NEW UPDATE!

I finally finished this story in Russian, all 16 chap of it.
I rewrote first chap to accommodate my plot. And now translated it into English. So enjoy new vertion.
And this part has only pre-slash as I love slow build of relation (eahh . That s my kryptonite). But now I m thinking of adding some mystrade in the mix, but even now I see it with a lot of angst so really don t know how this will turn out in the end.

Enjoy yourself)))!

Chapter 1

The rows of books were dappled with colored spines. John looked around thoughtfully and sighed deeply. He liked the smell of old books. It reminded him of his parents' home library; the same smell of paper, leather and old wood with a light touch of dust. Only now memories of that smell mingled with the barely perceptible high notes of ink.

John centered himself. He did not come here to indulge in memories of his childhood. If not for the sudden encounter with his old friend in the park, John would have never had the opportunity to try to look for answers in the books, stored behind the walls of his former university. And he had not planned to share with Mike Stamford circumstances of his life, everything happened by itself. And maybe he just wanted to talk to somebody.

Of course he saw Mike's sympathy and participation, and though they were not particularly close in their student years, John was not in a position not to use it in his favor.

The red brick walls of their alma mater were glowing with the usual soft yellow light visible only to those who knew what to look at. The rare student respectfully greeted Stamford and occasionally threw wary glances John's way. Well, even if they could see something strange in him, he never had even the slightest chance to pass by the Guards without outside help.

Mike took him to the Library through familiar bright corridors, through floors lit by conventional electricity, bypassing the stone statues of Guards, not allowing them to touch him with their cold fingers, for which John was very grateful to him. He did not know how they could respond to his magic, and certainly was not eager to learn.

The Library was empty, yet in the far corner, leaning over the weighty volumes stood, by John's standards, a young man.

He did not look like the teacher, and especially the student. If not for Mike, who suddenly froze and seized him by the hand, he would not even pay any attention to that person.

"Do you know this mage?"

"This is Sherlock Holmes." Mike looked at him over his glasses. "He specializes on... Let's say, all sorts of curses. And not only on them."

Pale skin, dark hair, older than he thought. Expensive clothes, the shoes obviously cost more than what he could afford to spend in several months. All in all, the appearance and behavior of Sherlock Holmes radiated wealth and power. Within the gray walls of the University, surrounded by old tomes and scrolls, Holmes looked surprisingly appropriate. And John had a feeling that he had already heard that name somewhere before.

"So he is a Healer?" There was a chance that acquaintance with such a mage would be beneficial for him.

"Not at all. Holmes knows Anatomy, and he is a first-class Alchemist. Although it does seem that healing was never systematically studied by him. I would say that he is obsessed with elemental magic, and it's positively callous!"

"So what does your mysterious friend do for a living? I always thought that a very limited number of people have access to the Library. Does he teach? "

"Oh, thank the Gods no! The poor students wouldn't have survived that, never mind his fellow teachers! Sherlock Holmes is consulting mage."

"Consulting?"

"Yes, and loves to repeat that he invented the job."

"Huh, never heard of him."

"You were out of London far too long, so I'm not surprised that you know nothing about him. Well, he has provided a few invaluable services for the University, and so was granted the privilege to use any of its facilities without limitation."

"Wow!" whistled John. He quickly looked around, but their whispering did little to disturb unwavering gloomy silence of the reading room.

"My break will be over soon. You have a few hours, will it be enough? At this time, there is almost no one here, so feel free to search all you need."

"Thank you, Mike. I really appreciate your help and support."

"Do not mention that. At my place you would do the same. I'm sorry, I cannot help more. I hope you have not forgotten how the index works?"

"Even if I wish, I could not."

John looked around a little confused. Clad in paper form, the knowledge and experience of many generations of magicians have not guaranteed that he will find the answers to any of his questions. If only he knew what to search for in this realm of wood, paper and dust, it would certainly facilitate his life.

He had no money to pay for services for the really talented and skillful Healer. John was not someone important and did not have any significant connections. Nothing. He just desperately wanted to fix something instead of waiting for the decision of the Ministry, that had chosen to put all sorts of spells on him and gave him a wretched apartment on the outskirts. And the worst part – the Ministry deprived him reasonably of the Permit (1).

While referring to a familiar system, John randomly chose books on Applied Alchemy, medicinal herbs and infusions, then naturally transferred to the books on the Curse and the Ritual of Purification. Perhaps, it was wise to start with them from the beginning and not waste time on the rest, but he needed to accurately rule out even a small chance that they could contain grains of useful information.

Pile of books on the near table grew at alarming proportions, and he had willed himself to stop, hoping to leaf through the most of them before Mike's return. There was only one last section in the public domain left and he could finally sit reading.

He remembered why the name of Holmes seemed familiar to him. Remembered suddenly and, one can say, quite by accident while looking at battered volume "Rituals of Reading the Runes". The book had wormed its way between the solid volumes of "Applied Demonology" and "Selection and Keeping of a familiar in a city apartment". Living in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of London meant not only low rent, lousy living conditions and questionable neighbors. But also the fact that John became an unwilling listener to most incredible gossip. The memories of several high-profile crimes resurfaced from the back of his mind. It was in connection with their investigation that the name of the dark mage was mentioned. The same mage who has never left his corner for all the time that John frantically wandered between the shelves.

John glanced for the last time at the book he held in his hands - "Meaning of Dreams". It was unlikely, that it would ever come in handy, so he returned it without any regret and looked around. That Sherlock Holmes was a practicing dark mage was as obvious as the fact that he, John Watson, was now able to walk only with enchanted cane. And it was not because of the strange aura, John just strongly believed his own experience and intuition. He has worked with plenty of dark wizards, now to be able to identify one of them at first sight. That Holmes practiced dark magic was clear even to a child - only a practitioner and also a very powerful magician could advise the Ministry of Magic, which always poorly perceived encroachment on its own monopoly.

Stamford's return was a complete surprise to him. He only managed to write down the ritual of Reading Runes, as his former classmate wearily sat down across from him.

"I'm almost finished, just need to get everything back into place."

"Oh, do not worry, students will put everything away. It is very convenient that Holmes is here, they will blame him as usual."

"About Holmes ... Can you introduce us?" John decided not to miss the opportunity to be represented to this mage, no matter how old-fashioned it sounded.

Mike hesitantly nodded. They slowly as if he was hoping to delay the inevitable, came to the table, which was now littered with books, scrolls, even more than the table, which was left behind by John.

"Mister Holmes, may we have a bit of your attention?" Stamford sounded very formal and stiff. "This is my former classmates, John Watson."

John involuntarily winced at the servile tone of his former classmate.

Gray eyes made him impulsively shiver and brace for an attack. But the attack never came. He was surprised at the ease with which this stranger made him nervous with just one glance. Tall, thin, but hard to understand what was hidden by the expensive suit: a leanness or sinewy muscle. John estimated his chances in fight quite unclear.

Intuition told him that he wouldn't be lucky to exchange any courtesies. How strongly? Well, let's just say John suspected Mr. Holmes did not even consider it necessary to bother himself with the usual rules of decorum.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Sorry, what?" John turned to stare at Stamford, but his only response was a slight shrug. Mike looked as if he was only looking for an excuse to leave. Somewhere far-far away if possible.

"Afghanistan."

In response he just heard a low murmur. Having lost all interest in him, Holmes had returned to reading the book in front of him, which he had carefully been studying before they came. It was an ancient manuscript with the rituals of Exhortation and Expulsion if John had not made a mistake in the interpretation of familiar characters.

"Well, I suppose that wasn't too hard to guess." John replied as if he had not been dismissed. Mike glanced at him in full horror. "Any person with observation skills, particular knowledge and rudiments of logical thinking could have guessed that. My military bearing and a cane probably gave me away.

Holmes looked at him again. John froze at the eye contact and put his weight to his uninjured leg, shifting his body into a fighting stance. It was incredible how one single look could provoke such a storm of conflicting emotions in him. The desire to escape while he could, as well as the excitement, challenge, and chill of fear all mixed with the threat of palpable danger and perplexity.

"Here you won't find the information you need."

"You sure?"

"Yes. You searched almost the entire library, but none of the selected books were looked through more than five minutes. And now you had no regrets leaving behind the unread stack, when the opportunity arose. So you did not find what you were looking for and did not think will find anything else in the rest."

"If this is not here, then there is only one question - do you have what I need?"

"I don't discuss work here."

John, once again, has to settle for the contemplation of the other's predatory profile. A few moments later, Holmes straightened and turned to Stamford who was standing quietly.

"Give me your phone, my battery is low."

"Ah, I seem to have forgotten it downstairs in my coat." Mike shrugged apologetically and wilted even more.

John had no choice but to get his mobile out of his pocket and give it to Holmes. The mage smoothly jumped from his chair and was next to him not two steps later; towering John with his rather high figure. John felt the intrusion to his personal space to be quite uncomfortable. He, like Stamford, desperately wanted to be as far away from this man as possible. And in an ideal world he would be able to solve this problem without the involvement of this man. Something was wrong here. John did not understand what it was, and that in itself was a very worrying sign. Usually, he could read aura in an instant. But Holmes had an aura like a smoky cocoon. John had never seen anything like it before, even in dark wizards.

Once the phone was casually returned, John was left with only one thing to do; watch as the mage dexterously put on the expensive coat and tied a scarf with finesse and grace. It was near the door that Holmes suddenly turned around to John and winked.

"The address is 221B Baker Street, tonight at eight and don't be late. Mike, put all the books back where they belong." With that he was gone.

John frowned and squeezed the handle of his cane with force.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to turn to this guy for help?" With every passing second the prospect of working with this strange mage seemed less and less attractive.

"You know, John, it's your decision, but if anyone can help you in this town, it's Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Homes alone. Also, he works legally."