A Johnlock Cinderella story, based on the 1998 movie Ever After.
"This story may be familiar to those who have read the Grimm's account of a young child, father passed on and left in the cruel hands of relatives, who is stripped of nobility and made a servant in the house. And yet, this story will be different in many ways. There is no glass slipper. There are no pumpkins turned to carriages, no mice to be horses, no Prince Charming. (There is a Prince, to be sure, but he is not very charming.)
"Now then, allow me to set the record straight. What is the phrase those brothers use? Oh, yes.
"Once upon a time, there lived two young children who loved their father very much..."
"Harry! Harry!"
A young, scrawny child of no more than eight years of age called out the nickname of his sister at the top of his lungs, darting around the legs of servants as he dashed across the wide planting fields towards his home. His sunflower hair and fair face were streaked with mud and dirt, the residue of a game of horseplay. His simple linen play-clothes were slick with grime, and his wide, toothy grin gleamed out of the filth like a beacon light.
His sister Harriet was found lounging on top of the garden wall close to the house, her smock dress tucked up around her thighs to cool her legs. A book rested in her hand. "What in God's name are you doing, John? You're making too much of a racket," she said snidely, lifting her button nose up at the boy. John had skidded to a halt right in front of her, leaning down on his knees to pant and gather his breath. "I'm not going to play with you, if that's what you want."
"No, Harry—Papa's back! Papa's back! He's just up the road, he's coming home!"
Harriet jumped off the wall, and together the two siblings raced back to the house just in time to witness their father's entourage come up the road. In the lead was Gregson the marshal, the military-trained defender and overseer of the stables. Close behind him were two grooms, and then it was their father's coach drawn by white horses. Taking up the rear were a few more of father's attendants, carrying the bulk of his luggage on their horses.
They could barely stand to wait for the coach to draw to a full stop before they flew to its side and flung open the door, revealing the grinning face of their beloved father. "Hello, my lovelies!" Baron Thomas Watson greeted cheerfully, embracing his laughing children as he stepped onto solid ground. "Oh, how your Papa has missed you—have you been good for Mrs. Turner while I was away?"
"Yes, Papa," the children replied, eager to please him.
Thomas knelt down on one knee, bringing him to eye-level with his son. "Oh, look at this! I do believe someone has taken my little gentleman and left a mud goblin in his place." He brushed some dried mud off John's face, humor sparkling in his eyes and a smile playing about his lips. "Were you playing with little Billy Murray again?"
John scrunched his face at his father's fussing. "Oh, yes—and Papa, you should see him! He looks even worse than me!" The Baron hummed his agreement lightheartedly, and then turned his sights on his daughter. He brushed fingers through her hair, and touched her sunburned nose. "And Harriet, my darling, reading out in the sun again, were we? You must be careful, or you're likely to become the smartest little girl in England!"
Harriet giggled. "I already am the smartest!"
"So you are," Thomas replied. He stood up. "And now, children, your father is tired and quite famished—let us go inside." He held out a hand to both of them, which they took, and together the little family went into the house.
Over supper, Baron Thomas paused in the breaking of bread to speak. "Children, I have some news to share with you," he announced, being sure to make eye contact with Mr. Turner, the chamberlain (who oversaw the domestic affairs at the house) and the steward Mr. Stamford as well (who saw to the health and wellbeing of the Watson family), so they knew it would pertain to their interests. "My brother-in-law Rossel and his son Jamie are coming to stay with us here in Newcastle for awhile. Won't that be lovely?"
The Watson children looked dubious; but as usual, where John kept his thoughts inside his head Harriet blurted hers without prudence. "But why? We haven't seen them in forever. Why now?"
"I ran into your Uncle Rossel in London a few weeks ago. We talked long and well, and he told me of his wife's sudden passing a month ago. It has been hard on him and his estate, so I invited the pair of them to come out to the country and rest. It is my hope that the sight of your smiling faces will help purge some of their grief." Their father's face softened a bit then, and a touch of sadness entered his eyes. "After your own dear mother's passing …" He shook his head, and in an instant his worn face lightened. "Well, we all have more in common now, don't we? I'm sure you and Jamie will get on famously."
"And are you going to try to know Uncle better?" John asked, taking a bite of bread. Thomas smiled and ruffled his son's (since washed) corn-yellow hair.
"Sweet boy," he praised, "I am indeed. Unfortunately, I have never been close with your mother's side of the family. But you have a chance to learn from Papa's mistakes, and get to know your cousin well. If you become close, it will make this old man happy."
With their father's confidences, the two Watson children readily agreed to the proposal, and discussed the topic in greater length at twilight, when the house was still and they should have been sleeping.
"What do you remember about our cousin Jamie?" John asked his sister, turning on his side to see her outline more clearly in the moonlight. Harriet technically had her own bedroom, but she still snuck into John's at night, where they preferred to sleep together.
"He's an arse," Harriet said crassly, and John gasped.
"Harriet!"
"What? No one can hear me. It's true! The last time they came here you were just a baby. He was a mean little whelp to be sure! He never would play with me, and he said it was because I was a girl."
"You're not a girl," John said, wrinkling his nose cutely. "At least, you don't play like one. Even I know that."
"That's right!"
"Did you whoop him for that? I bet you did," John said with a grin, holding his fists out like he could go a round right now. But his face faltered as Harry grimaced. "What? What is it?"
Harriet looked nervously off to the side. "I … couldn't. There was something not right with him, John. I saw him ring a cat's neck just as heartless as anything! And I heard some of the servants whispering that he was a changeling," she whispered.
"What's a … changing?"
"Not changing, changeling. It means that faeries took the real Jamie away after he was born and left a nasty little faerie baby in his place."
"I thought faeries were supposed to be good creatures!"
Harriet gave John a scathing look. "Who told you that?! Faeries are mean and tricky and they lure people to their deaths all the time. Mrs. Turner says their music bewitches people; they have to start dancing and can never, ever stop—not until they die right upon their feet!"
"Oh!"
"Yeah, and others lead people astray in the forests at night, and then drown them in a bog. Faeries are nasty things, John. And so is Jamie. Better to avoid the both of them."
Uncle Rossel and his son Jamie arrived by carriage two weeks later, a small entourage in tow. Rossel was a hardened man, the girth of his beer-gut unmatched by his narrow face and short stature, making him look a cross between a bulldog and a spindle-legged cat. Jamie himself was all feline, large eyes and pale skin and a quiet, stalking demeanor.
John didn't much like the look of them at all, but the 5th Baron of Newcastle greeted them warmly, shaking hands with his foul-faced brother-in-law. "Rossel, welcome to Newcastle. I hope your trip was fair of weather and free of mishaps!"
Rossel smiled, and little John likened it to a drawing of a crocodile he had seen in one of his father's expensive encyclopedias. "Horrid journey, really. It rained for two days straight on the road and I had a horse break its leg while crossing over the foothills. Worthless creature. I slit its throat with a hunting knife and we had its meat for stew."
Thomas swallowed and smiled tightly, even as Harriet gasped at his side and said, "That poor horse! How could you do such a thing?"
She shrunk back, however, when both Rossel and Jamie turned their dark gazes upon her intently. "Girls oughtn't speak in a gentleman's presence unless they're spoken to first, right Father?" Their cousin Jamie asked tonelessly, but there was a wicked light in his eyes. Rossel nodded, but before he could voice similar boorish sentiments Thomas placed a supportive hand on his daughter's shoulders and quickly changed tack.
"And a welcome to little Jamie Moriarty, too. You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you, boy, but you're still so skinny. We'll have to put some meat on your bones before you leave us—Mrs. Turner's cooking ought to do the trick."
Jamie sneered. He glared at his uncle and said, "My name is not Jamie, its just James." And then, strangely, the boy smiled like he was charming the devil, eyes sharp and mischievous. "Thanks for the invite, Uncle Watson. I'm sure we'll all grow quite fond of one another, don't you?" His eyes slowly moved to rest on John as he finished, and John could only remember his sister's warning: Changeling—it means faeries took the real Jamie away after he was born and left a nasty little faerie baby in his place. They're mean things and lure people to their deaths.
John looked at his cousin and easily imagined a grotesque creature with sharp teeth and brandished claws, waiting to pounce on John and tear into his flesh. The small boy shivered, and was afraid.
That night, tossing and turning next to his sister, John dreamt of Jamie. In the dream, Jamie's large eyes shined a beetle-black, and his fingertips grew, sharpening to a clawed point. His jaw opened wide, and hundreds of sharp crocodile teeth snapped John up and swallowed him whole.
Over the course of the next few weeks, it became plainer and plainer that both Rossel and James Moriarty were cut from the same dark cloth, making a sport of cruelty and violence. James was constantly skulking about, and he was often found with his father's pageboy—a large blond boy named Sebastian with a square jaw and a scar running across his nose. They whispered to each other in low tones, and always silenced whenever anyone drew near. Their conferences usually included Rossel and a few of the Moriarty's attendants, and upon their conclusion Sebastian would vanish, off on some nefarious quest. Nobody ever saw him leave, and nobody ever saw him return; he was like an apparition, appearing and disappearing without a sound.
James demanded to join the Watson children whenever they went out to play, but he was a poor and spiteful sport. He callously tripped Harriet, causing her to scrape her knees, and pushed John out of a tree for no reason at all. When faced with Watson tears, James would only look boredly apathetic and say, "Don't play if you don't like the game." The servants were all skittish around him, and he treated them poorly, demanding their services at all hours. Not soon after he'd arrived, he forced John out of his bedroom, citing the soft goose-feather mattress in the guest chamber as the cause of his sleeplessness. "It doesn't matter why, it only matters that I am uncomfortable and I am a guest and I want to sleep in this bed," he'd stated pompously, standing in John's doorway nigh-on three o'clock in the morning in his dressing gown, accompanied by a harried servant. He'd sauntered closer to the bed and smoothed his hand invitingly over the duvet. "But this bed is plenty big enough, Johnny-boy, we can both sleep in it." He'd smiled his crocodile smile and in John's mind his straight flat teeth sharpened to points and eyes turned black as pitch—
John was out the door before James could even get a leg up on the mattress. He hadn't slept a wink in his own bed since.
Thomas also was having absolutely no luck getting through to his brother-in-law. The Baron of Newcastle looked more and more uncomfortable as Rossel spent his days drinking, gambling, harassing the commoners and slinking around the estate, criticizing and appraising it of all its marketable resources in turns. Eventually, as a last-ditch effort to bond with the horrible man, Thomas suggested a three-day hunting trip that would double as a tour of his lands, with only themselves and a few trusted retainers present.
"An excellent idea, and it's about time," Rossel guffed, throwing back another cupful of wine in an excess that was typical of their supper meal. He was ruddy-faced, slightly cross-eyed, and always meaner when he drank. "Though we will take my retainers, as each of them are skilled in the art of the hunt. Honestly, Tommy-boy, your staff is so incompetent and undisciplined. They are soft with freedoms and should all get a good sound whipping, to remind them where their loyalties are owed."
Thomas looked vaguely horrified, and indeed the servants on the edges of the dining room echoed the sentiment clearly on their faces. "It's Thomas, Rossel. And my staff are all highly trained and run my household wonderfully, so I'll thank you to not insult them. Take dear Mrs. Turner for example, she's been with me for years and there's no finer cook in all of England, or so my belly says!"
Thomas was very good at that, diffusing what could be an argument between them with a bit of humor. It was only a shame that Rossel's face got pinched afterwards, as if he'd like nothing better than to come to blows with Thomas and was rather indignant about the lost opportunity.
And so the details for the hunting trip were quickly planned out, and the servants all rushed around to prepare everything the two noblemen would need out in the forest. It seemed, in this brief window before the journey, that Rossel and Jamie were even more secretive. Rossel had an awful anticipatory energy about him, and went into town twice as often as he did before. Jamie seemed to walk around the estate with a permanent smirk on his face. John didn't catch more than the shadow of Sebastian as he slunk about the grounds.
The whole thing ate at the smallest Watson. There was a deep-set wrongness that filled John's belly at supper so he couldn't eat, and plagued his mind at night so he couldn't sleep. Who did Rossel keep meeting in town? Why did James look like a cat that had swallowed the family canary? And where did Sebastian disappear to every day? What did the three talk about when they were huddled together, whispering in low tones?
The night before Thomas and Rossel were to leave on their trip, something happened that finally tipped the scale from suspicion to realization of danger in young John's mind. John had woken up in the middle of the night needing a drink, but found their pitcher empty, so had gone down to the kitchens for a cup of water. It was on his way back to Harriet's room, where he'd been sleeping since Jamie had usurped his bedroom, when a breeze had carried a murmur up through the second-story window.
"…won't matter soon anyway. He'll be gone and then they'll all cry—oh, I can't wait! I do so like it when Johnny cries."
The soft, singsong voice of James Moriarty formed a ring around John's heart and cinched it tight. Barely breathing, he crept towards the window and crouched low underneath it, not daring to look out and possibly give himself away.
"What of the girl?" The voice wasn't Rossel's—could it be Sebastian? John had never heard him speak before, so it could very well be.
"What, don't tell me you want her? Ugh, don't be so boring, Sebby. I imagine she'll be married off to whomever can stand her for more than five minutes. Ugh, they're all so boring, boring …" He had very nearly sung the last sentence, his tonal inflections making it sound like he was reciting poetry instead of whispering frightening things in the dark. "I'd rather talk about murder, lovely murder … the jowls of death, with glist'ning marble teeth, close upon man in his final hour, as dust to bone to dust must return; the bells toll a mournful moan of angels! Oh, Sebby, it's like music …"
John, feeling sick to his stomach, heard a snort. "You're mad."
James laughed a nasty, nasally laugh and said, "Oh, but haven't you heard? I'm a changeling! I'm a nasty little creature that lures dull boys and girls into the forest and drowns them in the lake! You should see the way little Johnny looks at me, like I'm going to eat him alive and oh, oh I love that expression. The best part is that it's true, it's so true—you hear me, Johnny-boy? We're going to swallow you whole until there's nothing left but bones! Ha-ha!" He got louder and louder as he got excited, forgetting to be quiet, shouting his proclamation to the stars.
John's heart leapt into his throat. It's true! He's a changeling and he's going to cast a spell on the household and murder us! He scrambled away from the wall, knocking over a potted plant in the process—but he didn't care, let the evil little creature hear him and know that John heard! He ran as fast as his little legs would carry him, down the corridor and up the stairs to his Papa's bedchamber.
"Papa papa papa!" Jonathan knocked loudly on the wooden door, disturbing many people besides the one he'd intended. "Papa, open up, please! I need you!"
The door opened suddenly, and little John nearly tumbled through. "My goodness, Jonathan! What are you doing out of bed? Do you know what time—" and then Thomas stopped, taking in the pale face and shaking shoulders of his beloved son with concern. "Darling child, what is the matter? Come," he soothed, and picked the boy up to carry him to his bed.
Thomas tried to tuck the boy into bed with him, thinking he'd had a night terror, but the blond boy was too impatient and wriggled unhelpfully. "Papa, Jamie is a changeling! I heard him say it! He was out with that awful boy Sebastian and he was talking about crying and murder and bones and teeth and—and I heard him, Papa! He said he was a nasty faerie and he was going to eat us! Oh, Papa, what shall we do?"
Thomas was flabbergasted. "What's all this, now? Faeries and changelings and eating people … you've had a bad dream, lad. Come now, settle in. Papa's here, everything is alright."
Such gentle tones dismissing his fears made John cry. "Papa, I am afraid for us! Uncle Rossel is a bad man, and I don't want you to go alone on a trip with him. They'll lure you to a bog and drown you! Please don't go!"
Thomas rubbed John's shoulder soothingly, but his eyes were distant and he was frowning. The expression only lasted a moment, before the Baron was smiling and hushing his boy again, but it was enough for John to know—Thomas thought Rossel was a bad man too, and wasn't looking forward to their trip any more than John.
"Papa! Papa!" Harriet's voice echoed from the hall, and soon the twelve-year-old was pushing open the door to Thomas' chambers, pale-faced and worried. "Papa, I can't find John, he went to the kitchen but hasn't come back—oh," she interrupted herself as she saw her brother tucked safely under the blankets. "Can I sleep in here, too?" She asked hopefully.
Laughing, Thomas Watson threw back the covers and welcomed his daughter to their little family huddle. "The more the merrier," he jested.
As Harriet was getting settled, Thomas reached over and collected something from his bedside table before shimmying under the soft duvet next to his precious children. When they were all reclined on the goose-feather pillows, he handed John and Harry a small package.
"I was saving this until you both were a bit older—but I think we all could do with a little cheer right now, don't you? It's a little thick for children, but I thought we could add it to our library."
Together, the Watson children tore into the package, and revealed a book with a pale yellow cover. John ran his fingers over the embossed gold title, and Harry read it aloud. "Utopia."
Thomas tucked an arm around both their shoulders. "It means, 'Paradise.' Now, shall we read the first chapter together?"
"I'll read first!" Harry exclaimed, scooting to the middle and opening up the book to its beginning. Reading was Harry's favorite pastime, and she was very good at it. "The first chapter: Discourses of Raphael Hyth ... Hythloday, of the Best State of a Commonwealth," she read.
Harry read, and then John read a little, with his father's help, and then Thomas read. He read the longest, until the light of morning started to creep into the sky, and the two children beside him were fast asleep.
Thomas pulled on his riding gloves, taking the opportunity to hide a yawn behind them as he stepped out into the crisp morning air. It had been an incredibly late night, and he was exhausted—but, his children's happiness was worth any amount of suffering and sleeplessness on his part.
Rossel was already at his horse, checking his supplies, and his two darling children were waiting for him by the door along with the house servants and Mrs Turner, all of whom had such miserable expressions on their faces that Thomas could only laugh. "Why, I've never seen so many gloomy faces! I shall be back in three days time."
"Then go, Master Watson, for the sooner you leave the sooner we can celebrate your safe return," Mrs. Turner said tearfully.
Thomas gave his beloved housekeeper a kiss on the cheek, and said, "We will feast upon the spoils of my hunt when I return. Dig up some potatoes and carrots, and we can have a hearty venison stew."
"As you wish, Master."
Thomas then bent down on his knees before his children, and Jamie Moriarty who stood beside them. "Goodbye, Harriet. Goodbye, Jonathan." He kissed each on the top of their heads as he bid them farewell. "James, be good while your father and I are away. All three of you, listen to Mrs. Turner. She's in charge until we get back."
Jamie had a smiling, insincere expression on his face. "Yes, Uncle Watson. We will."
Thomas patted the small boy on the head, and turned to mount his horse. His retainers gathered around him, checking that the supply bags were properly secured, and that the saddle would not budge while their master was astride it.
"Are you sure I cannot attend you, Master?" Gregson asked beseechingly, while fiddling with the horse's bridle. "Only I don't like the idea of you going without any of us with you."
"Not a worry," an oily voice sounded from nearby, and both master and servant turned to see Jefferson, Rossel's marshal, looking on with glittering black beetle eyes, the leashes of several running-dogs held in his hand. "We'll take good care o' him."
Thomas bent over to put a hand on Gregson's shoulder. "I'll be back soon. I'm not even leaving the property, really. Just a quick trip into the forest and back out again."
"Come on, Tommy-boy, your servants don't need coddling!" Rossel spat, giving Gregson a disgusted look. "They should keep their mouths shut and remember their place," he hissed at Newcastle's marshal.
Gregson didn't dare glare back—but it was obvious he wanted to. He bowed his head and grit out, "Sorry, Master. Safe journey."
Sending his man an apologetic glance, the small hunting party finally rode out—Rossel and Thomas, followed by Jefferson and two other groomsman, all belonging to Rossel. At the gate, as was the Newcastle tradition, Thomas pulled his mount up short and turned back to the house, waving enthusiastically.
"Goodbye!" Harry and John shouted, waving frantically back, even long after Thomas had disappeared over the hills just beyond the gate. "Goodbye ..."
In the strengthening light of what would turn out to be a beautiful morning, it was easy to feel safe. After Thomas's reassurances and a good night's slumber, it was easy for Harry and John to go back to their lessons under the stern eye of their tutor, Dr. Stamford. It was easy for the servants at Newcastle to carry on as normal, awaiting the return of their beloved Master. It was so easy, that all fears were forgotten, and it was inconceivable that anything bad could happen.
Inconceivable that beautiful morning, crisp and bright, that it would be the last time anyone ever saw Baron Thomas Watson alive.
I am in need of a Beta and a Brit-pick, preferably one in the same, and preferably one that has an account over at AO3. And if I can be just a bit more picky, perhaps one interested in future collaborations? Message me if interested!