"You did get cursed, though."
"In Pashtun. There was an actual wound."
"Oh- yeah. Shoulder."
"Shoulder. I thought so."
"No you didn't."
"The left one."
"I never guess."
"Yes, you so."
Sherlock as the oddball alchemy-obsessed child of a powerful family of wizards; his brother, Mycroft, is rumored to control the weather of Lowonidon (the capital city of the Queendom of Albion), and John as a knight, fallen in battle, returned home from a faraway land called Pashtun. He's just killed a mule driver with an enchanted sword he isn't actually still supposed to have.
Instead of a cell phones the people of Albion use magical crystals to communicate. John's is an expensive one from his drunken wench of a sister.
... I really need to stop. I'm never going to finish writing that fanfiction so what am I doing drawing these AUs...?
-EDIT EDIT EDIT: All right, all right! Keep your toes on, people. Here it is.
Please don't get too disappointed. I'm writing another multi-chapter Sherlock fic at the moment, so... it's really just an unfinished, unloved mess... OTL