A/N: I have the art that this story is based on linked on my profile. This might not make a lot of sense unless you see them first.
John Watson enjoyed his relative freedom in the castle. Being a child of eleven and the son of a high ranking knight allowed him to roam the corridors and command servants, dress how he wanted and be the boss of the other children in the castle. Because he's on the cusp of becoming a man, he'd already started training to be a knight so he knew how to fight and carried himself confidently.
He'd just finished playing with the other children and was heading across the castle to his sword lesson when a commotion in the great hall stopped him. All the adults were running about, yelling about a giant that had been captured.
A giant? John thought, excitement filling his belly. He'd heard his father and the other knights talk about how many giants they'd slain. Giants, a fat and stupid race that couldn't speak in the human tongue. They were the brunt of many jokes inside the castle, only good for capturing and putting to slave labour. John was sure his sword master would understand him being late for something this exciting. He turned on his heel and followed after the adults.
As he neared the outside entrance to the dungeon, he heard yelling. He recognized King Lestrade's voice. He also heard another voice, a deep voice that he didn't recognize. It boomed above the others.
"I'm just looking for work." The deeper voice reasoned. John pushed through the legs of adults until he got a clear view of what was happening. John gasped. It was a giant all right; the male in front of the court towered above the thirteen men holding him captive with chains, but he was different. For one, he had spoken actual human words. Second he was thin and lanky, not like the others John had seen.
"Do you have a name?" King Lestrade asked, shouting down from a balcony. His two Hands, Donovan and Anderson, were standing next to him.
"Sherlock." The giant said, straightening up to stand at his full height. "I have approached you because my kind has driven me off."
Anderson leaned to the king's ear. "Why would they do that?" The king asked, crossing his arms over his chest. John wanted to know too. This creature in front of him was simply fascinating.
"Because they are stupid and I am smart. I have attempted to better myself and they fear me." The giant's hands clenched and his lips twitched. "I am too like your kind. Though from the reaction you have had toward me makes me wonder if you truly are above us."
Donovan and Anderson recoiled at this, though the king nodded in admission. Lestrade looked like he was about to say something but Donovan leaned into his ear and spoke. Lestrade nodded. "How can we know to trust you?"
"I have no ill with the human race." The giant said. His eyes narrowed. "Though I do not know if I would be trusting you, or the two snakes that whisper in your ear."
A shocked murmur spread through the crowd. John felt fear for the creature rising in his stomach. People didn't talk to the king this way. No one spoke ill of the king's Hands in public, though he'd heard the knights' disdain for them behind closed doors.
"I've heard stories of you King Lestrade." The words came out of Sherlock's mouth like poison. "The great and just ruler, until your two minions enter the room and take control; their reputations precede them." The giant took a step forward. The men restraining him tightened their grips on the chains. John put a hand to his mouth to keep from crying out. He wanted to beg the giant from continuing this tirade, he would only hurt himself. "Pray tell, who is it that is truly running the castle? Surely not the grayed king, with tired eyes and trouble in and out of court, the Queen …"
"That'll be enough out of you, you filth!" Anderson shouted, his nasally voice rung out, hitting John's child ears like shattering glass.
"How dare you question the king's authority and private life, monster?" Donovan spat. Even from across the yard, John could see her eyes flashing, black curls swirling around her face as a breeze came in.
"I simply observe, dear human." Sherlock rumbled, sneer plain in his voice. He glowered at the human, so small compared to him, and yet so unafraid. John stared in wonder, sword lessons forgotten. "Does the wife know of the trysts in the corridors, perchance?"
The crowd was struck silent. "We'll see how good your observations are after a few years without the light of day." Anderson's voice dripped with contempt. He nudged the king into action.
Fear filled the giant's eyes as his shoulders drooped. "Wait!"
Lestrade looked surprised at what was happening before him. "Take him to the dungeon until I can figure out what to do with him." The king turned and disappeared through the door.
"Please! No!" The giant shouted. Sherlock strained against the men holding him captive. Several other guards raced out to help, grabbing the chains and walking the captive creature into the dungeon. "No, I'll never survive!" John covered his ears to block out Sherlock's pleas, echoing off the dungeon entrance walls. "I'll work! I'll do whatever you like; just don't put me in the dark! Please!"
John shuddered as the gates closed. The crowd of adults started to disperse, murmuring excitedly. His heart went out to the giant, remembering the times when his father would throw him in a closet, battered and bruised, if he had replied too smarmily.
A hand clamped down tightly on his shoulder. John gasped and looked around to find his sword master glaring down at him. "You're late, boy." The man hissed, lip curling.
"Sorry Master Mycroft." John whimpered. "I won't let it happen again. There - there was a giant."
"I don't want excuses!" Mycroft growled, a vein popping out of his rather large forehead. "You'll be doing running drills today because of this tardiness."
John tried to keep his eyes from rolling. He hated the running drills. Mycroft seized John's shirt and yanked him toward the training yard.
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It was dark when John was allowed to leave his lesson. He was exhausted. Mycroft hadn't let him even touch a sword today, all he'd done was running and worked upper body strength. He was walking, much more slowly than normal, home when he passed a staircase that he knew led to the dungeon. John bit his lip, the incident with the giant flooding his mind again. He shuffled on his feet for a moment before treading carefully down the stairs.
It was a foolish thing to do really, John didn't have a candle with him so he couldn't even see where he was going. Fortunately, he had memorised many of the staircases in the castle. This one had forty-seven steps and he counted them under his breath as he went. When he reached the floor, John took in a deep breath. There were a few torches down the hall where the bigger cells were, as John recalled from having explored the dungeons with the other children before.
John slid out of his shoes and crept through the hall as silently as he could, sticking to the shadows. He was not surprised to see the only guard on duty fast asleep in a corner. John giggled as he slipped passed the snoring man. He looked into every cell, whether it was big enough to hold a giant or not, searching for the creature called Sherlock.
"You, boy. Come here." John jumped when he heard a rumble coming from a large cell to his left. He looked around to make sure the guard was still asleep. When he decided the coast was clear, he stalked to the cell to see Sherlock cramped inside. The giant's eyes flashed when he saw John in the light, curiosity painting his features. "What is your name?"
John marveled at the creature. His face was foreign, all angles. His eyes were pale and seemed to see everything all at once. John took a step back in fear. "Joh – John Watson." He stammered.
The giant shifted, moving forward in an almost predatory way. John's heart pounded in his ears and he turned to run.
"No! Wait!" The desperation in the giant's voice made John pause. "John?" Sherlock's voice turned gentle. "What are you doing down here?"
John turned back to face the giant. He put his hands together behind his back and ducked his head, embarrassed. "I – I thought I'd be able to see you."
"Why would you want to see me?" The giant asked, eyeing John suspiciously. John sucked in a breath. With the fire light catching them, those eyes were brilliant.
"I've never heard of a talking giant before," John admitted, standing up straight again. "You're so different from the other giants I've heard about."
Sherlock's lip curled. John could see scars on them. "Yes, and do please undermine me like the rest of the humans have done."
John's brow furrowed. "I don't know what that word means, but I do know that you're the most brilliant thing I've ever seen!"
Surprise covered Sherlock's face. "Sorry?"
"I said you're brilliant." John said taking a few steps toward the bars of the cell. "The way you talked to the Hands today. No one really likes them. You're the first person I've seen stand up against them."
Sherlock's nose twitched when John had said 'person' but his expression now seemed … happy. "You think I'm brilliant?" Sherlock asked quietly, reaching his hand out to the boy.
John put his hands on the bars and found the space between might be enough to shove his body through. So he tried and with some effort, he found himself inside the cell with Sherlock. "I know you're brilliant. More than brilliant." John put his hand on Sherlock's index finger. It only covered the pad. "If you can speak our language and still be smart about everything, well … you're doing better than half of the humans."
Sherlock's chuckle vibrated through John's chest. "You are small but you seem to understand much." John smiled up at the giant and the giant smiled back. "You are exhausted. You should get some rest." Sherlock advised, retracting his hand and leaning back into the cell.
John nodded. "I'll come back and see you again." He promised.
The giant's scarred lips quirked up to one side. "I … I would like that."
John felt a grin break across his face. He turned and pushed himself out through the cell bars. After taking a few quiet steps past the guard, John chanced a look back at Sherlock. The giant was staring at his index finger, right where John had touched him. John looked down at his own hand before he headed back to where he had left his shoes.
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John tried to sneak off to see Sherlock every day. At first it was just the curiosity of the giant that kept the boy coming back, but after Sherlock had lifted the boy up in his hands to examine him closer, eyes ablaze, even sniffing him, John could see that the giant enjoyed his company. Sherlock liked hearing about the goings on in the castle, hearing about the dynamics of the human class system, though John didn't fully understand Sherlock's words for describing his stories. John liked having someone to talk to, someone he didn't have to impress with his sword skills or imagining up another new game, and Sherlock seemed to listen in earnest. John wasn't used to an adult taking interest in what he had to say. His mother had passed away when his sister Harry, named for their mother, was born and his father, good knight though he was, spent all of his time well … being a knight. When his father was home, he demanded a respect that was beyond what his children could accomplish and often let out his anger at their worthlessness with his fists. John always tried his best to protect Harry when their father was angry, taking the brunt of the beatings. He abhorred seeing Harry hurt.
When John snuck back to the dungeon one evening, about three weeks after Sherlock's internment, and heard the voice of the king and his Hands, he knew something bad was bound to happen.
"You initially came here saying you were looking for work." He heard King Lestrade say. John stayed in the shadows, but positioned himself so that he could see everything that was happening. Sherlock was out of his cell and was kneeling, wrists chained to the floor. There were seven men around him holding various types of whips. John's blood ran cold.
"Yes, and all you did was throw me in the dungeon." Sherlock said looking up and away from the king, sounding bored.
"That's because you questioned the king, you wretched beast." Anderson spat, taking a threatening step toward the giant.
"I wasn't questioning the king. If anything I was questioning you and your ridiculous face." Sherlock sneered. His eyes zoned in on Anderson and his lip curled in disgust.
"All right that's enough out of you!" King Lestrade boomed, throwing his hands up in the air. John shied away. He'd never heard the king shout like that before. He'd heard that tone before from his father. He shuffled uncomfortably hoping Sherlock was smart enough to keep himself from getting hurt. He wouldn't be able to protect his giant friend.
Sherlock looked away from the king again, defiance in his eyes. Anderson took a step back behind the king and stood beside Donovan. "You said you wanted work. We have a job repairing the castle."
"Oh good, yes, put me out to do the menial tasks with the other brainless swine. Please. Obviously I am above them. Thank you for realizing that." Sherlock snarled eyes flashing angrily.
"What else am I …" King Lestrade began before being cut off by Donovan.
"Wait just a sodding minute!" She screeched. "The King is attempting to fulfill your request, out of the kindness of his heart." She jabbed a finger in Sherlock's direction. John's heart clenched. "And you, foul beast, have the gall to respond with spite." She shook her head sadly. "You are a freak of nature and we shouldn't have to deign to your demands."
Sherlock roared, straining against his shackles. "You vile banshee!" Sherlock screamed. John gasped and fought the urge to run in fear. Sherlock had never reacted this way around him. The men with the whips began to move around the giant. "I am a higher functioning being than all of you in this room! Do not lump me with lowly scum that inhabit this land. I – AH!"
The first whip cracked onto Sherlock's back at the shouted command of Anderson. Donovan was ushering the king out and John panicked. He squeezed himself into the nearest cell and cowered in a corner. John covered his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of Sherlock's pained cries.
After what seemed like an eternity, the screams ceased and John could hear the men shoving Sherlock back into his cramped cell. John waited until all the guards had left before manoeuvering himself out of his hiding place. He saw Sherlock, bloodied and crumpled, curled on the floor. John felt ice form in his gut as he ran towards his friend, slamming his body through the cell bars.
"Sherlock!" John cried, resting a hand on the giant's cheek. Sherlock didn't move. Tears welled in John's wide eyes. "No, Sherlock answer me! Please!" John's hands clenched into fists and he shoved them against his head. He didn't know what to do. How could he help? He was so worried, so scared. John paced around the cell, trying to think. When his young mind couldn't come up with anything he collapsed to his knees on the floor. "Sherlock! You wake up this instant!" He screamed, unflinching as his voice reverberated throughout the dungeon. He didn't care if he was caught here anymore. He just needed Sherlock to be okay. He brushed angrily at his betraying eyes, eyes that were letting these terrified tears leak out. Knights didn't cry, not even in the face of danger and fear.
He almost didn't hear Sherlock stir. It wasn't until a low groan that rattled John to his core spilled out of his friend's lips that he looked up. Sherlock's face contorted in pain. John couldn't help himself, he felt so guilty that he couldn't protect his friend that he began sobbing.
"John," Sherlock croaked. "Oh no. Oh, John." Sherlock pushed himself up into a sitting position. He kneeled in front of his tiny companion. "John, if I had known you were there…" Sherlock's massive hands fluttered around the boy unsure of what to do. "John. I'm okay. Please don't cry." Sherlock pleaded.
John sniffled, trying to get himself back under control. "I hate them." He whispered angrily after a while, wiping at his eyes, feeling ridiculously rebellious as he uttered the words. "I wish the king would get new, nice people for his help."
Sherlock sighed and put his hand down for John to climb into. John sat in Sherlock's palm and Sherlock raised the child to eye level. "I'm sorry you had to see that John." Sherlock growled. "If I had known you were there, if I had know it would affect you so," Sherlock cut himself off and looked away, anger in his eyes again.
"I forgive you." John told his friend. "It's those others I can't forgive for being so cruel." He patted Sherlock's palm affectionately. "I know how much it stings when you're supposed to trust someone and then they hurt you like that."
Surprise, and perhaps a hint of fear, flitted over Sherlock's face as he looked back at John. "You … It's your father isn't it?" John nodded. "Oh, John," Sherlock whispered shaking his head. "Will you be in trouble for staying this late?"
"My father isn't home now. The servant girls take care of my sister and me." John told him.
Sherlock nodded and then lowered his hand to ground level again. "You should be running along anyway."
John slid off Sherlock's hand but before he broke contact, he patted Sherlock again. "I'm glad you're okay."
Sherlock smiled at the boy, scarred lips twisting incredulously.
John walked home wondering if Sherlock had ever had a friend before.
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"What kinds of games would you and your friends play?" John asked one day, two and a half weeks after Sherlock's whipping. They were talking about Sherlock's life before coming to the castle.
At the question, Sherlock stiffened. He grimaced at the pain in his back. He hadn't stood up straight in a month. "I never really played with the other young ones." Sherlock admitted. "They never liked my ideas."
"Oh," John whispered. He looked up at Sherlock shyly, remembering how Sherlock had told him about the scars around his mouth. Sherlock's sharp tongue had often gotten him in trouble. The other giants had punished him by cutting his lips. When he'd refused to stay silent, Sherlock had been driven away. John played idly with some dirt on the ledge that he was perched on. He liked climbing up the wall to this ledge because he was almost as tall as Sherlock then. "Don't your friends miss you?" He was nervous about asking this, because he suspected he knew the answer.
Sherlock snorted and John couldn't help but snort as well. He wasn't aware that giants could snort. "No, John, my friends do not miss me because I do not have any friends." Sherlock's eyes focused on the ground.
John felt sadness pool in his stomach. He stood up, balancing on the ledge and held his arms open. "Sherlock come closer, please." He requested quietly. The giant shifted so that he was sitting pretzeled in front of the ledge, a questioning look in his eyes. But John couldn't reach him, so he motioned for Sherlock to come closer. The giant rested his chin on the ledge in front of John. John frowned. Perhaps this would be more difficult – no! John gathered a tuft of Sherlock's hair in his arms and squeezed tightly.
"What's this?" Sherlock asked breathily.
"It's a hug, Sherlock." John told him matter-of-factly. "I want to hug you so you won't be alone anymore." Out of the corner of his eye John could see Sherlock's lips twitching into an attempted smile. John's heart filled with a warmth he hadn't felt since his mother's last hug.
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John ran. He ran as fast as he could toward the dungeons while trying to keep himself from crying. His sister was safe, he made sure of that, he always did. He needed to protect her.
His father had returned home. His father had returned home drunk. It had never happened before. John was terrified and he was bruising. He respected his father but he couldn't understand why he hurt his children.
John stole down the back stairs of the dungeon. It was late at night and again he didn't have a torch but by this time, nearly three months after Sherlock's internment, John knew the dungeons by heart. He ran, desperate to see his best friend. Sherlock's snarky comments and biting tone had become a comfort to John.
John was highly relieved when there wasn't a guard in front of Sherlock's cell. At the sound of John's foot falls, Sherlock moved closer to the cell.
"John?" His expression was confused. It was much later than when John normally came to see him. Sherlock's eyes widened in shock when John came into the light. "John what…?"
John slammed himself into Sherlock's cramped cell. He knew he had a good bruise forming on his face. He was embarrassed, not wanting to show his weakness in front of anyone, but Sherlock was the only one he trusted enough to be around now. He collapsed onto the cell floor, panting. Now he could feel the pain on his back and in his ribs. It would be hard to move tomorrow.
Sherlock was next to him immediately. "Your father is back." Sherlock sniffed. "He was … drunk?" Sherlock sounded worried. "He's not usually drunk when he comes home is he?"
John shook his head, still breathing too hard to speak. Suddenly he was being lifted up and up and then he was pressed against Sherlock's bare chest. The hands surrounding him were much gentler than normal. He pressed himself into Sherlock's body, grateful for the warmth of a body that cared.
After a few moments, John relaxed and Sherlock pulled him away. "It's late," Sherlock said quietly, glacial eyes burning. "You should sleep, small one." John nodded, rubbing painfully at his eyes. Sherlock brought John back down to ground level and curled around his small companion. John snuggled up against Sherlock's outstretched arm.
"May I share my dream with you?" John asked quietly.
Sherlock looked down at the boy. "Of course, John." His eyes seemed to be examining John for the millionth time.
"We are away from here. You and I are in the wild, far from those who hate us, far from those who want to harm us. It's peaceful."
Sherlock seemed surprised at the amount of sentiment the boy was showing. John rarely spoke like this. He smiled lightly. "I wish that could be true." He admitted. "Living with you would be such a great adventure."
John yawned as visions of what life could be like filled his brain. "I wish you were my father." He added sleepily.
A determined and calculating look covered Sherlock's face. "Sleep now, John."
John reached up and patted Sherlock's arm. He remembered what his mother used to say to him as she put him to bed. "Good night, dear heart. Sleep tight, dream well. I love you."
John felt Sherlock freeze. As he fell asleep John thought he heard Sherlock breathe, "I love you, too."
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John was growing more and more excited every day. Sherlock had a plan, a plan to get them out of the castle. John didn't care about being a knight anymore, not when he could be away from these horrible people who ran the castle and his father. He taught Harry how and where to hide when their father was home so that she would always be safe. He found where the cell door keys were kept, with the help of Sherlock's wonderful observations. Now it was a waiting game. John was gathering supplies for surviving away from the castle and Sherlock was waiting for the opportune moment of escape. John could hardly stand the waiting.
"We will leave tomorrow," Sherlock told John one evening, they had been planning for almost a month.
John beamed up at Sherlock, suddenly shaking with excitement. "Yes!" John jumped into the air. Sherlock laughed at the boy's pure excitement, but his expression soon turned grim.
"Also, the king is seeing me tomorrow." Sherlock said flatly.
John froze. "Now, please don't get yourself hurt this time." He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look as commanding as possible. For an eleven year old, it was surprisingly effective. "Just try and be compliant."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and he turned his gaze away from John like he always did when he was being defiant. "I'm glad you're vocabulary has expanded in our time together."
"Sherlock, I'm serious." John threw his arms up in exasperation. "It won't do to run away when you're bleeding." It seemed whenever the king came to have a chat, Hands slithering behind him, Sherlock ended up whipped or burned. John hated it, and was often angry at Sherlock for being an instigator.
"I'll behave if they will." Sherlock hissed, eyes flashing
John gave a theatrical sigh and headed toward the cell door. "You know that's not going to happen." He squeezed through the bars. "I'm going to get some sleep and will finish gathering my things. I'll be back …?"
"Be here at eight. I should have those stupid beasts out of here by then." Sherlock steepled his fingers and pressed them to his mouth. "Go now. Rest John, tomorrow is a big day."
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John was buzzing with excitement and apprehension. He went to his lessons and behaved as well as possible. He made sure all the children were taken care of and happy before he began the slow process of getting everything he was bringing with him out of the castle. He took his belongings out through his favorite secret passage a little bit at a time, until it was all out just beyond the tree line. With an hour and a half before eight, John paced through the castle, restless. Finally, he couldn't stand the wait any longer and he headed toward the dungeon.
As he neared Sherlock's cell, he could hear Anderson's voice. John was confused. Weren't they supposed to be gone by now? John had come at the very end of the conversation it seemed. Anderson was shouting for action. Sherlock stared straight ahead, body rigid with rage. One whip cracked.
"Now hold everything!" King Lestrade shouted. No one moved. "Anderson, you realize he hasn't actually done anything this time?" Anderson bowed low in means of an apology. "You all make me sick. Get out of my sight." The guards left silently. "You too, then." King Lestrade said, glaring at Anderson and Donovan. They left without protest. "I suppose I should apologise."
"That you should," Sherlock retorted. "Though, I'm glad you stopped the events when you did," Sherlock's head swiveled to John's location. "I wouldn't have appreciated my little friend seeing me beaten yet again."
King Lestrade's head snapped back to see John as well. John was scared the king was about to yell at him, but the man beckoned for him. "The young John Watson," the king smiled at him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come to see your friend off?"
John looked to Sherlock, confused and saw a questioning look flit across the giant's face as well. "What do you mean, Your Majesty?" John asked quietly.
"I mean," King Lestrade produced a key from his pocket. "I'm letting him go. He has better places to be than this bloody dungeon." He handed the key to John. "Would you unlock him for me?"
John handled the key like a precious gift, beaming up at the king. He ran over to Sherlock and unchained the giant. Sherlock picked him up almost immediately and held him at eye level. John could see a welt forming on Sherlock's cheek where the whip had connected. "Do you still want to come with me?"
John leaned forward to press his lips to the welt, mumbling what his mother would say when she kissed his scrapes. "Kiss away the pain." He leaned back and nodded. Sherlock looked utterly surprised. "I'll stand by you forever, Sherlock."
Sherlock let a quick breath out of his nose. "Right," John could see happiness shining in the giant's eyes. "Lestrade, I would thank you for the accommodation, but well, there's a lot to be desired." He quirked his lips at the king as the man shifted sheepishly on his feet. John was set back on the ground and followed Sherlock through the passage leading outside.
Sherlock stretched to his full height for the first time in nearly six months and the sight made John's heart leap. "Come along John." Sherlock said with a swaggering lilt to his voice. John ran after his giant friend into the woods and to adventures unknown.