As they made their way into the city the foot traffic became denser, until finally people pressed up against Sherlock and Anastasia, and it was hard to breathe as the smell of unwashed humans and animals wafted into Sherlock’s nostrils. Anastasia held a handkerchief up to her nose to blot out the offensive odors, gagging as a particular smell threatened to overwhelm her. Sherlock glanced over at her worried that she was going to faint and took small comfort in the fact that once they reached the middle of the city the crowds should thin out. However, he was mistaken for if anything they increased as they attempted to make their way through a throng of student demonstrators, shouting things like, “No more war and down with the Tsar.”
Anastasia clung to Sherlock in fear, as the sound of shattering glass filled their ears when the demonstrators threw rocks in the window of a bakery nearby. Desperately, Sherlock looked for a safe place to hide but to no avail and things were about to get worse as troops surrounded them. Sherlock thought that order would be restored and was horrified when the troops began firing shots into the crowd, heedless of the women and children. Sherlock picked up Anastasia to keep her from being trampled by the fleeing demonstrators and gasped in horror when the panicked crowds ran over the dead and dying. One victim was not much older than Sherlock; he lay on his back, his once light blue eyes dark, his mouth open, a bullet hole through his forehead marring the shape of his skull.
Then suddenly a cart pulled up beside them and a young man his own age shouted at Sherlock, as he held out his arms for Anastasia, “Give her to me and get in,” the young man called out frantically.
Sherlock nodded, handed Anastasia over, and then took the outstretched hand of their rescuer. As Sherlock’s smooth hands touched the young man’s hard calloused ones he inwardly gasped as a thrill of electricity shot through him. The sensation must have been mutual for the man stared at Sherlock for a long time before he spoke, “My name is John,” he yelled above the din of the crowd, beating away any would be passengers with the flick of a switch.
John shouted for Sherlock and Anastasia to get into the bottom of the cart, after a few moments the noise of the crowd faded away until the only thing Sherlock heard was the clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobble stone street. Once they were safe John called out for them, “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”
Sherlock looked up at John and whispered, “Thank you, we own you a debt of gratitude.”
John was about to reply but gasped as Anastasia rose up from the bottom of the cart, for her scarf had come loose and her face was fully visible. “Grand Duchess Anastasia,” John said and was about to bow, when Anastasia stopped him.
“There is no need for that John for I am only human as you yourself are and we all serve one master do we not?” Anastasia said graciously.
John did a little half bow and said, “As you wish Grand Duchess.”
Anastasia smiled brightly, “Just Anastasia will do and the silent one next to me is Sherlock Holmes Mikhailovich.”
Sherlock nodded and then spoke in a hoarse stammering tone, “Sherlock, is fine for me too. I mean you can call me Sherlock as well.”
John nodded still in awe of his passengers, a sound in the street near them made John look fearfully around. “You two get down; it is not safe for you. Stay hidden until I tell you it is okay to come out.”
Sherlock and Anastasia stayed hidden, as John made his way to the palace through the back allies. As they reached the servant’s entrance John called out, “It’s okay you can come out now.”
Sherlock and Anastasia slowly came out from beneath the tarp that had been thrown over them. John then jumped down from the cart and assisted Anastasia’s descent. He then held out a hand to Sherlock, Sherlock took his hand and was so overcome by John’s touch that he blurted out , “Thank you,” and then nervously he bowed over John’s hand and kissed it.
Anastasia squealed with laughter the danger from earlier in the day forgotten as she said, “Sherlock, you are so silly.”
Sherlock flushed red and then looked up at John’s equally flushed face and said, “Will, I see you again, John?”
John smiled sadly down at Sherlock and said, “It is doubtful Prince Mikhailovich… I mean, Sherlock.”
John then jumped up into the cart, but not before Sherlock ran after him, “Wait, “ he called. John stopped the cart as Sherlock ran up to him and handed him a ring off his finger. “Here take this as a token of gratitude.”
John shook his head, “I couldn’t possibly.”
Sherlock stamped his foot, “I will be offended if you do not.”
John reluctantly reached out and took the small signet ring, “I will accept it but not as a token of gratitude but as proof that the angel of my dreams is real.”
Then without another sound he urged the cart forward leaving Sherlock to ponder the meaning of his words.
