Nearly a month passed in the same peaceful rhythm.
During the day, John and Helen practically became Doro’s parents, looking after her and taking her wherever they went.
At night, they would bring her back to Sherlock’s house.
Sherlock occasionally dropped by the Wick residence to steal a meal and trade insults with John, which had become one of his few ways to relax between long stretches of work.
That routine continued until the final few days of the month, when the restoration entered a critical stage.
Sherlock became so consumed by the project that he no longer had time to collect Doro at night, or even remember to eat.
John simply let her stay at their house.
Doro had no objections.
She adored Helen, who felt almost like a mother to her.
She liked John too, at least according to her still rather immature understanding of affection.
Unfortunately, he had an annoying habit of rubbing his beard against her soft face, so she remained slightly wary of him.
Then, on the final day of the month, a blinding golden light erupted from Sherlock’s study.
The radiance passed straight through the walls and rolled outward in wave after wave.
Anyone with even a modest degree of empathy could sense the joy carried within it, like someone bedridden for years suddenly realizing they could walk again.
John did not hesitate.
He grabbed his handgun and charged into Sherlock’s house.
A pistol might have been useless against whatever supernatural force had caused the disturbance, but that did not slow him down in the slightest.
John and Sherlock insulted each other constantly and could barely hold a conversation without swearing, but that was simply the strange nature of their friendship.
Age and status had never mattered between them.
If one of them was in trouble, the other would always come running.
To Sherlock, John and Helen were the only real friends he had made since arriving in this world.
To John, a former assassin whose entire life had once revolved around debts and transactions, Sherlock was the first friend he had ever made without money, obligation, or mutual benefit standing between them.
When John kicked open the door to Sherlock’s study with his pistol raised, the sight before him left even the legendary assassin speechless.
Golden light poured from the restored lance in rolling waves as it circled Sherlock through the air.
Sherlock himself floated above the floor, grinning as he watched the weapon dart excitedly around him.
John stood there with his gun raised, completely unsure what he was supposed to aim at.
“Sherlock…
can you fucking fly now?” Only then did Sherlock notice him.
It took him less than a second to understand what had happened.
He reached out and caught the lance as it swept past him, calming its exuberant glow, then slowly descended until his feet touched the floor.
John still looked bewildered.
Sherlock, on the other hand, wore the sly grin of a fox that had just raided a henhouse.
The instant John saw that expression, every instinct he possessed began sounding an alarm.
‘He’s about to do something stupid.’ Sure enough, Sherlock’s first words were, “My dear child, would you also like to soar through the sky?” “You son of—” John did not even finish the insult before Sherlock flung the lance toward his back.
He knew Sherlock would never seriously hurt him, but years of training took over immediately, and he moved to block the incoming weapon.
The lance never struck him.
Instead, it twisted in midair, curved neatly around his guard, and positioned itself behind him without anyone holding it.
A moment later, John felt gravity release its grip.
His feet lifted from the floor, followed by the rest of his body, and he began drifting slowly into the air.
John Wick was a highly trained assassin, but none of that training had included instructions for what to do after gravity stopped working.
At that moment, he was little more than an exceptionally well-trained ordinary man.
Sherlock nearly doubled over laughing as John flailed through the air like a cat thrown into deep water, desperately reaching for anything solid.
For once, John did not answer the mockery.
Once the initial panic passed, excitement took over, and he began carefully adjusting his movements as he grew accustomed to the weightlessness.
Even someone as experienced as John had never floated through the air before.
The sheer novelty of it overwhelmed everything else.
By the time Helen entered with Doro in her arms, John had already learned to propel himself around the room like an astronaut inside a space station.
Helen nearly dropped her jaw at the sight of her husband happily swimming through the air.
Doro, meanwhile, began struggling wildly in her arms.
The moment Helen put her down, Doro raced over to Sherlock on her stubby legs and tugged at his clothes.
She tilted her head back, staring up at him with enormous pleading eyes.
“Human, Doro wants to play too!
Doro wants to float in the sky!” Sherlock could never refuse her anything.
He immediately revoked John’s flying privileges and transferred them to Doro.
As she drifted into the air, Doro began wildly paddling all four of her plump, jelly-like limbs.
The sight brought warm smiles to Sherlock, John, and Helen alike.
Only then did Helen remember why they had come over in the first place.
“Sherlock, what exactly happened just now?
That sudden light frightened the entire neighborhood.” Sherlock scratched his head awkwardly and pointed toward the lance floating behind Doro, gently carrying her through the room.
“Honestly, I didn’t expect the final step to be quite that dramatic.
I only finished repairing the Holy Lance of Longinus.” Helen’s eyes widened instantly.
She stared at the weapon behind Doro in disbelief.
“What did you just call it?
Longinus?
And you said holy?
Sherlock, don’t tell me that thing is what I think it is!” Sherlock suddenly found himself much less certain.
He gave an awkward shake of his head before answering, “It probably…
maybe…
possibly isn’t the same one?”