Chapter The Last~

The lights were set in the angel's seats, the cameras hidden like the eyes of God, as the World Powers and the journalists, took their hiding places, to witness a coming together of the tides of Darkness.

The Seven Masters came and stood in plain view of he camera mounted over the bishop's seat, having no idea that it was there.

The Blood Eagle came and stood before them.

"Long live the King! Icarus, show yourself! Take your place in glory." he shouted, and it echoed off St. Nicholas' walls.

There was a sound of dark laughter, and even though the setting of this scene was so old-movie ridiculous, still every person watching was suddenly filled with a dread they couldn't explain.

And then he stepped out, and unless you knew him well, there wasn't even a shadow left in the disguise to tell you that you were looking at Sherlock Holmes.

He had plate armor of a bright silver on his legs and arms , like they wore in the days of King James. Beneath that was a coat of chain mail that was gilded in a fine white gold, and shone like snake-skin in the dark. Beneath that was a shirt of deep burgundy ,like it had been dyed that color with blood, and his pants were even deeper shade of purple-black, barely visible beneath the "dragon scales".

But for the breastplate he was wearing a bronze piece of Hellenistic armor, an article like something pulled right out of time, from the days that Troy fell, when Achilles breathed. And he had on a high bronze helmet , like a prince of ancient Greece might have worn, that swept back almost like wings or horns over his face, revealing his face painted white ,save where his lips were painted red like a demon that had stained himself with blood. Two huge black wings ,like a man-sized raven, or a vampire that struck terror into Count Dracula, were melted into the back of his armor, and glowered a deep purple in the dim lights of the cathedral.

Here was Icarus, back from hell, still smoldering from the light of the sun that scorched him.

On his right and and his left appeared two men, one small, with little strands of blonde escaping his more closed-face bronze helmet, and a taller one with a more English style steel helmet, that was closed completely, and this one carried a huge black battle-axe, a weapon the envy of Lucifer.

The command need not be given. The eight lords of Loki's Gauntlet sank to their knees.

Dark laughter again rolled through every crevice of this ancient building.

"Brilliant...it was all so brilliant though...wasn't it?" said Icarus in a low-menacing voice. The camera crew got it on loud speaker though, so everybody watching could here it without mistake.

" All of this. A kingdom you could simply create, a kingdom without a throne or crown, a war without blood, an Armageddon without the faintest trace of smoke..." he laughed darkly, and shook his head.

"A kingdom that I inherited without even trying...A brilliant but ultimately vain creation that now you must surrender to me..."

The Seven Lords spoke between themselves, and then they said.

"There is a ceremony to the surrender of our precious anointing oil..." they replied, and held up a cylinder with the diameter of a small tree.

"You will need to solve the riddle of the Recipe."

Icarus threw back his head and laughed, a blood curdling laugh. John swallowed, watching him, amazed that this was the same man he had lived with on Baker Street, what seemed like long ago...

"A riddle, a ritual, recite for us a prayer?! Pay penance in the Circles of Dante, tell us the beads?! Fools, oh poor fools. It's too easy, in fact it's child's play! If this were a Game I'd say it would be set on a pre-elementary level. If this is religion then it has become quite out-dated, and your spirits have evaporated ,and hardened like freezing tree sap! Did I come BACK from my grave for THIS?! BORING! WHY DIDN'T YOU LEAVE ME WHERE I WAS LYING? I COULD HAVE SLEPT TILL THE END OF TIME!"

The walls were quaking now, as if an unseen audience was made guilty with his voice.

"IN THE END IT IS ALL MEANINGLESS! I CAN SEE IT BY EVERY DETAIL OF YOUR ATTIRE, BY YOUR MANNERISMS, FACIAL EXPRESSIONS, THE SMELL OF YOUR AFTER-SHAVE! IT'S ALL AS CLEAR AS WINE GLASSES TO ME, AND THAT'S NO GOOD FOR A WORLD OF DECEPTION ,NOW IS IT?!"

So loudly he admonished them, that they all crawled a step backwards, but now he was clutching his head with both hands, spinning about animatedly, like he would have done in his own living room, but he wasn't entirely mindful of his wings. They swept around in circles, and blew over little candles that the camera-crew had lit for effects, and suddenly, somehow they were slowly lit on fire, till he stood still, ablaze, and so slowly burning, and so captured in this moment, that nobody could speak to warn him of any danger.

"You are all grandsons of men that were private researchers for the Third Reich. Your Kingdom of Terror is no more unique or rigid or terrifying than Hitler before you. Than the Vikings before that. Everything from the ring on your right hand, to the name of your order, to the World War 1 German officer's sword on his left hip, but adjusted wrongly for draw, because you are actually left-handed and have a concealed Springfield in a holster on your right hip, that you mean to threaten my assistant with in some sort of last bargain in the next few minutes-! All of it points to the magnitude of your vanity, to the sheer epic failure you have made!

In the end, you have only proven to me something that I have puzzled over, and went to my Grave puzzling. The Vanity of Man, and all his attempts at Glory! But there is only one glory in the lives of men...to find that which he was created to do, and to do that with his might! One young man's defiance of your system gave me the answer to all my riddles, and the purpose of my Work. I am born to pursue after justice like the Hounds of Hell. I am born to be the Guardian of all those that are not wise enough to see through your lies. The only strength you have is visual, the appearance of evil can bring any man to his knees. You're kneeling before me, because I have been persuaded to wear this frankly RIDICULOUS costume, and because I have a rather accomplished vocabulary. For that reason you were afraid...and if you mean to steer the world on something so superficial as your five senses, you will lose your throne with the same ease that you slipped off your wedding band for so many years, Mr. Yeats!"

Now that Icarus had called out the man as being a part of all the crimes that left his family in years of havoc , Anders Yeats shrank back into what shadow remained before the wings, that were now full blazing.

"You never loved your wife, you never loved your Mistress, you let them destroy each other, and move your children about like chess pieces in their petty little murder game! You sat back like some greedy little leprechaun and watched the system burn around you. All of the blame for all of this rests on you. Which is why you are going to make it right! Which is why YOU are going to hand me the cylinder, and surrender yourself to the authority of the myriad military police officers that are nested within the shadows of this building out of your plain sight. You will do it if you have any soul at all, for the sake of the children you practically sacrificed for some vain-glorious rubbish as this Kingdom That Never Came! You will do it, or ...you will have to deal with me. If not here...then I will find you Here After. And I should make note of the fact that, I am better acquainted with the geography of that Place, than you are."

And so it ended just as suddenly as it had begun. They stood in front of the Haven, a few hours later, dressed in their regular clothes, the makeup washed off, and with the end of this case, more troubling Hallow's Eve dream than actual compelling crimes, so too ended a great period of Grey in their lives.

Hansel thanked Sherlock repeatedly, and swore by every name he knew that his father was an evil man, and he would not be like him.

Sherlock stood there, in abject silence, until it was all over. Until the kings and queens passed by him, and it was all finished and forgotten, and Mycroft was discussing dinner plans and a flight home tomorrow.

He lifted his eyes, and lo and behold there was John coming to him from across the evening snow, a kind smile the mirror of his very heart on his face.

"Well, that was an ...interesting...case, wasn't it?"

"Indeed, it was..."

"And it's over now..."

"Indeed, it is..."

"So, what's next?"

Sherlock looked to the sky, even as the sun crowned St. Nicholas with a halo of gold, and blue, and red, and lavender lights.

"Now...we start over. Now...now I think, it's time to live..."

~The End (or is it?)