John took a deep breath, approaching the wooden door but not knowing whether or not he should push it open and go in. He knew that Sherlock was waiting behind that door, he knew that the poor boy must be wondering what was taking so long, he must be doubting himself. But Irene was right, if John let himself be consumed by Sherlock's love then how difficult would it be to take his life not a week later? John sighed heavily but shook his head, no; he wasn't going to let Sherlock's death get in the way of his life. Sherlock deserved life, if anything John's presence in his life was going to be the best thing that ever happened to him, even if it was the very thing that would stop his heart forever. John pushed open the wooden door and walked into the dark throne room, the beautiful marble room engulfed in shadows, with a single man sitting on the throne in tears. John could hear his weeping long before he saw Sherlock, but he knew that it was him, there would only be one man in here waiting for someone he thought would never come.
"Sherlock?" John whispered, walking very quietly over to the throne as to not disturb him. Sherlock picked up his head hopefully, looking at John with broken and desperate eyes.
"John, you...you came!" he exclaimed, looking as if he wanted to get off of the throne but couldn't. He remained seated, a small, sad smile on his lips.
"Yes of course, I would never leave my king waiting." John insisted, walking right up to the front of the throne and dropping to one knee, bowing his head in respect. There was silence, as if neither of them knew quite what to do. John knew that maybe this was wrong, but it also felt right, everyone who ever had an audience with the king on his throne had to kneel.
"I may be the king of Lauriston but I am not your king." Sherlock insisted. "You do not obey me." John picked up his head, looking Sherlock right in the eyes softly but determinedly. Sherlock looked right back at him, and even though he was in the most powerful chair in the entire kingdom, he looked weak, scared even. As if John's glare was enough to make him cower in his golden throne.
"I have your answer." John said, still not standing up. It felt appropriate that Sherlock look down on him, instead of the other way around.
"I have not asked you anything." Sherlock insisted, as if he didn't know why they were meeting here in the deserted throne room, watched only by the statues of the kings since passed.
"But you wanted to." John pointed out. There was a silence broken only by Sherlock's sharp inhale of breath, leaning forward ever so slightly on the throne as if to hear John better.
"Yes, I did." Sherlock agreed. John looked at him but he dared not smile, this was such a serious conversation that any show of positive emotion would be considered inappropriate. This was professional, this was intimate, there was no time for anything except affection.
"You wanted to ask me if I loved you as well, if your feelings are returned." John pointed out, rising to his feet so that Sherlock had to raise his eyes to look at him. The king looked nervous, a small blush appearing in his cheeks, a soft red hue dispute the darkness.
"Yes, I must know." Sherlock agreed, sitting up straighter in his throne as if trying to look official. But his eyes were soft, they were desperate, they were longing, he had all the power in the world but no matter what he did, he would never get John to step closer without the other man's consent.
"You want to know whether or not I long for you as well, for your affection, for your love." John insisted, walking closer to the throne so that Sherlock had to raise his glare once more, tilting his head up just to look John properly in the eyes.
"Yes of course, I want my love to be returned with just as much ferocity." Sherlock agreed.
"You want to know if I am willing to break every law known to man, those that come from our leaders and those that come from our God." John added.
"Yes of course, there is a sacrifice that must be made." Sherlock agreed. John started to walk around the throne ever so slightly, but he never broke eye contact, and neither did Sherlock. The king twisted around in his throne, but he still couldn't leave it, as if he were tethered to the golden chair of kings. His green eyes shone with hunger, with lust, he needed John every bit as much as John needed him. He was so close yet so far, there was only a wall of social status between them, the back of a golden throne that separated the king from the servant.
"You need to know if I will embrace you, love you, be your light in the darkness and your hope when all is lost." John insisted, letting one of his fingers trail the edge of the golden chair, Sherlock's eyes following it hopefully. But John walked around to the other side of the throne, making Sherlock turn once more, twisting his body completely so that he could keep his eyes locked with John's. He seemed to be cowering, every muscle in his body aching with anticipation, he couldn't wait to hear John's answer, the answer they both knew was coming.
"Please John, please." Sherlock whispered, turning so that he could sit normally on his throne, watching as John stepped in front of him once more.
"Well, you know what I say Sherlock?" John wondered mysteriously, looking into Sherlock's eyes with such fire, with such determination, it was no wonder Sherlock looked so scared.
"Yes, say yes." Sherlock begged, still unable to rise from his throne. John held out a helping hand, to which Sherlock took with care, with suspicion, as if wondering whether or not John was going to pull him from the throne or dislocate his shoulder. But John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's hand and pulled him to his feet, making the king stumble into his arms, standing chest to chest for a moment and staring into each other's eyes. Their heartbeats matched each other's, beating so violently in their chests that their ribs might just break.
"I say yes." John whispered, and with that he let his hands fall onto the sides of Sherlock's face, pulling him down into the most majestic of kisses the both of them could manage. Sherlock's lips quivered in fear, kissing John back to the best of his ability, but he was simply stunned to do much else. John could feel the love leaking out of the king's pours, flowing into John's body and filing him with new life. Sherlock's arms wrapped around John's shoulders, John could feel his pulse beating through his fingers, he could feel the nervous shaking of the king as their lips interlocked again and again, kissing each other as if it were the last thing they would ever be able to do. And suddenly Sherlock stumbled back onto his throne, pulling John down with him so that they were both seated atop the king's chair, except that didn't stop them. Sherlock was king, sitting atop the throne with his lover, with his very soul, and it was fitting that in that very seat he received his first kiss, in the chair of the ruler he broke one of the most important laws of them all. But together they broke the law, together they sinned, and together their hearts became one, their love flowing through their lips until they were choking on it, until they were so submerged in the other's emotions and the other's form that they simply couldn't breathe anymore, they had to pull away. Sherlock finally pulled his lips away, retreating so desperately that his head fell to the back of the velvet chair, breathing so heavily that John could feel his chest rising and falling. There were beads of sweat dripping from Sherlock's forehead, he sat there and stared at the ceiling as if he were still trying to process this whole thing.
"Had enough?" John whispered. Sherlock breathed a breath of agreement, of relief. Just to be difficult John pulled his chin forward and kissed him one last time, softer, gentler kiss, passing the last bit of love he could before sliding off of the throne and getting to his feet once more. Sherlock sat on the throne, holding his head up with his hand as though it would fall off his neck if he didn't, a smile of relief on his face that could only mean one thing. He was satisfied.
"John..." he muttered, looking up at the man who stood before him.
"Sherlock?" John wondered, smiling back down at the king. Sherlock just shook his head, as if this were all happening so fast, as if he simply couldn't process it all.
"I love you." Sherlock breathed. John smiled in satisfaction, that was the exact response he had been hoping for.
"Good night your majesty." John said very vaguely, winking very quickly at the king before bowing his way out of the room, a smile creeping onto his lips as he slipped out of the throne room. He left Sherlock there to sit for a moment, to regain his self-control and to process just what kind of miracle had just happened. He knew that he had left the king completely flustered, completely helpless. He was so emerged in love that he couldn't get out; he was drowning in the love that only John's presence could offer. So John left, hoping that somehow Sherlock could swim to the surface and learn how to breathe once more.
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...