gave Lestrade and Donovan a mischievous smile, causing Donovan to shiver.

Lestrade was just frozen, unsure of what was going on but quite sure that there was danger and something beyond his understanding involved. Sherlock was now standing at the edge of the wall, peeking around every few seconds or so.

‘Lestrade!’ Sherlock called, unfreezing Lestrade’s limbs and giving him the ability to walk over and stand behind Sherlock.

‘Where’s John?’ Lestrade whispered.

‘In there. I need your…assistance to help him get out with your killer.’

‘John’s in an alleyway with a killer, who’s got some sort of fireball making device by himself and you think you only need my assistance to get him out alive!’

‘Was there a question there in all that ranting, Inspector?’

Lestrade raised a finger ready to lecture Sherlock when three gunshots rang out in the alleyway where John was. Sherlock stiffened at the sound, his eyes widening slightly.

Then he turned and dashed into the alleyway, ignoring the danger he was in.

‘Sherlock!’ Lestrade hissed, ‘Come back!’ When Sherlock didn’t appear he stuck his head quickly around the corner.

Only to be shocked at the scene before him.

Sherlock was patting John down, checking for injuries, concern in his eyes at the closest end of the dead-end alley. John was shaken and a little singed, but otherwise looked to be fine. This wasn’t what had shocked Lestrade…well wasn’t mostly what had shocked him.

It was the dead body of a woman, slumped against the wall at the other end of the alley. It was quite clear how she had died, the three gunshots in her torso obvious evidence even Scotland Yard couldn’t miss.

Except she was holding the gun. John hadn’t had time to move, let alone plant the gun firmly in her hand before Lestrade and now Donovan had come around the corner. And Lestrade would bet his last dollar there wouldn’t be a single one of John’s fingerprints on the gun or a single powder burn on John’s hand.

So how had the woman shot herself, from three metres away? And why on Earth was she so wet?

********

‘How did you do it?’ Sherlock asked.

It was three hours after the shooting in the alleyway and John and Sherlock had only just gotten home. The police had held John for as long as they could, despite both Lestrade and Donovan declaring he couldn’t have done it. They had been forced to let him go when they could find no power burns on John’s fingers and the finger prints on the gun matched only the deceased.

John was waiting for the autopsy where they were sure to kind the broken ribs, consistent with being pushed into a wall with the force of…well a waterfall. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain that one. Perhaps Mycroft could help…

‘John!’

John jumped, startled out of his thoughts by Sherlock’s cry. The pillow on his lap jumped as well but it kept going, narrowly missing Cat.

‘What?!’ he snapped.

‘You ignored my question.’ Sherlock sounded slightly hurt.

‘Sorry. What was it again?’

‘How did you shot the witch?’ Sherlock huffed, clearly unhappy at having to repeat himself.

‘Umm… she conjured a gun, aimed it and shot. I sent the bullets back at her using magic. Sorry, where’s the mystery here?’

Sherlock ignored his last comment. ‘Of course, your telekinesis. I thought so, but it’s nice to have you confirm it.’ He studied John for a second, and then smiled. ‘Dodging bullets. Something to work with.’

Sherlock leapt up at this statement and quickly located John’s gun. Still smiling at the idea of an experiment he pointed it at where John was sitting.

Only to find John had disappeared.

‘That’s cheating!’

John’s disembodied laughter filled the flat.