Chapter Text
My admission seemed to surprise him, but he waved it away. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said impatiently.
I blinked at him, hesitant to explain.“Our names are not like yours,” I started slowly. “Your parents bestow upon you names of sentimentality, or names that mean something to them, or even reflect what they hope you will become. Our names come from the universe. Our time spent in the egg is time the universe spends looking at us, searching for our names amongst the songs.” I paused, surprised Sherlock hadn’t interrupted with questions. A quick look showed him staring at me avidly, hands beneath his chin.
“When you forced the hatchings, you forced the naming. A dragon with no name will die. A dragon with the wrong name will live, but it is a twisted creature.” I shuddered, the name Moriarty whispering across my skin. “I was lucky. I don’t think you can appreciate how lucky. My name was bestowed on time, and when it rang across the stars it settled and suited me.
“The only creatures who know my name are my mother and my true-brother. If I had taken a mate, he would have known instinctively, as I would have known his. I will not tell another my name.”
“Why not?” Sherlock asked softly.
I huffed a laugh. “Names are power, Sherlock Holmes. The names we keep hidden protect us, because without them, none can truly control us.” I waited patiently for more questions, and I was not disappointed.
“What is a true-brother?”
“A brood-mate. Dragons can have multiple clutches at a time, but only those from your clutch are your true-siblings. Others are just siblings.”
“The other dragon at the facility was your true-brother. You know his name.” He tapped his chin. “Does he know you are actually female?” I nodded. “What about the others?”
“No. That would have been disastrous. All those males, and most of them will never get to mate. The number of fertile females has decreased dramatically. While I do not possess a female form, it is possible the males would band together to try and undo the magic my mother bestowed upon me.”
Sherlock cocked his head. “How do you know that the number of fertile females have been declining?”
“We feel them die,” I said sadly. “That’s how we knew you were forcing the eggs to hatch. We felt the unnamed dragonlings die.”
“I… I am sorry.” The human was strangely hesitant, his tone questioning but sincere. “That must be – difficult.”
“How many eggs did you open, Sherlock Holmes? I do not blame you for the deaths. We dragons are made to withstand every loss. Well. Almost every loss.” Sherlock looked at me questioningly, and I sighed heavily. “Our mate. We die with our mate.”
He frowned. “But female dragons mate with multiple males. You don’t mate for life.”
I jumped onto the couch, curling around Sherlock’s back. “Mates are for life,” I corrected softly. “Our names belong together. But we rarely find our mate. That’s why females have so many different partners. Usually, they’re searching for their mate.”
“How do you know, then?”
I hummed. “The tales say that you will only know after mating. The music of the stars will whisper in your ears, and your hearts will both burst and break. It has been a long time since a mate-pair lived. Some think the tales only that – stories. But the tales had to come from somewhere, and I’m inclined to believe them.”
“Why?”
“It is better than the alternative. No,” I said sharply when I felt him inhale. “I won’t tell you. You haven’t apologised to me.”
“If I apologise will you tell me?”
“No. I don’t like the alternative. It is feral and clouded and simply wrong. You owe me an apology.”
There was a heavy pause, and then Sherlock sighed. “I’m sorry, John,” he whispered. I was amused at his use of my new name.
“As you should be.”
“Will you transform? I’d like to see if the magic affected your human form as well.”
I looked up, and he was watching me hopefully. I growled low in my throat. “Don’t use that look on me, Sherlock Holmes.”
“What look?” he asked innocently, widening his eyes just so.
“Fine,” I snapped a moment later. I jumped off the couch, snarling softly. “I will transform in the bathroom. You will wait here.”
“Clothes?”
“Do you care if I come out naked in either gender?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good.” I marched over to the bathroom and knocked the door closed with my tail. “Stay outside,” I warned before closing my eyes and concentrating.
I may have never transformed, but I knew how. It was as instinctive as making myself larger or smaller, and required the same sort of concentration. I felt the magic shudder beneath my skin. My bones shifted, creaking and grinding against one another, but I felt no pain. This, I knew, was because the shift was a gift. A memory, as it were.
I managed to stay upright throughout the transformation, but once fully transformed I collapsed. Bewildered, I stared at my two legs and wiggled my toes. It hadn’t quite sunk in that humans only walked around on two legs. They had no tail for balance, no wings with which to fly. They had their vehicles, yes, but otherwise they walked. I was abruptly very impressed with how much they had managed to accomplish.
With that in mind, I pulled myself upright, holding on tightly to the basin until I was sure I could stay on my feet. I took a tentative step forward, and then another. If they could do it, then so could I. My toes gripped desperately at the smooth tiles, and I kept my arms spread for balance. I eventually made it to the door through sheer stubborness and luck, and pulled it open.
Sherlock leapt to his feet and stared at me. “You took your time,” he muttered, disgruntled. He strode over, peering at me with narrowed eyes. I clutched the door like a life line. How did they do this?
“Sherlock,” I said aloud, my lips and tongue twisting into shapes as my throat vibrated. I blinked. “Sherlock,” I repeated slowly, tasting the name. There was something there, just out of reach…
“What do you want, John?” Sherlock snapped, distracting me. “Come over here, into the light. I think you still have scales on your back, but I can’t really tell.” He walked away, muttering to himself.
“Sherlock,” I said helplessly. He ignored me. “Sherlock!” I snapped, listening as annoyance coloured my voice. Humans conveyed their emotions so subtly, except for Sherlock. He usually came right out and said if he was angry or annoyed (or BORED), but most used expression and vocal cues to only hint at what they were feeling. Mycroft was particularly annoying about it - it was part of the reason I disliked him so much.
He spun around. “I said to come here, John. Why aren’t you moving?” His quick eyes scanned me, no doubt noticing my death grip on the door and the way my legs trembled. “Of course, stupid of me. You’ll need to let go of the door if you want to move, John.” He moved a little closer and held out his hand. “Take my hand.”
I blinked at him. And then let go of the door, swaying unsteadily on my feet. I wished I had my tail. I took a fortifying breath and stepped forward, reaching for his hand at the same time. Our fingers touched, and I had a moment to realise how much smaller my hands were before the peaceful moment shattered.
Agony ripped through me. My lungs tore through my skin, air a thing of memory. My bones twisted, grinding against each other. My heart stopped beating for one, two, three seconds before it became a hammer, seeking escape from my chest. Every instinct was screaming at me to turn back, to leave my human form and take back my correct form.
I must have blacked out for a moment, because when I came to, Sherlock had me cupped in his hands. I’d shrunk as small as I could go and curled myself into a defensive ball, wings covering my body and tail coiled around my legs. Hesitantly, I uncurled myself from my defensive position to look up at Sherlock.
“John? John, are you alright?” he asked, and he sounded almost frantic.
I tilted my head at him, trembling with remembered pain. “I do not know what happened,” I whispered, pressing my tiny head against his chin. “Human forms shouldn’t hurt like that. I… I don’t think I want to do that again.”