Written because sherlollysmooch on Tumblr and I are obsessed with Beauty and the Beast AU's right now. Dedicated to anyone who has ever wanted to turn John Watson into a candlestick. Molly will be introduced in the next chapter!

Once upon a time there lived a prince, at once both terrifying and beautiful in his brilliance. Rumors spread amongst his subjects of his extraordinary ability to deduce all a person's secrets with nary more than a single glance.

Prince Sherlock (for of course, a man with such astonishing talents would have a name equally as extraordinary) spent most of his days locked away in his laboratory, preferring the solitude his experiments offered to the mindless chatter of those he found inferior.

Indeed, his only companions were a select group who had known the prince for most of his twenty-two years, who understood the idiosyncrasies of their employer and when it was best to leave him be.

The household was run by Sherlock's older brother, who had relinquished his claim to the throne in favor of a role behind the scenes in which he felt more comfortable. Mycroft could always be found hovering around his brother, one eye always on his watch to ensure that they were never behind schedule.

Sherlock's closest friend (although the prince would never deign to call him such) was his bouteiller John, a man a few years Sherlock's senior. His family had served Sherlock's for generations, and the two boys had grown up together in the Holmes family's vast palace.

The castle's other inhabitants often wondered about John's strange bond with the enigmatic Sherlock, for surely there could be no two men more dissimilar in both appearance and personality. Whereas Sherlock was dark-haired and temperamental, John was fair and personable. He could often be found flirting with the maids (although a particular blonde beauty named Mary seemed to hold his attention with increasing regularity).

Sherlock would have preferred to stay locked in his castle with only his servants indefinitely; however, the demands of his position required him to mingle with common citizens more frequently than he liked. He often held elaborate balls at his palace, where the most stunning and powerful of his subjects could interact with him in the hopes of influencing his opinion. The prince would listen to them drone on, silently cataloguing every little detail about them and trying not to roll his eyes at their inanity.

It was on one such occasion that Sherlock's life, and the lives of all his servants, would be irrevocably changed.

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The evening was winding down, and Sherlock's patience was waning. He was currently engaged in conversation with Lady Katherine Riley (well, she was engaged in conversation; he was merely pretending to pay attention). Lady Katherine was an acquaintance of the guest of honor, renowned opera singer Janine de Garderobe, and had been invited to the party based on that association alone. Even Janine's husband, court composer Maestro Lestrade, found the woman irritating beyond compare.

Lady Katherine's diatribe on the horrid manners exhibited by those in the lower classes was cut short when they were interrupted. Wiggins, one of Sherlock's footmen, murmured something to the prince that had the latter man rushing off without even excusing himself from the lady's presence. Wiggins winked at her before following his master. Lady Katherine's shocked gasp at the indecency was drowned out by the din of the crowded ballroom.

Sherlock paid the affronted woman no further heed as his mind was suddenly preoccupied with a much more interesting conundrum. A thief had been caught attempting to steal food from the kitchen downstairs, and was currently being detained in the front hall.

When he arrived in the hall, his eyes scanned over a small, unremarkable old woman. Her greasy hair had seen better days, and hung around her shriveled face in lifeless curls. He was taken aback for a moment; surely someone daring enough to steal from a prince would be more noteworthy than this graying, wizened slip of a creature. She trembled under the watchful gazes of his guards and stared resolutely at the floor beneath her feet.

He cleared his throat, and the woman's head shot up. Her eyes widened when she saw him standing over her; she knelt in front of him, gripping the ends of his coat in her grimy hands.

"Please, sire, have mercy!" she wept. "Would you spare a loaf of bread for a starving old woman? I can offer you this rose as compensation."

She held out the blood-red flower.

The prince stared at her for a moment. Perhaps it was because he had just spent countless hours biting his tongue, or maybe it was because he wanted to show off for the crowd that had amassed behind him as partygoers learned of the disturbance in the hall. Whichever it was, he began deducing the woman, detailing every one of her secrets for all to hear.

His observations were cruel and senseless. The protestations of the thief went ignored as he continued to taunt her, laughing as his remarks became increasingly personal and unkind. The tittering of the crowd urged him on.

He did not spare the woman another glance until he noticed something odd about her countenance. Where before her expression had been helpless and downtrodden, she now appeared furious. The lines on her face smoothed themselves out. Her hair straightened and lengthened. She stood up, the cane she had been holding forgotten by her side.

Sherlock took a step back and stared in horror as she transformed into an enchantress right before his eyes. Realizing his mistake, he tried to apologize for his earlier actions, but the damage had already been done.

The Enchantress smirked as she looked down upon the prince.

"Your arrogance is your undoing," she whispered, but everyone in attendance understood as though she had spoken directly into their ears. "You have no compassion or love in your heart."

Frightened villagers rushed out of the castle, though the prince and his servants remained frozen in fear and shame.

The Enchantress cursed the prince and changed him into a monstrous beast. The visages of his servants were altered as well, their punishment for standing idly by as their master humiliated a defenseless woman. All memory of them was removed from the minds of those they held dear. An never-ending winter plagued the palace and it's grounds, a reflection of its master's icy heart.

Before she disappeared, The Enchantress gave the prince the rejected red rose as a gift. If he could learn to love another before the last petal fell, and that person loved him in return, he and his servants would be returned to their human forms. But if he failed, they would remain in their cursed forms forevermore.

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