Heir Apparently

The Troubles of Treachery

Sherlock POV: It was pain beyond belief, pain beyond Sherlock's wildest dreams. He had always imagined death as no more than a slide into unconsciousness, like falling asleep to a dull, nagging pain. He had never imagined pain in this manner, in this helpless state. He could go to all of the physicians in the world but none of them could cure this pain, it would live on forever, long after John paid for his crimes. It had all been a lie; it had all been for nothing. Sherlock had so selflessly engulfed himself in the love he thought was returned, but in the end John had worn a mask of lies, doing whatever he could do to get close to his target. He never loved him, he never cared, those kisses, they meant nothing, those words; they had been just air, floating around carelessly to try to win Sherlock's heart. John was supposed to be different, he was supposed to care. Sherlock thought that he wasn't a freak for loving a man, purely because another man loved him back. But now he knew he was wrong, he knew that he was truly the outcast, the misfit, losing his heart to a man with a fake smile and bittersweet words. So he cried, he sobbed into his barren mattress until he felt like he had cried himself to dehydration. But no matter how many sobs he let escape his lips, no matter how many tears he squeezed out of his eyes, the pain in his chest only multiplied. Everyone says that crying helps, that expressing your pain soothes it just a little bit, but with every tear Sherlock was stabbed over and over with the mere concept of that dagger in John's hands. He sobbed until he simply couldn't sob anymore, and when finally he opened his eyes to see that nothing had changed, he had the urge to cry some more. He felt so alone, so alienated, so betrayed. The man who claimed to love him hadn't loved him at all, he was using him, plotting against him, and all of this time while Sherlock was convincing himself that homosexuality may not be a crime, John had a crime much worse in mind. He truly was alone in his world; there would never again be a man who dared to love the king, not after such a heartbreaking turn of events. But when Sherlock opened his eyes, he wasn't alone. Victor was seated in the chair next to the bed, his head held up by his hands but his eyes were open, watching as the king finally stirred, returning to the real world and finally wiping away his tears.
"Hello again." Victor muttered, the only greeting that would be fitting for eleven o'clock at night. Sherlock couldn't say anything; he just let his head fall back onto the mattress, all of the pillows strewn across the previously tidied room. Sherlock didn't say anything, but unfortunately Victor just took that as an invitation to talk himself.
"I would like to think that I just saved your life, although it looks as if you may have preferred his dagger." Victor decided. Sherlock shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his course hands, running his fingers through his knotted curls and stared up at the ever present ceiling.
"He was really going to kill me." Sherlock whispered. It wasn't a question, but Victor hummed in agreement next to him, obviously catching every opportunity he could to silently praise himself for his paranoia.
"I'm sorry Sherlock, I truly am, but you must have had your own suspicions, you must have at least noticed signs." Victor insisted. Sherlock shook his head in defeat, clutching at the balled up sheets on his bed once more, trying to relieve the pain somehow.
"No....John, he, he loved me." Sherlock whispered, still not able to process the truth.
"He didn't Sherlock, he never did. It was a trick; it was nothing more than fabrication." Victor insisted.
"He has to have loved me, you can't fake that passion, you can't fake that love." Sherlock defended, feeling tears welling up in his own eyes.
"That was your own love Sherlock; you have no idea how cold a man's heart can be, even if your own is melting." Victor insisted. Sherlock turned his head to face Victor, sitting in his black armor and looking like a mourner. Except Victor may just be the only person here that was happy to see Sherlock's love life crumble, he wanted to be the one to have caught the killer, to have suspected him all along.
"You told me, you talked me into it." Sherlock insisted, curling into a ball onto the bed and staring at Victor in his chair. "I listened to you, I believed you. You said that this wasn't wrong."
"But even I am wrong sometimes. In the end, however, it seems like I had been correct about the true motives of our Mr. Watson." Victor muttered.
"There has to be more, he would never do this." Sherlock insisted.
"You saw it yourself Sherlock, you know what happened, you saw the knife. What do you think he was going to do, whittle you a wooden heart?" Victor wondered.
"He loved me, I know he did." Sherlock insisted, his voice so quiet and so pained that he could barely hear himself. He was choking on his words, choking on sobs that still hadn't been properly released.
"He was manipulating you, waiting until you were at your most helpless state. I know the power of a man's love Sherlock, I know the temptation. I saw you tonight Sherlock, desperate, aching, he could've done anything to you and I don't even think you'd have noticed." Victor decided.
"Why were you watching?" Sherlock wondered. "Why were you hiding?"
"I suspected him, I found him in the hallway this morning, wandering around without his guards, I was worried for you." Victor admitted.
"But why were you in my closet?" Sherlock wondered suspiciously. Victor sighed heavily, shaking his head and not looking Sherlock in the eyes. He was guilty; he knew that this had been wrong, even if in the end it turned out right.
"To save your life." Victor said simply. Sherlock stared at him, still not thinking that was a good enough reason. He had been stalking Sherlock, watching him as he gave up his love and his life to the man who would ultimately be the death of him. There was silence once more, and Sherlock stared at the ceiling, he didn't want to look any more tat the snake in the grass. He didn't want to even think about anything except the blank barrenness of the ceiling. Not much later, however, there was the sound of obvious arguing, rough solider voices and frantic female voices.
"Let us in, how dare you keep him from his own Mother!" exclaimed one of the voices, the voice of the queen.
"We're sorry ma'am, but Victor has closed this room off for now, the king is still grieving." The solider defended.
"I don't give a da*n what you say about it, Sherlock's in there, and we're going to see him." Molly's voice insisted. There was a metallic clang, followed by an exclamation of pain from the guard, and soon the door opened, Molly, Mycroft, and the queen entering desperately.
"Oh Sherlock my child, what have they done to you?" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, jumping onto the bed and cradling her son in her arms with a love only a mother could provide. Sherlock weakly wrapped his arms around his mother, shaking his head but not pulling away, enjoying the warmth a genuine hug could provide. All of those embraces he had shared with John Watson, they had never been real. They had never been genuine.
"There was an attempt at your son's life. Never the less, the guilty party has been removed and escorted to the dungeons." Victor assured.
"Who was it?" Mycroft demanded. Sherlock closed his eyes in pain, seeing Molly's face distort into an expression of disbelief.
"No, no it couldn't have been..." She muttered, clasping her hand to her mouth in horror. Sherlock didn't want to hear this; he didn't want to have to listen to Victor convict John to death.
"John Watson." Victor said simply, and Sherlock could feel his mother tense up in anger.
"No, there is no way, he's been framed, he would never do such a thing!" Molly exclaimed flatly, obviously not caring what Victor and Sherlock may have experienced.
"The situation is...fragile. I don't want to talk about things I'm not certain of, but what I can tell you now is that Mr. Watson was holding this while Sherlock was...unable to defend himself." Victor muttered, holding up the silver dagger as if it were some sort of explosive, ready to go off at any moment. Mycroft grabbed it from Victor's hand desperately, looking it over and over to try to find any distinguishable markings.
"The Moriarty crest, it's stamped into the silver." Mycroft observed, handing it off to his mother to see for herself.
"We have reason to believe that John had been working for the Moriartys this whole time. He had been planted into the Adler's ranks when Moriarty discovered they would be escorting their princess over. He had been a new servant, we should've suspected." Victor muttered, sounding as though he regretted not being able to unravel this mystery earlier.
"And the Adlers, are they suspected as confidants?" Mycroft wondered, sounding extremely serious about this whole matter, not nearly as shocked to find his brother having almost been murdered by a trusted new servant.
"We have no reason to suspect them unless Mr. Watson gives them up." Victor admitted.
"He's been tricked, he had to be." Sherlock insisted, the first word he had said since his family arrived.
"He's right of course, John couldn't have done this himself, he would never." Molly insisted.
"He was found trying to kill the king, he probably killed the previous king as well, we need to take action or this will never be resolved. The Moriartys have made an attempt on our king's life, this may lead to war." Victor pointed out.
"We can't have war now, we're not prepared!" Mycroft insisted, looking at his mother defensively.
"Desperate times lead to desperate measures; I suggest you start collecting your armies." Victor decided. There was silence, silence that was only filled by Sherlock's weak whimpers as everyone tried to process what Victor was proposing.
"We'll take matters as they come to us, for now we must deal with our assassin." The queen insisted, sounding as though she hated to address John in such a way.
"And how do you propose we do that?" Victor wondered, sounding very intrigued. There was another silence as the queen pondered the punishment, but Sherlock felt her take a deep breath, a breath leading to words that will condemn him love to death.
"Anyone who tries to kill my family must burn." She decided, and Sherlock gave a wail of distress, closing his eyes tight and holding himself closer to his mother for comfort. Molly turned away, clutching her face as tears started to fall, but Mycroft, Victor, and the queen showed no emotion. They had never known John as anything but a servant, they never saw him as a human being, as a friend.
"You can't do this mother, please, keep him alive." Sherlock pleaded.
"Sherlock he tried to kill you, he killed your father, what could possibly justify his release?" she wondered.
"Don't release him, just let him sit in the dungeons, please, I don't care if he tried to kill me, I don't care if he works for the Moriartys, I don't want him to die." Sherlock insisted.
"The kingdom needs to see that the guilty will pay the price, and the Moriartys need to know that we're not afraid of them. Your father can't have died unavenged." She insisted.
"Why do you care so much for a servant Sherlock?" Mycroft wondered, his voice sounding as if he were starting to suspect something. "And how did a mere servant boy render you so helpless that you couldn't even defend yourself from a simple knife?" There was silence and Sherlock pulled himself away from his mother, shaking his head and retreating until his back was against the headboard.
"I'm not normal mother, I'm sorry." He whispered. Molly sobbed in despair, covering her face once more but peering through the gaps in her fingers, not wanting to witness this scene but not wanting to miss it.
"Why were you alone with him in the first place, a suspect for your father's murder?" Mycroft wondered. Sherlock looked up at Victor in despair, shaking his head to insist that he couldn't be the one to say it. They deserved to know the truth, but Sherlock couldn't bring himself to admit to his faults.
"It seems that Mr. Watson had been taking advantage of Sherlock's homosexuality to get closer to him. They had been lovers, that is why Sherlock couldn't see the underlying treachery until now." Victor explained. Sherlock buried his face in his hands, feeling his heart split into meager shreds once more, feeling all eyes turn on him as his family knew the truth.
"That's ridiculous, Sherlock would never..." Mycroft cut his own words off when he saw Sherlock shaking with tears, with guilty tears.
"Oh Sherlock, Sherlock it's okay." the queen insisted, wrapping her arms once more around her son's cowering form.
"It's not okay, mother, I thought I could finally be happy with him." Sherlock whimpered.
"Sometimes men can be wicked, it's nothing to be ashamed of." The queen insisted. Sherlock just shook his head, knowing that he had everything to be ashamed of, he had fallen prey to a man with kind words and a gentle heart. He had lost everything he had just because he was different. All of this wouldn't be happening if Sherlock had just been normal.
"Well then, his execution will be tomorrow at sunrise, no trial." The queen decided.
"He can't have done this, I still can't believe it, there's more here." Molly insisted. Sherlock raised his eyes slowly, thankful that someone else saw it his way.
"Molly he was caught trying to kill the king, what more can we do?" Mycroft wondered.
"Talk to him, find out the truth, I refuse to believe that John could do this." Molly insisted.
"You knew, didn't you?" Mrs. Holmes wondered, looking up at Molly with the same motherly expression she wore when looking at her sons.
"I knew what?" Molly asked rather defensively, looking as though she were trying to play dumb.
"That they were together. He confided in you his darkest secret." The queen insisted. Molly took a rather defeated step back, but nodded.
"Of course he did, and that's why I refuse to believe it." she agreed.
"I'm sorry Molly." Mrs. Holmes muttered, hugging Sherlock even tighter before getting to her feet and smoothing out her dress. Molly stood near the corner of the bed, holding her head and beginning to cry once more. Sherlock wished he could comfort her but he seemed to be paralyzed with grief, with the idea that John was going to be burned at the stake tomorrow. But it seemed that his mother had the same idea, but she was able to walk, to move. She went over and hugged Molly as well, hugging her like only a mother could, and let Molly wrap her shaking arms around her neck like Sherlock had. They stood like that for a moment, at least until Molly's tears subsided, and finally the queen moved away, taking one last look around the mournful faces before nodding her farewell. She marched out of the room without another word, leaving everyone else completely silent.
"Well, I think that's my cue. I'm sorry for your loss, brother mine." Mycroft muttered, although he didn't sound too sorry at all. In fact he almost sounded relieved to know that Sherlock's first relationship had blown up in his face. And so Mycroft left as well, just as silently as his mother.
"Victor, leave us." Sherlock insisted, forcing the words out of his throat as if he had been choking on them.
"My lord you're still in danger." Victor protested, looking at Molly as if he suspected her as well.
"My assassin had been captured, your presence is unnecessary. Leave us." Sherlock repeated.
"There could be more, they could all be working together, the Adler family..."
"LEAVE!" Sherlock screamed, wanting to throw something but finding that there was nothing to throw. Thankfully Victor got the message, scrambling off of his chair like a scared chicken and scrambling out the door without a goodbye. The door shut loudly behind him, and finally Sherlock was alone with the only person who would feel his pain.

"This isn't right Sherlock, we both know that there's something we're missing here." Molly insisted.
"Yes of course, but what?" Sherlock wondered. Molly sighed heavily, walking over and sitting down lightly on the edge of Sherlock's mutilated bed.
"I'm not sure. I just can't bring myself to believe that John would do all of this." Molly insisted. Sherlock shook his head in defeat, tears leaking once more out of his red eyes.
"We were supposed to be happy; it was going to be the best night of my life." Sherlock whispered.
"I'm sorry it had to happen this way, I really am. But if Victor hadn't come in, well, tonight would've been a lot worse." Molly decided.
"At least the pain of death ends." Sherlock whispered.
"Maybe for you, not for us. John's death won't hurt nearly as many people as yours would." Molly admitted. Sherlock let out a small sob, and Molly immediately silenced herself, wishing that she hadn't been so quick to say that.
"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for." She muttered.
"I can't just let him die Molly, I can't. I love him, I know that he loved me, I know he did." Sherlock insisted.
"Sometimes we're blind to things we don't want to see. You've got to admit it Sherlock, this was terribly lucky. The first man you've ever fallen for just happening to love you back, it all sounds a bit...scripted." Molly admitted.
"He didn't know, he never suspected! He was terrified when I first told him; he would never have planned all of this." Sherlock defended.
"I think he's been planning it from the start. I'm sorry Sherlock." Molly insisted. Sherlock was silent, shaking his head in defeat.
"I need to see him; I refuse to believe any of this." Sherlock insisted.
"Sherlock you know that's not a good idea, you know that he's just going to twist you more." Molly defended.
"I DON'T CARE!" Sherlock exclaimed, jumping up from the bed before Molly could stop him. "I can't just let him die, I can't just let him burn! I'm in love with him Molly, and I always will be, why can't he just live?"
"He tried to kill you Sherlock; he most likely killed your father!" Molly exclaimed. Sherlock shook his head, covering his ears as if trying to block out any of these truths.
"I won't believe it; I can't...Molly I can't listen to this." Sherlock insisted. "We were in love." So with that Sherlock ran to the door, flinging it open and taking off down the hall before any of his soldier escorts could stop him, racing down to the dungeons where he knew John Watson sat.