Long, long ago, in a land neither here nor there, in which magic still drew breath, there was an oracle that told of two unlikely companions and the adventure that drew them together. It began its tale, as most tales were begun in those days, with a rhyme.

The first wears an expression of infinite scorn,

the second graced with a broken horn;

seeking the Great Cake they go,

but there's something the second doesn't know.

John should have been walking on clouds. Against all odds, he had been chosen to accompany the clan's outcast on his way to examine the Great Cake, the source of power and magic for all magical creatures. It was a position that warranted much grandeur and honor- so much so, that even the most glorified of unicorns had wished to be chosen.

Instead, the elders had chosen John, who wasn't sure who was the most unhappy- the other unicorns, his sister, or him. That an old fighter with a chipped horn who was past his prime had been the one to go had so upset his clansmen that there had nearly been a riot- not that anyone was truly foolish enough to start a fight with an elder who could end them all with a simple blink. There had been threats against his life and the lives of his sister and her consort which John hadn't taken well. Fortunately, even the hot-headed younger unicorns had backed off after watching him nearly skewer the fourth challenger. (To be honest, it hadn't been his intention. Harriet, his sister, had called his name, so he turned his head towards her, which had pointed his cracked horn at an unannounced opponent's chest. Clara, Harriet's consort, had fretted over him afterwards, but he had been far too busy yelling at Harriet to notice.) Harriet was feistier and more warlike than John had ever been- quite overprotective, too- and she hadn't wanted her "little Johnny" to go away, ignoring that he'd already been to war before thank-you-very-much. That didn't meant that he was excited to go, though. Fighting a dragon and all the other nonsense along the way wasn't something he was excited to do. The war had left him crippled, and all he wanted was to find a nice, quiet place to fade away. Instead, he was wandering across a meadow trail behind the most obnoxious creature alive.

Sherlock was a genius, and he had the social skills of one. While he could identify the faintest tracks and read someone's life story in the way he stood, he really had no concept of what was and what wasn't acceptable. The number of times John had had to bail him out because he'd pointed out that some animal was cheating on her partner was so great, John wasn't even trying to keep track, or prevent it, anymore. There was something quite sad about the younger unicorn, despite his incessant need to prove himself self-sufficient, though John could see that it would be better not to mention how thin that faรงade was. It probably had something to do with the fact that Sherlock was jet black, unlike most unicorns who were white or with a slight tint of color. John himself was pure white (when he wasn't covered in dirt, which was the majority of the time) which he usually found unfortunate (since dirt shows up very well on a white coat). He was aware that there was some old law that had decreed that black unicorns not be allowed into the clan, but John couldn't see any reason to still follow it. There was, after all, also a law that said that if a unicorn's horn be chipped, it was to be hacked off and the unicorn extradited.

In John's opinion, the old laws were too focused on death. For all he was obnoxious, particularly when he was sulking and giving John the cold shoulder, Sherlock was decent enough, more than quite a few of John's clansmen. Sherlock at least hadn't made a fuss about having John as a companion. His objection had been to having company in general. John's "condition" as most called it, didn't even seem to register. His brother was Mycroft, the shadow head of the clan, and Mycroft had told him quite firmly that if his brother was going to go talk to one of the dragons, he was going to have to bring a companion, and that was final.

A small cough caught his attention, and John realized that he had drawn even with Sherlock, whose face was wearing a decided annoyed expression.

"What?" John demanded, not liking the look on Sherlock's face.

"You were thinking. I could feel it."

"And?"

"And it was annoying! Don't do it!" Sherlock exploded.

If he was intending to cow John, that wasn't the way to go about doing it. He'd grown up with Harriet, who'd once thrown a tantrum so full of anger that even the elders had been worried. John had handled that with calm, so Sherlock wasn't going to be able to shake him.

"Tell you what," he said instead of the insult on the tip of his tongue. "I won't think if you won't be an arse and run off again. Don't bother denying it; I saw the glee on your face when you thought you'd lost me."

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but instead of saying anything more, he shut it and nodded.

They stood side by side for another few moments, both shifting awkwardly, until John sighed and said, "Look, we don't have to fight, do we? I know that you didn't want me along. I didn't want to come; I promise. Unfortunately, we're stuck together. Why don't we just make the best of it? Right now, I'm cold and tired, so why don't we lie down for the night- which is coming on quickly."

He waited patiently as Sherlock surveyed him with a heavy gaze, which John returned steadily. A moment passed, and Sherlock nodded his head.

"Very well then. I'll take the first watch."

John nodded. Normally he'd volunteer to take the first watch, but his horn was aching fiercely. All he wanted was to sleep for a while and hopefully feel better once he woke up.

Unfortunately, despite being curled up on soft grass, he soon found himself unable to sleep. He was too busy thinking about his cantankerous companion. For all his abruptness, Sherlock did have a somewhat... less curt side. It wasn't quite kind and certainly not soft and most of it was for his own benefit, but he had occasionally proved that he could be considerate. He hadn't said anything more and his tone had been commanding as he said it, but he also didn't make any snide remarks, which John was coming to see was Sherlock's version of friendly concern.

"I thought you weren't going to think?"

John snorted, more amused than annoyed. "Sorry. I couldn't sleep."

The black unicorn nodded, but he seemed confused. "John, I... have a question for you."

"All right..."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I was picked, Sherlock. We already had this conversation. I'm not going back, all right? So just... let it go."

"That wasn't what I meant. I'm curious because you come from a lineage of well-known heroes, all of whom were virtuous- in the clan's sense, so perhaps obedient would be more accurate- yet you don't avoid me."

"I don't see why I should, other than not to have to deal with your prat-like tendencies. Besides," he said, grinning, "I could've been stuck having to train new warriors with Donovan and Anderson. I don't know how they can possibly think they're being discreet; you just have to watch them for a few seconds before they start making eyes at each other."

Sherlock made a nose that was half scornful and thoughtful, then lapsed into silence, which John took to mean that he was done talking.

"How did it happen?"

"What?" John asked, thrown by the sudden question.

"Your horn. How did it get broken?"

John huffed a soft laugh. "Oh, that. Harry and I were messing about after the celebration of me reaching adulthood, and it got dark faster than we'd anticipated. On our way back to the clan's field, I stumbled and got my horn stuck in a tree. Harry wasn't thrilled about the delay and pushed me, which snapped it. I didn't even realize that it was broken until we got back and Mum fainted."

"I see... Your horn is the reason you aren't repulsed by me, then."

"Well, that and you're an idiot." At Sherlock's spluttered indignation, John chuckled. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

It took a long time for Sherlock to reply, and by the time he did, John was fast asleep.

"Goodnight, John Watson."

John was woken up by the familiar tingle of danger in his spine. He jumped to his feet just in time to avoid betting hit by a... pinecone. Suspicious, he whirled around and saw Sherlock standing off a ways, a bemused expression on his face.

"Hmm... you reacted quite quickly. Usually warriors who've reached your age have much duller senses."

"What?" John asked, not ready to process what he'd just heard.

"Your reaction time. It was quite quick- very impressive, despite your advanced age!"

"I'll show you advanced age! Get back here!"

John set off after Sherlock, even he knew that he had no chance of catching him. Sherlock was younger and taller, and John had slept wrong on his shoulder- which was not a cop out, not at all. It didn't stop him from giving chase and snorting with exhilaration as they raced through the meadow and into the forest at the end. They galloped around trees and through spider webs, not bothering to try to memorize their path; forests never stayed in place, so even attempting to remember the way out would be fruitless.

Sherlock suddenly veered to the right in an attempt to throw off his pursuer, but John had followed trickier opponents in the past without losing them. He was able to skitter around the impromptu turn and start to gain speed again, though he only needed to do so for a moment.

His laughter echoed throughout the entire forest, disturbing animals and insects alike.

"You... Sherlock, you're...!" He was laughing too much to form a complete sentence.

"This isn't funny, John!"

"Yes... it is! Your- your horn is stuck in a tree! How did you manage it?"

Sherlock scowled, but it was a wasted effort. His face was two inches from a tree trunk, and John was standing behind him, only barely holding in another bout of joviality.

"The same way you did, I suppose- I didn't see the tree. It just... popped up in front of me," he said plaintively, which only caused the short unicorn to burst into more laughter. "Really, John, the least you could do is look at it."

With a final chuckle, John walked up to the tree and examined the place where Sherlock's long, black horn was embedded. It was rammed in quite far, leaving only a little bit of space between Sherlock's tensed brow and the bark. If his horn hadn't been damaged, John could have used it to talk to the tree, hopefully convincing it to let Sherlock go. As it was, however, it looked like there was only one thing to do. He was going to have to dig the horn out with his hooves.

Sighing, he backed up a few paces and closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself. He hated having to stand on his hind legs; it hurt more often than not, and he wasn't designed to be standing on them.

"What are you doing? Are you leaving me?"

"No, Sherlock, I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to have to dig it out, all right? Don't worry; I'll be careful," he replied, eyes still closed.

"You don't need to do that, John."

"Of course I do! I can't just... leave you!"

"I think you'll find that I'm no longer stuck."

Confused, John opened his eyes, then nearly sat down from surprise. Where Sherlock had previously been standing, there was a massive red velvet cake so tall it loomed over him. It had large eyes of indistinguishable colour and a mouth that was quirked into a smug smile.

"You.. you're... what?" John stuttered.

"I am the Great Cake, John. Every generation, I take the form of an outcast so my brother can send me one of his many warriors. Until now, none have been worthy, but you, John son of Wat, you are just as damaged as I. What will you ask of me as your reward?"

John could not speak. His mind could not quite grasp the idea that Sherlock was a cake (The Great Cake!) let alone that he was being given a wish, as though he had somehow freed a rather stingy genie.

"John," Sherlock- the Great Cake?- called. "John, I need you to tell me what you desire. John. John! John!"

"John!"

"Wha-? Mm, Sherlock? What am I doing in the hospital? Did you solve the case?"

John's flatmate was busily preening, preparing himself for John's oncoming praise. "Of course I did; it was incredibly obvious. Scotland Yard ought to have its force questioned. This was the simplest 'case' yet."

"And?" John asked wearily. He really wanted to go back to sleep, but his curiosity was demanding to be satisfied.

"The grandmother was slipping them LSD in the cake. They weren't insane at all, merely experiencing the hallucinogenic properties of a drug they weren't aware they were ingesting. Apparently, they weren't such lovely grandchildren after all. The old woman was dosing them to make them pay for breaking an antique vase. She confessed on the way back to the Yard."

"Wait. She laced the cake? With LSD?"

"Yes, that's what I said. Really, John, you aren't usually this thick."

"I ate that cake!"

"Yes, I know. That's how I was able to determine that they were being drugged. Oh, come now, John. It was for the greater good or whatever it is you're always saying is important!"

"I'll wring your neck for the greater good! Don't you dare get up. Don't you do it! If you leave, I will hunt and chase you down, Sherlock Holmes. Don't think I won't! Get back here, you ponce!"

Happy birthday, dear! I hope this turned out well!