Chapter Text
Thank you to eatbreathedraw for the beautiful cover art! ❤︎
This is the story of how I died.
But don’t worry, this is actually a very fun story, and the truth is… It isn’t even mine.
This is the story of a boy… named Sherlock.
And it starts with the moon.
Now, once upon a time, a single drop of moonlight fell from the heavens. And from this small drop of moon grew a magic silver flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured. The flower thrived beautifully on a secluded hill, where nobody had ever found it. That is, until someone did. A tired, ugly old man discovered it one day, and seized upon its silver glow with greedy, wrinkled hands.
Well, centuries passed and a hop, skip, and a boat ride away, there grew a kingdom. On a neighboring hill, it sat, grand and lovely, a happy castle town bustling below it. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved King and Queen. They were very smart, smarter than any king or queen anyone had known, and they loved and respected their kingdom. The queen was beautiful, gentle, and passionate. And, well, she was about to have a baby, but she got sick… Really sick.
She was running out of time, and that’s when people usually start to look for a miracle. Or, in this case, a magic silver flower.
Remember that old guy? The one who found the flower? He came back. You see, instead of sharing the moon’s gift, this man, James Moriarty, hoarded its healing power and used it to keep himself young, handsome, and clever for hundreds of years. And all he had to do was sing a special song. His voice, while tainted with sinister undertones, sounded suave and deep as he sang.
“Flower, gleam and glow, let your powers shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine… What once was mine.”
The silver flower, upon request, would then glow and revive Moriarty of his former glory. His wrinkles gave way to smooth, pale skin, his tired eyes perked up with a mischievous gleam, and his dull mind returned to its quick and clever hum.
So you get the gist, he sings to it and turns young. Creepy, right?
Now, on the day that the people of the kingdom searched for this magic flower, Moriarty had failed to recover it after reaping its magic. He fled the scene with newfound agility, and the silver flower was left exposed.
One of the kingdom’s guards then found it, just a silver glow on a distant hill. He called to the other guards, uprooted the flower, and brought it back to the queen. Mixing its gleaming petals with water, the queen drank it, and she recovered. The magic had healed her, and a healthy baby prince was born. He had beautiful, pale skin and eyes that shone as bright as the moon. His rich, thick hair was dark like the night sky, curled and soft and tickling his chubby cheeks when he laughed.
The King and Queen loved him very much.
I’ll give you a hint - that baby boy is Sherlock.
To celebrate his birth, the King and Queen launched a flying lantern into the sky, a crescent moon adorning its light blue, almost silver glow.
And for that one moment, everything was perfect… but then that moment ended.
While baby Sherlock slept peacefully, a dark, mysterious figure broke into the castle, chanting with a ghostly tune, “Flower, gleam and glow, let your powers shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine, what once was mine…”
The magic that lived in Sherlock immediately reacted to the tune, and behind his sleeping lids, his eyes glowed faintly silver. Luminescent streaks appeared in his curly hair and gleamed snow white. The palms of his hands, hidden in his tiny fists, bloomed with a tender light.
Moriarty, hooded and sinister, hovered above the child, instantly smitten. His small body held such tenderness and beauty, as well as the flower’s magic. As Moriarty bent over the crib, smile as wide and threatening as a piranha’s, the gleam that emanated off Sherlock’s skin revived his tired, wrinkled state.
Greedy for both the magic and the child’s innocence, he stole the child, and just like that, he was gone.
The King and Queen could only watch him disappear into the night with their handsome little boy.
The kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the prince. For, deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Moriarty raised the child as his own.
He had little practice being a father in his past life, but his devotion to the magic within Sherlock guided him in becoming the boy’s guardian. Like a father, Moriarty often sat Sherlock in front of the fireplace and ran his spider-like fingers through the boy’s curls. He’d then ask Sherlock to sing for him. The child, of course, lived to please his almost-father, and used his small voice to sing the pretty tune, never once suspecting that the magic under his skin and in his curls kept Moriarty lively, quick, and young.
Moriarty had found his new magic flower, but this time, he was determined to keep it hidden.
He kept little Sherlock in the tower, never letting him go outside. Sometimes he asked why, as he’d inherited his parent’s intelligence. Moriarty would then pet his curly head and say, “The outside world is a dangerous place filled with horrible, selfish people. You must stay here, where you’re safe. Do you understand, moonlight?”
“Yes, Mormor,” the small voice replied.
Years passed this way, and while the tower was secluded and high, the walls could not hide everything. Each year, on his birthday, the King and Queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky, in hope that one day, their lost prince would return. Sherlock would then sneak to the window and watch as the lanterns floated high like stars, gleaming a faint blue-silver like his eyes.
Trapped, high in the tower, he watched with glassy eyes, wondering if somehow, these floating lights were meant for him.
This is the beginning of Sherlock’s story. It’s as wild as he is, with ethereal, otherworldly beauty to match.