Sherlock kept his back flat against the trunk of the tree, making sure to keep himself hidden out of sight. He listened, his senses alert as he waited to hear the rustling of the earth beneath him.

He knew his target was on the other side of one of the tree trunks, feet silently still against the ground. His thumb and forefinger delicately rested on the shaft of the arrow within the pouch, the bow tightly wound within the other hand.

He did not know why he was after whoever it happened to be, he could not remember. He only knew that he was under orders to stop the thief. The only problem was that it felt wrong; his mind was telling him to turn back, not to hurt whoever it was. He relayed on this for only a minute, letting his guard down.

This was when the target made an escape, when she made an escape. Sherlock leaned around the trunk of the tree, finally laying eyes on the target. He caught sight of her for only a few seconds.

She was a wood elf, but she had a bag strapped to her back. It was not hers, though; the man-made satchel looked wrong around her. Oh yes, that was why he was chasing her. This was the girl stealing medical supplies.

His fingers curled on the rough texture of the bark, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of her face. It was but a blur; he could not see her true features, he could not catalogue it to his memory; it was as If he did not want to and had not a clue why.

His feet felt cemented to the ground, an aching within his chest as he could not convince himself to pull an arrow from the pouch. He watched as the girl made eye contact with him for only a second before jolting off through the trees, disappearing deep within the forest before Sherlock could break himself out of his mind spell.

He closed his eyes, gaining full composure before he turned to see the elf standing in front of him, looking at him curiously. All that he could see, though, was her big brown eyes. When he made an attempt to look at her whole face, everything became a blur again, his body reacting, protecting him from seeing as the images began to fade into darkness.

It was if black ink was dripping from the sky, oozing downwards so that he lost all sense of his surroundings. Trees lost their texture before disappearing; leaves blending until the colours created an ebony before him. Any sense of distance, of woods, collapsing until the silhouette of the elf girl remained in front of him as she let out a piercing scream for help, throttling him from the dream realm.

Sherlock's body jerked as he awoke, letting out a hard breath as his eyes opened wide. He flexed his fingers, trying to keep himself calm as he swallowed hard. He could still feel the roughness of the bark against his calloused fingers, the edge fading away as it was replaced by the black sludge clearing his memory slate.

He should be used to this by now.

Ever since the incident, long ago, the dream realm had never treated him the same. It was as if it had welcomed him before, in the times that he was happy. But after he commanded it to be silent, it let the aura of darkness seep into him during his unconscious state and allow anything to happen. It was part of his punishment.

When he sat up, his body reflexively leaned down, his hand on the bow protectively beneath the cot as soon as he sensed a presence within the house. He relaxed immediately, though, upon realising who it was. There was only one person that it could be, especially by the intensity of her presence.

Sherlock took his time, knowing who was outside his bedroom door, not in any rush to speak with her.

He would normally think it was John, but John treaded harder, especially with his armor. He was knight-commander of King Gregory's forces; the most trusted among all of the men, sworn to protect to the land and citizens from harm.

Sherlock's face remained expressionless as he opened the door to see his chair in the middle of the common room, the familiar figure taking up its space. Her dark dress flowed down to the floor, matching her dark hair that offset her pale complexion.

As he took a step into the room and out of the doorway, he looked to the table in the corner and he closed his eyes momentarily, exhaling deeply through his nose before opening them up again and looking to the woman. His eyes were pierced with anger, but they did not contain enough coolness to faze the Ice Queen.

Aranthi; a healing plant that smelled of honey. She knew that the delicate white flowers would remind him of his past love, and that is why she placed them there. She always liked to see him react. He usually did not let the emotion show through, especially with this situation imparticular, but with his dream still befuddling his mind, he had no patience to deal with her today. "What do you want?" he practically snarled.

"What a way to address your Queen," she laughed coldly, rubbing her forefinger and thumb together, a pile of ice crystals floating to the floor, melting upon impact with the wood.

"You are not a ruling Queen," he said, a snicker released from him, knowing it would set her off; she deserved it anyway.

"Because that pig does not know what he is doing!" she fumed, her eyes wide, rage covering her expression. Sherlock saw the hurt in her face though. He knew after these ten years away, she still missed her husband. The Ice Queen always wore black, in a constant state of mourning; wishing things would be sorted out, but too stubborn to settle the problem.

She cleared her throat for a second, her eyes moving to the floor to see the puddle collecting from the crystals that had fallen from her fingertips. She moved her fingers to glide across the arm of the chair. "Anyway," she said, much more composed after the temporary silence. "I have a job for you."

Sherlock turned away from her to look out the window. "As I last recalled, I don't take orders from you." He just wished that she would leave; his eyes kept flickering to the aranthi, overwhelming him and he wanted nothing more than to be alone.

"There is a wood elf," she started off, "who has stolen medical supplies. Twice now as I recall."

Sherlock's ears perked up at this, vivid images of his dream coming back to him. He had never had a vision before, one of truth, one of warning, but with so much time living, he believed that most things of that sort were possible. He waited for Irene to continue, but she was silent. "Is that all that you know?"

Irene smirked at this, a twinkle of ice in her eye. She knew how to intrigue the man, though she thought it would have taken more than that to get him interested. "Yes; she was too quick getting away."

"You can't catch the elves unless they want you to."

"So don't catch her," she said simply. "Kill her. Thieves will not go unpunished," she said, thinking herself dignified in her voice.

"And you wonder why the King does not see the way that you do," he said drily. Before she could reply, he continued. "She is a small female elf, brown hair, and a satchel was also taken."

Her eyes narrowed at this, her stare piercing into his back. "How…?"

Sherlock let out a sarcastic smirk on his face, but did not turn to her. "A guess," he shrugged.

"You don't guess."

"I know."

"Find her and kill her," she said as she stood. "I'm sure she will be back for more supplies; she's taken enough as it is." And with that, Irene exited his small abode.

Sherlock found amusement that she thought he would listen to her, let alone that he would work for her. It was not his problem that she insisted on being the way she was.

Irene Adler had been a woman of dirty work, a high priestess of dark magic. Her higher powers of a colder water element were used to her advantage, especially against men. She picked up tasks of all kinds, keeping only to herself, trusting no one; she never worked for one person for long.

After King Gregory sent Sherlock to hunt her down, she was brought back to the fort alive. The second the king had set eyes on her, he knew she was different. She was only in the dungeons for a day before he could not resist going down there to speak to her; he had never been down to visit anyone in the dungeons, but there was something about her.

Within a few weeks, the priestess' heart was warmed by the king, and she promised to marry him. To use her magic to protect, to assist him in ruling the kingdom and to never let harm come to their people; and so she did.

But three years into their marriage, King Gregory noticed that Queen Irene was too harsh in the way she wished to punish others for their wrongful deeds. Gregory wanted a fair and just kingdom, and Irene's requests were not something he found agreeable.

When Gregory finally spoke to her about it, she retaliated, and a fight broke out. When Irene lost control for only a moment, she pinned him to the wall with a flash of ice, hurting the husband she loved so dearly. He had made her want to be better, to be rid of her old past, but she was defeated in that act. He tried to plea with her to stay, that it was only a mistake, but she left him pinned in ice and left the castle. It had been ten years that she had found solace in the woods away from him. And so, when she had opportunity, she took her anger and bitterness out on Sherlock, who had lost more than she had. She still had a chance to go back.

Sherlock was not going to follow the orders of the Ice Queen; he could barely follow orders from Gregory without getting himself in trouble. Though, just because a huntsman does not agree to the terms of royalty does not mean that he would not seek out the thief.