OKAY SO THIS IS GOING TO BE A BIT OF A LONG CHAPTER, INTRODUCING CHARACTERS AND SUCH! ANYWAYS I'M SORRY, BUT PLEASE ENJOY AND LEAVE ME ANY COMMENTS! NOW PROCEED!
Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom. There lived a prince, a prince who was locked away in the tallest tower. A tower so tall, it reached to the heavens and seemed to go beyond the clouds.
The prince, who looked down at the world, did nothing all day. He moped around the tower, yelling out 'Bored!' every now and then. He sat on his windowsill, the tower having only one giant window that lit up the place. As he sat there looking at the world painted in front of him, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of loneliness from within him. He held in his hands a violin, which he always played, day and night. For hours, for days, whenever he could, he played his instrument.
When the night would come, and the stars shined brightly over the kingdom, the prince would play his violin. The bow going across the strings brought out a melody that showed how sorrowful the prince was, and he would play to the heavens, to anyone who would listen. Slowly moving around his tower, violin in hands, melodies seeping from his fingers, he would play. When he would finish a piece, he would look sadly out of his window, before whispering a single word that described his life. 'Bored'.
One night, the prince who rarely gets visitors, got one from a man he calls 'Graham' every now and then. Due to him never learning his real name, which was Greg. Greg was a commander in the Queen's Army, yet whenever they needed a bit of help, they would come to the prince. His massive intellect would allow him to see the world in a different perspective, rather than just as a dull, boring place.
"Lestrade," the prince sighed out, his baritone voice breaking the silence. He was sitting on his windowsill, legs dangling over the edge. He didn't look over to Lestrade, as he knew only three people every visited him. HIs older brother, his house-maid, and Lestrade.
"Prince Sherlock," Lestrade greeted. He was coming up from the floorboards, a hidden passage was hidden within the tower, and was the only way in and out, besides the window.
"Just call me Sherlock," he replied sounding bored. Sherlock heard Lestrade's footsteps stop about 10 feet away from him, and Sherlock's mind began to work. "I am assuming you're in a rush? I mean I never get visits from you unless you can't figure something out, which is basically all the time. This would be I think, the 28th time you came to me for help? Ah, but who's counting?" Sherlock turned his attention to Lestrade, his face holding a smirk.
"I'm not here to ask for help, i'm here because I brought your month supply of food. Oh, also. Apparently you haven't written him a letter in over a week." Lestrade said. Sherlock looked him up a down quickly, noting how worn his features looked. He had salt and pepper colored hair, and stubble was showing. He wore the colors of the country, a white a black robe, with a steel helmet he was holding under his arms.
"If Mycroft is so worried, why would he send you? And not come himself? Ah! Must be because he doesn't want to have a heart attack climbing up those stairs. Would be a shame to have a corpse smelling up the place." Sherlock quipped, causing Lestrade to wince at his words and to look away to his feet.
"No," Lestrade began, his voice low," he just has his hands full with the other kingdoms. If he wasn't concerned he wouldn't make me come here every month, and he wouldn't have put you in this tower." Sherlock groaned in boredom, suddenly uninterested in this conversation.
"Right, well anyways. It's late, and you have my food for the next month. Please just leave all of it in the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson will sort through it tomorrow when she comes over." Sherlock waved his hand toward the kitchen as he turned away from Lestrade, glancing out of his window real quick. And without another word, Sherlock went upstairs and fell onto his bed, the plush blankets and pillows enveloping him.
It wasn't until Sherlock heard the stopping of footsteps, men whispering, boxes being set down roughly, and the secret door being shut, is when he began to drift to sleep. His breath slowly getting softer as he drifted asleep.
"Oh, you daft boy." Sherlock heard, a high pitched whisper of a frail old woman. He felt his blankets being pulled over his body, warmth surrounding his body. "Always sleeps with no blankets, he could catch a cold!" She whispered to herself, tucking in the blanket around Sherlock's sides. When he heard Mrs. Hudson close the door to his room, and her footsteps were heard downstairs, he threw off the blanket. Turning over onto his side he was met with a grey brick wall, the room lit dimly with candles.
Sherlock wanted to throw something, his boredom overcoming his sleep. Sherlock sat up, still staring at the wall.
"Bored!" He yelled out very loudly, hearing a crash from downstairs.
"Sherlock! You rude little boy!" She yelled out, causing Sherlock to smile to himself. He got up and stretched, ruffling his dark curls of hair with his hands. He exited his room, creeping downstairs he noted that his window was shut. The tower was lit up with candles, Sherlock scanned around for Mrs. Hudson who was shuffling about in the kitchen.
"Ah Hudders, here to what's it called? Ah, 'babysit' me." He said, Mrs. Hudson looked over her shoulder. She was cutting vegetables and had the stove on, a pan with meat was sizzling, cooking in candlelight. The tower was always lit with candles, and Sherlock wondered where they all kept coming from, but then found that thinking about it was too boring.
"Oh Sherlock, I am not your babysitter, or you housekeeper. I am here to see how you're doing and if you've burned down the tower, also to see if you're still alive." She huffed out, turning her attention back to the food.
"I think that's the meaning of babysitter, and I would assume you cleaning up the experiment I had in that pan, means you may as well be my housekeeper." Sherlock said as-a-matter-of-factly. Mrs. Hudson just shook her head, muttering something along the lines of 'just cause he's a prince...thinks he can get away with anything.'
As usual the day was suppose to be boring for Sherlock, as he sat on his windowsill. But, as he sat there, violin in his hands. He noticed someone snooping around his tower, the vines on the side rustling about. He was about to shout down something, until he saw a figure appear from the side of the tower. He had never seen this person before, the young man having sandy brown hair and seemed to have a nice build. Which was hidden by tattered and dirty, brown and beige colored farmers boy clothes. Sherlock couldn't see any of his features, him being up too high in the , he could make out a slight limp the man had. As the man looked up to the window, Sherlock felt his heart stop.
He couldn't explain how he was feeling, but the minute the mans eyes looked up to him, he felt excitement. The other males eyes were a dark brown, but when the light hit them just right, it was as though they got lighter. Sherlock noted the strong chin, the look of adventure in his eyes, and the confident look he had. From the distance Sherlock was at, he couldn't help but want to get a closer look at the man below.
"E-excuse me!" The man yelled to Sherlock, who didn't notice his gaze following the man who was now standing a bit in front of the tower, head looking up to Sherlock. Sherlock snapped his attention to the man, his eyes squinting a bit against the light of day.
"How long was I asleep?" Sherlock muttered to himself, looking at his violin.
"Sir?" The man yelled up, trying to get Sherlock's attention. Sherlock snapped his attention back to the fellow below.
"What?" Sherlock snapped unintentionally, the man just smiling up to him.
"Are you okay? I thought this tower was abandoned, but I suppose I was wrong…" The man looked up in awe of Sherlock, as though he were a never before seen creature.
"Well your skills of deduction are slow, because apparently it isn't abandoned." He yelled down, causing the other male to smile brightly. Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson shuffle behind him, and felt her peer over his shoulder.
"Who are you talking to Sherlock?" She asked, Sherlock casted her a quick glance, then back at the man below.
"A farmer who appears to have interest in my tower," he answered. Mrs. Hudson gaped at him.
"Well what does he want?" She croaked, her voice a bit uneasy.
"I don't know everything!" He hissed out, looking at the farmer. His face was full of amusement, as he watched the domestic which was playing out in front of him.
"Having a quarrel with someone?" He yelled up, his smile never leaving his face.
"Actually yes. My housekeeper feels you may be wanting to rob us, because we have so many riches locked away in this tower!" Sherlock added enthusiasm to his sarcasm, drawing out a chuckle from the farmer below. "Care to take a look? I mean, there is just so much richness here!" Sherlock couldn't help himself, he smiled as he overly dramatized. Mrs. Hudson smacked his arm, and went back to doing whatever she was doing.
"If you're being serious, then yes! I would love to see what has been hidden away in this tower." He beamed up to Sherlock, his right hand resting on the tower allowing him to lean on it. His smile shined brightly in the light, and Sherlock couldn't help but feel as though he knew this man for the longest time.
"Sherlock." The prince yelled down, making the farmer give him a puzzling look. "That's my name. Sherlock." He said.
"John. John Watson,'' the farmer replied.
"Well John, would you like to have a tour of this tower?" Sherlock asked, making John's eyes light up like the sun.
"I would!" He replied eagerly, making Sherlock smile. He didn't know why, but he found John interesting. He wanted to see why the man smiled widely, why he always looked happy, and why Sherlock wanted to get a deeper understanding of the simple man.
"There's a secret door hidden behind those vines you were looking at earlier, and then about 2,000 steps up to the tower." He shouted down, John's eyes lighting up with excitement. He looked where Sherlock had told him, and quickly moved away the vines. He saw a great big brown oak door, circular in shape, and had a brass knob in the center of it.
John pushed the door open easily, as though it were made of nothing. He was welcomed with darkness, and a musty smell of damp earth. The light from the outside world dimly lit up the bottom of the tower as he looked around, the stairs starting to his right, winding up. John felt a bit of unsurness as he saw how high the the tower really was, but pushed the feeling away.
John began making his way up the stone steps, but quickly tuned back to close the door. To his surprise it was already shut, making John squint at the door suspiciously. Licking his lips quickly, he then turned his attention back to the steps, and began his journey up them.
Sherlock paced about his tower impatiently, calculating how John should've already been up here.
"Sherlock...I don't think this is a good idea," Mrs. Hudson said from up the stairs. Sherlock waved his hand in the air, dismissing her input.
"I have this under control… Besides I can't be the only one who gets bored…" He said, Mrs. Hudson descending the creaking steps.
"Well dear, I hope you having this 'under control' doesn't result in anything bad." Her voice was soft, her eyes looking at the floor. She was fumbling with her nails, and Sherlock felt her uneasiness. Sherlock was staring at the door in the floor, biting his nails, waiting. Waiting to see how interesting John really was, waiting to see if Sherlock could make his life more interesting also.
Sherlock smiled wickedly when he saw the door slowly open up, John poking his head up from the floorboards. He heard Mrs. hudson gasp next to him, and quickly turned to her. John slowly crept into the tower, gawking at his surroundings.
"Now, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock whispered. Mrs. Hudson tore her gaze away from John, and met Sherlock's eyes. "Don't you think you should leave now? Nothing left for you to do, right?" Sherlock asked, his eyes clear with his want of her leaving. She stood stunned for a few seconds, contemplating about what to do next. And then, she plastered a fake smile onto her face, turning to John who was currently looking at a mural of angels above their heads.
"That's right dear, I should take my leave! Nice to meet you dear." She bowed her head a bit to John, who in returned tore his gaze away, and did the same.
"You too ma'am." He replied, and stepped out of the way as Mrs. Hudson scurried about. When she finally left with the door closing above her, Sherlock and John were left in the tower. Alone.
Sherlock turned to John, who was glancing all around the tower, drinking in the scenery. His sandy brown hair against his tanned skin, his brown eyes full of curiosity and wonder. Sherlock drank up John's image, and noted the way John stood. He heard John whisper things like 'beautiful' and 'fantastic' every now then, making Sherlock smile.
"It's beautiful is it?" Sherlock asked, making John jump at his baritone voice. His brown eyes flicked to Sherlock's blue ones, the endless blue seemingly hypnotizing him.
"Yes," he whispered looking back at Sherlock," absolutely stunning." John didn't realize he technically flirted with Sherlock, and when he did he became as red as a tomato. Sherlock tried not to laugh at John's attempt of flirting, so he just smiled at the smaller man before him.
"Would you like to sit? Seems we've been standing for quite some time, and i'm pretty sure your leg is hurting right?" Sherlock began to lead John toward the window, and gestured for John to sit in a plush red arm chair. Sherlock grabbed his violin from the windowsill, glancing out quickly before making his way to sit across from John.
"Thank you." John suddenly said, making Sherlock glance up with his eyebrows knitted together. "For allowing me to see what your tower looks like from the inside I mean." Sherlock smiled, and John felt his heart skip a beat.
"I never met someone who thanked me for allowing them up here...Then again, I hardly meet any people." Sherlock eyes his bow, which was in his lap. He noticed his violin had also caught the attention of John, who was curiously looking at his instrument. "Would you like me to play for you?" Sherlock asked, and John's eyes flicked up to meet his.
"Can you?" John asked, making Sherlock smile. Without anymore words exchanged, Sherlock brought up his violin to his chin, and slowly closed his eyes. He was sitting still, and then slowly brought up his bow. He began to play a soft tune, like a lullaby, which then turned into a hauntingly melody. As the song progressed, John couldn't help but feel his heart feel heavy, the music making him feel as though Sherlock was playing his heart out to him. John stared at Sherlock with sadness in his eyes, the music becoming more dark with each passing note.
The soft dark melody ended with Sherlock drawing out the last soft note, making John sit there stunned. When Sherlock opened his eyes, John could've sworn he saw a hint of gold in them. But dismissed it as the lighting of the sun, his thoughts going back to the melody.
"That...was amazing." John breathed out, his eyes shimmering with tears. He wasn't going to cry, but Sherlock knew he wanted to.
"I seemed to have brought tears to your eyes.." Sherlock said sadly, making John gasp out.
"I-I'm sorry!" John apologized, making Sherlock look down at his violin. "That was just so beautiful...So amazing." John praized, making Sherlock gape at him.
"You really think so?" Sherlock questioned, his eyes scanning John's expression for lies.
"Yes!" John assured,"That was absolutely fantastic." John cleared his throat, and leaned back in the armchair. "M-may I heard another one?" He asked, making Sherlock beam brightly.
"Of course." The prince responded, his voice a low rumble. John trying to not show his shiver from listening to it, as he sat there ready for another piece.
So there they sat, John listening to Sherlock play piece after piece of melodies. Some were dark and sorrowful, beautifully written. Others were slow, peaceful and carefully written. And as the sun set over the horizon, John and Sherlock had lost track of time. Words were exchanged, conversations after each piece made no room for awkward silence. They learned much about each other, even though they asked a handful of questions.
John was in the latest war against a rivaling kingdom, wounded in his shoulder, and sent back with a limp no one could cure. He said he was a doctor, but had to become a farmer for the sake of his family. Sherlock had guessed he had a sister to whom he didn't agree with, and went on with explaining how he knew that. Of course John found the deduction of his pocket watch amazing, and Sherlock admitted to knowing everything about John within 5 seconds of seeing him. That of course made John go silent, but then he smiled at Sherlock.
"You're brilliant aren't you?" He asked, making Sherlock blush had put his violin away, and had shut the window, darkness somewhat enveloping the tower. By now, the sun was down, and they lit a few candles creating a low dim in the tower. Neither wanting the conversation to end, they found other things to talk about.
John found Sherlock fascinating, and that was the only word that could describe him at this moment. Sherlock had told him he has lived in this tower for quite some time, but yet would not get into detail about why. Sherlock gave John this mysterious vibe, but yet John saw past that. Seeing only a man who wants a friend, a man who needs a friend. They both would laugh at dumb jokes, or when the other said something witty. Both getting comfortable around the other, as though they were the best of friends, they got a bit closer. The pushing of their chairs a bit closer, which then led to Sherlock suggesting they sit at the windowsill.
As he pushed the window open, John looked up at the night sky. Gray clouds covered the sky, and bright stars shone through every now and then. The moon peeked through every now and then, its crescent shape making John gasp. For some odd reason, John has never seen anything quite as beautiful as this scenery. He never got to spend time away of the farm, but today he could.
Today was a quiet day, as always for John Watson. He did his chores as usual, and then he listened to his sister ramble on about her lover. John knew she was gay, but he accepted her, not caring. She was his sister, his older sister. The only one in the world, and he accepted her. He finished everything early, like always, but today he wanted to explore the tower that was in the distance. He thought it was abandoned, and he wanted to see the view from up there, to think. He always saw the tower while he worked the farm, and envisioned himself at the top, looking down at the world. He never saw anyone go in or out of the tower, but it was always hidden behind the tall green trees. He sometimes saw the window at the very top open, but hoped it was just the wind pushing it open, and then pushing it closed. Either way, John always wanted to visit the tall tower, and today he decided he would do that.
John never expected to have met such an interesting human, and he never would have expected him to be locked away in this tower. He also never expected the man to have raven black curls, and ocean blue eyes, but who noticed those? As John kept thinking about Sherlock, and the tower he couldn't help but wonder. It still bugged John as to why Sherlock was here, but he didn't know how to ask Sherlock.
"John?" Sherlock's deep voice broke John's thoughts, and he quickly blinked. They were both sitting with their legs dangling over the window, a small breeze tickling John's face.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" John asked sheepishly, his face becoming a tad red with embarrassment. Sherlock stared at him for a second or two, and John noticed his lips twitch up a bit.
"I was just asking if you were okay, and if you wanted to sat a bit longer." Sherlock said the last part as a whisper, he didn't know why, but he wanted to keep talking to John.
John hadn't realized how long he was gone, the whole sun going down seemed like it happened just seconds ago. Yet, the moon was high behind the clouds, showing it was later than he expected. John sighed, and Sherlock knew his answer. John was going to go, and Sherlock felt oddly weird about that. He felt like he knew much more about the former doctor, yet John felt like he needed to know more about Sherlock.
"Before you go," Sherlock said, his head looking up to the starry sky. "Will you visit me again?" The shadows created against his features sharpened them, and made his cheekbones look sharper than they were. His skin seemed pale, and his blue eyes seemed to have a gold tint to them. John felt himself staring too intensely, and looked away flustered. Sherlock wasn't looking at him, but John felt he was smirking.
"I have much I still need to learn about you, so yes. I will continue to visit." John smiled down at his hands, and watched as his legs dangled and swayed in the air.
When John left the tower, the familiar sound of the secret door locking behind him. Sherlock couldn't help but feel the silence of his tower unbearable, and decided to play a song. He looked out of his open window, violin and bow in his hands, looking at the small shadow of John half limped and walked away through the field of grass. Before he could reach the tall forest of trees, John heard a familiar melody of sorrow and loneliness. Yet, for some odd reason, it made John happy. Happy that he could hear the song as he walked back to his farm life, back to his agonizingly boring life. The stories Sherlock had told him, and the small laughs they shared together replayed in his mind. When John saw the small farm he called his house, he couldn't help but think back to Sherlock's tower. The paintings all along the walls, the mural of angels upon the ceiling which caught his eye, and the space which the tower had. John felt a pang of jealousy, yet ignored it as quickly as it came.
As he slept in his cot that night, the moon hidden behind the trees. John wondered if Sherlock was asleep, and the more he thought the faster his sleep came.
Sherlock didn't sleep that night, instead he played his violin in his room. The candles slowly burning out, and Sherlock's mind still reliving the time he spent with John. The memory singed into his mind, the senses he felt, the smell of work on John's skin, the slightest limp he had, his fairly tanned skin, and the gleam of interest in his brown eyes. Sherlock felt oddly possessive of John suddenly, wanting to feel more, to control more of John. By now, Sherlock was no longer playing his violin, instead he was sprawled out on his bed, blankly staring up at the ceiling.
"Bored!" He shouted out, his baritone voice seeming deeper. Yet of course no response, just silence and the darkness as the last of the candles slowly died out.
