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Chapter Text

 

Chapter One: A Study in Texting

He skidded across the asphalt, haggard breath catching as he propelled himself down the desolated London streets. Terrified and alone with the knowledge of what he'd just done, nothing spurred him on more than the pounding feet of the man tailing him. It would only be a matter of time until his fate was sealed, and there would be no mercy in the judgement of his crime--the untimely murder of his ex-girlfriend.

"Put the gun down!" Arthur shouted in vain at the man he had trailed to a small intersection, where the traffic light blinked a broken red. He felt that it was flashing an ironic sort of warning at him, but he had no intention to pay any mind to coincidentally placed signs from the universe.

Going after an armed man by himself was a bad idea, he was fully aware. Telling no one where he was going was also a bad idea, but he lived for the one-on-one moments. The moments where it was just the criminal and him, sharing a sort of intimate moment that was both an otherworldly feeling of being so close to danger and an intricate hyperawareness at the same time. He wanted the rush of adrenaline as the two of them danced in a game of life and death, each one just as sure that they would win.

Unable to catch his breath from a desperate last ditch effort to escape the detective, the man Arthur tracked through the desolate streets finally faltered. Arthur had barely even broken a sweat from the initial chase, but now that a gun was pointed in his direction, his heart began to race. Both men gripped their weapons firm, each aiming at the other's heart. Arthur kept his hand steady on his target, true to the exercises drilled into his head during training. The other man, however, shook with the same ferocity as a leaf hanging by it's last fibre from a tree in the wind.

Arthur tried again. "If you put it down, we can help you. Don't make this worse for yourself."

The man stiffened and the gun was lowered. Painfully slow in Arthur's opinion.The glint of metal flashed just right under the winter moon so that it's cold light burned with the ferocity of a bloodlust filled rage. He held it close, as though it was his only connection with reality. For all Arthur knew, it very well may have been.

When the man knelt onto the ground seeming to have lost the strength to fight, Arthur refrained from letting out a sigh of relief. He hadn't been able to predict this man's actions based on his behavior, and the man was just as liable to shoot him as he was to roll around on the ground and have a fit.

Arthur still kept his gun trained carefully, not about to let his guard down for a second.

The detective crept forward, daring himself to inch closer. He kept his steps as light and unobtrusive as possible, one foot in front of the other toward the man in hopes that this time, the man would willingly let himself be handcuffed instead of dashing off in a mad panic. Having that happen once in a night was enough for Arthur.

"Please." The man stopped Arthur in his tracks. "I only wanted to talk to her. I didn't mean to..."

"I know." Arthur stood in front of him patiently, waiting for the rest of the confession to come out.

It didn't.

Instead, the showdown turned in a completely new direction.

The kneeling man on the ground lifted his arm suddenly, gun in a terrifyingly close proximity to Arthur's head.

Only his innate ability to sense danger and move out of harm's way at the last possible second saved him from having his face blown off by a psychopath who now seemed intent on blasting Arthur from the face of the earth. What Arthur had done to deserve this, he had no clue. But he was getting tired of having to deal with this other innate ability to attract the worst possible scenario to play out.

Arthur twisted around, preparing to be on the receiving end of more fire, but instead turned to find the man looking half frightened to death. Of himself or of Arthur the detective couldn't be sure.

Well, speaking to him didn't work. Offering to help didn't work. Threatening would most definitely not work, leaving him but one option.

He hid behind a car for cover as best as he could, all the while not letting the man out of his scope of range.

Carefully lifting his gun, he trained his sights on the estranged Carlton Davis. Arthur tightened his hold on the trigger. His mind flurried around the single minded thought of sending the bullet into the criminal's leg, when a gunshot cracked through the still air. Carlton became so disoriented that he dropped his own gun in his distraction.

"I would have thought the great detective Pendragon could handle a little criminal like this without getting trigger happy," a voice called out from the nearby shadowed alley. It sounded corny, something straight out of a film, but here Arthur was in the middle of an arrest when the mysterious third party came to add drama to the story.

His heart beat faster, pulse racing as the sudden game changer was thrown into play.

Arthur turned, aiming now in the direction the shot originated from. He kept his vision open to movement from either his suspect or the mystery shooter.

There was nothing for him but silence in the darkened atmosphere of a foggy London night. After holding still as stone for as long as he could hold his breath, he was rewarded with the most minute shift of a shadow in the darkness.

"Who's there?" He called, not particularly expecting an answer but called out anyway.

Carlton just stood there, looking lost, as if he had forgotten his goal for the intended murder of the detective in front of him. Arthur watched him carefully for any signs that he would bend over to pick up his gun.

More importantly, he wanted backup and he wanted it now. As much as action suited his style, a loose cannon with a gun on a particularly dreary city night was not something he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Arthur had been given enough chance to take the man down and subdue him into handcuffs, glancing up every few seconds to see if anything had moved. Luckily, Mr.Carlton allowed himself to be captured and sat still, a dazed expression still overcast on his clouded eyes. Dropping to his knees, he leaned against a car tire for support, staring blankly off into the misted night.

The night was permeated with a deep chill, one that went straight Arthur's very bones. It may have had something to do with the newcomer that still lurked somewhere just beyond where he could see, but his nerves never got the better of him. He would never allow himself to be anything near the definition of the word startled.

It was just so odd. Why bother speaking up if that's all that he did? Arthur, now slowly realizing that he didn't particularly have to worry about his initial perpetrator as he was far too out of it to do much besides sit there with his hands handcuffed behind his back, looking like he had lost all sense of his surroundings. At this point, Arthur decided his newly captured murderer had officially gone into shock.

He called in to the nearest police car for them to come pick them both up, and in the meanwhile he could take the opportunity to shout things into the nearest alley and hope someone answers back.

Yea, it really didn't ring any genius bells in his head either.

The one thing that always intrigued him, that made him feel alive doing this job, was the adrenaline of a challenge. This bodiless voice from the darkness was definitely calling him out, and he fully intended to take up the challenge.

Even so, it didn't mean he couldn't internally gripe over the complete lack of knowledge going into the situation.

"I don't get paid enough for this," Arthur muttered as an inside joke with himself, gun pointed and his trained eye scanning in the darkness.

No one could be that bad with a gun. If it was the suspect's friend, there would be a bullet heading in Arthur's direction at least. Whoever it was, they allowed him to handcuff Carlton, and had almost helped him with distracting the manic man enough to restrain him.

Then he heard the slightest shift, and if he hadn't been holding his breath, he would have missed it. The lightest movement of a person switching the weight from one foot to another, clothes scratching against the wall like a feather. But it was enough for Arthur to pinpoint his aim straight toward it.

"Show yourself, or I'll take it as hostile action."

Arthur's cell phone vibrated in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts.

Are you always so hospitable?
-ME

He stared at the text , unsure of what to make of it. Pausing and staring into the darkness that he couldn't see, he cautiously answered the text.

Who are you?

A near instantaneous response.

I figured you would be incompetent, but no one said anything about you being an ass.
-ME

The winter air began to chill Arthur to the bone, but his blood had run cold for another reason. Who was this and what did they want? Were there more than one of them watching? Obviously someone is within a close enough range to see his actions and respond with these strange texts.

Well, he thought, this is something new.

It was ironic-- he had just mentioned to Detective Inspector Kilgharrah that he was bored of the usual jobs. Criminals had seemed to have fallen into a cut and paste pattern, and he was rather fed up with it.

Kilgharrah's solution to the problem was simply inconceivable. Disgusting really.
He could trust no one but himself. And the Knight crew of course. But when it came down to it, whether he lived or died depended on his actions and his alone. He could trust himself not to screw things up.

Just like every single one did before. Hence his "no partner" rule. Unfortunately, that contradicted with Kilgharra's "must have a partner" rule.

Their constant head-butting usually ended with both parties getting ridiculously irate with each other, only speaking when necessary for a case. Their little fits would only last about a week, and they would continue to get along and pretend that their last argument ever happened. At least, until the next started.

So yes, something new was good.

Not knowing who or why this person decided to send him texts, not so good.

Gingerly, he ran his thumb over his phone, debating if he should continue this correspondence with a complete stranger who just so happened to have his phone number and was more than likely currently watching him from the shadows.

Again, maybe not too bright of a decision. But curiosity killed the cat, and he tapped on the phone keyboard.

Come on out then and show yourself.

Straightforward aren't you?
-ME

I prefer to meet stalkers face to face.

That would defeat the meaning of stalker.
-ME

And then came an onslaught of terrifying texts, more than likely meant to scare the living daylights out of Arthur. Or to prove a point. Or both.

You're an ex soldier formerly based out of Afghanistan, sent home after a debilitating bullet wound to your shoulder.
-ME

Became a detective out of a pure hatred of stagnation. Your father has unrealistic expectations of you, more than likely an extremely important man in Britain.
-ME

Also a severe instillation of justice has also been pound into your disposition. Need I continue?
-ME

Arthur stared incredulously at the messages. No one could have found out about half those things, and those that did have this information were not people that would give away the information willingly. This led to the rather disturbing idea that he actually did have a stalker.

Who the HELL are you?

The texts stopped. Apparently, that of all questions was one that the mystery texter was not prepared or willing to answer.

So much for straightforward.

Arthur was just about to begin pounding his head into the cold metal of the car when the distant screams of police sirens began to echo off the buildings on the desolate street. Sighing, he glanced down at his phone one more time before silencing it and pocketing the device to step out and meet the Knights.

Their name was a sort of inside joke between all the officers, pertaining mainly to Arthur's aforementioned desire for justice. It was really all Gwaine's stupid idea, mostly to mock Arthur and his high standards. Of course, all of them just as quickly jumped onto the bandwagon and the group of them soon became well known around Albion Yard, some even daring to call him Prince.

Except Gwaine. The twerp actually had the nerve to call him Princess.

"Arthur." Leon was first to greet him, and got straight to the point. No one fooled around when their leader was in danger. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know, the general nutcase trying to have a shot at me. Nothing new." Arthur rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to check his phone for new messages.

"Looks like you've had quite a night there Princess." Gwaine's lilting voice mirrored his teasing face, though it couldn't hide the relieved grin that lit up his face.

Arthur flipped Gwaine off, not even bothering to yell as him for calling him Princess. The whole point was to get on Arthur's nerves, so informing him that it did so was a bit counterproductive.

"Fun night all in all," he answered.

"Well, this guy might say different," Lancelot said as he walked up, jamming his thumb in the general direction of the incapacitated murderer.

"Can't help that." Arthur's fingers rested just above his jeans pocket, twitching ever so slightly in the urge to get back to the mystery that resided within the texts. Anything was more interesting than the paperwork that was required after every incident. This puzzle required no paperwork, and it directly involved him.

He vaguely wondered if he should be more perturbed about intricately detailed facts about himself sent from an unknown party that had been, or is still presently, watching him from the alley.

Nah.

But he did tell his men about the third shot fired from the alley, sending them out in all directions to try and find clues to whoever it was. No luck there, not that Arthur was expecting any leads.

They decided to keep an eye on the area, but none of them were holding any hopes of finding said mystery man. When all was said and done, they left in the police cars back to the station.

Through all of this, Arthur didn't say a word about the texts. Because firstly, they'd want some officers around him twenty-four seven to watch his every move. Not his thing, thanks for asking. He could deal with this alone, and maybe it was a little selfish to leave his friends out, but he really didn't care at the moment.

This was his puzzle, and it was his choice to take it on, aware of the consequences that could occur. Danger was his weakness, his Achille's heel.

And he thrived on it.

He would probably get fired from his job if Kilgharrah ever found out, and somehow that added danger was a scarier prospect than a crazy stalker after him.

Maybe I'm not actually all that sane.

Arthur shook his head, suddenly realizing that Gwaine was spouting off some drunk tale next to him, completely unaware that Arthur had been in his own world and hadn't heard a word of it. He would continue to ignore him anyway, as all his stories were practically the same version happening at different bars, and took the chance to peek at his phone.

Bags under your eyes indicate lack of sleep. Nightmares and a repressed need for alcohol, though you sometimes give in to the temptation. PTSD?
-ME

Impossible. It was simply not possible for anyone but himself and his therapist, who was forced upon him by his father, to have any idea of this. He was careful not to come into Albion Yard on days it was bad, or looked particularly like he'd just come back from seeing horrors of war. He was so careful not to let his men have any hints, and this stranger just somehow knows?

The behavior of this mystery man (woman? less likely.) was inconsistent to any other stalker he had tracked down and arrested. Those people quietly waited, either for the opportunity to attack out of "passion" or to outright kill their target in some claim of love. Insulting their quarry like this one seemed a little off. But who was he to question the habits of stalkers? Still creepy in any way he looked at it.

He typed back furiously, unable to contain his curiosity.

What kind of a pseudonym is Me? A little pretentious don't you think?

Another instant response is sent back.

Your intelligence astounds me.
-M.E.

Some mystery man, keeping his identity secret through initials. Sounded weird enough to Arthur. Could be fake of course, but something told Arthur that that wasn't so.

"...And that's how he ended up thinking I was a woman. So you see? It wasn't my fault in the least!" Gwaine's story seemed to be winding down, though this one at least seemed to have had a new twist to it.

Arthur wasn't really all that surprised at his antics, and didn't resist the urge to jump in. "What, with your hair? Half of Albion Yard was calling dibs before they realized you were a dude."

"So you admit I'm pretty?" Gwaine's grin widened in what Arthur thought was a comical expression of self confidence.

Actually, Arthur corrected, an idiotic amount of cockiness.

"Get over yourself Gwaine," Arthur smacked him over the back of his head, though it did nothing to quell the pearly white smile of the younger man.

Finally, after debating on what to answer M.E, he decided on a simple and much overused question.

What do you want?

The text back took a minute or two, suggesting to Arthur that M.E. had to think through his answer. Curious.

Honestly, if it was up to me, I'd have nothing to do with you.
-ME

At this, the detective blinked in disbelief. What kind of a stalker doesn't want to stalk?

Well, he chewed his lip in thought, M.E said "up to him," so more than one person is involved?

Arthur could distinctly feel a headache coming on.

In a fit of flying fingers, he sent a question that needed answering.

Then why are you bothering?

This response was the quickest of them all.

Good question.
-ME

Arthur had nothing to say to that. There was nothing he could add, or retort. Only more questions. And sending a barrage of questions to a strange person that wanted nothing to do with him and yet had initiated texting seemed a bit too odd. He doubted he would get any useful information anyway.

When they had pulled into the parking lot of Albion Yard, he ran his hand through his hair. He wanted to know. It was just so strange, this entire situation.

In the end, his need for answers compelled him to send another message.

Why do you end all texts with your initials anyway?

Arthur immediately regretted starting up another conversation, but had a quiet satisfaction when there was another response.

Because it more than likely pisses you off.
-ME

It wasn't like he could deny that. Not knowing things and being out of the metaphorical loop grated against his nerves. And this person was playing on that.

Damnit. Arthur had no leverage, absolutely nothing that he could do to find anything out. He walked into the precinct, mind flurrying with ideas and theories. He loved a good puzzle, but this was just ridiculous.

"Arthur." Leon waved him over as he walked through the hallway.

"Yea?"

"Kilgharrah wants to see you. Don't know what about, but it sounds serious." He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "You did something to wake the dragon. I wish you luck."

Leon chuckled and walked away, leaving Arthur to wonder what he did this time. He grumbled to himself and made his way to the DI's office, tentatively knocking on the door before pushing it open to reveal a glaring Kilgharrah with his arms crossed in a "tread lightly" fashion.

Even if he ticked him off on a regular basis, it didn't mean he was particularly excited to deal with the repercussions of it. He didn't even know what he was in trouble for this time!

"Sit." The DI commanded, and Arthur obeyed.

Kilgharra leaned forward. "And where, pray tell, is your partner?"

Arthur blanched, slowly opening and closing his mouth in a confused uncertainty of what to answer that with. It seemed as though this was clear to Kilgharrah as all anger seemed to dissipate and was replaced with a frustrated annoyance.

Finally it clicked in Arthur that the DI had partnered him up with someone without his approval. The idea was abrasive, and he wasn't going to be shy in saying so. Partners were for those who needed the backup, who worked better in a group. Namely, not him.

"I don't need a partner. The ones you've tried in the past ended with me or them nearly dead and you wanna try it again?" His hand moved animatedly, prepared to show just how peeved he was about this.

"Because you are disillusioned into thinking you don't need someone to cover you. You honestly think you won't end up dead working cases by yourself?"

"I work alone."

Kilgarrah's ever present frown suddenly quirked up into an amused smirk, as though he was sharing a private joke with himself. Arthur gulped against his will. When Kilgarrah looked mischievous, it never ended well for him. Ever.

"Funnily enough," he stretched back into his chair, "You're the second person to say that to me today."

"What?"

"You're new partner said the same. I sent him out to provide you with backup for this case, though it seems as though he didn't bother showing up."

Arthur's mind began to reel. Surely it wasn't...?

But someone had to give him his phone number.

Damnit.

"Always one for a dramatic entrance aren't you?" Kilgharra's attention was now directed behind Arthur's seat, and the detective turned around so fast he was sure he would get backlash.

A young man stood in the door. He was pale and lanky, as though he had only just grown into his skin, complete with a ruffled mop of raven black hair. The man stood with a self assured confidence that only came with being resolutely sure of his beliefs, and actively justified his actions through them. But it was one singular quality that immediately stilled Arthur into holding his sharp tongue and captured his undivided attention. His eyes.

Deep and wild like the ocean itself, an untamable depth of sheer power that exuded such strength and sheer willpower that Arthur had to take a breath. Had he been standing, he would have stepped backwards in bewilderment.

And on top of all that was a child-like grin that seemed out of place, but fit so perfect on him.

"Merlin Emrys, at your service."

Chapter Text

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two: The Blind Bandit  

William Burke was generally an honest man, if tonight was to be an exception.

Plus all those other nights.

He stood outside the vacant house, shifting his weight from one foot to another, all the while doing the same with his options. He could let it lie and do nothing. That option involved the possibility of getting himself beaten to a pulp, and in the very best scenario, he'd be refused any more jobs.

Or he could go with the more preferable choice of doing what needed to be done and get out while he could. It would be easy, or so he had been told.

Merlin's gonna have my head for this. Will grimaced inwardly, and was absolutely positive that his friend would murder him. The man had seen horrors of bodies mangled in ways that he hadn't previously thought possible, and would probably use more than one of those tactics on Will. If he ever found out anyway.

He crept forward, knowing that each step brought him closer to the potential arrest of the century. Not that a simple robbery was going to land him in jail for life, but if a certain warlock ever even had the suspicion... Well, it would certainly be the most memorable arrest of the century for him.

The job was simple. There were no security systems in or around the house, and it seemed like a straightforward job. At least, until he saw how much money was being offered to take it. It was a pretty penny, and just seeing the price tag made his mouth water for the potential fine dining and alcohol he could stock up with that. The whole thing just sounded off, and to make matters worse, it had been handed down to a footman like Will to take care of it. That was the oddest thing about it. Sending in an experienced guy would have made more sense, but no, it had been shoved towards him.

Now, Will wasn't stupid. In fact, if he had the choice, he would have turned down the assignment, money or not.

But he hadn't been given that choice.

He sighed. This would be a long night.

Will tugged on his gloves, first trying the front door and not surprised to find it locked. It never hurt to try.

Tossing down his bag, he rifled through it, found his toolkit, and pulled out his lock pick. Usually he would time how long it took him to open doors to see if he'd broken his record, but was too wary and on edge tonight to do much in the way of entertainment.

The lock couldn't even be considered a challenge to break through, and it left him with the task of opening the door and entering. The simplest part of the job, but for some reason was the hardest bit to get past tonight. Will ran a hand through his dirty brown hair. Merlin really was rubbing off on him. If he didn't watch it, he'd be helping old ladies cross the street and finding abandoned puppies loving homes, screening the potential owner's background and all.

He twisted the handle slowly, the action accompanied with a familiar rush of adrenaline that came each time he did this. The hinges creaked in a loud and obnoxious screech, but he knew that house was vacant. No movement for a few days gave Will all he needed to know about the inhabitants. Currently, they were out of town. One could only be thankful for the small miracles.

Will creaked the door open, because one cannot break into a house without the door having it's own alarm system via a lack of oiling. He stepped cautiously inside, aware that the owner was not present, but it did nothing to quell the familiar sensation of holy shite, the alarm could go off any minute or someone could walk in and then I'd be screwed over ten thousand times.

Even if the chance of that happening was slim, the niggling feeling of something going horribly wrong set off warnings akin to sirens and frantic waving of stop signs in Will's head. There was always something that went wrong. The fact that nothing had done so yet was worrying. It was the one thing he could always count on during a job.

That, and stubbing his toe on some stray coffee table.

Every time.

The inside of the house was nice enough despite it's dreary outer appearance. A simple man cave, shelves adorned with a multitude of sports paraphernalia. Will grimaced at how stereotypical the owner was. Besides being a football fanatic, there was a laughable amount of adult movies piled in a teetering tower by the television set. He had to wonder if the man had a job. Or left the house.

Giving a sneer of disgust toward the ungodly amount of junk food that littered every possible sliver of free space left, he gingerly stepped over a few stray cheetos and flinched when one crunched in an obnoxious crackle under his foot. Whether someone was there to hear it or not , it went against Will's very being to make noise.

There was something off about the house. It didn't seem like there would be anything of importance stashed away here, but he supposed that was that point. Still, a football freak and a significant relic sounded like polar opposites.

He decided to suck it up and get this done, then get out at fast as possible. Hurrying past the kitchen where some unidentifiable smell was coming from, he held his breath until he was past. He had no inclination whatsoever to find out what a "manly man" had going on in his cooking area. Maybe he was being a bit mean spirited to a guy he was robbing, but the man wasn't getting any bonus points for the dirty laundry strewn about in the hallway.

"Ick." Will kicked aside a few socks stained with unnatural colors and tried not to look at anything that might resemble briefs.

The door to the bedroom was cracked ajar, and he paused before entering. His heart pounded, his mind screaming for him to turn back and leave now while he still could. There was no reason for him to get so riled up for a job like this. He'd finished harder ones before with minimal symptoms of stress. What he wanted to know was why his instincts were signaling his attention like a giant red flag.

"Get a grip Will," he muttered, pushing the door open.

On the bed was a man sprawled out in a very unnatural position. The small hope that he was just sleeping was gone as it became apparent that his blue eyes were wide open.

Will sucked in a breath. This was bad, this was so so bad. A burglar who just happened to visit on the same night as a murderer? It sounded insane to his own ears, much less to a court's. It all made sense now. The ridiculous amount of money offered, the fact that he'd been practically forced into this job.

With blood rushing through his veins, he tried to think and keep calm.

It failed.

The only plausible solution was get out, and get out now.

Just when he began to dart out the door, blue and red flashing lights blinded him through the bedroom window.

"Shite."

 

 

---

 

"No."

"It's not a negotiation Pendragon."

"I don't care." Arthur crossed his arms and glared at Merlin. Merlin, however, continued to stand there as though Arthur didn't exist. In fact, besides his cheeky grin that grated against his nerves, the lanky man did not acknowledge Arthur's presence at all. Instead, it seemed that he got entertainment out of watching Arthur squirm under the intimidating gaze of Kilgharrah. At least, he did until Kilgharrah's piercing glare turned toward him, effectively wiping the insufferable grin off his face.

"Don''t act so smug Merlin, you're in even more trouble than he is."

Merlin rolled his head back in a silent groan.

Arthur suddenly came to the realization that he had nearly shot and was taunted by his would be partner. That M.E. was a cocky little show off, doing all he could to insult Arthur and undermine his competence. And to be honest, he was right pissed off at it. More than anything at himself for not figuring out that he was merely being toyed with for some sort if revenge on Kilgharrah.

What he didn't understand was how Kilgharrah and Merlin knew each other. He had never heard the name mentioned before, but Kilgharrah almost seemed accustomed to his presence. Arthur's eyes darted back and forth between them, his mind attempting to put the pieces together. He was about as successful as a two year old smashing a square block into a round hole.

"You two are far more trouble than you're worth, and so I'm putting my two biggest problems together." Kilgharrah stared at them both in turn, and Arthur had the severe urge to gulp. The man had a no nonsense policy, though the rule only came out when him or one of his men did something stupid on the field, which was an often enough occurrence.

"You're being ridiculous," Merlin stated in a bland voice, tossing his hand up in an indifferent gesture. Arthur got the distinct feeling that the two of them had had this conversation before.

"I'm being generous. You have an ultimatum, either you two make friends or both of you will be suspended from cases for an indefinite amount of time. Your choice." Grinning a toothy smile of sadistic pleasure, Kilgharrah reclined back in his chair to watch the show begin.

Merlin finally turned his attention toward Arthur and pointed. "Not a word."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and scoffed. "You have no right to any say in what I do."

The answer he got was a halfhearted glare, as though Merlin simply didn't have time to deal with Arthur and his idiocy. If he didn't know better, he would say that Merlin had to deal with Arthur's personality everyday and was just tired of it. He almost felt bad to have the cheeky grin so easily wiped off his face by his own presence in the room, but quickly enough remembered that he owed Merlin nothing and it wasn't his fault that the guy was touchy. The part of this that startled him the most was the sheer difference between Merlin's face, as it changed from the almost childish face that he saw before.

"I saw what you were about to do. I don't make alliances, especially not with asses like you," Merlin said, fiddling absently with a piece of paper he pulled out of his pocket.

Oh. Arthur grimaced inwardly, knowing immediately what Merlin was talking about. He had been about to shoot Carlton's leg before the warning shot came out of nowhere. It hadn't only been a threat, it had been a distraction. Looking back on it, Arthur had acted on impulse and adrenaline--the very thing that had been impounded in his head again and again never to let control his actions.

But he'd be damned if Merlin goody-two-shoes or Kilgharrah, the dragon breathing down his neck start to influence any of his decisions.

"I have a case for you to solve," Kilgharrah interrupted the petty argument to get back to the matter at hand, "None of the knights could do it, and you two are my best men as much as I hate to say it." He stroked his chin in contemplation, now looking very old and tired to Arthur. "This is your last chance. Prove to me that you can be team players or I will not hesitate to sack you both ."

"You can't suspend me, my father would never allow it."

Kilgharrah's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You want to bet Pendragon?" His nails tapped in sharp succession at his desk, and Arthur cursed his blunt tongue.

Kilgharrah usually didn't want to butt heads with his father, but when he did, he could get so fired up about the confrontation he looked as though he were enjoying it. If that happened, his father had almost no chance. The two of them were the only ones who could fight and come off evenly matched. Once in a while, the Knights would start a betting pool over who would win the current argument, and Arthur was known to toss in a few discreet pounds in Kilgharrah's favor.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't need a partner that's liable to go rogue on me."



"He's loyal to Albion Yard, whether he acts like it or not."

"I should have a say in my own partnership."

"Which is why I've given you the choice. It's Merlin or you're out. I'm sure your father would be so pleased with that development." Kilgharrah smiled wickedly, knowing that there had been no option given and it was his way or the highway. Arthur really hated when he did that. Now more so than any other time he held leverage over him. In his opinion, the ultimatum option was a form of entertainment for the DI, who sat around smoking cigars all day. He spared a moment to wonder if Kilgharrah ever got out of his office. Or his chair for that matter.

"Let's say I do accept this," Arthur made a feeble attempt to placate him, however useless the gesture may be. "How long until we're off the hook?"

Raising his eyebrows in the same infuriating way he exhibited far too often that suggested he had more insight to a situation than Arthur did. It grated against his nerves when he knew people were holding information out on his. It was this that had made him so good at interrogating criminals--no one wanted to deal with an irate Arthur. Gwaine had made plenty enough jokes about it to spread rumors of using tactics that may or may not be against the law in those sessions.

Kilgharrah had to think for a moment. "I'll make it a month. Deal with each other for a month and I'll let you off to your own devices again." He looked at them both pointedly. "So long as you're both perfect angels during that time period."

"Fine," Merlin spoke up, and Arthur turned in his seat to look behind him, wondering what had gotten into the man who seemed so against it in the first place. Upon seeing his face, however, he found an annoyed scowl telling him all he needed to know in one irked glance thrown in his direction. Arthur easily translated it to--I don't like you, but we're not going to win against Kilgharrah so we might as well get out of this before we make it worse.

And as much as Arthur hated to admit it, Merlin had a point. There would be no winning against the DI, especially when he was in one of his more stubborn moods. As of now, it didn't look like he was about to budge any more than a boulder would for a mouse.

"Good." Kilgharrah motioned for Merlin to come forward and held out a folder containing the details of the case. He tossed Arthur's copy onto the desk in front of him, then sat back in his seat with a cigar that had somehow materialized into his hand. "You're dismissed Arthur. I wish to speak with Merlin alone."

Arthur stood, grabbing the case file and heading toward the door. He wouldn't be able to get out of there fast enough. These encounters with the Dragon of the Yard never failed to wear him thin, and gave him the undeniable urge to take a hot bath and sleep for ten hours straight.

On his way out, he brushed past Merlin. The two's eyes met, and a rush of something ran through him. Before Arthur could even begin to interpret the sensation, Merlin broke eye contact, moving from the door into the room with an awkward grace that Arthur was sure only he could pull off and still look somewhat competent.

He sighed, making his way out of the building for a much needed mind-numbing online poker session.

Chapter Text

 

Chapter Three: The Dragon's Stupid Call

Merlin wasn't sure what he expected from all this, but it certainly wasn't Arthur Pendragon. He sighed in the realization that a long and pointless lecture was heading his way.

"So?" Kilgharrah asked simply, as if he fully expected Merlin to be able to understand what he was asking without being told. Lucky Merlin had the knack of being able to do just that.

"He's a rash and inconsiderate asshole."

"Really? Hadn't guessed," came Kilgharrah's flippant reply, leaving Merlin to huff in annoyance.

"You can't really expect me to protect him."

Kilgharrah's eyebrows raised. "And yet, that's exactly what I brought you here for."

Merlin scowled, crossing his arms in and indignant stance. He knew he had been called to be a bodyguard of sorts, in accordance with some ancient prophecy, though he had told Kilgharrah repeatedly that he wanted nothing to do with all that mumbo-jumbo. Having magic in a world where it didn't exist was enough for him to stay far away from anything that might pull him further into the ways of the Old Religion. Namely, the very thing Kilgharrah was trying to do.

"I'm doing this because I need a place to stay. Nothing. Else," he hissed under his breath, more than fed up with all of the coaxing and threatening that had been thrown his way since he got here.

"We both know it's for a bit more than that, Merlin."

"It was my choice, " Merlin protested, "Not some destiny that brought me here."

At this Kilgharrah chuckled in a secret delight. "As you wish."

The two of them were silent for a few minutes, taking the time to calculate the other's next move. Merlin had to mentally prepare himself for anytime he had to talk to the DI, as it always ended in a chess game between them within the first ten minutes. So far, it appeared that neither of them had an advantage. He was sure that that would change soon though.

"You shot at him."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, not bothering to wonder how the old man knew that. "It was a warning. I wasn't about to let him shoot that man."

"Quite right. But if he had shot back?"

Merlin was quiet. He would have used his magic to put up a shield, but he couldn't exactly tell Kilgharrah that without facing a dragon's fire for using any form of his power in public. Even though he could argue that it wasn't actually in public, and one of the exceptions to the rule was if it was in self defense. He'd rather not start an argument over that yet, if only because he never won any of those.

"Arthur wouldn't have done that, he was too curious. If nothing else, he allows his curiosity to win out over his impulses."

Kilgharrah let out an exasperated breath, dark cigar smoke filling the air. "Whether you're good at reading people or not, nothing is ever one-hundred percent."

There was nothing he could say to that. He knew it was probably a stupid idea even at the time, but after analyzing his options, hadn't seen a more viable one. It still wasn't his fault that Pendragon decided it would be more fun to disarm the man like that. Though really, it hadn't been all that bad of a tactic, albeit it was a direct one. Take down the man, quick and simple. Merlin probably would have done something along those lines as well, involving a spell of calming rather than a gun, but the idea was the same. Sort of.

"You had one job, Merlin."

"And I did my job. He's fine and dandy, no thanks to his own idiocy."

"With the added complication that both of you got into an unnecessary amount of danger. On your first assignment."

Merlin blew out a mouthful of air in frustration. "Again, not my fault. If you wanted someone with more skills in dealing with someone like him," He jammed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction Arthur had gone in, "You can always just find someone else."

"You underestimate the will of destiny."

"Oh, now it has a will? Look, nothing against destiny or anything, but Arthur is an ass who immediately resorts to violence as a solution, and people like that don't change."

"Maybe it's your destiny to change that."

Merlin groaned, not wanting to get knee deep into this discussion again. It seemed that every time he spoke to Kilgharrah he had something new to say about his oh so very important destiny. It was really beginning to drive Merlin nuts. If any of those criminals had to deal with someone like Kilgharrah, he could hardly blame them for wanting to go on a murder spree.

"Need I remind you," he added with a warning voice, "That if you don't play nice, I can just as easily send you back."

Merlin flinched, nodding in complacence to please the angry dragon before he could start to consider the idea and deem it a good one. The DI appeared to have been satisfied with Merlin's intimidated reaction, and fell back into a less threatening posture in his chair, sucking in another puff of smoke.

"Did you keep me here for a reason?" The warlock asked, noticing the substantial change in atmosphere. He was all for taking the opportunity to find a way out of this Q and A session and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. That was one thing he liked well enough about Kilgharrah, that the mood could change in an instant. It worked well for him now, as he didn't have time for an interrogation, especially not a lecture about how important destiny was.

"Ah yes," Kilgharrah answered, flicking a bit of ash over the case file Merlin had sat down on the desk. "This is a job for you both to take on. There's been a string of murders involving twenty to thirty year old men all been found dead in their homes all across London."

"Right, that Midnight Date Murderer that's so popular in the news."

"A suiting name. They were all killed around midnight in the same way."

"What way would that be?"

"There's the crux." Kilgharrah sighed in an annoyed way that said just as much as it would have if he had spoken plain words--that he was very done with the incompetence of non-magic users and their lack of knowledge. "No one knows. They don't have a scratch on them, not testing positive for any poison."

"Sounds like my type of case," Merlin said. "Connections?"

"None, so far as we can see."

Merlin inclined his head, opening the case file to see that there had never been a single piece of evidence left at any of the four murders of the men. All of them were single, but had been known to go out for a night on the town with their beer buddies. Nothing more than a one night stand, as far as he could tell. None had looked similar in the least. One was a ginger haired, freckle covered college student. Another was a man recently moved in abroad from India, another was an overweight brown haired man without a job.

But it was the last that stopped him. The last was a well built man who obviously worked out, familiar floppy blond hair barely covering the deep blue eyes that had been frozen, wide in fear.

"This-this is..."

"A miss."

Merlin's head shot up to look at Kilgharrah, his face grim and without any of the typical mirth that he had when speaking to the young warlock. "He was a newbie, Uther had just hired him from a private investigator company. He hadn't even worked here for more than a few days."

"And someone followed him home, thinking he was Arthur."

"Quick on your feet aren't you?"

"That would kind of be the idea." Merlin pulled his cell phone from his pocket, not listening as Kilgharrah went over the less important details of the case.

Checked out the case file yet?
-ME

Buzz off.

And you're walking home alone?
-ME

What?

I'll take that as a no to the first, a yes to the second.
-ME

Kigharrah let out another long suffering sigh. "Calm yourself Merlin. If there's anything that's been in common between all the murders, it's the time in which they've been committed. Each one was exactly one week apart from the last, almost to the minute, according to the forensics analysts. It's doubtful that they would deviate from their pattern at this point."

"Doesn't mean they won't take the opportunity when they see it," Merlin shot back, waiting for the next text. As much as Arthur was a man who could be easily insulted with all his flaws, the last thing he wanted was for the detective to be dead because of an easily preventable oversight.

"Someone being as careful as this wouldn't change their pattern. I've seen their type, and I know that you've had a bit of personal experience with them.

Not bothering to answer, Merlin stood and purposefully ignored any and all other comments directed toward him. Feet shuffling across the floor, he finally acknowledged to himself that he was dead tired. Rethinking the idea, he mended that that particular analogy may have just jinxed his luck, and he really didn't need that. It was bad enough already. His hand was on the door handle when Kilgharrah's voice stopped him.

"Wait."

Merlin paused near the door. So close.

He turned back to Kilgharrah and raised an eyebrow, knowing that whatever came out of his mouth was more than likely going to give him grief.

"I did promise you a flat." Kilgharrah tossed keys toward him. Merlin froze them in midair before they got within a few feet of his head, which was where the DI seemed to have been aiming. The show of magic was more to prove a point to Kilgharrah than anything else, it would have been easy enough just to catch them in his hands. It was mostly as a declaration that Kilgharrah didn't own him, as much as the DI would beg to differ.

However, unlike the scolding Merlin assumed he would get, there was only the continuation of his statement, ignoring the point Merlin had tried to prove. Check and mate. Merlin cursed under his breath as Kilgharrah finished, "I highly suggest you get moved in right away. It's already got a bed and everything set up."

Merlin's annoyance quirked up into a pleased grin he couldn't hide if he wanted to. He was just thankful to finally get out of the Motel 6 he'd been living out of for the last couple nights. He had had about enough of the dirty, smelly rooms that were more or less inhabited by the city's local prostitutes. Even the showers felt grimy.

"Be on your way, young warlock. I don't have time to entertain you further." Kilgharrah gestured towards the door in a shooing motion. Merlin enthusiastically obliged, practically throwing himself out the door. He needed some alone time, and spending a single second more in the precinct, it was almost definitely going to make him explode. Probably.

When Kilgharrah began to laugh at some unspoken joke as he left down the hall, a sinking feeling of wariness settled in his stomach.

Merlin pushed against the doors far too hard for any self respecting member of Albion Yard, but he didn't care in the least. It was the only thing between him and freedom, and he was about to blow it down with a gratuitous show of sparks and magic if there was so much as a bit of resistance slowing him down. As the glass double doors flew open, he felt that he deserved the slight flair in his exit. Maybe a bit overdramatic, but since when had he ever done anything half assed?

And hence the ridiculous one man charge out the front door.

Once his five second broadway show was over and he had successfully attracted the attention of a few passers by walking their dogs on the street, he tapped down the steps to the sidewalk. Merlin slide his phone halfway out of his pocket to check for messages.

Nothing.

That prat. It's not like it was an inquiry about his personal well being or anything.

He sighed, letting the phone drop back into it's spot nestled cozily in his coat. Well, at least it wasn't on his head if anything happened to the moron. He could go rot in an alleyway for all he cared, fulfilling Kilgharrah's "destiny" speech or not.

Nope, there was no way the stupid dragon was going to make him feel guilty about this.

None at all.

With an aggravated growl, Merlin pulled out his cell phone again, and pressed angrily down on the keys.

I'm not a babysitting service. Reply so I don't have to answer to K.
-ME

He could practically see Arthur's disgusted sneer as he read the message.

I'm home, now shut it

Satisfied with that answer, his conscience was clear and Merlin could get back to what he was trying to do. Clearing his head was top priority, and it had always been the best self prescribed medicine for any time he felt too claustrophobic from a full day's worth of people.

Wandering aimlessly through London seemed like a good way to let out steam. Well, it was a good idea so long as he didn't think about that sentence for too long.

Merlin walked, taking in the new surroundings. He had really missed London, with all it's bustling nature in the day and the barren desolation on the streets that came with night.

It wasn't long before he looked down at the keys that Kilgharrah had tossed at him. A small piece of paper was wrapped tightly around one of them with a rubber band, and he fiddled with it a bit to slip the paper out and get it unfolded.

221b Camelot Street.

Had a nice ring to it at least.

Chapter Text

 

Chapter Four: Let's Just Blame the Pasta

Merlin dropped by the motel, surprised that no one had broken in and stolen every scrap of clothing he owned, and dragged his small suitcase out and down the road.

He continued on his way, and he was eager to get a good night's rest without being awoken by wild hotel guests or a very hard pillow that induced a crick in his neck whenever he laid in a single position for more than ten minutes.

It was when he got to a small building of flats that he glanced back down at the paper, making sure that this was indeed the correct place. He was glad that it seemed homey and inviting. The place was adjacent to a small apothecary store that appeared to be closed for the night, though looked interesting enough to take a look inside the next morning. There were probably plenty of supplies for spells or aids for healing remedies should he need any to enhance his magic. He made a note to check it out in the morning.

First though, he coveted the simple pleasure of a graceless flop into a bed and forget that the whole day ever happened. A few hours of blissful dreaming sounded like heaven on earth.

Dragging his feet to the door, he clumsily jammed one of the two keys into the lock. There came a mild satisfaction when he had chosen the correct one first. As soon as it clicked, the door eased open and Merlin glanced toward the first few rooms on the bottom. No one would be awake at this hour, so he decided he'd meet the landlord in the morning.

Merlin barely remembered hauling himself up the steps to the door of 221b, pleased with the soft clicking sound that accompanied the wonderful realization of having a nice place to stay for the night.

The feeling was immediately turned into alertness as he walked in. A television was on, switched to a soccer game taking place in the U.S, and the signs of someone living there were everywhere. Merlin stared in confusion. Did he have the wrong flat? No, of course this was the correct one, his keys worked. He blinked, unsure of what his next move should be. He then ran through the different possible explanations in his head and was on the theory that the old tenant hadn't yet moved out when the sound of a gun cocking turned his attention toward the kitchen.

Merlin didn't move, he didn't show emotion. He berated himself for not entering quieter so the person living here didn't have a bloody heart attack, but really, it was his flat. There wasn't much he could have done to foresee this.

A head poked out from behind the wall, and Merlin barely kept his jaw from unhinging and gaping like a fish. Arthur appeared to be having the same reaction.

Both of them stood unmoving.

"You." Arthur glared.

"You." Merlin didn't blink.

Arthur seemed to regain his functionality back first. "Get out. I don't know how you got in here but I want you out now or I will actually use this." He gestured to the firearm in his hand, causing Merlin to shoot him a disbelieving look.

"Is it just your motto to shoot and ask questions later?"

"Well you're not exactly giving me a reason not to do so." Arthur scanned over Merlin, and apparently saw something to convince him that Merlin wasn't there to pose a threat and lowered the gun.

"Kilgharrah promised me a flat. He gave me the keys and sent me to this address." Merlin held up the keys and shook them a little to prove his point. "It's not like anywhere near you would be my first choice."

"I've already got a new flatmate coming here tomorr--oh..." Arthur's face twisted into one of both understanding and seething rage. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, now seeing just how convoluted a man Kilgharrah really was. "I'm gonna kill him."

Merlin scoffed. "Get in line."

The two of them fell into an awkward silence. Merlin was busying his mind with planning out several elaborate plots to kill Kilgharrah, and by the look on Arthur's face, he was doing the same. In a sort of mutual decision that they would focus on the present and deal with revenge later, Merlin broke the trance-like quiet. 

He cleared his throat, which gained Arthur's full attention. "As much fun as this is, I'd better be going."

Arthur's face crinkled into a dubious expression and Merlin saw that he was taking his time to sort out his answer. "If you were planning on having a flat tonight, I doubt you have a place to stay." He cut off the last word short, as though he hadn't actually meant to voice his thoughts out loud.

"Motel. No big deal."

"Really. You're going to go out and walk alone in the middle of the night to some sleazy motel?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow, wondering what exactly Arthur was getting at. "Got another option? Somehow I'm doubting your desire to be a good host and offer a room."

There was another silence, but this time both men in the room wanted to say something, and Merlin wasn't going to try and divine out what Arthur was holding back about. But then it dawned on him that offering a room was exactly what Arthur was on the verge of doing, but his head was too inflated to make good on it. He held back a mischievous smirk then, suddenly feeling like he would drag this on for a bit longer. He didn't even care that it would lower his chances of having a soft non-cardboard filled pillow to sleep on.

"You know, I'm fairly sure it'll rain. Can't see more than two feet in front of you in this sort of fog. Good thing the mysterious sort like me enjoy that kind of weather. We thrive in it."

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what brought on the sudden conversation change and Merlin took that as a sign to plow on.

"Did you know that there's a mobster who's based right out of one of those motel rooms? I wouldn't miss an opportunity to take him down with evidence found outside his room. Or inside. It might take a bit of finesse to talk my way in, but I've been told criminals have a soft spot for me." Merlin looked down to pick some dirt out from under his fingernails in a bored fashion, and it took all his inner will not to want to kick Arthur and just ask him if he could stay outright. That wouldn't be nearly as fun though. 

Arthur still looked to be utterly perplexed, and was at present trying to process the information and why it related to him. Merlin sighed. Of course the so called greatest detective in London had picked tonight to be slow on his game.

He tried again. "But about that case we have to work on. Well, not you at least, I figure I'll be doing all the footwork anyway. I was going to wait to go check out some ideas I had for that Midnight Murderer or whatever, but since I have some extra time on my hands..."

Finally, the idiot seemed to get a hint. "Kilgharrah would have your head. And more than that, he'd have my head. Been through enough partners as it is, I don't need one with a death wish." He glared at Merlin, and could tell he was coming to the conclusion that Merlin wanted him to. Arthur would have to make him spend the night, and it wasn't by his own volition.

"Good." Merlin stepped father into the room, closing the door behind him. He plopped himself down on the couch, stretching out like a cat does when they've claimed a space as their territory for an indefinite cat nap.

"I didn't invite you to stay."

"But the only alternative is to kick me out, and I'd have nothing to do besides walk aimlessly about London and hunt down murderers." He closed his eyes, listening to Arthur try and fish for something to counter with.

"What happened to staying at a motel?"

Merlin shrugged. "Suddenly decided I hate them."

"You're not staying."

Opening an eye to look at Arthur curiously, he answered. "Alright. I'll be on my way then." Merlin kicked out his feet and swung them around to the front of the couch, standing up and flinging the door wide open. There was a certain aspect of deja vu to exiting in such a fabulous way twice in one night, but felt it was necessary for the point he was trying to make. He had just gotten to the top of the staircase when Arthur appeared at the door.

"Wait."

Merlin did his best not to grin. "Yes?" He was pretty sure it sounded innocent. By the look on Arthur's face, he was also pretty sure that the detective wasn't buying it.

Nonetheless, he sighed in resignation. "I have a spare room. One night."

"One night's all I need." Merlin bounded back towards the door of the cozy little flat, and Arthur grudgingly stepped aside for him to enter.

"Your room's there." Arthur pointed to a door, then went back into the kitchen to finish making whatever he had been cooking. Merlin could hear pans clacking together. It seemed that he had been making a microwavable tv dinner when Merlin barged in and now felt obligated to cook a real dinner.

Merlin sighed, looking longingly at the soccer game on the television, but forced himself up. The kitchen was small, but still sizable for a flat. Plenty of room for two people to be in without becoming awkward, which would undoubtedly happen anyway, but the added uncomfortableness of a cramped space wouldn't have helped.

"Need help?" Merlin asked, trying not to laugh at the sight of Arthur reading the instructions for making pasta off the cardboard box. The man simply looked up in an irritated glance that Merlin somehow recognized wasn't aimed specifically at him, but at his mortal enemy of cooking. That's how Merlin perceived it anyway, and he had long since learned to trust his instincts.

"I can handle pasta fine," Arthur answered hotly, ignoring any pointed looks the warlock might have been giving. Merlin raised his eyebrows considerably, glancing behind Arthur at a pot overfilled with water that had begun to boil over.

Merlin crossed the kitchen to the pot, lowing the temperature and covering it with the lid. Turning, he crossed his arms and stared at Arthur expectantly. "Your pasta skills need work."

"You distracted me."

"Sure I did," Merlin said, grinning.

The room was oddly silent, broken with the sound of bubbling water and muffled cheering from the soccer game. An awkward dance begun between the two inhabitants of the kitchen, pointedly avoided eye contact with each other, only to sneak glances every few minutes.

Merlin sighed. "I am sorry about all this," he had long since realized that unless he fixed the weirdness now, it would continue to be that way for the duration of their partnership. "And-"

"Stop right there." Arthur held up his hand, halting Merlin's speech of apology he had been trying to give like the good tenant he was supposed to be. "We've both been royally duped. I understand you expect nothing from me. I can offer the same courtesy. You don't have to explain yourself to me."

Staring with a furrowed brow, Merlin blinked in confusion at the offer. Surely Merlin hadn't come off that much of an antisocial prick yet, but he could never be sure about that. People either liked or hated him. There was never an in-between. Though he honestly thought he was within his forgivable realm of natural born attitude in not letting Arthur get away with shooting someone without taking a step back to evaluate the situation for all other possibilities first.

Merlin tried and failed to make some sense of Arthur. He simply couldn't. With his so called genius ability to read people, it was startlingly hard to do so with Arthur Pendragon. His past, that was easy enough. Soldier, PTSD and all that. But what the man was thinking right now? Merlin didn't have a clue. Arthur acted like a soldier inside and out, keeping all he could hidden from a potential enemy. He wasn't sure how he felt about being considered a potential enemy yet.

Their eyes finally met, and neither of them broke it.

Merlin's heart fluttered against his will when Arthur's intense eyes were directed straight at him. He watched Arthur with a careful deliberation, feeling vulnerable as vivid blue eyes sized him up. Merlin tried not to gulp, controlling his breathing by concentrating on the feel of his shirt against his chest. He was abruptly aware when his ability to deduct had been unceremoniously stripped from him by the ruthless gaze that took no prisoners. Feeling so powerless and naked in front of Arthur summoned a wealth of emotions he wouldn't even try to put a name to.

Now he wondered just how in the world he would last the month, especially if Arthur was going to insist on causing moments like this.

A sizzling noise from the stove interrupted their silent conversation, though Merlin couldn't decipher what words had been said if he tried. He lowered the temperature again and waited until the water no longer threatened to overflow before dumping in the noodles.

Merlin cleared his throat, pretending to focus his gaze on cooking the food. "Yea, sure. It's only a month, how hard could it be?"

Chapter Text

 

Chapter Five: Innuendos and Guilty Phone Calls

 

Merlin woke up the next morning, disoriented to see the sun shining brightly into the room and not filtered through a grimy motel window. Dragging himself to a sitting position, his legs dangled limply off the bed and rubbed his hands in a rough up and down motion over his face, trying in vain to rouse himself into a state of semi-wakefulness.

He decided that his mission for the morning was to take a shower, and didn't give a rat's ass if Arthur didn't want him to use it--motel showers could only do so much. Merlin stood, surveying the room. It had been cleaned well within the last few days, and the pillows still smelled like the fresh, crisp scent of store bought cotton.

Merlin glanced towards the closed door as if Arthur would spontaneously appear with a sizable stick, shooing him out. Though he was mildly surprised this didn't happen, and he was left to take in his new surroundings at his leisure. Arthur was obviously expecting a roommate, but had no idea that his roommate was a genius, concededly annoying, magic-using consulting detective sent to be a personal bodyguard by a crazy Detective Inspector who believes in an equally crazy prophecy.

Well, he knew at least one of those things.

Running a hand through his hair, he knelt down where conspicuous streaks left by a hasty sweeping with a broom stretched across the floor, and even more hastily swept under the large dresser in a splayed pile of dust and dirt. Merlin sighed, clicking open his suitcase for a change of clothes, then ventured out in search of the bathroom.

He opened the door paused before he even had the chance to walk out of the room. The tantalizing smell of pancakes halted him in his tracks as it wafted inside through the open door. Merlin wasn't sure when he'd last eaten, but it definitely wasn't the day before. And usually, food repelled him when he was on a case. But the sweet call of pancakes hit straight home, and he could almost picture his mother in the kitchen whipping up a feast fit for a king.

Diverting his mission for the shower, he made the executive decision to forgo cleanliness for food. Eat first, shower later.

It wasn't until he walked into the kitchen did the concept occur to him that Arthur probably didn't cook breakfast for flat crashers. Merlin tried to hide his complete disappointment when he saw the single plate stacked with four unbelievably wonderful smelling pancakes with every square inch covered with gorgeous amber syrup in an excruciatingly slow descent to the edge of the plate-

Merlin shook his head. He really needed a way to put his thoughts on pause.

Arthur coughed, as though he had known exactly what Merlin had been thinking, and waved his hand slowly in front of his face in an attempt to get Merlin to come down from a hunger induced daydream. Merlin blinked, then smiled like a child caught stealing a cookie from the jar. Neither spoke, but Merlin took it as a good sign that Arthur hadn't forcibly thrown him out the door yet.

In the awkward-not-so-awkward silence, Merlin took in the sight of Arthur. His eyes roved over the loose t-shirt and bed mussed hair and the tiniest bit of maple syrup at the corner of his mouth.

He swallowed and jerked his head in a different direction. "Thanks for letting me stay the night. I'll be out of your hair then."

Arthur looked up from poking the gooey, spongey mess with his fork.

"Good." He turned his attention back to the food that seemed to laugh a continuous taunt at Merlin. He held back the urge to glare, knowing full well that he had no rightful claim to any food and had pushed his boundaries by staying the night.

But dammit they just looked so good.

And the man leaning over them lazily, shoving a forkful into his mouth could be the poster-boy for all brands of maple syrup. Hell, the guys in charge of advertising would go all Hunger Games over him. Anyone with half a brain would grab a bottle of maple syrup with his picture plastered on the front of it.

It wasn't that he didn't like Arthur, he'd seen the headstrong and reckless types before. Even if Merlin was one to premeditate every action he took in advance, he had an odd sort of respect for those who could charge into a room with gun-a-blazing and no conceived fear of failure.

No, it certainly wasn't that Arthur had a chiseled jaw, pecs that should only belong to a freaking Greek god, and bright blue eyes that made him feel like he was standing in a forest during that one magical hour before dusk where everything is tinted the same shade of blue.

Oh dear God, I'm getting cheesy. He thought grimly. Back the train up and reverse, I am not going down that road.

It was because Kilgharrah had set this up and he was not going to be buying into it. Whatever Kilgharrah had in mind for him, there was just one sure result to come from it--that none of this would go in his favor.

To be fair, Merlin had stared at the photo the DI had thrown into the file of all he needed to know about Arthur, and had had hopes that something good could come out of this arrangement. Those hopes were dashed when he figured out just how much of a prat this man could be.

Speaking of the prat, the man sitting above the scrumptious breakfast rolled his eyes, breaking Merlin out of the babbling going on in his head. "You're drooling all over my floor."

He lifted his fork in Merlin's direction, motioning with the silverware to take a seat on the other end of the table. "It'll get cold if you stand there any longer."

Blinking out of an incoherent fog, Merlin let his body move him forward to set himself down into the creaky wooden chair and stare across at Arthur. Well, he would insist that he was simply sizing him up for the validity of the offer. Risking the chance of being duped, quirked a grin in what he hoped to be a friendly sort of expression. It appeared to have worked because Arthur simply shoved over a plate he'd hidden under the table toward Merlin.

Apparently, he'd given more of a pouting puppy look if Arthur's pitying eyes were any sign.

Not that he cared. His eyes were only on the pancakes.

And the occasional glance upwards to the other detective in his pj's.

The rest of breakfast passed in an awkward silence. Merlin did cuss in a variety of colorful words when syrup dripped onto his trousers, tamed only when Arthur rolled his eyes and tossed him a damp washcloth.

"Sure hope that's not an indicator of what you're like in bed."

Freezing, Merlin lifted his head from attacking the stain with the cloth, now absolutely sure that his covert glances hadn't been so covert.

But one look at Arthur's amused, but not too amused, face told him that he hadn't been discovered. The ass just liked to poke people with sticks.

"Prat," he said, and then continued on with his dabbing.

 

---

 

A bell chimed merrily as he walked into the shop. It was a small space, and overcrowded but maintained a homey feel. Bubbling concoctions covered the counters, and herbs of all sorts littered any other available space. Somehow, it appeared to be an organized kind of chaos, where everything had it's place and the owner knew exactly where everything was. Merlin marveled at the sheer amount of books that had been shelved on the walls. It felt like every item in there had a purpose just as important as the next, and Merlin almost didn't see the wizened old man sitting over an ancient looking tome, flipping lazily through the pages.

Merlin watched for a few minutes, and coughed to get his attention when it became apparent that the man had been too absorbed in the book to hear him walk in. He wanted to be sure his presence was recognized before he began looking around like the snoop he is. The man startled and turned, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"Can I help you with something young man?"

Merlin smiled, glancing about the room. "Just checking out the store. I-"

He stopped mid-sentence to stare at an ancient looking book that was laid out, detailing exactly how to execute a spell to turn a deadly poison into an antidote. The man followed Merlin's gaze before clearing his throat awkwardly. "That is a curiosity only. Despite appearances, I am not completely insane."

Merlin grinned and crossed his arms, appraising. "Really?"

"Really."

"Most of this seems a little...unconventional."

The man shrugged. "Old fashioned I guess."

"You've got dozens of those totally not insane books scattered throughout your shelves." Merlin gave him a once-over before his grin widened. "And there's a bit more than ordinary equipment for the apothecary business. Plenty of extremely poisonous herbs as well-- an ordinary apothecary wouldn't have nightshade or belladonna. All of this seems pretty odd. Unless of course you're practiced in the Old Religion."

Merlin blinked innocently while the poor old man stared uncomprehending straight back at him, running through his head any possibility that his secret had been exposed to a mere stranger who had happened to wander into his shop.

Finally, an air of recognition came over his face, and he gave a small sigh of relief. "You're Merlin."

Now this, Merlin hadn't been expecting. It was his turn to be thrown off by a stranger, and he didn't like being on the clueless end of the stick. A rogue image of a chuckling Kilgharrah crossed his mind and he rolled his eyes.

"Of course," Merlin muttered, "Anything else he told you about me?'

"There was little he left out." He closed the book he'd been poring over and held out his hand. "You may call me Gaius."

Merlin took it, trying not to grimace while mulling over the thought that Kilgharrah had shared his life story to a man he'd never met, as nice as he seemed. Beyond the fact that Merlin felt that he could immediately trust Gaius, Merlin knew that if Kilgharrah could trust the man, then so could he. If even the dragon had no problem imparting such information, he must be a close friend indeed.

It wasn't until Gaius began speaking again and Merlin shook himself out of his train of thought did he catch the next statement to throw him off that day.

"It's been so long since I last saw you, a mere child who was blessed with far too much energy and a means to use it."

"You knew me?"

"My boy, Hunith and I were very close friends."

It didn't escape Merlin that the man had used past tense, though he restrained himself from asking. The last thing he needed was to rehash any old grudges that may better be left to the past. Instead, he switched topics.

"And I'm guessing it's no coincidence that your shop is directly underneath Arthur's apartment?"

Gaius's mouth twitched upwards, and Merlin could see that behind his apparent age were years of mischief under his belt. "It is not."

Scoffing, Merlin flipped through a book detailing different ways to change one's outward appearance. "So I'm not the only bodyguard he has?"

"You are far more than a bodyguard. And with a destiny as important as his, there will be as many trying to keep him safe as there is those who wish to destroy him. And just as well, you are the only one that truly has the ability to defend him."

Merlin groaned and thwacked his face against the book. "Any more fortune cookie quotes you need to tell me? Two more and I'll have collected the whole set." The last bit was said with a no small amount of spite, though Gaius paid no mind to his complaints.

Merlin noted that Kilgharrah must have warned Gaius about his antics.

Gaius patted Merlin's shoulder as a parent would reassuring a child. "I have no doubt you will succeed."

And although Merlin huffed incredulously at the sentiment, he said nothing to counter it. He trusted his own abilities implicitly, and saying anything to protest the words of destiny would only crack open another bin of fortune cookies.

He was just about to ask if he could borrow a magic book or two when the distinctive sound of "Girl's Just Wanna Have Fun" filled the room. Merlin cursed under his breath and swore that if Will touched his phone one more time-

"Merlin?"

"Will?"

There was a soft cough on the other end of the line. Merlin picked up on it instantly, a slight hesitation that would have meant nothing had it not been Will. The man was steady as a rock at gunpoint, and cocky enough to make a man shoot him just for that. It was a tell-tale sign to Merlin that whatever he was gearing up to say, it was not going to make him happy.

"I...Don't suppose you know how many years I'd get if I'd been caught for first degree murder?"

A cold pit settled like a lead weight on the bottom of Merlin's stomach. If he didn't know better, he would have said Will sounded scared. But that just wasn't possible. To hear Will with a tremor in his voice, it was ten different kinds of wrong. He got his breathing and racing thoughts under control, Merlin spoke through gritted teeth. "What. Happened."

"It ain't my fault this time." Merlin could almost see Will's hands surrendered in the air to placate him. It didn't work.

He spent another few seconds getting himself back into check, trying not the pay attention to Gaius, who now looked at him strangely, though he was trying not to be too obvious about his curiosity.

Merlin distracted himself by taking in Gaius' appearance. Clothes, worn yesterday as well. Hair was clean but flat and hadn't been washed that day. Eyes, tired and drooping. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep.

Scratch that, Merlin thought. Didn't leave the store even to go to bed.

When he had managed to get himself into a calmer disposition, the phone was raised once again to his ear. He wasn't sure when he had lowered it, but somewhere in between the rushing sound of a metaphorical truck screeching to a stop inside his head and attempting to make himself relax seemed about right.

"Do explain. I'd like to hear this one." Merlin was amazed at how flippant his voice sounded. Evidently, distracting himself worked.

Will sighed. "I took a job. Someone framed me."

Merlin could actually feel his blood pressure rising. "Why did you...?"

"Freya."

His heart felt like it had stopped for a moment.

"Oh," he answered intelligently.

"Yea, so if you don't mind, I'd like for you to get your ass out here and talk to these guys. I ain't a killer."

Fingers tapping along the edge of the phone, Merlin began to think through the possibilities. First, he'd need to talk his way into whatever crime scene Will had got himself mixed up in, then he'd somehow have to prove that the man there burgling the house was not the same man who committed a murder in the very same house. On the same night.

"My life is exponentially harder because of you, you know that?" He growled, huffing at the newfound problem Will had presented, though his insides began to turn with a bad feeling about it all. Everything about the situation screamed that Merlin didn't have all the information yet, and he hated being the one without information to base his reasoning off of.

Will must have been feeling a bit better knowing Merlin was on his side now, because his more jovial reply was more akin to the playful banter they were known to back and forth, much to the amusement to their mothers as they grew up. "That's what I'm here for."

Heartened by the very Will-ish response, Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't promise I can prove your innocence."

"I know. But you will."

Merlin nearly laughed at the tone of complete trust. No pressure or anything.

"I'll do what I can, and I'll be at the precinct later."

"Sure beans."

The cell phone was clacked shut and shoved into Merlin's coat pocket. His mind was already spinning in too many directions at once, pulled this way and that between Will's predicament, the crazed ritualistic murderer, and his new prattish partner.

Gaius had crossed his arms, raised eyebrow and all. "I take it that your services are required elsewhere?"

Merlin grimaced. "Half of our friendship is me getting Will out of trouble." He sighed, leaning himself heavily against the nearest counter stained from years of use. Or rather misuse, from what he could gather. Will was the closest friend he had--actually, the only friend he had--so seeing that he was more often than not in some sort of trouble, it sent Merlin on a high-wire of nerves whenever he got a call from the man.

At this, the older man smiled. "There's nothing better than someone to keep you on your toes."

"He's a right git, but he's only one who'll put up with me." Merlin answered, rolling his head about on his shoulders in an attempt to release some of the tension building up, however a useless endeavor it may have been. He didn't wait for Gaius to answer, moving for the door before anything could be said in the form of advice.

As much as he liked Gaius, he had the distinct feeling that he'd be another person to use distraction to avoid speaking more about the Old Religion or prophecy. He'd already had his fill of that from Kilgharrah, he most certainly didn't need it from more than one source. His sanity depended on it.

"I wish you luck, let me know if you ever need anything."

Merlin gave a halfhearted wave as he exited the store, finally allowing his mind the freedom to concentrate on getting his best friend a get out of jail card.

Preferably without the inclusion of a death sentence.

 

Chapter Text

 

Chapter Six: Murdered Men and Stolen Wallets

 

It was just at the foot of the stairs that his cell phone went off again, where he decided that he despised that accursed song with his entire being. Swiping the glass screen into submission, he strode through the front door and down the stairs, raising the phone up to his ear without looking to see who it was. 

A prattish voice came from the speaker. “There’s been another murder." 

Merlin slowed his progression down the sidewalk. "Hello to you too Arthur. I'm doing well, thanks.”

"Another one," he ignored Merlin, though the latter was ninety percent sure Arthur had rolled his eyes. "This time we've got a perp." 

The detective sounded so bloody pleased with himself, as though the case had already been solved. Merlin had a very very bad feeling about this procession of coincidences. It was one thing to defend a man caught at a crime scene, but it was something far different when the argument concerned a specific case he was working on. Not to mention the personal relation he had with the suspect in question. 

If Will got out of this without a life sentence, he would owe Merlin big.

"Well this just keeps getting better and better doesn't it?" Merlin muttered sourly under his breath, but it seemed like Arthur had picked up on it because his next words were more than a little bewildered. 

"Not sure if you've been kept up to date with the job description of a detective, but it usually involves not being bitter when a crazy murderer is brought to justice," Arthur said slowly, like he was fully expecting Merlin to fail to understand a word of it. 

Half tempted to hang up right then and there, he ignored the comment and settled on getting to the point. "Not when the suspect is not the murderer."

A snort came through the phone line, and Merlin took a deep breath as he vowed to  swear off phone calls for the rest of forever. It would be hard to explain how he already knew who the suspect was, but figured that it was going to come to light anyway—not that he particularly wanted to explain the whole situation to Arthur, who may or may not be understanding to his position. 

"He's innocent, the suspect was framed." Merlin didn't want to divulge more information than necessary, but felt that he’d been trapped in limbo of how much to reveal and when. It made no sense to anyone besides himself, claiming a man was innocent when he had only gotten the man's word for it. He never slipped up, but revealing certain pieces of information could cost him the credibility he needed to free Will. 

"And how do you know that?" Arthur's confident bravado diminished in those short seconds, checking back through the facts to be sure he hadn't missed some important clue entirely. Merlin was a bit too despondent in knowing Arthur must have done a google search on him already. 

"I'm going to prove it,” he said, fingers snaking farther around his phone, “You’ll never believe me otherwise."  

A confused silence settled where his voice left off, and Merlin tapped his foot in impatience. Either Arthur would decide to not bother with him and his odd thinking process, or he'd want to probe Merlin for more details. He tried not to think about how widespread his deductive talents had spread, even with his efforts to keep it quiet. Doubtful it did much good though, especially with the talkative types wandering around Albion Yard all day. It was a wonder they got any work done at all. He had a passing thought that he wouldn't put it past Kilgharrah to spread rumors just for the hell of it. The DI got a kick out of misery, especially if that misery happened to be Merlin's. 

"Right," Arthur's disbelieving tone nearly made Merlin sigh with relief. There were perks in having a partner who underestimates everyone who isn't himself. At least Arthur still thought of him as an idiot and not the genius he was rumored to be, whether Arthur had heard those rumors or not. It would be better for the moment to preserve that assumption. Will would hardly appreciate it if Merlin assured him a spot in a cell. Besides, he liked it better when people saw him as less than he was — it made for a much more amusing show later on. Not that he liked to show off or anything.  

"Unless there's any more helpful commentary on our captured criminal, I'd like to hang up and get to the scene." 

“At least you admit I’m helpful,” Merlin said as he shifted the phone from one hand to the other, leaning his head against the receiver. “Just give me the address.”

And Arthur did, leaving the specifically nonspecific instructions of, “don’t screw anything up or you’ll be the next body no one will be able to trace to the murderer.”

“I’ll do my best, your Highness,” Merlin snarled into the phone, though his mouth twitched upwards as the line cut halfway through the insult. Glancing down, he scowled at the number that had just called. He hadn’t regretted giving out his phone number quite yet, but it was getting there.  

The argument he used to justify the whole situation was that Arthur was the most interesting thing to happen to him in months, and it was even more of a joy to torture Arthur in whatever ways possible. Which somehow included the prat’s phone number needing to be in his contacts. 

He could always just delete the number off Arthur’s phone himself, but Kilgharrah would shoot him if he tampered with it. Merlin he didn’t actually see the downside to at least changing the contact name to “Illuminati.” Or better perhaps, “God.” 

Then again, maybe he didn’t need anyone else thinking he had some sort of complex. It was only his unique sense of humor, really. 

Merlin turned to see Arthur coming down the same path from 221b. It didn't seem like he'd noticed Merlin yet, but the warlock decided that it might be better just to get the explanation part out of the way so he didn't have to seem like an incompetent idiot at the precinct. If it was just Arthur, he figured he'd survive the ridicule that may come.  

Oddly enough, it wasn't hard to keep an eye on Arthur as he made his way down the road, passing by bicyclists and rogue strollers. 

Merlin waited until Arthur had walked close enough for him to reach out an arm and touch, though the idiot seemed too into flipping through his phone and being his absentminded self to notice when someone had begun to walk alongside him. Merlin wondered how Arthur was even still alive. 

If someone like him could get close without him noticing, then who else could?  

He stopped himself from grumbling about how hard his new job would be if the man was this clueless. Huffing in exasperation, he glanced up at the man beside him.

Without looking down, Arthur thwacked him lightly over the back of his head and continued his  unrelenting stroll down the sidewalk in search of a passing cab.

Merlin conceded that Arthur may be observant than he had first thought. Though now it dawned on him that it would be much harder to cover for a man more observant than he appeared. He supposed it might have been better for him to be clueless and stupid. If he was actually stupid or not, it was still a toss up.

It took maybe thirty seconds for Arthur to flag down a cab with the mere wave of his hand above his head. Glaring, Merlin pried the door open and climbed in first. 

“Show off,” he muttered bitterly, ignoring mild look of confusion on the detective’s face. Sure, it wasn’t explicitly Arthur’s fault he exuded a commanding presence simply by existing, but Merlin didn’t have to like it. 

It wasn’t jealousy. It was a defined irritation of Arthur’s higher than thou aura.

“It’s not showing off if it’s my natural born talent,” Arthur said with a brush of golden hair away from his eyes. 

“Having such a huge head that cars screech to a halt for you is nothing to brag about.”

“Oh, because we all have no idea how much of a genius Merlin is,” Arthur scoffed, pulling out his phone to flick back and forth between the lock-in screen and the date. Merlin was pretty sure he heard the word “hypocrite” being muttered under prat-boy’s breath, but studiously ignored it.  

The cab was unbearably stuffy. The lingering scent of smoke imbedded in the nonsmoking backseat made the experience all the more suffocating, and Merlin wrinkled his nose as he watched the streets pass in a blur. He still knew where they were going by the slightest glance at the street sign, and he spent a moment mapping out the path in his head. 

With a huff, he tapped his finger unhappily against the door when the cabbie drove around the block to their destination, extending their journey an extra two minutes longer than needed. 

Arthur was the first one out this time, beelining toward the group of police that were milling around the front entrance, doing nothing of importance. The sight ticked Merlin off, and it was only when he got out of the cab did he hear an annoyed cough. Of course Arthur had left him to pay the damn cabbie, because he wasn’t rich enough to buy the entire enterprise of cabbies in the London network. 

Merlin pulled out Arthur’s wallet that he may or may not have pilfered somewhere along the way, having the distinct feeling that he would do exactly this. It didn’t give Merlin the satisfaction of being right that it usually did, but solidified his original deduction that Arthur was a great big arsehat.

Shoving a larger amount of cash toward the open window of the cab than strictly needed, he hurried off after Arthur, who had already pushed his way inside. 

“Civilians can’t be here,” said a young man with a direct, unafraid gaze, putting his hand up to stop Merlin’s advance. 

Merlin raised an eyebrow, quirking a grin. “Well hi there. You have the authority to tell me what to do, yea?” It was an open challenge, one that Merlin was readily willing to get into.  

Suddenly seeming unsure, the man — boy, in Merlin’s opinion — glanced back to the porch of the house, as though wondering why there wasn’t anyone else helping him out.

“I commend your thought process, stopping those who even seem to belong on the scene. Serial killers tend to revisit their own crime scenes, even speaking to the police as a game of how to play with fire the most without getting burned,” Merlin said, because as inexperienced as this boy seemed, the warlock had taken a liking to him. 

A few offhand tips and the instillation of healthy wariness would do him good. He pointed to the house then. “I’ll just be going inside now,” Merlin waved in a friendly gesture, stifling a maniacal cackle when the boy’s icy blue eyes widened comedically, as if he’d just let the murderer into the crime scene. 

It only took a few seconds for him to catch up. 

“Sir, can I please have your name?” The question was rendered useless as the two walked through the rickety door into the den. 

“Emrys. Consulting detective, nice to meet you.” Merlin didn’t extend his hand, but gave an acknowledging tilt of the head. 

He was met by a breathy laugh, one of relief. Merlin hadn’t actually meant to make him worry that he was a crazy psycho murderer. Though, he had to admit it was one of his favorite pastimes, even when he was sure the few people who attempted to watch out for him had begun pulling their hair out a couple years ago.

With a wide admiring grin, the boy kept pace with him. “You’re Merlin,” he said excitedly, and then remembered himself, tacking on his own introduction. “I’m um, Mordred.”

Merlin didn’t bat an eye that Mordred had heard about him, and he didn’t ask. Evidently, even those lower on the totem pole whispered about him. With Mordred, he found that he didn’t mind as much. It might have been because he looked at Merlin with something akin to reverence instead of the usual looks he received from those who believed him a fraud or a kook. 

They went into the bedroom. It was crowded, a man with forensic’s stood on the other side of the bed, along with Arthur who crossed his arms and peered thoughtfully down at the body strewn on the bed.

Merlin was grateful when Mordred stepped back outside the doorframe to watch from the hall, for he was clearly expecting a show. A coolness settled over the room, and Merlin thought it had very little to do with temperature. 

One glance at the body told him that the man had been caught unawares, mouth wide open in a last cry for help that would not come.  

He was quiet for a moment, sizing up all he could before using his magic to see what he could not with his eyes. His first instinct led him to the conclusion that this man had no family, or at least, none that were willing to talk to him. The house rarely had visitors, and Merlin couldn’t pick up on any residue energy except the man’s. 

So, either a ghost or a very capable sorcerer. This bodes well. 

Kneeling down beside the bed, he studied the sheets beneath the body. His methodical scan picked up a small spot on the bed, one that blended in with the stained sheets. It was nothing Merlin could pinpoint as soda or food dripping at first glance, so he bent down to peer at it closer. Ignoring the looks he was getting from the roomful of people who surely believed the body of all things should be looked at first, he took a plastic surgeon glove he always kept in his jacket and slipped it on. The spot wasn’t a stain as it first appeared, but a stiff collection of hardened wax. As he ran a finger over it, he found it to still be pliable. 

“Now why would a man like this have candles lit in his bed?” He muttered quietly, earning a few blank looks from those who heard him. Surprisingly, he didn’t garner any of the usual snarky comments that came with his odd tactics, but he was grateful for the quiet. He suspected the presence of someone as important as Arthur threw them off. Or better yet, they knew better than to interfere in Merlin’s thinking process. 

Nodding to himself, Merlin stood and rounded his attention to beneath the bed. A prickling sensation on his back made him aware of Arthur staring at him, who had somehow moved to stand behind him. In normal situations, someone watching him wouldn’t bother him much so long as they didn’t make noise and refrained from walking to the front in time to see gold in his eyes—however, this was infinitely more distracting. 

 Closing his eyes to keep himself from turning on the man and forcing him to lose concentration, he simply tilted his head to the side in resignation. “Anything you’d like to add, Mr. Pendragon?” 

 “Oh no, just watching the legend’s process at work,” Arthur said, and Merlin held himself from rubbing at his temples in response to actually hearing the damn smirk as he said it. 

“Well, can you please entertain yourself with the wall or something?”

“Distracting you am I?” 

The warlock turned and stood, brushing imaginary dirt off his trousers. “Are you actually going to do anything useful or…?”

Arthur visibly bristled, and Merlin found a fierce glare aimed in his direction. His own face was a mask, unwilling to let anything the prat said get on his nerves. To his pride, it didn’t matter much that he’d been the one to instigate Arthur this time.  

“I was giving you space, forgive me my transgressions,” Arthur shot back, crossing his arms defensively. Merlin’s eyes flinched to the side for a second, the corners of his mouth curling downwards when it hit him that Arthur had a point. When it came to distractions, Merlin generally didn’t find much that would get on his nerves. It just so happened that Arthur was one of those few things that sent him into an aggravated state where no amount of logical thinking can be accomplished. 

 Merlin shook his head, half in a sigh of annoyance, half in a silent askance for quiet. “You think too loudly,” he ended up saying with a shrug, though he felt a flicker of heat rise to his neck. He whirled back to the crime scene quickly, ignoring the utterly bewildered expression he’d caught sight of gracing Arthur’s face. Of course, he couldn’t have hoped that the detective would stay quiet about the comment, however offhand it may have been.

 “I think too loudly,” Arthur repeated, as though wanting to say the words with his own mouth. Another beat passed. “Are you sure that’s not code for ‘I can’t keep my focus because of reasons?’” 

“Yes.” Merlin’s voice deadpanned as he spared Arthur one last glare before resettling into his consulting detective mindset, leaving the rest of the world behind in the familiar state of mind that he went. It was a special spot dedicated solely to deep thought and puzzle solving. 

His gaze wandered to the small areas no one would think to look—the crease of the pillow, the space between the mattress and the bed, the piles of books in the corner that remained untouched for years. He could see all of it, and what he couldn’t, he could see with magic.  

Eyes flashing gold, Merlin’s magic swelled and teemed at his fingertips, where he slung his hand subtly over his kneeled leg. Nothing changed but the air. The morbid silence accompanied by death dissipated, replaced by a benevolent air that inadvertently allowed the relieved exhale of those milling about in the room. Even Arthur seemed to cool off a notch, but Merlin was more interested in how the magic reacted with the body. Merlin still sensed nothing malicious that would indicate dark magic, though if he studied meticulously, perhaps there was a hint of…something. 

Eyebrows furrowing, he dug deeper, going so far to close his eyes in the effort of concentrating. 

There. 

A presence, a wisp of something ugly and wicked and poisonous. Merlin resisted cringing from the feeling, and swallowed as he pushed farther, set on discovering it’s origin. Surely there would be a marker, some kind of indicator that would give him a clue who could have committed— 

Merlin hid an alarmed gasp when his own gentle magic abruptly recoiled and was sucked out of the room. 

Staring blankly in the space in front of him, he spent the next minute or two calming his breath back to a normal rate. He was jarred back into reality when Arthur tapped impatiently on his shoulder. 

“Have you found anything yet?” Arthur’s restless temper returned with a vengeance, and it took Merlin a moment to take stock of his surroundings once more and force his magic to seep back out into the room. This time, he didn’t try to find the residual dark magic. Once he settled back into his own skin, though his magic still prickled from touching such a vile presence, he sat back on the heels of his feet and stood. 

He frowned, staring at the body distractedly. 

“Not much.”

 

Chapter Text

 

Chapter Seven: Red Jellybeans

 

They’d left in a dejected haze. Over three fruitless hours of standing, crouching, prodding, and searching had left them with little more than the stray drippings of a candle and the lock Will had broken through, which justified most of the homicide unit’s assumption that of guilt. Even Merlin, who was accustomed to trials of standing around in a courtroom waiting to provide evidence, had begun to get sore on his feet. Normally investigations were quick and simple, especially when he was involved in it. Being unable to find clues to the crime, however, severely lengthened the ordeal.

With a murder scene devoid of fingerprints or any sign of human involvement, there lacked the usual hallmarks that would at least give a clue of which direction the investigation should go in and left the gathered officers scratching their heads.

Agitated, the dejected duo walked out with the unnerving impression that they had overlooked a monumental piece of evidence. Merlin found himself comparing it to the extensive number of the B rated horror movie flicks Will dragged him out of the comfy mound of pillows in his room to see; if only for the sole purpose of Will’s strange habit of doing his damnest to scare Merlin senseless.

He would never admit to any of these attempts actually succeeding.

After this latest debacle, Merlin had begun to wonder if they would ever get farther in the case unless someone literally caught the murderer in the act. A feat, he suspected, would have to be done with magic. Not that he was looking forward to showing off in front of his new partner, because Arthur would only see the end result--a smug consulting detective and a killer in cuffs. Though, the more Merlin thought about it, the more he leaned toward the idea that it would be beneficial for someone to put the prat in his place.

Once the two of them wormed their way back out of the house and Merlin finally managed to stave off a shadowing Mordred, Arthur commandeered a police car—or at least, his idea of commandeering, which was to phone a friend of his down at the station to come get them. The two of them stood around while they waited for the car to come, one sneaking a glance at the other every few minutes.

Before the car pulled to a stop, Arthur called shotgun to sit up by one of his knight posse, barely sparing Merlin a vague gesture towards the back seat. Grumbling, the warlock climbed into the back where he regarded the driver while Arthur plopped down into the passenger side in front. Merlin immediately noted the coppery blond curls and honest blue eyes that spoke of a quiet sort of earnestness. Even without having to deduce a single thing about him, Merlin could see the effect the man had on Arthur as he felt the dull mood lighten, replaced by an easiness only gained from years of familiarity.

The driver glanced back in the mirror, and Merlin raised his eyebrows with his head tilted in Arthur’s direction. Leon rolled his eyes and gave a knowing smile in response, his hair brushing against his cheek as he did so.

Merlin decided that he liked this one instantly, though Arthur skipped out on the introductions. Luckily, the consulting detective had no problem determining that this man commanded respect in the hierarchy of the police force, and that his name was Leon.

If Merlin cheated a little and overheard someone trying to get ahold of him through the police radio, no one would be the wiser.

“You’re the new guy,” Leon said, as he glanced in the rearview mirror through the fenced mesh covering the small window to the back. It took a moment for Merlin to notice that he was being addressed.

Merlin inclined his head in acknowledgment, even if Leon couldn’t see it. “Yea. Greenie number one over here,” he chuckled and waved a sort of mock salute back. There was an answering laugh while he settled against the hard plastic, looking out the window at the passing cars. It was only mildly degrading to be shoved in the back, the place reserved for criminals of merit and petty infractions.

“Come from a long ways away?”

Merlin waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Originally from a tiny little town called Ealdor. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Not in my geographic knowledge. Though admittedly, that particular skill happens to be a little nonexistent.”

“It’s not surprising,” Merlin nodded, taking note of the rigid, learned way he held himself. He let his mind continue with it’s evaluation, allowing himself a small bit of practice after his mildly concerning magical debacle during the investigation.

The car was silent for a while, though Leon covertly glanced back at Merlin in the mirror multiple times. It didn’t take his astute reasonings to guess what Leon was thinking. With a knowing smile, Merlin resolved to indulge in Leon’s curiosity.

Closing his eyes against the midday sun to ground himself, he let his magic explore the enclosed space. At first, there wasn’t much more to Leon than what could be seen on the surface--a mellow, orderly, straightforward man. He waited until his magic began to sift through times and places, pulling himself back out before he came across anything more than the superficial gist of how Leon came to be. With a slow smile, Merlin met Leon’s eyes the next time he peeked back in the mirror.

“You’re from a well-to-do family,” he started, judging the reaction he’d be earning from this demonstration. “Most likely militaristic—I’d assume your parents. An only child, sent off to a private school at a young age, and although many people see you as a leader, you don’t consider yourself to be one,” Merlin ticked off each trait on his fingers, leaning back against the uncomfortable material that squeaked when he shifted. In the end, he just crossed his legs when it became clear that comfort for criminals was not an imperative concern of police car designers.

With a laugh, the curly haired man shook his head in mirth. “You’re all you’ve been hyped up to be. Nice to meet you, Merlin.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Leon, sir.” Merlin flashed a blinding smile in the mirror’s direction, not missing the small scoff and the prat’s mess of blond hair shaking back and forth at having known Leon’s name without being told. The two men up front exchanged looks Merlin quickly distinguished as, Did you tell him? and the apathetic shrug from Arthur the warlock determined to mean, Don’t ask me, because I have no idea.

They pulled into the parking garage beside the precinct, Leon hardly even appearing annoyed when they’d found the building had been stuffed with dozens of cars and was forced to park in the unventilated substructure beneath the building.

Merlin lingered, and it was obvious that Arthur was waiting for him to get moving before they both got old and died inside a hot garage. He couldn’t go inside the precinct just yet, though—Merlin, begrudgingly, knew he had to speak with Arthur before the two of them went to see the suspect.

Eyeing Leon, he waited until Arthur gave up waiting and waved Merlin on to speak. Though Merlin wasn’t particularly content with the idea of needing to be given permission to talk, he didn’t say as much. Ticking off prince prat before asking anything of him wouldn’t help his case. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Leon would be trustworthy. From what Merlin had seen, Arthur only trusted those who had earned it--but Merlin wanted to keep this on a need to know basis, which had yet to include a man he’d barely met.

To his credit, Arthur only appeared to be confused for a few seconds as Merlin gave silent cues that this should be a private conversation. After that, there was a moment of deliberation until he met Merlin’s eyes. Whatever he saw there, it made the decision for him. Arthur turned back to a very baffled Leon, who had missed their silent exchange entirely.

“Could you give us a moment here?” Arthur inclined his head toward the stairs. Leon regarded the two of them carefully, as though a look would divine what he’d just missed. After a moment, he shrugged and departed, leaving them with a smile and a friendly wave.

A beat of silence passed after Leon’s retreating footsteps had faded, neither of them meeting the other’s eyes.

“Look, I don’t actually care whether you like me or not,” Merlin began, and hurried to continue when Arthur gave him a relatively confused stare. He seemed to be just as eager to talk as he would be jumping into a vat of electric eels. Keen eyes picked up on the way Arthur’s body shifted to a straighter posture, and he almost looked like he was readying himself for a frontal attack. The warlock got a sneaking suspicion that Arthur didn’t like confrontations that involved the dealings of feelings. Well, perhaps not so sneaking as absolutely positive, without a doubt in his mind.

Merlin huffed a little at the observation and tapped at Arthur’s arm when his body language suggested he was prone to ditching this and going inside for a coffee. “Two seconds, just hear me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur didn’t gratify him with a verbal response. Merlin made a mental note to keep his wallet a while longer. He wondered when Arthur would notice it’s absence and couldn’t help but hope it was when he was going to buy all his groceries.

“I wasn’t lying when I said it before; I know the suspect in there is innocent,” Merlin said in a low voice, as if there were others around to hear him speak for the accused.

Arthur started walking towards the exit. Merlin gave an indignant squawk, ignoring the slightly pleased expression on Arthur’s face as he had to catch up. “Believe me, Arthur, if I had any other choice, I wouldn’t be talking to you first.”

Merlin finally got a reaction out of him this time, albeit a moderately annoyed one.

“I’ve heard this spiel before. We’ve both have a job to do and a month to get through it. Whatever this is, I’d like for you to stop.”

Irritated, the warlock sent him a blank glare. “Shush and listen, for once in your life, would you?” He took a quick breath before Arthur could get another word in, and spread his hands in a placating gesture. “He is innocent.”

"Anything else of such drastic importance you'd like to say before we get in there? I'd prefer it if you didn't proclaim his innocence in front of the rest of the yard and, God forbid, the suspect."

It would be a very bad idea to walk in without having informed someone that he had a personal relationship with the supposed murderer, but Merlin was still loathe to tell Arthur about it. He sighed and mentally readied himself for an onslaught of questions. One of which would more than likely lead to the inevitable question—“How do we know you're not a murderer too?"

Well, for one, Will was not a murderer. He was a complete wuss beneath the façade of his off-putting exterior. In fact, the man had moped for a month when his pet lizard died. But despite Will's harsh tongue and a questionable decision making ability, he was actually kindhearted and had a soft spot for anyone younger than him.

Which, to the extreme annoyance of Merlin, included him.

No one would believe either of them, and it would be very hard to get Arthur on his side. But if he could…

"Arthur." Merlin stopped walking at the base of the stairs, foot propped up on the first step to block Arthur’s path. He had no illusions that he could keep up with Arthur ascending the four flight of stairs to the surface--he might be fit, but he wasn’t that fit. The thought brought the unwelcome mental images of the abs that were surely underneath Arthur’s shirt. He swallowed tightly and refocused his attention to the problem at hand. After he made sure Arthur was doing the same, checking that the man was at least remotely interested in what he had to say, he continued. "I got a call earlier from the precinct.”

Arthur raised a curious eyebrow, his expression clearly reading that he wondered why he should care. Merlin obliged, sharing the nerve wracking information that had a high likelihood of getting him into a delicate situation at one point or another. "My best friend was arrested on charges of murder."

Eyes widening, Arthur gaped at him, and Merlin held his breath. There ensued a few minutes of awkward staring, and Merlin was compelled to look at the ground. He barely managed to resist the urge, for fear that he’d look much more guilty than he was. Instead, he stood his ground. He still couldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes, so he flicked his eyes to a spot on the dirty parking garage wall. Anything besides Arthur's piercing gaze directed entirely toward him.

Opening his mouth and then closing it again, Arthur considered Merlin carefully. “And you really believe he's innocent?"

"I know he is. I can't prove it without evidence, but if you trust nothing else I've said, know that this is true."

Merlin could see Arthur thinking through his words carefully before speaking again. "I won't say I don't believe you, but I won’t take your word for it without all the facts."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Merlin would have said the same thing if it was him that was in Arthur's position. "But I also couldn't walk into the station with Will saying "hi" without being questioned myself."

Nodding, Arthur finally flickered his eyes away from Merlin's with a concentrated look on his face. "I expect that you will not allow emotions to get in the way of your judgement."

Merlin held himself high. "I wouldn't."

"Good." Satisfied, Arthur made to move past Merlin. The latter belatedly stepped sideways, forcing him to grapple for the handrail as Arthur nearly pummeled him into the ground. The blond idiot had the gall to look pleased with himself as he lead the way, but Merlin made no comment on his rude behavior. It would do him no favors if they were in the middle of a bickering match right before an interrogation with the friend he needed to prove innocent. He sighed as he climbed the steps, resigning himself to dealing with Arthur’s abrasive attitude.

It didn’t occur to him until it was too late that traversing up the stairs behind someone gave the trailing person a perfect display of, well, a behind. And good heavens, was it glorious. Not to say that Merlin was any connoisseur of fine arse, but he could appreciate perfection where it was due.  

The two of them stepped into the sun, and Merlin blinked repeatedly as his eyes got used to bright outdoor light.

“Now what?” Arthur ground out, but before Merlin could ask, Arthur was already marching off toward the precinct. It left the warlock to stare after him, sparing a moment to appreciate the substantial crowd of people gathered in front of the entrance before he plodded after him, mentally preparing himself for the bombardment of questions and demands for statements.

The sidewalk was packed with media reporters wanting to get the newest information on the Midnight Murderer, and Merlin barely got time to prepare himself before plunging into an ocean of bright pink, cheap business suits, and obnoxious cameras. The most annoying of these were the ones who acted more like buzzing flies, pushing and shoving, dead set on their goal of getting the exact same story as everyone else. Those sorts never failed to piss Merlin off, and by the looks of it, a fuse had long since frayed thin for Arthur as well.

Arthur seemed to have some sort of parting the waters gift, because the crowd was split straight down the center for him and him alone, meanwhile Merlin was just about to shove the camera of the next person who wanted a statement into the nearest rain gutter if they didn't back off his space. He was distracted by the lack of breathable air, retaining just enough sense of mind to be jealous of Arthur's commanding presence and to think it was a miracle he hadn't been suffocated already. Grumbling curses at people under his breath, he trudged through to the door.

When he forced his way into the front lobby, he both let out a sigh of relief and took in a breath that seemed cleaner and less polluted.

"Kilgharrah!" Arthur shouted down the hall. A begrudging warlock hurried to catch up and keep pace, which he discovered was nearly an impossible feat when Arthur was on a self-assigned mission.  There was no answer, but the few people milling about jumped and scurried out of his way before an irate Arthur could be turned on them.

Merlin noted that these people had made a smart decision.

He followed Arthur down to the DI's office, not entirely sure if he had been meant to come in as well or not. Based on what he could tell from the doorway, it didn't matter much.

"Why is that mob outside?"

The DI didn’t quite roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. “They heard the murderer was caught.”

"You didn't expect people to be interested in the modern Jack the Ripper of our age?"

Arthur gave a vague waving motion with his hand. "Of course I did. What I didn't expect was that no one bothered to take care of them yet." Though he understood why there was a mass of people--a serial killer with a calling card who’d gotten away with it for far longer than many ever had was a juicy headline any way he looked at it--he wasn’t very sympathetic to their cause.

"We haven't been able to give a statement. You try telling them to shoo when they're frenzied," Kilgharrah said, lazily picking out a cinnamon jellybean from the glass bowl on his desk. Arthur absently noticed that none of those left were the color red.

"You're the man in charge. Charge at them."

"Regardless of your previous beliefs, I am not a rampaging bull. I cannot legally tell them to leave unless we want to make a scene about disturbing the peace, and even then, they haven't really done that."

"They blocked my entrance into the precinct!"

Kilgharrah shrugged. "Slows you down when you're planning on ranting at me. I can't complain."

With an exaggerated huff, Arthur whirled on his feet and stormed out of the office. He seemed to have come to the conclusion that he would be getting nowhere fast if he continued with option A of pestering Kilgharrah. Merlin became very curious and wary of what Arthur had in mind for a plan B to get rid of the paparazzi. He had to give the man points for initiative. So long as it didn't involve him, he gave Arthur his silent approval in whatever tactic used to get the info leeches off their backs.

"Have something you'd like to add, Merlin? Perhaps the coffee in the break room is too strong?" The DI sat back in his chair, resting his intertwined hands over his stomach.   

"Well, if we're all going to be complaining here..." He put a hand on his hip and the other up to rub his chin in thought. "I would certainly enjoy a tad more freedom when decisions are made for me without consent."

"I feel terrible for you. Truly. Your complaints have been catalogued and will be seen to in a timely fashion. Now, off you go." Kilgharrah made the shooing motions with his hand, and Merlin suspected that entire conversation was to humor them both, if the run-along-now-boy gestures were to be believed.

Instead of dignifying the dismissal with a retort, he made to follow Arthur. Sometimes it was just easier not to bother with Kilgharrah if all it would accomplish was an amused DI and a pounding headache for him.

He was mildly comforted that he wasn't the only one who simply gave up trying past a certain point. It meant that he wasn't entirely insane and the DI was just a strange and confusing man.

It wasn't hard to find the holding cells and the adjacent questioning room. He saw Will through the chain link fence of the holding cell, and their eyes locked as soon as Merlin entered his visual range. Will seemed to be a little worse for the wear. Merlin honed into the bedraggled hair sticking up in all directions, the unshaven stubble, and the very guilty look he had plastered on his face. None of that was abnormal for Will, except for the kicked puppy look Merlin was getting now. It was easy to see that the man was more concerned over what the consulting detective had planned for him than the actual police. Sighing, Merlin nodded and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

When he stepped into the small interrogation room, Arthur had already sat down and began to play absently with his pen.

Oh good, at least he's going to pay attention, Merlin thought with a sarcastic bitterness.

Arthur's eyes snapped up as Merlin walked in. "You now have a personal connection to this case, so you can't question the man yourself."

Gaping like a fish, Merlin stopped himself from protesting against Arthur. He knew exceptions wouldn't be made for him just because he was Merlin, regardless of how useful he could be in this investigation. He gave a short nod, turning on his feet as he exited the metaphorical torture chamber and entered the viewing room beside it. He watched through the one-way glass, and he had to hope that Will would know he was watching from behind it.

Will was brought in. He was sat down into a chair without a word, and Merlin saw him fight to keep a confident and easygoing expression on his face without it falling.

It was so wrong for Will to be anything close to the word prisoner, and seeing him stuck in a room with no one but Arthur made Merlin’s stomach churn. The moment the two men’s eyes met, Merlin knew that he had made the right choice in telling Arthur about Will’s innocence beforehand. Perhaps it could be argued that this wasn’t an unbiased interrogation, but Merlin could care less when the truth was plain in front of him. Now all Merlin needed to do was figure out who the hell framed Will and why.

An accomplishment easier said than done when little about any of this made sense.

Arthur tapped the table in front of him. "Alright, Mr. Burke, we'll start off with the easy questions."

Will glared bloody murder and Merlin let his head fall against the pane with a loud thump.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Sleuthing 101

 

"That went well," Merlin crossed his arms, waiting for Arthur to walk past him before trailing behind. Shooing Merlin into his office, Arthur quickly closed the door behind them.

"Your friend is charming. I can see why you two keep company," Arthur said, and sent a scathing expression in Merlin's direction. Turning his head, he shifted his glare to an indiscernible place in the room and studiously ignored Merlin when he started watching Arthur closely. He was too busy failing to contain his annoyance from the rest of the world to care much about what the raven haired idiot thought.

"Right, because your overwhelming charisma is so much better."

"Shut up. We need more info, preferably something straightforward."

The silence lasted for approximately four seconds.

“There has to be something we’ve missed,” Merlin mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

“Even if he is innocent, there’s a reason no one’s too enthusiastic about searching through couch pillows and tearing apart the house,” Arthur snapped back at Merlin. He was beginning to not care in the least if his irritation at their inability to proceed in the investigation because of a lack of evidence started to show.

“I know. That’s why I have to be.” Merlin glanced over at him, turning only just enough for Arthur to see the vehement glint in his eyes and set determination in his features. Luckily, Arthur had just enough sense to give Merlin a bit of space and held back any further comment.

Huffing, Arthur went fell to habit and paced the floor, beginning to feel like they were heading up a creek without a paddle. There wasn't much he could say about Will, besides that he was just as infuriating as Merlin. He really could see why they were best friends. Will gave roundabout answers and kept his cards close to himself, just as Merlin did. Perhaps the trait added a certain mystique to the consulting detective, but it wasn't a brilliant idea for a suspect of a murder to act that way. It wasn't going to help his case much.

Arthur detested how Merlin was right, as his former expectations of Will had been systematically shot down. It left him with the absolute certainty that Will was not a psychopathic murderer. Sketchy, and an arrogant prick, sure, but no killer.

Unfortunately, evidence was scarcely in Will's favor.

This case made headlines in every newspaper in London. The public was going to get restless, and Arthur was already beginning to hear the soft hum of concern morphing into a buzz of fear. As rumors spread, there would be a hysteric, city sized hive-mind if they didn't prevent it. Not that he could blame them. With all the hype and theories about the killer's "type," it was little wonder no one believed they were safe.

The media certainly wasn’t doing anything to help stem the fear. Their persistent one liners of “The Midnight Killer Strikes Again” and “Who Will be Next?” really weren’t making things any better. They were beginning to sound like old batman in Arthur’s opinion.
Arthur spent his years in college studying serial killers and their patterns--most kept to a system, however elaborate, and went through a process as they decided their victims. There were a few who grabbed random people off the street, but every sign pointed to these victims as chosen. With no signs of entry in the other victim's homes, their deaths had to be premeditated.

Except, at the scene of the latest murder and Will's arrest, tell-tale scratches on the lock proved that it had been picked.

When he sat down on the edge of his desk, his eyes flickered back to Merlin. He was standing still with crossed arms. Arthur would have pegged him as daydreaming by the way he looked so out of it, eyes half lidded with his mouth set in the slightest downturn, but he didn't miss the tilt of Merlin's head in his direction when Arthur scowled.

"You're smart," Merlin said, and it threw Arthur for a loop.

Once he recovered from the odd statement, he shot Merlin a bemused look. "Yes, Merlin," he said slowly, as though he were speaking to a child. With a small shake of his head, he added, "It's a good thing one of us is." The taunt fell flat in the face of an unexpected seriousness in Merlin's expression as he let it pass without retaliation.

It was then that Arthur quickly remembered why he shouldn't meet Merlin's eyes. They were seeped with unspoken thoughts, though it felt like every one of them was encrypted into a foreign language. There was something there, just under the surface, that he'd seen from the moment he met Merlin. It had been driving him relatively bonkers that he couldn't figure out what it was, if there even was an it.

"What's this about?" Arthur asked, though he had a very strong inkling of what it might be.

Merlin paused again before he spoke with his head tilted to the side, his penetrating gaze ever calculating. "You've seen the victim’s pictures. One of them was an employee," he said, staring straight at him with no signs of reservation. "A man who looked similar to you."

Although Arthur was made well aware of this, although perhaps not in such direct terms, he hadn't been very worried about a serial killer coming after him. The idea would only lead to an extreme bout of paranoia--one that he didn't plan on having. Being in the line of fire and marching alongside danger was no stranger to him. Besides, his father didn't seem terribly concerned. The employee had been new, low on the totem pole, and worked different hours than Arthur. If he'd been the target of any self respecting murderer, they'd have done their research first. If his father wasn't concerned, then neither would he be.

A Pendragon does not get alarmed by mere coincidences.

By the way Merlin's intense gaze focused solely on him, Arthur got the distinct impression that the consulting detective thought otherwise. Swallowing down the small pit of growing apprehension, he sent an unimpressed gaze back at Merlin.

"Whatever you think happened, you've got it wrong this time. The men who were killed looked like random acts, and while they might have been premeditated, they were just that. Random." Arthur waved his hand and leaned back against his desk, crossing his legs. If there was one thing he could do better than anyone, it was pointing out the logical gaps in someone’s decidedly irrational thought processes. Being a target for a crazed murderer on a spree just sounded ridiculous, and on top of that, he was careful to keep his name far, far away from the case itself. Besides, there was no reason to get worried over what in all reality, seemed highly improbable. Getting a detective to work a case by murdering four other men sounded so illogical that Spock would probably want to start shooting at friendlies.

Arthur looked at Merlin and gave a short huff of air. "Really, I'm flattered--But I can handle myself fine."

Merlin wisely stayed quiet. For a few seconds.

"I'm never wrong." Merlin let his arms fall and stood his ground defiantly, leaving Arthur to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"For such a large reputation, I'm amazed how you can't sort out isolated events from actual connections.”

"In this line of work? There are never coincidences," Merlin scoffed, meeting Arthur’s gaze with a petulant grin. "For such a large ego, I'm amazed you aren't more concerned for your huge head. I hope you're aware that filling your head with air just makes you a larger target."

"Excuse me?" Arthur blinked, straightening himself to his full height. While he was still shorter than the consulting detective, his stature was no less formidable and he’d seen other cower for less. He knew Emrys was a defiant little nub with a habit of ticking off his superiors, but every other human being on the planet had to have more self preservation instincts than this idiot. Merlin wasn't doing himself any favors, and it looked like he just didn't care. Of course Arthur had to end up with the only partner in the world who didn't understand the basic concept of backing out while he was ahead.

Merlin, however, still hadn't picked up on the hint that he really should shut up. His mouth twitched up and stared back, unafraid. He was challenging Arthur.

Well, Arthur was certainly up for it.

"At least I'm not the one with a massive need to show off," Arthur said, to which Merlin only stared back skeptically.

"Please, you obviously have some sort of unresolved daddy issues, and it makes you a much bigger prat than you have any right to be. Don't accuse me of anything when you can't get your own ducks in line."

Arthur was about to retort, mouth opening for a sharp insult back when he processed Merlin's words. His mouth closed again as he fought the urge to reopen it like a dying fish. Annoyance bubbled in his chest, and he bit down the urge to push Merlin and storm out of his own office. Instead, he tapped his fingers on the desk and studied Merlin for a weakness, because no one spoke to him like that. The moron could never have any semblance of who he was or how he and his father's relationship worked.

"Alright then Mr. Mysterious, let's deduct you, shall we?" Arthur answered cheerily, though Merlin could easily see the sharp gleam in his eye. "You're obviously poor, and proud of it, judging by the state of the rags you call clothes. I'd bet, born to a single mother who taught you how to take care of them properly, given that they've manage to last this long despite the condition they're in, along with other skills so you could be a proper bride.

“Because of your lower class status,” he continued, barely pausing enough to breath before he was talking again, “you weren't noticed for your obvious brilliance, thus leading to your inherent need to show off in front of any and everyone you perceive to be underestimating you and the smug satisfaction you get when you go to prove them wrong. You probably played up this bit, pretending to be some numbskull idiot, more than you already are, or some annoying genius who snarks back all the time, depending on the persona you feel like going with."

He couldn't help but feel a bit smug. He certainly wasn't going to feel bad about any insults when they were rightfully earned. Even conceding that Merlin was extremely smart to have the brainpower to make connections no one normally would be able to make, Arthur knew he wasn't going to be fazed by any tactics of intimidation.

Because if he learned anything from his father, it was that Pendragon men didn't hold back.

But if Arthur had been hoping for a fight, he was severely disappointed. Instead of a harsh response, Merlin only let his eyes travel down Arthur’s body, and then back up again. In a moment of uncharacteristic anxiousness, Arthur felt the lightest prickle of heat across the back of his neck. There was little he could add, but he couldn't take back anything now. The consulting detective didn't appear angry, nor provoked or amused. Instead, something like empathy was encased in his knowing, sapphire blue eyes. Arthur bet that they would sparkle like jewels even in the darkest room.

There was a pause.

Then Merlin blinked, and the spell was broken. An infuriating look of pleased acceptance spread over Merlin's face, though it only accentuated his elvish features. Whatever the consulting detective had seen in him, it had stopped Merlin from having the appropriately pissed off attitude, and it gave Arthur the distinct feeling he'd just missed something important.

"My need for attention," Merlin echoed, lifting his eyes as though he was actually thinking about it. "Sure, alright. So, what excuse do you have for your superiority complex?"

"I don't have a superiority complex."

"Yes, you do. I'm a genius remember? I can spot a complex from a mile away."

Arthur scoffed harshly and rolled his eyes. "Oh sure, and I'm the one with the problem."

Merlin gave him a sidelong look, his annoying smirk settling into something much more comfortable. Of course he'd would find a way to be inordinately familiar with his partner, finding ways to act out of line even without opening his mouth.

Then his eyebrows furrowed in an odd look of realization, and his accursed mouth opened again. "You like this, don't you?"

Uncomprehending, Arthur stared blankly, thinking that Merlin had meant something very different. "Sorry?"

"You like it when someone talks back."

He waited, but Merlin didn't add anything more.

Arthur would have thought the words brazen if he didn't pick up on how things worked in Merlin's mind. The consulting detective wasn't afraid. Not of Arthur, not of judgement. Arthur couldn’t help but think that there was a complete lack of concern over what anyone else thought of him.

It wasn't until too late that Arthur realized he hadn't said anything in response, and that had given Merlin all the answer he needed to hear.

Expensive leather shoes scuffed the dark gray carpet, and he stopped unconsciously toeing his shoe at the floor to grimace down at them.

Merlin's odd conversation tactics aside, there was still an innocent man's life at stake. People were scared, and Will would never last through a trial case of men and women who only wanted the Midnight Murderer thrown behind bars. No one ever made reasonable decisions when they were scared stiff, and there was no reason they would now. Will was caught at the scene of the crime, having stolen nothing yet, and the only sign of entry was from the picked lock.

The evidence was damning, and there was little chance of Will's vindication unless they didn't do something soon.

And an even better thought--the real killer was still loose in the city.

With a growl, Arthur spun his chair around and sat down to tap away angrily at his computer. There had to have been something they missed, and he knew it was big. So, while sending an email to his insane half-sister might not have been a good idea in retrospect, it was the only thing he could think of doing at the moment. They had no leads, and if he and Merlin were correct, then another murder was set to occur the next Sunday at midnight.

Morgana was a terrifying force of nature, and Arthur would never wish her ire upon his worst enemies. Murderers however, were not enemies--they were an obstruction of justice. Of course, Morgana didn't see them that way. She'd told him on more than one occasion that they were mere players in the game. He took great pains to stay far out of her way, especially when there was any sort of situation in which her ire might be riled.

He clicked the send button and put his computer to sleep as soon as he heard the distinctive whoosh, confirming a successfully sent message. He still didn't look back up.

The silence of the room was stifling. Arthur could hear the shuffling of people moving through their daily business at the precinct. A pair of women giggled as they passed outside his shut door and a telephone rang from somewhere down the hall.

Merlin ended up being the one to break the silence with a snarky remark, and Arthur was glad for it. "Rather angry at your keyboard there," he said cheekily, and fearlessly leaned on his desk with in an impudent gaze.

When Arthur opened his mouth to reply, he was interrupted by a short knock on the door, which proceeded to continue into an extended rendition of Two-Bits-and-a-Haircut.

"What do you want, Gwaine?" Arthur rolled his eyes as Gwaine cracked open the door and popped his head through.

Gwaine glanced around, smile lightening when he spotted Merlin. "Just making sure the two of you weren't killing each other. At least, until next week. That's when my time frame of the bet starts."

The door swung open then, and he sauntered inside. Boasting a self assured look that would have been arrogant on anyone else, he somehow managed to pull it off and still come off as a charismatic individual. It was useful when they needed him to question someone for information, but he tended to add to Arthur's plate of responsibilities when he got himself into trouble caused by his mischief.

Even if Gwaine was a bit unorthodox, Arthur valued his odd strategies and opinions when it came to tough cases. The lot of them were an odd team, their strengths covering for each other's weaknesses. It was a system that worked, and it worked well. With Merlin butting in, there would be no telling what would happen. Arthur just didn't want him screwing up their system if he wanted to join the fraternity.

"He couldn't kill me if he wanted to," Merlin said, which got a wild grin out of Gwaine.

"Well, don't rile him up too much. Wouldn't want him going off and having a tantrum."

"I sense the danger levels of that being relatively high."

"Yup," Gwaine said, and leaned in conspiratorially even though he spoke loudly enough for Arthur to hear him. "He's our little princess."

Merlin's smile widened into a more open and warm expression, and it boggled Arthur's mind. Merlin looked unguarded in a way he hadn't seen before. It sent a small pang of jealousy to his gut that it was Gwaine he was looking at like that, but he inwardly kicked that part of him into shutting up indefinitely.

Regaining his composure, he clamped down on any outward symptoms of annoyance so the two of them wouldn't have anything more to poke fun at him for. He was pretty sure there was a very noticeable vein popping out of his temple.

Arthur rested his elbows on his desk, and he rubbed his temples roughly. "Perpetual Drunk, meet Moronic Psychic."

The two cheery men shook hands and grinned stupidly at one another like they'd been friends for years. They almost seemed to be sharing an inside joke, and Arthur might even have believed that had he not been absolutely sure they hadn't met before. He sent them a look of extreme disapproval, but neither paid him any mind.

"Fancy that, meeting the famous Merlin in the flesh," Gwaine said, flipping his hair back with a jerk of his head. The habitual action continued making the rest of the guys wonder if it was actually some sort of tick that only really good looking guys got. On their good nights at the bar, it would be the main topic of the evening.

Merlin looked a tad bit resigned in the fact that everyone seemed to know him on sight--and how could they not? Arthur would be able to pick him out of a crowd with ease. With his porcelain white skin that could give the elves in Middle Earth a run for their money, deep blue eyes that would make the finest piece of lapis pale in comparison, and a graceful sort of clumsiness that was comparable to a model tripping over his feet down the runway but no one really minded because he looked that good. Well, it wasn’t hard to figure out who Merlin was based on appearance alone.

Not that Arthur had noticed any of these things or had taken the time to come up with comparisons.

“Infamous, depending on who you ask,” Merlin said, quirking a playful smirk at Gwaine.

“Either way, I’m pretty sure you have rights to start asking people to put in a captain somewhere in there,” Gwaine answered, not missing a beat.

“I’m no pirate, just as clever as one.”

“Aha, I knew I liked you!” He gave a chuckle, his sparkling eyes of mischief letting Merlin know that there would be plenty more antics like this in the future.

"If neither of you are going to actually input anything to the case, leave," Arthur said, straightening out a pile of already straightened papers.

Gwaine's nose crinkled like he'd smelled some awful stench, pursing his lips in a half glare that didn't actually seem real on account of his expression being more like a disappointed five year old when he didn't get a piece of candy than a grown man annoyed with his superior. 

"No need to be a sourpuss, Your Highness, there's already too many people with sticks up their arses here," he said, lifting his arm to lean on the doorframe, hand on his hip. "But I think you might want to know that there's a rather upset Morgana on line two, and she's not going to appreciate being kept waiting." He winked then, looking far too amused at having kept Arthur busy enough to poke the metaphorical bear Morgana did very little to chain up.

Getting to his feet, Arthur grimaced at the blinking red light of the inline phone, signaling the truth to Gwaine’s words. He cursed, hurrying to pick it up before his office was set alight by Morgana's sheer willpower.

Cradling the phone to his ear, he waited for a split second before he spoke. "Afternoon," he tried plainly.

He winced when there wasn't an answer for a count of two seconds.

"Dear brother of mine, I was beginning to wonder if you were sending a message," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet and drawn out. Arthur looked at the ceiling, wondering what he'd done to deserve this. This was not going to be a fun call.

"Look, you can blame Gwaine, who--" He stopped momentarily, thrown off by Merlin and Gwaine's continued conversation that went on without a single sign that they even knew he was still in the room. It was his office, damn it. If they wanted to go chit-chat like gossiping girls, they could go do it in the break room, far away from him. "Point being, I'm surrounded by idiots."

"Yes, I happen to share the same sentiment." The deadpanned tone told Arthur that he hadn't nearly been forgiven yet. He wished he could just say that there wasn't time to play her games, but if he did, she wouldn't speak to him for the next week.

"Throw me a bone. You're the one who specializes in psychopaths, just look through the report I sent you."

"I did, and there's not much I can do for you."

"Spill the beans already, it's not becoming to keep a guy waiting," he said as he rolled his eyes. She really couldn't get through five minutes without attempting to play cat and mouse, doing her best to screw everyone but herself over.

"I completely agree. Good thing I don't care."

He could picture the cheshire grin she most certainly wore now, and he tried not to get terribly creeped out by the image. Morgana was terrifying normally, but even more so when he stepped up to the plate. Today though, he had bigger things to worry about than her conniving tendencies. Gaze sliding back to Gwaine and Merlin, he tuned his half-sister out for a few minutes while she listed off the things she was already busy with and reasons why she couldn't possibly help Arthur. It was just part of the routine, and so long as he didn't interrupt her, he'd get the information he wanted.

The two of them seemed to have calmed down from their boyish act and had obviously begun to talk about the case. He watched Merlin make a few gestures that waved off whatever Gwaine was saying, and he was highly suspicious that Gwaine was spouting off his wild conclusions again. Merlin tilted his head up then, revealing more of his milk white skin and Gwaine shrugged. Arthur averted his gaze to the floor.

While the obligatory rant continued, he was quickly finding that eavesdropping on Gwaine and Merlin was much more interesting than Morgana's repetitive grievances. It seemed that they'd moved on from preliminary chatter about the murders to social gatherings--a turn in conversation Arthur wasn't happy about.

"We'd love to have you along; it's a Friday night tradition," Gwaine was saying, and Arthur got the strong impression that he'd already invited Merlin on the knight's personal bar excursion.

Merlin fidgeted under the weight of making any decisions then and there. For such a supposedly brilliant mind, Arthur noticed that he acted rather like an awkward teenager when it came to dealings with people. It was an odd mixture of paradoxical attributes when someone like Merlin, who for all intents and purposes was a ridiculous assemblage of clumsy, defiant stubbornness, was thrown off by the invite to a small get-together.

Arthur, for one, just hoped Merlin wouldn't get too chummy with the rest of the knights. It wouldn't help if anyone got attached to him.

It took a moment, and then Merlin must have realized Arthur was staring--he belatedly wondered when that had happened--and looked at him. There wasn't much to the exchange, but Arthur was certain Merlin could see his misgivings in letting the man join them at the bar. He was also very certain that the hard look he'd gotten in return hadn't won him any favors, because Merlin quickly answered Gwaine with a vehement, "I'd love to."

"Great! See you and fuddy-duddy there," Gwaine said, giving them a quick salute and was back out the door as quickly as he'd barged in.

The thick air descended on them again, though noticeably less stiff than before. It was made considerably less quiet with Morgana continuing to jabber on in Arthur's ear. Still, Merlin barely spared Arthur a glance before he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, staring off in thought.

Shaking his head, Arthur shook the mouse to wake his computer back up, clicking through his emails for anything Morgana might have "accidentally" sent to everyone in the office for ticking her off. He was only mildly concerned that she might have dirt on him. It was only when he registered a pause in her talking that he figured it was safe to start asking questions.

"So what did you find?"

"Nothing of interest of course, if you happen to be one of those idiots you call crime scene investigators."

"Stop dodging."

"Of course, Arthur," she said, her light voice making him cringe. "First off, you're right in that this William kid isn't the killer. I know you've been profiling this guy since you got the case, and nothing here seems to match up. At the same time, there isn't any other evidence to help him. Your boy is a bit stuck."

"Yes, yes, now if you could move on to information we don't have already, that would be terrific."

"Hush up. You said your partner found wax on the sheets. It's the only thing we've got to work off of, so I suggest you listen carefully." Loud clicking sounds emanated from the other end of the line, and then a shuffling noise Arthur took to be her switching the phone from her hand to be held in place by the side of her face and her shoulder.

There passed a few seconds of silence, and then a soft, "Aha!"

"Morgs, I'm still hanging here." He tapped on his desk, wondering how she could have figured out anything from something as small as drips of wax. Then again, she'd sent a man to jail for fratricide using only a bent spork as evidence, so he wasn't going to doubt.

"Call me that again and you get nothing."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur leaned back in his chair and waited. After years of learning to deal with her strange personality, he hadn't gotten much better at it--but at the very least, he had figured out when he needed to stay silent and leave it to her to fill the gaps. Sure enough, his patience was rewarded with her Get-Down-To-Business voice.

"The wax was only on the sheets in small drops, right? Unless Mr. Fredricks decided to light a candle and bounce up and down on his bed a few times before being murdered, you idiots have missed something huge."

He was getting annoyed with her again. She consistently acted like she knew something the rest of them didn't and held out on to it until the very last moment before Arthur blew up. It was a constant barrage to his mental stability, and he doubted he would last to the age of forty without a full head of grey hair and a very high blood pressure.

However, true to her character, she spoke again right before he was about to demand answers. If he'd gotten that far though, there was no way he was going to get any information out of her, obstruction of justice be damned.

"The team probably used the blacklight on the room, looking for blood and bodily fluids--but of course that came up empty, so I assume they gave up then and there. So, I think it's safe to say they didn't look farther than they should have."

Arthur scrunched his eyebrows together just as Merlin stood up straight as he mouthed, "Oh," and then his eyes lit up in a way Arthur had only seen when Merlin had used his deducting trick. He'd opened his mouth to start yelling at both of them to tell him what he'd missed, but Morgana huffed and he gave her one last chance.

"The ceiling, you great dork."

Resisting the urge to whack his forehead against the nearest wall, he just muttered a hurried thanks and allowed her to hang up on him before grabbing his coat. Merlin had already turned on his heel and left down the hall, but Arthur had soon caught up with him enough to hear the angry muttering under his breath.

"The ceiling," he ground out again, sounding more like a rather irate cat than a professional consult to the police.

Arthur scoffed. As much as rumours spread about Merlin having some innate gift to read people like books, it was hard to see the man people thought he was when it was just as clear that even the great consulting detective made mistakes. It was almost a comforting thought.

"Calm down, you missed a clue like everyone else did."

Merlin glanced up like he'd forgotten he was coming along. "I'm not everyone else."

He felt like a bit of an arse. He knew full well that Merlin had a lot more to lose than a mark on his reputation, and his reputation was the only thing holding him above water. Arthur himself hadn't failed to remember that they were fighting for an innocent man who didn't have an argument on his behalf--and if the real murderer decided to play hard to get and disappear into the woodwork from where he came, there wouldn't be much help for Will. This was a case Arthur had never seen the likes of before, and it was aggravating that none of them had a clue as to what the hell was going on. Even the unshakable Kilgharrah had forced a partner on him, and Arthur was beginning to suspect that the timing wasn't an accident.

"We're not letting him go to jail. Keep your head on straight." It was the closest thing Merlin was going to get as comfort, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, it almost looked like he wasn't going to throttle the next person who suggested Will was guilty. Almost.

Pulling up to the curb with yellow tape still up, Arthur ignored the glance of interest from the cabbie as he whipped his wallet out from his coat. He took a moment to revel in the expression of pure, unadulterated confusion on poor Merlin's face. Arthur raised his eyebrows and flashed him a sly smile.

"Thinking I'd lost something?"

With a slow blink and a soft breath of air, Merlin merely answered, "Prat."

"As long as you've got a good comeback," he said, deciding that he wouldn't bother to question what a "prat" was until later. It did feel a bit less strained between them though, as if a double pickpocketing had somehow made their partnership a little more bearable.

As the two of them entered the room again, Arthur in the lead, it felt like the temperature had dropped a few degrees from the front of the house. He didn't miss the way Merlin lingered at the door for a moment before joining him inside, eyes trained on the ceiling.

The room was painted a droll white, and there was no regular light fixture attached to the ceiling, which only made the room dimmer. The only light besides a tableside lamp seemed to be from the single window. Add on to the fact that no one would have thought to look up for any reason, it made for small things like this to be nearly hidden from curious eye's view.

The body had been taken away and the bed stripped, the sheets in a waiting pile to be burned. It made it easier for one to climb up and find a small clue no one would have seen unless they were looking for it. Merlin had already taken up that spot, and Arthur wasn't going to follow him up. If Arthur stood in the right light, he could see an area that shined a dull gleam that only wax could.

If he stood in another light, he could see the stark relief of Merlin's jaw and cheekbones in a rather attractive expression of intense concentration. To Arthur, it seemed that every aspect of Merlin could be summed up as intense. Or perhaps, that wasn't the right word. The consulting detective obviously had a playful wit about him, and he didn't seem completely scarred like so many other men in their line of work ended up being. But then, he was also young. All detectives knew how tired and drained the elders of their profession ended up, but the call to mystery was too strong for some to ignore.

"Here," Merlin said, breaking Arthur out of his thoughts. He pointed a small keychain flashlight he'd pulled from who knows where at the wax, and Arthur could just make out a small circle that looked a bit too intricate not to have been placed there on purpose.

"And what is it?" Arthur tried not to sound like he was terribly enticed to know, but failed miserably in the task. Using the tone of an excited sixteen year old getting his first car probably hadn't done him any good, but he didn't get much more than a curious glance from Merlin.

Merlin shifted the light, and Arthur could see it better now as it glowed a soft, pearlescent white. The mark was no more than a couple inches across, but the detail was unmistakable. On it was a symbol of two overlapping triangles, complete with a small dot between them, but Arthur still had no idea what it could mean.

"So our whackjob has a near invisible calling card. That's great, but we're still nowhere closer to finding out who he is."

Shaking his head, Merlin dug out his phone from his pocket and snapped a few pictures of it. "There's something to go off. We'll need to do research, and lots of it. If we can just track down a religion or meaning associated with it..."

"We'll still have nothing."

Merlin snapped his head around and jumped down from the bed with an awkwardly graceful fall that could only have been pulled off by him. "We'll have more than we did before. One clue leads to another. Congratulations Scooby Doo, you've passed sleuthing 101."

"Excuse you, Scooby Doo was brilliant at his job."

"He ate snacks and cowered in a grown man's arms."

Arthur sent Merlin a look that wouldn't have been any different had his very honor been insulted before grabbing the mini flashlight to stand on the bed for his turn at a closer look as he answered, "He solved most of those mysteries single handedly."

"No, he didn't. It was mere happenstance that he unmasked half of those people.”

"Scooby was actually a genius and nobody appreciates him. ‘There are never coincidences in this line of work,’ right?”

Arthur was rewarded with a pleased laugh, and he was sure that if he looked down, he'd see twinkling blue eyes and an impish grin. Luckily, he was far too engrossed in balancing near the edge of the bed and studying the wax symbol to glance down at him, however strong the urge was. Once he’d seen all he needed to, he jumped down from the bed, steadying himself before standing up straight.

"I'll grab one of the forensic team wandering around, they'll get it off the plaster without damaging it," he said without much feeling, as though his thoughts were already churning a mile a minute. They'd have to send people to the crime scenes from the other four victims before to see if they all matched, but even if they did, Arthur was doubtful it would do more than pinpoint a ritual or a religion connected with it, regardless of what Merlin might think. Merlin might believe that a small discovery like this could change things, and Arthur wasn't going to hold out much hope--but he knew it wouldn't hurt to try.

"Morgana can probably help us out, she's good at making connections," Arthur said, ignoring the blank stare he was getting from an incredulous looking consulting detective.

Merlin crossed his arms and settled his weight on one leg, popping his hip out in a rather indignant pose. Swallowing thickly, Arthur noted that it could have been mistaken as a come on in any other situation had it not been directed at him.

"I'm good at connections. It happens to be my job," Merlin defended, piercing stare that didn’t give Arthur any quarter.

Refusing to budge, Arthur crossed his arms. "Yea? So you know what the symbol is then?" It might be a bit of a low blow to bring up how Merlin had missed the wax, seeing as it was his friend who was facing murder charges in a cell. Throwing Merlin off his game wouldn't help either of them, and he certainly wouldn't wait if his partner was going to slow him down.

It occurred to him that maybe he wasn't being fair to Merlin since all he'd done so far was help. That and make sarcastic comments, but at least it wasn't hindering their progress. No, their slow-going pace could be blamed on the severe lack of leads.

Merlin paused for a second, but it wasn't out of being caught with his pants down. He'd put his hand to his chin in thought, and Arthur wondered if he was going to see Merlin use his fine skill at showing off. He had to admit, it was actually a rather nice talent.

"Well, for one, it resembles symbols that would be found in alchemy. If I'm not mistaken, it's an overlay of two of the four base elements. I'll have to do research on it before making any premature deductions though," he said, and there was a glint in his eye that Arthur couldn't quite read. If he didn't know better, he would say it was Merlin's unshakable pride in his own skill.

Arthur inclined his head, thinking back to his years in college where one of his professors had a strange obsession with Isaac Newton and constantly flipped on the overhead to share his photos and notes on his life. Those symbols did look eerily similar to this one, but as far as he knew, alchemy had little to do with serial killers.

"At the very least, it gives us a start," Merlin said, tucking his phone safely away in his pocket.

"It's a rather bleak start."

"Pessimistic, aren't you?"

"Realistic," Arthur corrected.

Merlin chuckled like he was the keeper of some hilarious inside joke, already heading out the door. "Of course."