A/N: An innocent little fit of whimsy.


The first story I ever wrote inevitably started with, 'Once upon a time…".

I had spelt 'ounce' instead of 'once', but I was very young then. Young enough that I was adamant that there had to be a happy ending and that I had to have a sterling, upright knight to save the demure and stunningly beautiful princess. I wrote that upon discovering the princess was in grave danger, the knight would leap upon his horse, urging it into a frenzied gallop, racing towards danger without an 'once' of fear in his heart. He would reach out his hand down before the face of his love to-be and by his strength alone, pull her up behind him. He would vanquish his foe and earn her love. Then they would live happily ever after.

That's how the story goes. That's how all stories go and you would be surprised how much real life can mirror that fantasy.

There are discrepancies, of course. One, never in a million years would I have cast myself to play the part of the princess. In fact, I would fancy that before this particular incident, I would consistently act as the knight. The second distinction would be that, my knight, Holmes, was the reason I was running for my life in the first place. He had proposed to use me as bait to lure the confirmed murderer and as of yet, unknown accomplice we had been tracking for several days.

But other than that, it was all very much the same.

Holmes had procured an unharnessed horse from God knows where, fiery as they come, riding recklessly, but gracefully. He would have made any much shorter jockey quite green with envy. He reached out his hand, latching onto my forearm and pulled me up behind him, every muscle in his lean form giving him the strength to execute the action with relative ease.

"Come Watson, before they get away!"

Holmes pushes the horse still faster, the wind whipping his hair. The murderer's accomplice has turned out to be our client's accountant just as Holmes predicted. As we race along with me clutching at my friend's jacket, Holmes laughs because there is no fear in his heart. However, it turns grim as we see the murderer draw an axe as he approaches a nearby constable.

"Watson, your revolver is in my pocket."

I snake my arm from its grip around his waist to his pocket and remove the familiar pistol. I may be bouncing around on the back of the horse, but somehow my arm is steady. I get the blackguard right in the heart. Holmes reins the horse into a tight loop and delivers a hard kick, knocking the accountant's glasses from his face and causing him to fall hard to the pavement.

We vanquished our foe. We gentlemen, we modern day knights.

And as such, I must give thanks where it is owed.

"Holmes, thank you for saving me."

This is the part where the knight tells his princess, 'I love you.'

"I needed you," Holmes says.

I am most certainly not a princess and so, that was more than enough for me.

We may not have a happy ending. More likely than not, it will go up in flames around us and I will have no children of my own to tell this story to. But my books will find their way into many, many hands and they will read it. If they look close enough they will find the fact inside the fantasy. They will find truth.

That knights in shining armor are not always very sterling and that princesses turn out to be a rather sinful prince, but still beautiful, Holmes reassures me. We ride out into the sunset and we don't look back.

If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be truth.

Truth is, it's real. Love is real.