Chapter Text
It’s a new age, where the gods walk among us, unidentifiable, save to one another.
But one cannot record this present saga without a hero, so the history is written, but with pieces missing, because lost Clio-Now-John has yet to find one. Until he realizes he must look within for what he seeks, his story will ever be overshadowed by the divine mind that is too bright for mortals to truly descry.
“When you walk with Glaukos-Sherlock, you see the battlefield.” And indeed, this strangely sharp creature is the embodiment of the beauty of war – the new war, in supposedly-civilized hearts and streets. And John, ever the chronicler, craves what Sherlock purveys.
Of course, one who possesses wisdom and is reborn into this digital age must learn to adapt. But the modern Athena is not unrecognizable. Though this incarnation eschews the craftsman, his purview remains the arts, the city, and law and justice.
Demeter-Now-Martha understands these paradoxes. Sito, but also Aganippe, quietly welcomes them to her home, and understands when they must leave it. This time; Eleusis is Baker Street, Demeter’s demesne, and it’s John who confers immortality on his brother Wisdom, but still Martha, fostering mother, knows what her broken boys need. She offers them respite after each skirmish in their city-turned-arena.
Famously, Polias was not the Queen-now-Brother’s kin. Nevertheless, when the old is made new, Sherlock is as beloved as a son by Cow-Eyed Mycroft. A dangerous disadvantage, this new affection. It leaves a weakness for Eris-now-Jim to exploit.
But the nameless Nike, sometimes Anthea, – a gift from Sherlock – is ever at Mycroft’s right hand, guiding unerringly his chosen to victory.
Until she is not: then the new god of Strife strikes. Not with an apple, no – no more apples – well, one more. But it’s the message, not the prize. Discord mustn’t repeat itself. He must be changeable; these are changing times.
This contest is ‘for the cleverest’, “brainy’ being ‘the new Sexy”. Hera-Mycroft, Pandemos-Irene, and Parthenos-Sherlock, each becomes both Paris and Goddess, offered their hearts’ desires – power, protection, distraction – in exchange for a dance.
Not satisfied, never satisfied, Moriarty pits Justice against itself; mentor against disciple. Dike-now-Sally vengefully measures Athena against human law, while her once-mother Themis-Greg argues a higher law is at stake.
Pallas-Sherlock, ever clever, makes his own rules; seeks his own justice. He provides Eris-sometimes-Enyo a revelation: “I am you.”
For he is, of course he is. Are they not both patrons of war? To the hearts they both swear not to have, they are analogues: brothers.
Naturally, Promachos asked Hecate’s aid in performing the magic trick of creating a living-ghost. And Molly, who is Soteira, saw Grey-Eyed Holmes off into a war of his own careful design, until he could return triumphant to his Muse. But there is no end to the world’s evils, nor its secrets.
Thus, for the resurrected Athena, the game is once more on. First, he woos Eros-Jeanine, posing as her Psyche, that she might open the palace gates to him. Once within, however, even the Wise One finds himself surprised when confronted with the Implacable Avenger.
Mary, Mary, not-quite-Mary. As of old, Wisdom Unwearying must appease the Erinu. For, in this new age, even a Fury cannot strike another god with impunity, and their dear John has suffered enough. Areia offers Alecto a new epithet and abode, in exchange for justice delayed. Not a temple, better than; the home (and name) of a good man. Now, Mary of the Eumenides (or Semnai) Watson may at last take her rest. But the original problem remains.
Magnusson, hated and hateful, of a Stygian soul, is wroth over the many recent escapes from his domain, and believes himself to possess the immunity he sometimes bestows. But Styx miscalculates, ignorant of Sherlock’s new-learned willingness to sacrifice all, even his cunning.