Chapter 4: The World of Alchemy

"What… the hell… was that?"

For a brief moment, John thought that he might've been drugged again when he saw the broken tea set being miraculously restored to pristine condition in a flash of light. What John saw, was not some trick of the eye that a simple of sleight of hand can do. John had physically witnessed the pieces literally float and reform themselves, the seams knitting together and there was not even a slight blemish on the perfect looking china. He felt himself snap back to reality when he noticed Sherlock's form started to tremble under his weight, then his knees buckled. The army doctor leapt from his seat to support the ailing detective and was horrified of how extremely light he felt. John did not fail to notice Edward glaring at Sherlock, the face hardened at the revelation. It was a look that John was familiar with as he had often seen it in many a soldier that had crossed paths with the enemy.

"Alchemy John, didn't you hear me the first time?" Sherlock gasped as a fresh sheen of sweat appeared on the consulting detective's brow. "It's probably rather rudimentary compared to what Mr Elric knows..."

"Alchemy? You mean magic? Like the whole lead to gold thing?" John felt like his head was swimming in syrup and he probably sounded borderline hysterical.

"For god's sakes that's just a fallacy and no, it's not bloody magic John." Sherlock rasped. It was a wonder the man was still conscious from whatever he had just did.

"It's a metaphysical science of manipulating and altering matter by using natural energy." Edward answered as he calmly stood up and plucked a packet of biscuits that had managed to escape the chaos of the fight earlier as well as a drink from the mini fridge and pressing both towards Sherlock. "As you can see, it can also be a physical strain on the alchemist performing it."

"But- Ho-how did he figure this out?"

"For the same reason to why he is so compelled to pursue the matter, isn't that right Mr Holmes?" Edward replied cocking his head.

"Because I'm bored …" Sherlock retorted chewing on the biscuits and then taking a swig of the energy drink. It was meant to be scathing but there was no bite to it "…and when one is bored, one seeks relief from it." John felt a sense of uneasiness from the way he said it and was reminded him sitting alone in a small cold bedsit and some rather unsettling thoughts relating to the cold piece of metal that he was hiding in his drawer. "No doubt you must've deduced that yourself when you decided to pull out of using my services so since that is the case, I'll be on my way." Sherlock sighed as he unsteadily stood up and slowly stumbled towards the door stubbornly pushing away John's attempts to support him. John cast furtive glances to his until recently estranged grandfather sitting very still as he processed the information. Edward's eye brows shot up as if he had had an epiphany then just as quickly as it had appeared, it fell with a look of pain. Edward opened his laptop once more but his focus was entirely on Sherlock's retreating form. He pursed his lips appearing to consider his options once more.

"Sherlock is a rather unusual name." He said at just as Sherlock went to open the door. "It's a bit of an oxymoron if one considered the meaning." Sherlock stood frozen, his hand hovering over the handle. John blinked owlishly trying to gauge what the old man had figured out. "Did you choose it or was it given?"

"Both" it had come out quite slurred.

"I see, you decided to refer yourself by your middle name then… William" Edward asked deliberately slow and watching the subtle change in Sherlock's demeanour from irritated anger to surprise to cautious curiosity in short of a few seconds. Blink and one would miss it "So you were the one that he talked to me so much about." Sherlock stared suspiciously at the man then at John. The doctor could almost see the cogs spinning in the detective's mind then a look of confusion at John. Edward nodded his head. It was all the information that the old man needed and Edward sighed rubbing his temple with the tips of his gloved fingers. "Very well, Sherlock. Let's hear more of what you make of this 'case'."

He implicated for Sherlock to sit down throwing an apologetic glances towards them both before turning the laptop around for them to see. John sat next to the curly headed man, considering his next few actions. John had surreptitiously started taking vitals, it felt a little fast but it was steady.

"Regarding to the people who are targeting your family, it's personal." Sherlock replied leaning against the chair, regarding the man wearily.

"And what led you to that conclusion?" Edward asked although it was clear that he had an idea already.

"Magnussen needed to have had the information from someone for him to pursue it in the first place. You and any of your trusted associates are experts of cyphers, having your hand in the codebreaking during the war. Eliminating those variables means it was someone that knows intimate knowledge of you and your family particularly the element of alchemy which was a closely guarded secret." Sherlock paused to gauge the reaction of the old man known as Fullmetal. "From your interaction between you and John. You tried to give an impression of an estranged grandfather that has only today tried to reconnect with his long lost grandchildren but the truth of the matter is you are close or you were."

"This is the first time I ever saw this man, Sherlock." John replied incredulously but surprised when the detective glared at him.

"Which comes down to three possibilities of the leak. One, you John, are an exceptionally good liar and I have all this time as your 'best friend' underestimated it."

"No, no that's impossible." John shook his head indignantly, incensed that Sherlock could possibly suspect that he was lying or hiding something. "This is really the first time I've met him. I didn't even know that I had a grandfather until today." I'm not like you. The final thought added on venomously, unspoken but understood by the detective.

Visibly chastised, Sherlock continued although there was clearly still bitterness in his tone. "Two something traumatic happened to you that you ended with some loss of memory, which links to the second lot of suspects or what remains of them." John flinched at the mention of memory loss and Sherlock figured that he had hit it on the nail that even when John was about to pose the next question.

"Interesting… how did you come to that conclusion?" Edward

"The cottage was being monitored." John grimaced as he remembered the unsettling feelings he had when he lived at the cottage. "The evidence of it is obvious since even burnt to the ground there should still be remnants; memories, an ornament, a particular set of books or a family photograph. Sentiment. Something that you are particularly fond of, John." John frowned recalling the time he spent at the oppressive cottage which was really not that much as he usually found himself wandering the dark roads and breathing in the countryside air or spending time in the streets of the nearest town in his youth. In truth, despite the idyllic area, it was as Spartan as any military base. Impersonal and lacking anything relating to family. It was just him and Harry with the occasional visits from Mom and Dad. Fuelled by this confirmation that John had been feeling all his life, he glared accusingly at his grandfather. Edward sighed and sat back.

"The organisation is called the Council of Flamel. It was founded by Alphonse and myself at the start of World War 2." Edward explained.

"Why?"

"It was set up to suppress knowledge of alchemy around the world. Like Sherlock simply demonstrated, that is merely the basics so the countless potential such a-"

"No, why monitor me?" John growled.

"Not you." Sherlock interjected. It took a moment when the penny dropped. John's eyes widened.

"Harry? How much does she know about all of this? Does she know anything about what happened to our parents?" Edward frowned.

"Probably nothing. Probably everything. That girl though, even drunk off her head, she can keep it shut. The British government could do well to learn a thing or two from her." Edward huffed. "Whether her stubbornness to keep silent is doing her favours or not, it is keeping the Council solely focused on her and away from you." John froze at that thought. Whereas he had been able to slip in and out of the country cottage, Harriet spent most of her time in it. She would hold herself up into her own room and look outside the window as if in a prison. Edward was staring intensely at him when John's thoughts wandered to that time before he brought up some files on his laptop and turned it around for both younger men to see.

It was scanned image of a photograph from a disposable camera in the 90's. A family photo and while John had vague recollections of the faces of his parents and a young, happy version of his elder sister, he didn't recognise the boy that was in it nor where the place, the photo was taken was. It was all a blank. Blinking a few times, John felt a sense of dread rising up from the pit of his stomach. He suddenly started feeling nauseous and almost predicted what Edward was about to say next. A hollow sensation that had been buried was steadily being unearthed by this old man.

"You don't remember do you?"

"Remember what?" The words were forced but he knew what Edward was talking about. John had always lived in the here and now which is probably why he had fell so easily into step with the spontaneity that was Sherlock Holmes. John hated secrets above everything else and Sherlock had the displeasure of experiencing the consequences of keeping one from him. He felt mortified of how much of a hypocrite he was with that the biggest secret being kept from him was his own

"You know what I mean, not a single memory before you were 10, correct?"

"So what? A lot of people forget their childhood." The former army doctor muttered irritably and casting a glance to Sherlock who infuriatingly decided to remain silent. He wanted to get away but was pinned down by a golden eyes staring forlornly at him.

"I once owned a dog called Redbeard. He was given to me on my 5th birthday." The detective's rather mundane statement would have at any other situation would've been endearing but it just made John even angrier.

"Good for you," he hissed sarcastically and completely ignoring the shocked and hurt look on Sherlock's face. John looked straight ahead, hoping that he would be able to get out of there.

"Something happened to you 24 years ago, John, and your parents travelled across the globe to try to figure out what it was. No doubt they would have to get into contact with several people making them likely candidates for the leak but since they've disappeared presumed dead that rules them out. Whatever happened to them was a consequence of that, why Harriet was being monitored was also a consequence of that. Whether she actually knows what happened or not she is keeping it quiet in order to protect you. That is why it was decided to ask Mr Holmes for his assistance on this matter. "

"Did you bother asking her 'nicely' about what happened seeing as she is supposed to be family and not some criminal under interrogation and then you go off and involve an outsider?" John winced at his own words as soon as they left his lips. He hadn't meant for it to sound like he shunned Sherlock but he felt his anger steadily build up as he discovered this new world that his family was involved in all this time.

"It's a lot more complicated than that."

"So Harriet knows about you?"

"Yes." John started to wonder what else Harriet knew. Like with any addiction, there came a lot lying and secrets. It was something that John had always hated and one of the reasons that he refused to associate with his sister. Now there was another secret added to the growing pile. Edward pursed his lips looking uncertain. "How would you say your relationship with Harriet is like these days, John?"

"We have a strained relationship." John answered abruptly turning back to the laptop and watched the old photos fade away in a slideshow as if it would help divulge a clue in the mystery that was Harriet Watson outside of her being a useless drunk. Sherlock would have had a field day with her but currently the detective was sitting there looking dazed and what appeared to be a mix of emotions that John was not use to seeing on the man's face. He knew he would have to ask about that later.

"I see… she always seemed to talk fondly about you." Edward admitted. John chose to ignore that statement at the moment to continue looking at the numerous photos. Edward was certainly a sentimental man.

There was no specific timeline in the images or the people that were in them. He noticed a young Harriet fly by a few times with what he thought was probably him then there was Edward with another old man, possibly the brother judging from their closeness. The old men were also surrounded by two sets of families, his own and another family of three of a mother, father and a young lad that looked about Harriet's age. They all appeared happy. The most obvious being Edward looking a little less wrinkled and a proud with a broad smile on his face. The images shifted again to a more recent photo of Harriet Watson in her late teens and John noticed the startling difference between the beaming girl earlier and the look of misery here. It was probably around the time that Harriet had started drinking. There were subsequent images of her as she grew older looking worse over time.

Then he came across one which he finally had memories of. It was roughly 9 years ago where he was in the last two years at university. It was probably of one good memory he had of his sister. She was with Clara, her girlfriend at the time. Harriet also appeared to be on the rebound, although still startling thin, she looked determined. Her blonde golden was sleek , tied back and her eyes stared pensively at the camera. This had been a year after his parents were killed in the house fire. Then afterwards he had joined the army which coincided with Harriet's sudden relapse and John realised that he may have played a part in her losing battle with alcohol.

She was probably a pretty woman, even John had to admit. Most men would have thought she was outstandingly gorgeous but, of course, they didn't get to see her recently. Last time John saw her, her gold hair was faded and brittle like straw, the small smile seen in the photos completely replaced with a wrinkly scowl. Now with this new found knowledge, John started wondering what it was that Harriet was trying to protect, what she had to go through to become the way she has.

"Harriet and I have never got along. Never have, never will." It was condemning conclusion of what John thought of his relationship with his sister. "But that doesn't meant I won't help her if she's in trouble." The answer made Edward relax a little. John stared intently at the old man for any more secrets the man held.

"That's fine. That's all fine." Edward replied with an understanding smile. John took a deep breath to try to settle the tightness in his chest and the odd parallel to words he remembered when he first Sherlock.

"Does Harry know alchemy?"

"She is aware of the theory and the stories I've told her but that's really all it is to her, theory." Edward's answer came a lot more easily this time round, as if a weight had lift of his chest. "In terms of practical application, Sherlock's little demonstration was the first complete transmutation I've personally seen in years."

"That still doesn't rule her out as the leak." Sherlock interjected. He still looked exhausted but there was something resembling bitterness in his demeanour and John reflected that he had suddenly gone quiet when John snapped at him. Instantly, the blond doctor felt guilty.

"No but I know she isn't."

"Your Council had her monitored."

"I founded the council but I have not been running it for a long time. At any rate, it is not simply sentiment that I believe her, Mr Holmes. Harriet has been constantly monitored by the Council for years as is the rest of my family. Any new alchemical phenomenon that was discovered, she and the rest of the Elric family were always the first to be investigated and every time there is never evidence linking us to it." Edward retorted coolly. "I have also inadvertently found myself another suspect. Tell me Sherlock, where 'did' you learn your alchemy from?"

"Now, that would be telling," Sherlock sneered but his voice seemed to quiver in his response. "Perhaps you might want to deduce it seeing as I know you are pretty adept at it yourself? Oh wait, you already have, haven't you?" Edward looked pained once more.

"I had the discussion with someone who was wiser than I about whether to involve you Sherlock. I thought it was a bad idea at the time. Now, even more so but then I remembered that person said: Sherlock has the type of mind that is constantly curious. He would make a fine scientist or philosopher which by all accounts is someone that we do not need." John's eyes widened at the mention as he had this conversation once before with another man that he didn't particularly enjoy the company of. "However, he also chose to be a detective, which is makes him invaluable to finding the 'truth' that we seek. So, what is your third possibility, Sherlock?"

"One word," Sherlock replied and leaning forward. "Shamballa." Edward's eyes widened in recognition and for the first time, he felt relief and mirth reach his golden eyes. So much so that he burst out into laughter.

A/N: This has been an insane information chapter and I hated it so much for so long. Hopefully, the next chapter will finally get things moving on a lot sooner...