The Rules of the Shadow Game

LLS

Written under the Creative Commons. Sherlock and Yu-Gi-Oh! With respective characters belong to respective creators.

My dream is to be written about in TvTropes . Org. If you would be so kind...

In the number of dead bodies found by the London metropolitan police annually, the occasional occult murder is oft unnoticed. When asked, the local Mage would avert his eyes while muttering something about "dumping grounds", which were enough to give most pause. Lestrade mostly thought that the local community were just better at hiding the corpses, resulting in an uncertain known number of truly occult murders.

Here was a clearly occult murder scene. With six victims running the social gamut from the lowest street informer to a treasury official, all figures in the local underworld, found dead of inexplicable means in Piccadilly Circus with a "Hello London, see you at eight" scrawled in English besides the bodies, and a drawing of an eye in a triangle in a circle, it was hard to mistake this for anything else. Considering that the means of death could not be determined, even with the presence of Sherlock Holmes, and the London Metropolitan Police had an occult case on their hands.

It was thus that ten minutes to seven found Detective Inspector Lestrade paying a visit to Baker Street for a completely different reason from the norm.

"A message," the Mage of London murmured, studying the crime scene photographs Lestrade had brought along. "From an external party."

"John, if you have an explanation, now would be the time," the Mage's partner snapped. "Obviously, if we put the message in context, London would refer to you, London's Mage, while the salutation indicates a prior acquaintance, if not friendship, and eight would be time. The symbol at the side would be a signature, indicating that you would not need this person's name to know their identity. The fact that this person had gathered six of the underworld's most insidious would show that this person would be more dangerous than any such being. Now, if you please, John."

John Watson sighed, his head in his hands. "Why now...? Lestrade, go back to NSY, pull all your files on a Ryou Bakura and a Rakura. Get them here by tomorrow, please. Do not post an armed guard here, we are likely dealing with a pissed-off supernatural being with absolutely zero scruples. Seeing as he is paying us a visit, and not arranging for a neutral public spot, I can only guess two things, and one is that this person is cocky enough to visit Baker Street's detective on business while expecting to get away freely. I'll explain more later, but for now I need you, Inspector, to move, and you, Sherlock, to sit here."

Lestrade cocked an eyebrow at John. "Your turn to keep secrets now?"

"Move your arse, it's almost eight and my next appointment doesn't like any authority figures, or to be kept waiting." was the cryptic reply.

John's appointment as about as unexpected as it could get. He was slender, but in a wiry way that looked dangerous rather than the delicate it should by all rights suggest. Dressed in faded blue jeans, sneakers and a white button-down shirt, it was only by seeing his face that Sherlock began to take notice. The pale features, crimson eyes and the evil smirk framed by long shaggy white hair took Sherlock's pitifully developed sense of self-preservation and made it scream for the consulting detective to run, jump, crawl, hide away from the man who made even Jim Moriarty look like a Darth Vader wannabe.

"I'm going to bite and say that Ryou's not home right now," John said in a reprimanding tone, setting down a mug of tea which the albino gave a disgusted look. "Well then, Mr Bakura, what can I do or you?"

"Find the yadonushi," the one named Bakura hissed, his long fingers clutching the settee arm so hard Sherlock was positive that the resulting finger-marks were coming out of their rent. "Someone kidnapped him, with the ring. I cannot locate him as I am now."

"You lost an item of ancient dark power and your host's soul with it," John stated.

"Not lost," Bakura rebutted. "Stolen. Save that they are in this city, I cannot go farther. Young as she is, Londinium does not allow us to persecute any further into her field."

Sherlock was wondering what were they talking about when John continued. "This is an agency with feet firmly on the ground..."

"And its head in the clouds," Bakura shot back. "Do not think I do not know your pasts. If London's chosen does not act, I will retaliate. My balance is shifting, and soon I will revert. Though I do not have the ring with me, mage, do not think that I did not bring my deck." Sherlock watched as a pale hand reached into a side pocket and pulled out a pack of cards unlike any normal ones; these had a swirl pattern on the back with brown edging.

John's expression was like Bakura had pulled out a gun. "You wouldn't."

Bakura's face, Sherlock felt, sent adrenaline racing through his veins, and shivers up his spine with his next words: "I do not care for this world, or the beings on it. My hikari is missing, and the fact that you two are the best trackers in the city is the very reason I am not acting on instinct right now. Otherwise, soon I will unleash them upon the city, and we play a game. You know I am capable of it, just like how I know you would do the same if our position interchange." he hissed, holding up his deck.

"Fine," John ground out, still watching the deck. "But no murdering any more people."

"Yami no tobira wa hirakareta," Bakura sang, tossing a card on to the coffee table. "You know the drill, mage. I'll see myself out. If I'm followed, he gets a one-way ticket into the Shadow Game." Somehow, Sherlock felt that the capital letters were an absolute necessity.

John visibly relaxed as the door closed, its click momentarily echoing. "That's the last time we have the evil half over for tea," he commented, scooping up Bakura's untouched mug.

"He's been busy," John commented the next morning. Ryou Bakura as a prime suspect in the murder of seven known muggers, two teachers and more besides. Rakura, a listed international thief, had a file in NSY an inch thick and that was not counting the various Interpol hits Sherlock had pulled up out of curiosity.

"Wonderful," Lestrade remarked. "Never thought the kid had it in him."

Sherlock just stared in awe. "So, this Ryou Bakura is..."

"Technically a normal British-Japanese high school teenager who somehow got his hands on a cursed object." John explained. "Egypt, pre-Merlin magic, powerful and difficult. Somehow, this object, the ring he was referring to last night, caused a form of DID to occur. So, we have a nice, good, innocent half and a...evil self. A hikari and a yami, so to speak. Two sides of the same person. We met the evil half, Bakura, last night, which is pretty bad for us. The whole city, even."

"Continue," Sherlock motioned.

"Of the two halves, Bakura is the most dangerous. I bet you almost all...no, all this is done without Ryou's knowledge. Notice the earliest murders were the bloodiest; that was Bakura beginning to manifest without Ryou's knowledge. Then, we note a trend to more bloodless murders; that was the result of the stabilising influence of the light half, Ryou, on the dark half, Bakura."

"Light and darkness cancel each out out," Sherlock quipped.

John beamed at his partner. "Exactly. Now, one body isn't exactly made for two souls to occupy at the same time, so the two halves interchange, with one active in the body, and the other in the ring, the cursed object in question. If Bakura is right, someone, or some people stole the cursed object while Ryou is still inside. And, the dark half is the most dangerous not only because of the absolute lack of conscience and that the dark half carries the most magic, but also because the dark half always protects the light, and so Bakura will cheerfully tear apart the city in his search."

"In short, unless we find this object, we're screwed?" Lestrade hazarded.

"Umm...you remember the Yorkshire Ripper?" John ventured. Lestrade gravely nodded. "Well, take him, add the viciousness of Jack the Ripper, the skill of Sherlock here, and Moriarty's psycho state. Now factor in five millennia of experience. And then unleash him on London. Whose side would you rather be on?"

"Uh...his good side?"

"So would I. So, yes. We find it, or, as you put it, we're screwed."

It was then that the DI and the doctor cum Mage turned to Sherlock, who directed a gimlet stare at John. "You tell me what's a Shadow Game and I'll do it."

"A Shadow Game is...well..." John deliberated as Sherlock set to work on his laptop, having sent the homeless network out on information gathering.

"Start, John."

"Fine. A Shadow Game is basically the whole concept of Shadow Magic. Using magic, you conduct a game in which the players stake their soul." John explained. "The game can be anything; dice, cards, Russian roulette, puzzles, chess, whatever. The loser endures a penalty game. Upon acceptance, you cannot cheat or back out, or it is deemed an automatic forfeit and both give up their souls. If you lose, you take a penalty game, which is painful and may have... extreme repercussions. Such as losing your soul. Non-essential and painfully theological data," John quickly added upon seeing Sherlock's expression. "Anyway, the thing is, if you lose, you end up either dead, insane or in a permanent coma. Got it?"

"The gist of it," Sherlock acknowledged, still steadily typing, keys clacking merrily. "Bakura can use this Game then?"

"Seven..no...six...no...five people in the whole world, at last count," John stated. Sherlock noted that his hand was trembling. "And the term is start. Only the holders of seven cursed objects can start a Game, and even then only the starter can end the Game. Also, it is an unwritten rule that only the holders of the cursed objects can win the Game."

It took a while for Sherlock to connect the expression on John's face as one of fear. The clacking slowed. "John," Sherlock breathed. "You've seen one? You have to tell...Oh. Not good?" he whispered at John's expression.

John took a slow breath. "Bit not good, yes. Afghanistan. Without knowing anything, I played against a man named Shaadi. He had two of the things. The game was...Russian roulette. Shot myself in the head before the game was declared a draw. I could only remember that time..."

Sherlock could already hear the unspoken words as he temporarily abandoned his laptop in a rare moment of emotion, and held his John close to his heart. Please God, let me live.

"I guess we should have a code-name for this mission," Sherlock started, changing the subject in a rarer moment of tact.

It was a full forty-eight hours later that John pushed his partner into a black hackney. "Phil, the docks, warehouse four," the Mage ordered, pulling out the card that Bakura had left from his pocket with the ginger reverence given only to explosives and hazardous materials. "Er...how did it go again?" John whispered at the card, which to Sherlock seemed to be an ordinary card from a specialised trading card game, with a picture showing a woman, split down the middle, her right side that of an angel with dove's wings, the left side that of a demon with bat-wings hidden in the shadows. "Right...kokorogawari!"

Sherlock jumped as the very figure depicted appeared, as if it had only just faded into existence. In front, the cabbie swore colourfully. "Holy Mary Mother of God!"

"Don't swear," John told the cabbie off before turning to the angel-devil Change of Heart. "Docks, Warehouse four, get your master there fast," then, at the last minute, "please."

Change of Heart nodded and flew off, phasing through the cab roof like a ghost. Sherlock's eyes were still fixed on the roof when the cab reached their destination.

"Wait for us, Phil," John grimly stated as a familiar white-haired figure stepped out of the shadows, eyes dull crimson pinpricks in the gloom as a pea-souper blew up. "The show's about to begin, and when I say hit the fuel, with us safely inside, then we hit the fuel."

"Then why are we here to begin with?" Sherlock wisely pointedly out in a fit of self-preservation.

"Er, to act as backup, mostly," John sheepishly replied. "Although that could be highly unlikely...but the fireworks will be entertaining."

Sherlock would had started on the merits of fireworks against self-preservation when a high, chilling laugh echoed through the docks. "Dark Sanctuary!"

"On second thought..." John and Sherlock contemplated the sudden increase in fog that lacked the distinct pea-souper brown colour of London fog and the numerous eyes appearing in space while the shadows increased and winds from indeterminate sources blew ominously through the place as a castle done in the old Gothic style with spires pointing towards the sky appeared from thin air under the fool's moon. Sherlock seemed to be taking it better than John first thought he would. Then again, this was Sherlock Holmes who regularly kept body parts in the fridge... "Fancy a horror movie, Sherlock?"

Sherlock, through a series of twenty questions from John, had managed to deduce that Shadow Magic worked mostly with games. Considering that the oldest spell battles, according to John, were riddles, this made quite a bit of sense. Basically, Sherlock got that every Shadow Mage started a Shadow Game in combat where they summoned monsters and pitted them against each other in battle.

Considering the monsters that would not have looked out of place in a Lovecraft novel currently in a search, pillage and sacking mission against whoever was in that warehouse, Sherlock felt distinctly thankful that he had a Mage of London to hide behind. It's wasn't due to a lack of courage on his part, just that, well...monsters seemed a lot less frightening when one is hiding behind the Mage of London and the magic shield he conjured, plus the extremely solid riot shields that Scotland Yard's finest had brought in within ten minutes of the Search, Pillage and Sacking Mission (so epic it deserved capitals).

Finally, when the last of the warehouse had finished collapsing, out of the dank smoke and fog walked the terrifying figure of Bakura, holding another slight figure bridal-style. Two monsters which could only be described as 'chitinous' floated beside him on either side, glaring at the full SWAT team in a move, or die, I don't care which, who drew back. The guns going unheeded, Bakura moved towards Sherlock and John, holding the figure which was almost his exact twin in a way that Sherlock could only describe as exceedingly tender.

"A debt to you, London," Bakura hissed to them. Somehow, Sherlock got the message that it was addressed only to the two of them, before Bakura, the figure in his arms, and the two monsters were shrouded in fog and faded into the mustard haze.

"Gentlemen, and ladies," Lestrade spoke after a long while. "This. Never Happened."

Hardened SWAT operatives nodded instantly.

"Sherlock, John..." Lestrade began, but failed as he noticed that the two me in question had disappeared with the cab.

Somewhere on a London road, a black hackney contained a happily domestic scene of John with Sherlock curled up, head on John's lap. "I can almost understand him," Sherlock murmured. "If that were you...I'd burn down the warehouse too."

"That's nice, Sherlock," John absently replied, stroking Sherlock's hair. As Sherlock let out a tiny moan, the mage whispered: "So would I, Sherlock. So would I."

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