Hi everyone! I hope you'll enjoy this AU!
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: future Sherlock/John, future Mycroft/Irene
Summary: When John Watson left his hometown for the capital of Baker Kingdom, hoping to become a Royal Knight, he had no idea that he'd find so much more there than a title; namely evil poisoners, damsels in not-quite-distress, a manipulative King and a reason to live.
A/N: The beginning of a fill for chev-tries-hard's prompt in the BBC sherlock prompt meme (part II, page 21). Obviously, very AU. Also I don't know much about Medieval England, so please take everything with a pinch of salt :D
"Help! Please help!"
John Watson's eyes, which had been intermittently threatening to close for the last few hours of his long trip, suddenly snapped open, bright and alert, as he heard the pitiful cry. In order to determine from where the cry had come he immediately pulled on his reins, the black mare obeying with an alacrity that belied its wariness.
Determining the sound had come from his left he quickly left the trail, intent on stopping whichever ignominy was going to be committed. He certainly didn't expect to be stopped by a devilishly tall man running out in front of him and trying to seize his mount's reins.
"No, don't!"
"What the devil-" interjected John, almost too startled to make sure Alte didn't trample the strange creature that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. His surprise soon made way to anger, though, when he realised the other man was still firmly grasping Alte's reins near her mouth, effectively preventing him from moving forwards. "What do you think you are doing, sir? Someone has called for help; surely time is of the essence here!"
"Be quiet, man! You're going to ruin everything!" Such a retort did little to clear away either his confusion or his irritation but it seemed like he would have to wait for any further answers, as suddenly other cries resonated around them, this time battle-hungry rather than desperate.
Everything seemed to happen very quickly then, as no less than seven armed ruffians started to surround them, spoiling for a fight. John drew his sword and sent a glare to the man who had stopped him earlier, now knowing it had been part of the trap; but to his considerable surprise the man wasn't joining the other ambushers but rather imitating him in getting his weapon out. John's mind, as minds are wont to do in the most dangerous of situations, abstractly noted that both the scabbard and the sword were of a quality he had yet to encounter in his home county, and then suddenly he was fighting for his life.
Alte, although a robust and placid mare, was no war mount and was clearly getting nervous. Running quickly through his options, John decided to dismount. While this meant that harm had more chances to come his way, it also made sure that he wouldn't get thrown off in the middle of the battle and that Alte wasn't going to be killed – what's more, he had never really trained as a cavalry man, and knew he'd be more at his ease on the ground. Slapping Alte on the crop and distractedly checking she had gone through the rather loose circle of men surrounding them, he found himself in a position that was both very familiar and total unknown to him. He had already battled several opponents at once, but never some that seemed so keen to see his blood; and he had often fought along comrades, but they were people he knew better than he knew himself, rather than a black-haired stranger. This was discomforting to say the least; he knew nothing of the other man's habits and abilities, had no way to know if he could be trusted to watch his back.
And yet…As he parried a blow that certainly wasn't a part of regular fencing – but then he had hardly expected them to play by the rules – John registered that two of their opponents were already on the ground and that a third would soon join them. The other man certainly could hold his own in a row, but it was more than that: their fighting styles simply suited each other, and John found himself marvelling that he could have found such a perfect battle partner so far from home and in such bizarre circumstances.
Between the two of them the fight was soon over, two of their adversaries having run away in fright before they could strike them down, and John had turned to address the man that had somehow become more than a stranger when he remembered his first reason for stopping.
"The Lady!"
Before he could dash off, however, a hand fell on his shoulder and the man beside him fairly bellowed:
"It's fine, Molly, you can come out now!"
Bewildered anew, John watched as a young woman, clearly a member of the servant class, came stumbling from the nearest bush. He started to reach out to her in concern as he saw she was trembling faintly, but as she let out an enthusiastic little giggle he realised that she was reacting to excitement rather than fright.
"Oh, what a wonderful fight this was! And what dashing figures you struck! I can't thank you enough, Sire, and you, sir?"
Belatedly remembering his manners, he took a short bow, an action which painted the servant girl's cheeks a lovely pink.
"John Watson, my lady. I hope-"
His introduction was rudely interrupted by the other man's silken voice.
"Yes, thank you very much Molly; here's your payment, and you'll find your mount a bit further on your right."
His eyes widened at the impoliteness inherent to the man's tone of voice, which was cutting and clearly dismissive, but Molly seemed to pay it no heed and she merely did a clumsy little curtsey before leaving in the direction pointed out to her, her cheeks still flushed. Struck mute by all the strangeness he had seen and experienced in the last half of an hour, he finally managed to ejaculate his surprise.
"What the devil was this all about?"
His companion, who had casually started to sift through the ruffians' belongings after tying them securely together, straightened to look at him, and he was struck anew by the particularity of the other man's appearance. Although John was by no means a tall man, he had rarely met anyone who towered over him this way, and certainly he had never met so thin a man among expert fencers, as his interlocutor has proven to be. Very pale skin was made paler still by the contrast it presented to the man's long black coat (again, of a quality he had seldom seen before), its lack of colour highlighting the light grey eyes that were steadily gazing at him.
"Those men," a negligent wave in direction of the five bodies on the ground "have been harassing travellers in those woods for almost a whole lunar cycle now – pillaging and killing and the like. As these woods belong to the royal grounds, the problem has been brought to my attention. I'm afraid, however, that my reputation as an able fencer has disserved me in this instance, as I was unable to ensure that they attacked me – therefore I enlisted Molly's help."
"So she was, what? Your bait?"
"Of a sort."
"That's disgraceful."
John suddenly found himself the recipient of the man's non-inconsiderable whole attention.
"Is it truly?"
"Naturally. No matter that she agreed – and for no financial contribution that I can see, either. Putting a young girl in such a position of danger should be avoided at all costs. Surely there were other options; if those are royal grounds, the royal guard should have been able to…"
"Trample around gracelessly and inefficiently, as is their wont, effectively warning our miscreants that they should either be more discreet or make themselves scarce from this part of the woods entirely, after which they would have started to strike on grounds much less protected. I think not."
"I still think…"
"Oh I'm sure you do, John, but you see I really have to warn the incompetent captain of the guard that they have a band of ruffians to put in gaol – in this, at least, they are truly experts."
John almost choked at the sudden and unwarranted mark of familiarity.
"And to what do I owe this lack of courtesy, sir?" He asked, voice clipped, insisting on the title as if to remind the man across him of their existence. The grey eyes in front of him widened in obviously false surprise.
"Lack of courtesy? I'd have thought that by now, anything but our given names should ring false between us. We have bounded through battle; is there any stronger link in this world?"
John, in spite of all his earlier irritation, felt himself having difficulties repressing the smile that the earnest voice was clearly trying to provoke.
"Perhaps there isn't; I still believe two men should know at least a little about each other before displaying this level of intimacy."
"Oh, we know enough. Or at least, I do."
Truly curious now about this strange man's philosophies, John queried:
"Do you? And what could you have possibly learnt about me in our fight as brothers in arms, except for a vague knowledge of my fighting style?"
The other man raised a brow, acknowledging and choosing to address the clear challenge John's words had represented.
"You're the second son of a noble, though quite poor, family, and your own wish was to become a local physician. Your father, however, wanted you to become a royal knight, and therefore you have learnt to fight, and fight well, and are now on your way to the centre of our kingdom. You've been travelling for five days now, but you've only been travelling alone for three. Even though I don't think you're quite bloodthirsty enough to be a knight, you possess the nobility of heart which is supposedly a condition for knighthood-" a sneer, there, indicated that the man strongly doubted that point "and though easily worried about other people's safety, you have but little concern for yours. You also hold the conventions supposed by the social order rather lightly, although you treat everyone with respect."
John was well-aware that his astonishment had to be clearly and inelegantly visible, but he simply couldn't stop his mouth from opening slightly.
"How…"
A long-suffering sigh indicated that the man had both expected and dreaded this reaction, but he still started to explain.
"Your noble status is made obvious by your possession of both a horse and a sword, while your current lack of fortune is written all across your clothes. You've been showing signs for the latest hour that your boots, although clearly well-worn, still hurt your feet – it wouldn't be the case it those were yours, so you've been given them for this trip, most likely from an older brother with feet smaller than yours. The bags I've seen on your mount indicate a five or six-days trip, but your horse is fresher than it should be, had you been travelling alone the whole time – no doubt someone from home accompanied you at first with at least another horse, ensuring the mounts wouldn't get as tired. Your character is clearly discernible from your actions and words – you went to rescue someone because you heard a voice screaming from help, not because you wanted a fight. Still, you stayed and fought against seven people alongside me instead of fleeing, showing a certain brand of recklessness that certainly isn't expanded to include other people's life, as you abandoned the advantage your horse represented to make sure it would be safe – you should perhaps try and find it, by the way – and then thoroughly made it clear that I shouldn't have risked Molly in this way. Your attitude to Molly was also very telling; that you called her Lady when she was obviously a servant girl with no falseness in your tone shows that you put mutual respect above the conventions dictated by our stiff social order."
"I- Alte wouldn't have gone very far, I'll find her easily. How did you know about my wish to become a physician?"
"This was a slightly more difficult, and relied the slightest bit on chance, I must confess. I observed your way to fight, how you were careful not to do any damage – this, coupled with your attentiveness to any form of life that isn't yours, told me a lot. Added to the small pouch to hang next to your scabbard, in which I can see a few medicinal plants, it seemed to show that you had had at least part of a physician training. As those matters certainly don't usually concern knights, even though I'm of the opinion that a good knowledge of anatomy is indispensable to a true fencer, it was logical to assume your own dream had more to do with medicine than with swords."
John blinked a few times as he tried to register this flow of information; finally, he found his voice again.
"This- was amazing."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Extraordinary; truly…extraordinary."
"That's not what people usually say."
"What do people usually say?"
"He's a Sorcerer – burn him!"
At this unexpected reply, John once more felt a smile draw on his lips, and more unexpectedly saw one bloom on the other man's lips as well. This look, he decided, suited him better than his previous cold countenance, for all that the man himself seemed surprised to feel it on his features.
"I see I must retract my protests, in any case – you have indeed learned enough from me to be allowed a certain familiarity. But I find myself unable to reciprocate, as the most important information is missing."
His polite query of the man's name got swept away as easily as his concern for Molly had been, though by an amused quirk of the lips rather than by a scathing comment this time. Instead of answering, the man lightly bowed, a gesture that seemed at odds with his earlier behaviour but in which John could feel no mockery.
"You'll learn my name soon enough, John – allow me to benefit from my glorious anonymity for a few more days. And now, I really must depart, before those thieves awake, and you need to find Alte. Good day, John; I have no doubt we'll meet again soon."
And with that he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared, three long steps taking him far enough in the bushes that he could no longer be seen from the small clearing in which they had fought.
Suddenly feeling the return of the deep fatigue that the strangeness of the events had kept at bay for the past hour and a half, John resolutely left in the other direction, whistling in order to call Alte.