Heir Apparently

A Royal Mistake

Sherlock POV: Sherlock stood in front of the mirror for the longest time, staring at his reflection in the newly repaired glass. He studied everything that he was wearing, his cape, his clothes, the polished golden buttons going down his shirt, everything that John could possibly judge him on. John...he was going to see John tonight and he wasn't going to be hiding anything. Sherlock pulled a hairbrush through his curls once more, anxious to do something to make himself look better even though his hair was a soft and as sparkly as it could get.
"No, I don't think I can do this." Sherlock decided, letting the hairbrush fall back onto his dresser and trying to turn away from the mirror.
"Oh but you are." Molly insisted, pushing him back to where he could see his reflection, obviously not in the mood for this sort of rubbish.
"I can't, this is just...it's insane, it's completely insane and you're supporting it!" Sherlock exclaimed, trying to pat down his cheeks so that his gorgeous cheekbones would be more visible.
"It's not insane Sherlock, it's wonderful, and John will think the same. I know that the two of you are a perfect match, truly beautiful together." Molly insisted.
"Yes but he's going to judge me, he's going to know and he's going to think about it and... Molly come on, I don't need to tell him, I can just keep quiet and this whole thing will stay in the shadows where it belongs!" Sherlock groaned. Molly shook her head, rearranging Sherlock's cape on his shoulders so that it fell flat.
"Sherlock you're in love. This has never happened before and I doubt it will ever happen again, why shouldn't we take advantage of this opportunity?" Molly wondered.
"Because it's not natural!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"What does it matter?" Molly snapped back, and Sherlock sighed heavily, shaking his head in defeat and picking up the hairbrush once more with shaking fingers. He was more nervous than he's ever been; this was horror beyond belief, far worse than anything that tournament could've come up with.
"I'm just worried that he's not going to love me back." Sherlock admitted.
"I think that there is definitely some room in his heart for you, even if he doesn't know yet. This is a new feeling for you, it's bound to be new to him, I'm shocked that you were able to find what was in your heart and act on it like you did." Molly said with a smile.
"It wasn't all me." Sherlock muttered hatefully, his fingers clenching agressivley over the handle of the brush.
"Yes, sorry, Victor. How did he possibly find out?" Molly wondered.
"Oh who knows, he seems to know a lot more about human emotions than we give him credit for." Sherlock admitted. Molly nodded; picking up Sherlock's glittering crown from the dresser and examining it.
"King Sherlock, in love at last." She muttered. Sherlock just groaned, once more being reminded of all the new responsibilities that had been thrown at him since he inherited that lump of gold.
"No crown, that's just rubbing it in his face. I'm Sherlock around him, not the king." Sherlock insisted, taking slow, deep breaths and trying to imagine John's face when the truth came out.
"So when you two get married..."
"If." Sherlock corrected immediately. Molly sighed heavily but nodded, setting the crown back on the dresser and choosing her words more carefully.
"If you two get married will he be another king, and if so who will be the queen? Or will he be the queen? Or a man with the title of king and the roles of a queen?" Molly wondered. Sherlock groaned heavily, hiding his face in his hands for a moment and shaking his head in defeat.
"God Molly I don't know, I seriously doubt that this has ever happened before. Sherlock the unworthy king, leading his kingdom into madness. She should've picked Mycroft." Sherlock decided.
"Don't say that Sherlock, don't you dare even think it. You're more fit for this throne than Mycroft would ever be, you'd have to be blind not to see it." Molly insisted.
"Well then maybe I'm more happy with my eyes closed." Sherlock decided.
"So dramatic all the time." Molly said with a huff, walking over to Sherlock's closet to try to find him a decent pair of shoes to wear. Sherlock sighed, trying to smell his almost inexistent cologne on his sleeve. It didn't smell much, it didn't even smell all that good, this could never do. Just as Sherlock was reapplying the manly smell onto his clothing the door opened and Billy marched in, holding a bundle of freshly laundered sheets in his arms.
"Hello your majesty." Billy said with a smile, obviously noting Sherlock's fancy get up as soon as he walked through the door.
"Can't get rid of you no matter how hard I try." Sherlock groaned, staring at himself once more in the mirror and trying to figure out what to do with himself. Dinner wasn't an hour away and he planned to eat very quickly, making sure he had plenty of time to tell John the whole truth.
"I'm your servant sir, obviously you don't try hard enough." Billy insisted.
"Be nice Sherlock." Molly warned from the closet.
"Hello Molly!" Billy said happily, obviously he was thankful for someone to speak up for him. Sherlock just groaned, rolling his eyes and watching idly as Billy changed the sheets, not in any position to help him. The time until dinner passed extremely quickly and Sherlock resorted to pacing all around his room in nervousness. Billy, who was trying to mop, seemed rather irritated on Sherlock's choice of pastime, probably because after the bed was changed Sherlock would usually sit in it and read for the rest of the time and Billy's mopping remained uninterrupted.
"What's got you all fed up tonight?" Billy wondered, looking very close to smacking Sherlock in the back of the head with that disgusting mop.
"Nothing, nothing of course." Sherlock snapped too quickly, and obviously Billy wasn't convinced.
"We're being a little bit dramatic tonight." Molly admitted, sitting in a chair and raising her feet whenever Billy's mop passed underneath.
"It's not dramatic; honestly I'm shocked I'm not throwing up!" Sherlock insisted.
"Dramatic." Molly whispered, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, and Billy nodded in agreement.
"Well your majesty you'll be late for dinner if you don't take your nerves down to the dining room." Billy pointed out, noticing the ticking clock above the door.
"Yes of course, dinner. Yes." Sherlock agreed, and immediately both he and Molly rushed to the mirror, right through Billy's freshly cleaned floor, to make sure he looked fabulous enough for John's company.
"Alright, you'll be fine, you're you Sherlock, use that to your advantage." Molly insisted.
"What does that even mean?" Sherlock wondered in annoyance, brushing out his hair one last time and taking a deep, nervous breath.
"Your love will be returned as long as you stay calm, just...don't panic. No tears." Molly instructed, patting Sherlock on the shoulders and immediately readjusting his cape once more.
"No promises." Sherlock shot right back, turning dramatically and marching out the door without a good luck or a goodbye. He needed to get this over with as fast as humanly possible; he just needed to get it out of his head and into John's heart.
"Sherlock you should eat some more." The queen insisted not ten minutes later, once all of them were seated around the table. Sherlock was sitting at the head of the table, sitting in the magnificent wooden and golden chair reserved only for the king, but he was doing nothing more than picking around nervously on his plate. He kept getting envious glares from Mycroft, which was basically the only reason he tried to look a little bit happy. As long as Mycroft thought Sherlock was having a great time being controlled by that awful crown then it was worth the struggle.
"I'm not hungry." Sherlock admitted, which wasn't a lie at all. He knew that all of this was going way too quickly, and in no time he would be down there in the stables with John, declaring his love with no witnesses except the horses. His stomach was twisting nervously, his hands shaking as he tried to rearrange his food around on his plate.
"I'd say you were a bit preoccupied." Mycroft decided, cornering Sherlock with an accusing glare.
"I have a meeting after dinner, one I would very much like to get over with." Sherlock admitted, glancing at the clock hopefully. Maybe his mother would pity him and let him leave early. He wondered if john was just behind that door, watching and listening, or was he at the stables himself, trying to beat Sherlock down there?
"A meeting with who?" Queen Holmes asked curiously, making Sherlock look down at his plate in nervousness. Of course they couldn't know the truth, but he had to make up a believable lie.
"No one, just...Victor. Victor." He admitted.
"Why are you so nervous about meeting with Victor?" Mycroft wondered.
"I don't like him very much; I think he's rather...intimidating." Sherlock admitted in a small voice.
"He's only here for your protection Sherlock, you should get used to his presence." The queen insisted, going on with her meal carelessly.
"Yes, yes I know. But he's expecting me rather early, I told him after dinner but I don't want to keep him waiting." Sherlock said quickly.
"Surely he could wait for you to finish?" the queen wondered. "You have barely eaten anything."
"I told you, I'm not hungry." Sherlock insisted, getting up from his chair without waiting for an answer. His mother just sighed heavily, but nodded, waving her hand towards the door.
"It better be official business, I don't want to hear of any...shenanigans, from either of you." The queen insisted.
"Oh trust me mother, if there's one thing I would never do with Victor Trevor it would be having a laugh." Sherlock assured. "I'd be worried he was laughing at me rather than with me."
"I trust in your judgment Sherlock, now more than ever. You are excused." She insisted. Sherlock smiled thankfully, starting off towards the door, swearing he could hear something of a cheer of excitement from over at the servant's door. As Sherlock made his way down the cobblestone paths his legs felt like jelly, he felt like if he took one more step he would collapse and lay there through the dusk, completely incapable of moving on his own. But somehow he kept walking; he kept getting closer and closer to that barn, closer and closer to his fate. There was a light on, a single light he could see shining from one of the many windows, John was in there, he had to be. But how was he going to tell him? Oh dear he hadn't even arranged a speech this was going to be a disaster! John, I'm sorry, but I love you. Please love me back. That was pathetic, that was awful, oh John was most certainly going to shun him from his life forever. But what was Sherlock expecting out of this visit; surely he wasn't hoping that John would secretly have feelings for him as well? No, that was Molly's theory, and usually her theories were unrealistically optimistic. She had been the one to talk him into this in the first place, he never should've dragged Molly into all of this, she was only making it more and more of a disaster. His feelings were doing perfectly fine inside of his heart, safe and protected where no one could ever find them or do anything about them. And now they were exposed to Molly and soon to John himself, oh this was a terrible idea. Obviously John was going to reject him in the nicest way possible; obviously this would never work out the way Sherlock would want it to. And even if miraculously John had feelings, what then? Did they hide their relationship; make it public, would they even have a relationship? Obviously it was wrong, it was wrong in the eyes of nearly everyone in this town, being the king, the face of this entire kingdom, Sherlock could never partake in such a scandalous relationship. But that's what he wanted; it was what his heart craved, nothing more than John Watson and whatever his love provided, no matter the consequences. But of course Sherlock shouldn't think of the consequences, not until he actually faced John himself with the brutally honest truth. Sherlock finally arrived at the doors, pausing before actually opening them and considering running for his life. It was now or never, the truth or escape; it all came down to this very moment. No, he had to be strong; he had to forge on, for John. He pushed open the doors, walking into the stable with as much confidence as he could muster, and immediately saw that he wasn't alone. As soon as John turned around all of Sherlock's confidence melted, and suddenly he was nothing more than a puddle on the floor, staring upon his love for the first time since he had come to terms with himself.
"John." Sherlock muttered, closing the doors anxiously and standing where he was. He felt his hands start to shake nervously so he shoved them in his pocket, but when he was under John's gaze he felt like the room temperature had dropped dramatically and he was left in a state that reminded him a lot like shivering.
"Sherlock, oh my god, are you alright?" John wondered, walking closer to him. But Sherlock held out a hand to stop him, retreating as fast as he could and falling onto the doors of the barn, not trusting his legs to hold him. This had all been great in theory but now he was here, now it was actually happening, and he couldn't bring himself to say anything more.
"Well, I'm here, like your note said, there's no one else around, I checked, so what is it you wanted to tell me?" John wondered, immediately sounding as if this was already a big waste of his time. He was right of course, especially if Sherlock's mouth couldn't open in the next ten minutes. It was like everything in his body was telling him not to do this, his brain was screaming at him, his lungs contracting, his hands and legs shaking, his throat closing. His body was trying so hard to contain its own self concocted secrets; it was so ashamed to have a heart that beat for another man.
"Look at me John, look at me." Sherlock whispered. "So scared. So weak."
"What's going on, are you sick, are you dying, what?" John wondered.
"No, nothing of the sort, although you could call this a disease." Sherlock insisted. John obviously didn't follow, and he stood at a distance looking very confused.
"Alright, good way to start I suppose. You called me down here, I'm assuming it's important." John insisted, not looking very pleased with Sherlock's stalling.
"Yes, important, yes of course." Sherlock agreed, standing as tall as he could and pushing himself away from the security of the door, just in case someone was listening behind it. His legs were wobbly but somehow he managed to make it a couple of steps without falling, staring at the ground determinedly so that he didn't have to see that disappointed look in John's eyes.
"There have been things John, things happening to me that I've never experienced before. Emotions, previously unknown." Sherlock muttered, a good way to start out hopefully. John nodded, obviously still very confused, if not a bit nervous.
"And you're coming to me for help?" John wondered. Sherlock nodded, a pathetic sort of smile appearing on his lips at this irony.
"You're the only one who can help me John, especially with what I'm going through now." Sherlock admitted.
"What are you talking about, Sherlock you're talking in riddles?" John insisted, sounding genuinely annoyed right now. Sherlock just shook his head, taking a deep breath and trying to stop his head from spinning.
"I can't say it flat out, I'm sure I'll burst into flames or something." Sherlock insisted.
"Is this going to be some sort of guessing game? Am I supposed to be amused?" John wondered.
"If I were you I'd be terrified. Of course, I'm terrified as well." Sherlock admitted. John took a step back nervously, as if he were worried that Sherlock was going to pull a knife on him.
"Just tell me Sherlock, get it over with." John insisted rather angrily. Sherlock took a deep breath, rubbing his face with his hands agressivley and trying to tell himself that this was all a good idea. That he was doing the right thing and not destroying whatever friendship he had with John.
"Ever since I was little I knew what I had to do. I knew I was supposed to grow up and marry a beautiful woman, she would be my queen and we would raise a family and together, that's how your life is as a prince, as a king. But as I grew older this always seemed to distant to be, I always started to doubt that path that so many before me had taken, and as the women came to the castle I was starting to become appalled by the very idea of domesticity." Sherlock started.
"Oh, this is story time is it? Are you going to propose to Irene?" John wondered. Sherlock shook his head, nonverbally begging for silence.
"I never realized that I was looking at it wrong, I never realized that there was another option for men like me, men who had trouble loving a woman." Sherlock admitted. John just stared at him, his jaw tight as if he were able to predict what was coming next. It was almost as if he had predicted this. But oh, could Sherlock even go on? The look John was giving him now was enough to convince him to stop there, to conclude his fairytale and run back to the safety of his castle.
"I've never even imagined being in love John. Not until now. Not until..." Sherlock took a deep breath, raising his eyes to meet John's, letting the man see the terror that lay in his soul. "Not until I met you." There was silence, total complete silence and for a moment both of them just stared, trying to process everything that Sherlock had just said. It was worse than Sherlock could've imagined, in fact, he would probably have preferred John to just scream and yell and run away from him. That would be better than that look of surprise on his face, a gasp of realization as he stumbled backwards, trying to get as much space as he could between himself and the king. Sherlock's heart immediately clenched, turning his face away in shame and feeling his eyes heat up with imminent tears. John was appalled by him, of course he was, this was a disaster.