With every waking moment John became more and more unbearably bored with life. Even sitting upon a throne of silver and gold he could not see the point. Nor could he come to terms of where he was sitting. Ever since his father died in battle and he was crowned king of Bartholomew the painful boredom seemed to sting him ever more than before. He never wanted to be king, he never wanted to rule a kingdom, nor did he want to sit upon this god awful, uncomfortable chair and listen to the citizens of his kingdom complain for hours on end. John stared out the window, now ignoring the man kneeling before him begging for gold to send his daughter to somewhere off in the west to marry a wealthy lord. He wanted to be out there, going on adventures and quests. The man before him again begged.
"My Lord, this marriage will bring our family more wealth and happiness, when we receive the money we shall repay the debt, I swear," just then John noticed the man's daughter standing behind him, a look of sorrow painted upon her face, tears wetting her eyes.
"Why do you look so troubled, my dear?" John questioned, smiling at the girl. She was very pretty. Long brown hair flowing out from under a knitted hat, big eyes, and soft pink lips.
"I am not troubled, my Lord," She curtseyed. John stood, his crown wobbling with every step he took toward the girl. God, he hated his crown. He passed the man, who was looking up at John.
"Indeed you are, dear. For I can see it within your eyes, they water with every word, do not wish to be married?" John placed his hand upon the girls arm.
"I wish to make my family happy, it is my duty," she whispered, her voice quivering.
"What is your name, your father had not mentioned it,"
"Molly," she muttered, now looking down at her shoes.
"Molly," he sighed. "If you do not wish to marry speak now, for I shall not force you to," She looked up at him, a smile upon her lips. Such pretty lips.
"I do not wish to marry a man I have not yet seen, lord or not, for marriage is an act of love, not wealth," her voice was faintly bitter. John smiled brightly.
"You are a very wise woman, indeed. I, too, believe marriage is for love," John turned back to the man, who now appeared angry. "If it is money you seek, money I shall give. If my lady approves I shall take her as my handmaiden, for I take to her fondly. Three gold pieces a day, I would find that is sufficient," The man's eyes widened. "Molly, only if you would like," Molly smiled as she curtseyed.
"It would be an honor, my lord," John began walking back to his throne.
"If that is all, I shall see it a knight is to escort you from your home to the palace tomorrow when the sun is at it's highest. Pack your belongings and I shall have you stay in a room of your choice," The man stood, bowing, and thanking him. Molly only smiled.
When the two had left, John dismissed the guards before him. He hated them as well. Quickly he shed off his crown and the ugly green cape his father had passed down to him. They weighed a ton, John hated them. The hall was empty leaving him to his thoughts. He could not stand one more day of this boredom. Of being confined to the walls of his palace. He was constantly watched. Constantly told what his father would have done. Told of how he was too soft to be king. Too kind to the peasants and the workers of the palace. Where was the fault in being nice to those who catered to him? It seemed the right thing to do in his mind. He exited the hall towards the gate leading out the palace. Quickly, before one of the knights noticed he was leaving without an escort, he slipped into the alleyway that led out into the forests behind the grounds. He felt his heart lighten as he stepped out into the open, the green around him glittering with droplets of rain that had fallen the night before. Quickly he rushed through the forest toward his secret place.
Yes, he had a secret place. He hid all his things the court would not approve of there. Mostly books, drawings, and some of his own writings. Ever since he was a child he his things in there, animals he father would not let him keep, toys, and small gifts the citizens had given him. His father did not like him doing anything but working. Studying the lands of the world, fighting, and readying himself to become ruler of Bartholomew. He, and the court, were very strict on John, even now that he was the king. He thought when he became ruler he would have the freedom he wanted, he was wrong. Far into the forest, behind a bundle of think weed and trees, was a small opening into the side of a great hill. The opening was hidden by a large sheet of rock John placed there so no one would come across his secret place. The hole was just big enough for John to have slipped a mattress from the palace into. The court still thinks a guard stole it. John slid the rock onto its side and slipped inside. The inside was black. John placed his hand onto the wall that lead deeper into the cave. From what John knew the cave was made by the people who inhabited Bartholomew before it was taken over by his great, great, great, great, grandfather. It was neatly chiseled into a smooth hallway, leading into a single large room with indentations along the walls large enough for John to place his books and candles along them. As John walked deeper into the rock the sound of music grew louder. John drew his dagger from his belt and held it before him. The end of the hall was faintly lit. He stood in the dark, listening intently to the beautiful sounds of a violin. Who had found his secret place? John entered the large room containing his things, his most secret things. In the middle of the room stood a tall man, black hair curling around atop his head, his black clothes tight around his thin body. The man stood facing away from John, his pale hands sweeping a dirty, crumbling bow across a slightly off tune old violin that looked as if it were to snap in half any second. The music was a solemn one, but beautiful.
"Excuse me," John snapped, holding his dagger before him. The man stopped his playing, spinning on his heals. "Oh, you're here!" The man smiled. John was awestruck by his beauty. The man was pale as snow, lips pink and tin. His eyes, lit my the few candles lit around the room, were shimmering with a color John had yet to see before. He was, beautiful, more beautiful than any man he has ever seen. "Very nice place you have here, my name is Sherlock Holmes,"