King Thrushbeard - A Sherlock/John fairy tale
AN: This is the result of a 'fanfic-contest' I had with some friends. We each picked a fandom and had to make a farily tale AU for it. I was assigned 'King Thrushbeard', a German fairy tale written by the Brothers Grimm. I don't really like it because of various reasons - therefore this turned into a crackfic.
Once upon a time there was a very beautiful princess called Sherlock. She lived with her sister, Queen Mycroft, in a little kingdom called London. The Queen wanted princess Sherlock to marry, but unfortunately her sisters' conversational skills were lacking – and that's putting it politely. Sherlock was not at all fit to be in the company of anyone. Whoever was forced to talk to her would soon leave the room in anger, calling her all sorts of insulting names (which we will not repeat here because that sort of language does not work well with the diction of fairy tales).
The Queen was rather desperate. In her attempt to find a husband for her sister, she invited all noblemen of London to her castle so Sherlock could inspect them. Mycroft told her that this was the last chance for her to pick someone for marriage. Her sister was neither impressed nor amused, and announced that she'd rather go unmarried for her entire life than marry a simpleton.
When the day came, Mycroft had all the peers of the realm line up in the throne room. After a moment of waiting, Sherlock stepped into the room. Her purple silk dress flowed elegantly to the floor; her dark hair was pinned up, leaving only a few stray streaks to surround her pale face, and her prettily embroidered blue scarf added that little extra kick to her appearance. She was oozing beauty and haughtiness.
Slowly, Sherlock walked towards the first nobleman. The silver-haired Duke seemed a little nervous but tried to hide it by smiling at the princess, who gave him a cold look. "Well, he's not bad looking. And he's the least irritating duke I've ever seen. But have you seen the way he wears his collar? It shows a fondness for hunting otters. Inacceptable!"
And without another word, the princess turned towards the next nobleman, a young Irish count who was decidedly less nervous than the duke. On the contrary, he smiled confidently. Sherlock eyed him for at least a minute in total silence. "Interesting… The way he dresses says he's intelligent, more intelligent than the rest of you idiots in here, anyway. But the single hair on his sleeve tells me he's also quite mad and will not hesitate to be cruel. No."
Mycroft rolled her eyes and sighed inwardly.
Sherlock walked towards the next nobleman, a lanky viscount, who opened his mouth to speak to her. With a quick and elegant gesture of her hand, the princess let the words die in his mouth. She eyed him with disbelief. "That one lowers the IQ of the whole kingdom!"
With a clearly visible shudder she turned her back on him and approached a fair-haired king from the neighbouring country. Something that could be interpreted as a smile graced her mouth with its presence as she laid her icy and piercing eyes on him. "Mostly harmless", she commented, "but have you seen his chin? It makes him look like a thrush, doesn't it?" Even the diamonds in her earrings sparkled mockingly. "Henceforth, we will all call him King Thrushbeard." With poise, she hid a scoffing giggle behind her fan before moving on.
To Queen Mycroft's displeasure, the princess continued her harsh judgment of all the noblemen throughout the evening. A wealthy earl was dismissed with a simple "Dear god, what is it like in your funny little brain? It must be so boring!", and at a puffed-up baron she snapped: "He can't have children – just look at the turn-ups on his breeches!" A brown-haired archduke approached her, obviously anxious after all her observations, but she waved him away with a very uninterested expression, sighing: "Gay!"
Her remarks grew snider and snider by the hour, until Queen Mycroft snapped: "For God's sake, Sherlock! I warned you! If you don't want any of these nice noblemen, I will marry you to the first minstrel who comes to my door. I swear it!"
The noblemen gasped, and Sherlock snorted, not believing for a second that her sister would do something as stupid as marrying a woman of noble birth to a mere minstrel.
The next day, Queen Mycroft was wakened by a horrible noise that just wouldn't stop, even after she had buried her head under her silken cushion. With a growl she got up, and told her servants to bring the person responsible for the awful racket, so that she could punish them.
The man they brought to her was a minstrel. Apparently he had caused a little riot by trying to play the violin in front of the castle, but for some mysterious reason the smallfolk had shouted at him and even thrown a variety of vegetables at him. Queen Mycroft eyed him thoroughly, remembered her last night's promise, and told the minstrel that if he swore to never ever return to this castle, he'd get princess Sherlock as a wife. The violin player was more than happy to agree.
And so, to Sherlock's apparent disgust, the princess was married to the minstrel the very same day. Throughout the wedding Queen Mycroft smiled serenely, almost unable to wait for her sister to disappear and finally leave her alone.
After the wedding, the violin player took his new wife to his home. They had to walk quite a while, and Sherlock complained that they should've taken a coach or at least a horse with them. When her new husband explained that he owned neither because he was poor, she cackled, thinking it was all a very elaborate practical joke.
They strolled through fields and forests, the minstrel sometimes asking her why she didn't want to know whose lands they were walking through.
"King Thrushbeard's lands, of course", she answered briskly, "What a silly question!"
"How did you know?", her husband asked in wonderment.
"The science of deduction, husband… It is all very simple, really. The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes."
In the evening of the third day, they arrived at a little shabby hut. The man said, "Look, wife, this is where we live."
The princess eyed it with distaste. "This is where we have to sleep tonight?"
"Yes", said the poor minstrel, "and not only tonight, but forever, for this is my home."
Sherlock snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. This may be your property, but you own a castle."
"No I don't", the violin player shook his head in confusion.
"Yes, you do", she said matter-of-factly, and strode towards the hut with a sigh. She opened the door and eyed the empty room with obvious disgust. "Where are the servants?"
"I have no servants."
The princess rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course you do. You are not capable of looking after yourself."
The minstrel stared at her with anger. "Of course I can look after myself! I have done so for all my life."
Sherlock snorted again and folded her arms. "It is evident that you have not. I bet you cannot even cook for your own life."
"I can! But from now on you will cook, for you are my wife, and wives cook for their husbands."
"I am a princess. I do not cook!" She stomped her little, delicate foot on the wooden floor.
"You are not a princess anymore. You married a penniless violin player."
Sherlock sighed with desperation, hoping the practical joke would soon end. "Do we really have to do this?"
The violin player glared at her. "YES! Now go and cook our dinner!"
"Alright..." The princess shrugged, "I did warn you."
At dawn, the poor minstrel entered his little hut. A pot was waiting on the table, and next to it a very bored looking princess was sitting on the little bench. The violin player lifted the lid of the pot and saw a few pieces of carrot. He frowned. "What is this?"
"Dinner", Sherlock said coldly.
"It is … carrot. Raw carrot."
"Perfectly sound analysis."
"You could at least have cooked it over the fire."
"I don't know how to make a fire."
The minstrel frowned. "You're not being a very good wife, you know."
"If you want a wife that cooks and knows how to make a fire, don't marry a princess. Marry one of your servant girls."
"I have no servant girls! I am poor!", the violin player shouted furiously.
Sherlock scowled. "This is ridiculous!"
The violin player grimaced and started to eat the carrots.
In the morning, the minstrel told Sherlock that she had to help earning money. He gave the stubborn princess branches of the willow, to make baskets. Sherlock crossed her arms and straightaway refused to make baskets, telling the minstrel that he should ask his servant girls to do it. Again and again, the violin player insisted that he had no servants, and again and again, the princess insisted that yes, of course he had servants.
Tired of her complaints, the minstrel sent Sherlock to the market, where she was to sell pottery. Sherlock sold all her pottery to the lowest bidder and went home after only an hour of haggling. The violin player was not at home, and thus she sat down to contemplate why he was being such a cruel husband to her. In the evening, she reluctantly served him a plate of apples upon his return, and handed over the money she had earned.
The next day, Sherlock was sent to the market again, with another wagon full of pottery. But as she began her haggling, a hussar rode by and deliberately made her wagon fall over. All the pottery was in pieces. Instead of fainting in shock, Sherlock merely frowned after the man, sighed and walked home, wondering why she had to live such an unpleasant life and where she would find a reasonably wealthy man to elope with.
When her husband returned in the evening, he asked her about her day on the market. The princess stared at him for a moment, and then began to tell him of the unfortunate events. The minstrel made a few angry remarks about the hussar and then decided that Sherlock was to work as a cook at King Thrushbeard's castle instead, telling her she wasn't even able to sell goods at the market.
The princess eyed him in shock. "I have married a madman!", she hissed.
"No", the minstrel replied, "This way you can bring back food for us to eat."
In the morning, she entered the castle's kitchen. "I am princess Sherlock", she said with a demanding voice. "My husband says you must give me food for him to eat."
With the greatest respect, the maids gave her the finest food they had. Sherlock grinned from ear to ear and took it back to the violin player's hut. She ate the best part of the food herself, and left the rest for her husband's dinner.
Finally, he seemed happy with his wife. They continued to live like this for a while; the princess becoming more and more convinced that the minstrel was raving mad with each day that passed.
One day, the princess heard the maids in the kitchen whisper to each other that King Thrushbeard was to be married this very evening, casting her confused looks. With a frown, she stopped dead in her tracks and decided to stay and have a look at said wedding. She took a plate of pralines, sat onto the comfiest chair she could find, and waited.
When the time of the feast arrived, Sherlock stood in a dark corner and eyed the crowd, her eyes scanning it for the king and his bride. She had another plate of pralines with her and ate them with great pleasure.
All of a sudden, the king stood in front of her and held out a hand. "Please, little servant girl, dance with me!"
Sherlock frowned and shook her head. "I am a princess, you idiot! How many times do I have to tell you?"
But the king did not listen, he took Sherlock's hand and pulled her on the dance floor, the plate of pralines fell onto the floor and the chocolates scattered everywhere.
The princess was screeching in anger by now, for she preferred eating the pralines to dancing with the obviously mad king.
"Do not be angry", King Thrushbeard said to her. "I know who you are, for I am the minstrel, and I am also the hussar who destroyed the pottery. I did it all to make you see how arrogant and proud you are."
"I know all this!", Sherlock shouted very un-princess-like, and folded her arms in anger. "I recognised you the minute you came to my father's castle dressed up as that ridiculous minstrel! Do you really think a beard can hide your hideous chin? You are raving mad and I do not want to be your wife, no matter how rich you are! You do not know how to treat a princess, and you do not deserve being my husband!"
King Thrushbeard looked at her in great surprise. "You knew all along?"
"Yes of course I did! I am a high functioning sociopath! Did you think I was stupid?"
The king was lost for words, and so was the crowd of noblemen and –women who stood around them. They stared at the pair, not knowing what they were talking about, and very shocked that Sherlock was telling the king off.
The princess eyed them all in great disdain. "Look at you lot! You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing."
No one answered.
She turned back to the king. "Now take me back to my father's castle!", Sherlock demanded. "I want to get away from you as fast as possible!"
Thrushbeard shook his head. "We are married, and we cannot undo this."
The princess frowned at him, and then suddenly smiled happily, as if she knew something the king did not. "If you insist… We shall remain husband and wife. Forever! It cannot be undone. But if you ever do something like this again, I will run away with a proper minstrel, who knows how to play the violin. Your fiddling is very much out of tune and it hurts my delicate ears."
It wasn't until late that night the king found out why the princess had smiled so happily. Sherlock wasn't a princess at all – she, or rather he, was a prince who liked to dress up as a princess.
After King Thrushbeard had gotten over the first shock, they lived happily ever after.
The end.