Sherlock POV: It took a long while just for Sherlock to decide that he was ready to go out and face the world. After a long night of pacing his room, throwing things around in anger, weeping on the floor, and talking to himself, Sherlock decided that there was only one course of action. He needed to make everything seem normal. If John was going to make any sort of decision in the next couple of hours Sherlock's appearance meant everything. If he came to the breakfast table tear streaked, pale faced, and desperate, John may not really want to get any closer, worried that he was an emotional disaster. But if Sherlock turned up to breakfast as if he had the best night of sleep, like he had taken a bath and changed his clothes and took care of himself both physically and emotionally, then John may not think he took this love as seriously as possible. It took all of Sherlock's willpower not to skip breakfast entirely and just stay sulking in his room, but he needed to make himself more accessible. Victor's guards showed up once more, flanking his door so that no one could get in or out without their permission, and if John happened to try to get into Sherlock's room the guards would never let him. So Sherlock had to seek him out, although he had to make it look like he wasn't looking for anything at all. He just had to be normal, and hopefully John would do the rest. Sherlock had done his part, he had gotten the ball rolling by being the first to admit his love, and in some ways he was happy he had, and in other ways he just felt like setting himself on fire. The embarrassment of the rejection that night almost persuaded him not to continue living at all, but the hopeful promise of John's love at the end of the day was worth the struggle. Sherlock knew that John must have some sort of feelings for him, feelings that had gone previously unnoticed as he tried to classify them as something else. Why else would he have put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder that night if not to comfort him? Why in the tournament had he been so willing to hug Sherlock if not to be held by him? If John was truly afraid of a love between two men he would've expressed it before, even if he didn't know what he was rejecting. So Sherlock washed his face the best he could, brushed his hair and tried to make it look like he hadn't just spent his night hating his life and everyone in it. He dressed in semiformal clothes, trying to make himself look visually appealing all while making it seem like he wasn't trying hard. Suddenly the door flew open and Molly walked in, fully dressed with her hair and makeup done and a huge smile on her face. Of course Molly knew everything that had happened; she had been the first stop Sherlock had made after his mad dash to the castle. But somehow she had gotten a full night of sleep, somehow she remained optimistic.
"Alright Sherlock, are you ready to get a boyfriend?!" She asked excitedly, trying to get some enthusiasm out of Sherlock. He just sat in his chair by the mirror looking unimpressed, glaring at her with as much spite as he could manage.
"I SAID ARE YOU READY TO FALL IN LVOE WITH A MAN?" Molly asked once more, a lot louder this time.
"Yes." Sherlock muttered unenthusiastically.
"AND ARE YOU READY TO MAKE HIM LOVE YOU BACK?" Molly yelled, pointing at Sherlock for his response. Sherlock could only manage a small smile; he had to admire her dedication.
"Yippe." Sherlock managed, waving his finger around in the air sarcastically.
"AND ARE YOU READY TO KISS HIM WITH ALL THE HOMOSEXUAL LOVE YOU CAN MANAGE?" Molly asked again, seemingly bothered by any of this.
"Oh if only." Sherlock sighed heavily, getting up out of his chair and fixing his hair once more. "How do I look?" Sherlock wondered, pointing at his face. Molly frowned, looking at him very closely.
"Like a zombie with personal hygiene." She decided flatly.
"Alright, that's a start I guess." Sherlock muttered with a shrug.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Molly wondered, trying to push her hand onto his forehead to feel his temperature. Sherlock just slapped her arm away in annoyance, shaking his head obviously.
"Of course I didn't sleep, John Watson is alive and he knows I'm in love with him, how am I supposed to get any sleep?" Sherlock wondered. "I told you this was a bad idea, but somehow you made me listen to you and now look at us!"
"This isn't bad Sherlock; this is the start of something magical!" Molly insisted, taking both of Sherlock's hands and trying to make him jump around in a little circle with her. Sherlock just walked away, slouching in annoyance as he stared at the door.
"I need to go to breakfast." He insisted, changing the subject completely.
"Yes, you're right, you do." Molly agreed. "You haven't slept or eaten in days, this love is going to kill you."
"Oh precisely. John will be down there of course, he'll be watching me." Sherlock insisted.
"That's why you have to look fabulous." Molly agreed, as if there were an obvious solution to this problem.
"Yes, fabulous. Obviously." Sherlock agreed, walking to the door without preparing for a goodbye.
"Good luck Sherlock!" Molly called. Sherlock just groaned, pulling open the door and walking down to the dining room nervously. This was going to be the first time that he will see John since the truth had come out, this was going to matter. John has had all night to think about it, he has probably run through so many solutions and possibilities in his head that it was impossible to keep track. But what had he decided on? The thought that the answer could possibly be no made Sherlock want to cry once more, to think that he had gone through so much just to get rejected. John's love seemed to be the only thing he truly wanted, he would give up his throne and his riches and his castle just so that he could hold the hand of the man his heart desired. But what if John's answer was yes, what if he had decided that all along they were meant to be together? This was all too many questions, Sherlock needed answers, he needed to see John and hear John and know his answers first hand. If they were truly meant to be together then that meant there was going to have to be communication, love isn't built on the playing field of the guessing game. When Sherlock arrived at the dining room he found that, to his pleasant surprise, he was a bit late. His mother and brother were seated at the table, already half way done with their breakfasts. If Sherlock could get them to leave so that he could sneak a word or two to John that would be fantastic. If John came out to pour orange juice when Sherlock's family was around, well that just wouldn't work.
"Sherlock, just in time, we thought you weren't coming!" his mother exclaimed, smiling at her son as he entered the room.
"Yes well, here I am." Sherlock admitted in annoyance, walking up to the head of the table in a bit of a numb shock. He was never going to get over the fact that he was supposed to be sitting in his father's chair, that he was allowed to be. He was the king, the ruler of the entire kingdom, and he still couldn't process sitting in a simple chair.
"We have a lot of things to go over about you today Sherlock, predictions and announcements and all of that. Tomorrow is your first workday of being king, so be prepared." The queen said with a little laugh, as if she was sure Sherlock had no idea what he was getting himself into. Sherlock seated himself into the chair very stiffly, seeing the entire food selection from a very different angle. It was difficult to serve himself if he was only facing one end, he had to awkwardly ask his mother to pass him his favorites from the breakfast table, but in the end all he did was nibble a little bit on some bacon. There wasn't much conversation, or at least not much that Sherlock partook in. His mother tried to get him talking but after getting nothing but one word responses and meaningless grunts, she went back to talking to Mycroft about some sort of new tax they were planning on implementing on the townsfolk, something about having excess farmland, Sherlock really wasn't paying attention. He was more focused on trying to make sure his orange juice goblet was obviously empty, although there was no real way any of the servants would be able to tell from the closet in which they sat. So he just continued on with his food, listening idly to his family talk while he thought about John, that beautiful servant who deserved the world. And just as their conversation started to dwindle the servant's door opened, and Sherlock tried to remain as normal as possible, knowing that there was a very good chance the love of his life was walking up behind him. He just tried to eat his bacon, just focus on that.
"Good morning your majesty." John said with a bit of a smile, making Sherlock inhale so sharply he inhaled a bacon crisp, making his cough and sputter for a good minute before he was finally able to breathe normally. John just watched in amusement, as if the king's potential death by breakfast was a laughing matter. Mycroft didn't seem so amused, but then again, if he ever smiled the world must be ending.
"Good morning John." Sherlock managed, looking up at the servant as quickly as possible before turning his glance into another hasty cough.
"Feeling alright?" John wondered with a small laugh.
"Yes, a bit thoughtful." Sherlock agreed, clenching his fists nervously under the table where no one could see. Sherlock really hoped that neither of his family members would be able to detect the underlying subject of this very awkward conversation.
"Yes, me as well, good thoughts though." John admitted. Sherlock felt his face go a bit red, nodding quickly and keeping his head down so that his parents wouldn't notice.
"Good thoughts are....good." Sherlock muttered, the only response he could think of on such short notice. He almost thought he heard Mycroft laugh, but surely it was his imagination. John went around the table filling up the chalices with orange juice. Sherlock felt as if he couldn't breathe while John poured the juice into his own chalice, wondering if his face got a tad bit blue as the boy leaned over him. Yet surely his family wouldn't notice an odd hue to his beautiful face, they couldn't possibly notice.
"Any plans for the day?" John wondered, asking the whole table but Sherlock knew that the question was aimed at him. He was trying to discreetly set up a meeting time. That meant he wanted to talk, that meant he wasn't scared! Maybe this meant a yes!
"Yes!" Sherlock said very enthusiastically, accidentally letting his inner excitement leak out.
"Obviously Sherlock is very happy about politics." The queen laughed, giving Sherlock a rather odd look. Sherlock shrugged innocently, trying to shrink into his throne to avoid any of these glares.
"Being a king is...interesting. Or at least it will be." He insisted. "But that should all be over by what, four? And I'm sure that after dinner the throne room will be completely deserted."
"Yes well, it's not like the throne room is used very heavily other than for our meetings. But yes, it will be over after dinner." The queen agreed.
"Ah, the throne room, such a beautiful place right? For talks, for agreements?" John asked, smiling all around. Mycroft gave him a very quizzical look, but obviously their vague conversation was enough to keep both of the Holmes family members properly confused.
"Very beautiful." Sherlock agreed in a breath, looking up at John with very hopeful eyes. John nodded, but then looked up to the rest of the family with a smile, holding the pitcher of orange juice as if it were some sort of great honor.
"Yes. Well, I'll be off now; hopefully I'll see some of you in my day to day routine." John said, and with that he scurried away without leaving anytime for them to respond. When they heard the door close Mycroft looked over to make sure no one was still lingering in the dining room, looking over at Sherlock with a perplexed smile on his face.
"He's acting very odd today." Mycroft decided. Sherlock just shrugged apologetically, not knowing what to do except agree.
"Well, you know John; he's always a bit odd." He decided, thinking that was quite a reasonable answer before going back to his bacon a little bit more hopefully.
"I'm so proud of you Sherlock, for making a friend like him." the queen decided, as if Sherlock's friendship was honestly something to awe over.
"Don't patronize me mother." Sherlock muttered, not wanting to hear her fuss over this one little connection he had made.
"Not just because you have no other friends, it's just I'm happy to see that you could look past his profession and social status." Queen Holmes admitted, spearing a large strawberry on her fork and eating it as daintily as possible.
"And you still hang around him even though he publically humiliated you." Mycroft added with a bit of a smile, obviously finding amusement tormenting his brother and pointing out his failures.
"You publically humiliate yourself every day just by existing and yet you still wake up in the morning. It's the same thing." Sherlock pointed out, and Mycroft sneered at him.
"Don't give your king that face." Sherlock said with a sly smile, making Mycroft's scowl deepen.
"Enough you two, stop being so childish." Mrs. Holmes insisted with a stern look. Sherlock sighed, pushing his plate aside and deciding that he was too excited to eat breakfast. The promise of seeing John once more made him positively elated, and knowing that John had been the one to arrange the meeting was even better. That meant he wanted to talk to Sherlock, it meant that he wasn't entirely disgusted by all that Sherlock has said and done since last night. He thought that John would never show up, he thought that he wouldn't even want to see Sherlock much less talk to him in private in the darkened throne room.
"I'm going up to my room." Sherlock decided.
"Why don't you go out and hunt today? I know how much you enjoy hunting with Molly." The queen suggested.
"I don't like it that much." Sherlock grumbled. Mycroft chuckled a little bit; obviously he knew how sincerely Sherlock hated hunting.
"I think Molly would enjoy it." she insisted.
"I have a feeling you just want me to go hunt." Sherlock decided, looking at his mother rather suspiciously.
"Yes, I would like you to, I feel like it would be good for you." The queen decided, taking an innocent sip of her orange juice. Sherlock sighed heavily but decided it was best not to argue; at least he could take Molly along with him.
"Ya, alright." He agreed finally, getting up from his chair without another word. As he left Sherlock cast a hopeful glance at the servant's door, half expecting John to come running after him with a goodbye kiss. But alas the door didn't open, although he thought he saw some movement from the keyhole, as if someone had ducked away as soon as he glanced towards the door.
"Billy I swear to god, it's not that difficult, just put the bag on the horse!" Sherlock exclaimed not an hour later, cursing his bumbling servant as he struggled to fasten the game bag filled with some of Sherlock's novels onto Redbeard's saddle. Molly was brushing off her horse, Helen Louise, with a horse hair brush or whatever the servants use. Sherlock was feeding Redbeard a quick carrot before the journey, which the horse seemed to enjoy very much. Almost enough to ignore the idiot who was struggling to get the saddle on.
"Do we really have to take Billy along?" Sherlock called, not caring that the servant was right next to him. Billy didn't seem to mind however, he was too busy trying to avoid any kicking hooves from Redbeard as he ran around to the other side of the horse to fasten on the saddle.
"Yes of course we do Sherlock, unless you want to carry all your books around?" Molly wondered.
"That's what the horses are for!" Sherlock whined.
"We're going to walk a ways to the field, remember?" Molly called back. Sherlock groaned heavily but Billy just gave him an apologetic smile, seeming to be very happy to come along.
"Alright, but he's riding with you!" Sherlock insisted, brushing the carrot remanence off of his hands and grabbing his bow and arrow from where he had set them in front of the stall.
"Oh no he's not, I'm a lady, remember?" Molly pointed out.
"So am I!" Sherlock defended grumpily.
"Not quite so literally." Molly insisted. Sherlock groaned once more but slung the quiver on his back, staring judgmentally at Billy as he put the reins on poor Redbeard's head.
YOU ARE READING
Sherlock is the youngest son of a powerful family dynasty, with all the pressure of being the perfect prince sitting on his shoulders. However, he builds his good reputation on lies and tricks, and he dreads the day when his failures will come into...