The Dragon's Call

Chapter Two

Sherlock emerged from his room and entered the physician's chambers.

"I got you water." Gaius said. "You didn't wash last night."

Sherlock thought this might be small talk. He'd never gotten the hang of small talk and frankly, he didn't know why he should bother. He grunted an unintelligible reply.

"Help yourself to breakfast."

Sherlock sat down, eyed the porridge on the table, and began to eat it indifferently.

It happened in an instant. Gaius knocked over the bucket of water and Sherlock's magic held it in thin air before it reached the ground—well of course it would be falling he's a scientist, the variables should be as similar as possible—

Gaius let out an inadvertent gasp, though he must have been expecting it. Sherlock let the bucket drop. Reflexes. He silently berated himself.

"How did you do that?" The man asked. "Did you incant a spell in your mind?"

Sherlock wouldn't have answered, but the man would have kept nagging him.

"I don't know any spells." He said it as patiently as possible. Surely he had explained that yesterday?

"So what did you do? There must be something."

Sherlock sighed in irritation. Couldn't the man see he was not wanted? "It just happens," he growled, only just managing to keep himself from screaming.

There was no sound from the man for a long time, and Sherlock almost dared to hope he'd given up, when he said, "Well, we better keep you out of trouble. You can help me until I find some paid work for you. —Here." He placed a small sack and bottle on the table.

Sherlock almost told him exactly what he could do with his charity but he recognized a truce when it was offered, and picked them up. —For John—

"Hollyhock and feverfew for lady Percival," Gaius said, "and this is for Sir Olwin. He's as blind as a weevil, so warn him not to take it all at once."

Sherlock nodded.

Suddenly serious, the man added, "And Sherlock, I need hardly tell you that the practice of any form of enchantments would get you killed."

Sherlock would have told the man he wasn't stupid but he'd already used it twice when he didn't mean to. He thought it best to say nothing.

Sir Olwen was blind, as Sherlock had reason to find out. Squinting, he groped for the bottle, didn't look at the label (not that he would have been able to read it) and before Sherlock had finished telling him not to drink it all he'd drank it.

Since he didn't immediately fall over dead Sherlock guessed he'd be all right.

Sherlock was walking through Camelot when he came to the knight's practice area. Some knight was throwing daggers at a serving boy carrying a heavy wooden target. Sherlock watched for a few moments. The knights were laughing and joking, and didn't seem to even register the boy as more than the butt of their jokes. Sherlock knew everything about him in one glance. And in fact, all the knights were pretty easy to read. The leader, and the one doing the throwing, was a sandy-haired man with a pretty good aim, as knights went.

The boy finally let the thing fall and it rolled over to Sherlock's feet. He put a foot on it, studying the knight with the blue eyes. This one was different. Interesting.

"That's enough," he said mildly. It took some effort for Sherlock to do mild but he'd always been a master of disguise, of hiding in plain sight. There was an art to hiding, he'd learned, and many ways to go about it. He should know, he'd been doing it his whole life, one way or the other.

"What?" The knight actually looked puzzled. Sherlock smirked. Time to be the 'hero'. He had a feeling this wouldn't be boring. "you've had you're fun, my friend." That was revenge against Gaius, and his boy. He had the feeling my friend would affect this knight similarly.

"Do I know you?" –Oh, come on. You aren't that stupid.—

"I'm Sherlock."

"So I don't know you."

"No."

"Yet you called me 'friend'." He actually seemed more curious than insulted. Definitely interesting. More brain than he let on, though he probably didn't use it much.

"That was my mistake," Sherlock answered. He was liking this.

"Yes, I think so." He was perfectly cool, unfazed. A wonderful opponent, in fact, better than Sherlock had had in some time.

Now in for the kill. "yeah. I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass."

He started to walk away, waiting for the next move.

"Or I one who could be so stupid," the knight answered. Sherlock stopped. He had a mind to deduce everything about this man's personal life right in front of his friends, and he was about to when the man spoke.

"Tell me, Sherlock, do you know how to walk on your knees?"

A pity. He'd descended into threats, which would lead to physical violence, the same old boring routine. This was not interesting anymore. And it had seemed so full of promise.

"No."

"Would you like me to help you?"

"I wouldn't if I were you." Only, if Sherlock was the blue-eyed man, he probably would, judging by the way things were going.

He was laughing. Sherlock hated being laughed at. "Why?" the knight asked. "What are you going to do to me?"

"You have no idea."

Everything was fine until it got physical. That's where his luck ran out. Not that he couldn't have won if he had been given the chance, but suddenly he was outnumbered by many many swords, and when he let up the blue eyed man twisted his arm behind his back (now that he couldn't do anything about it).

"I'll have you thrown in jail for that," the man said, and he wasn't lying.

"Who do you think you are," Sherlock asked, "the King?"

The other man smiled, the smile of the victor. "No. I'm his son, Arthur."

.

A/N: There's only one part where I really couldn't get the script to fit to Sherlock's personality, I think: the part where he said he'd never had a friend who could 'be such an ass.' So, just pretend that's something Sherlock would say