"Well, if the walls of Lady Guinevere's chambers could speak, Lancelot, I suspect that no one has any doubts about the type of information they would divulge, would they?" sniped Sherlock Holmes at the other knight, who stood cross-armed in the doorway that we were both trying to get through. Making a grimace and having nothing to say, he stepped away, obviously unable to think of an appropriate reproach.

The room that we entered resembled more a hall, being large of size and having a high ceiling which was a large painting of battle and of vicious serpents with thousands of heads and millions of eyes, of noble knights and of beautiful ladies waiting for them. The walls themselves were entirely made of stone, and the sides that met with the ceiling up top had designs carved into the. So distracted was I that the verses of epics printed in stunning calligraphy upon the rough lower portion of them caught my eye much later. The most notable feature of this entire place was not the painting or even the room itself- it was the perfectly round table in the absolute centre of the room with twelve seats and twelve spots for swords to be placed; it would look as if the blades were radiating from the central circle inscribed on the red wood of this table.

"I'd like it request an audience with you, milord, for my colleague and I have something that we need to discuss quite urgently," said Sherlock to someone sitting in a throne at the foremost part of the room, a step above all else. He was speaking to King Arthur himself. As the king descended, Sherlock knelt on one knee, putting his head down and his left elbow on the standing left leg. I, feeling completely ill-at-ease, decided to follow his example and did the same, wincing of pain as I moved my arm.

Then, I felt someone's hand at my right shoulder and a rather sonorous voice beckoning both of us to stand up. Looking over at the knight next to me, he gestured for me to indeed stand, and so we did. In front of me stood a man of average height, not particularly young and not particularly aged, fair of both face and figure. His face looked friendly and his eyes were of an unusually light shade of blue with sparkles of laughter, and he was smiling.

"Any friend of Sir Sherlock's is a friend of mine," said the king, extending his hand towards mine. Surprised at his unusually non-royal manners, I smiled and shook his hand. We all moved over to sit at the round table, apparently to discuss "urgent business."

"Sire, I would be very grateful if you granted this man permission to be my assistant," said Sherlock in a completely business-like manner. Even though I was the man being discussed, I stayed silent, waiting for an answer. Honestly, I think that I resembled a child tempted with sweets at the moment, quite giddy with anticipation. "He would be my man-in-arms of sorts on expeditions and I have no doubts or qualms regarding his intelligence, which is more than I can say for many other men of Camelot."

"I would like to speak to both of you separately, gentlemen. First you," said King Arthur to me, amiably smiling and Sherlock standing up, nodding his head in acknowledgement as he quit the room. As he left, the doors which had just closed after him opened for just a moment as he winked at me, smiling like a partner in crime more than anything else, then the doors closed again.

"What is your name and what do you do?" asked the king, leading make time the chair opposite him.

"John Watson, son of Hamish of Devonshire, sir. I am a medical man by training, but I have just returned from battle."

"And how long have you been acquainted with Sir Sherlock?" As strange as it was, it was not intimidating at all to speak with him one on one. These are the people who are truly intimidating in their wrath and are the most cunning leaders of all. King Arthur was just as charismatic as he was portrayed in the rumours of Camelot, as well as magnetically charming.

"Not very long, sir. About two and a half hours, give or take half," I answered, and in response received only a laugh.

"Are you two in concord regarding the idea of your accompanying Sherlock? Or are you yourself against it? Be completely honest when answering me," he said, absolutely serious. I had no doubts. Even in the future, looking back upon this moment, I never regretted what I said next.

"Milord, I have known this man for about three minutes before he told me my life story, another five and he had deciphered all there ever was to know about me; yet it took me less than a minute to realise that he was offering me something that is not only what I am looking for, but something that I need. I was in concord with this entire idea before it was put into word or even entered our thoughts."

All King Arthur did was slowly narrow his eyes as the beginning of a smirk appeared on his face. Saying nothing, he stood up and gestured for me to leave.

Sherlock caught the door as I opened it, spinning around me and walking in with a flourish and a swagger to his step.

I was left alone in the large halls of the castle. I was not really alone, just the people walking by all seemed to be in a league of their own, looking down upon me. All of a sudden, a woman walked up to me, decidedly one of the most handsome ladies I have ever beheld, exotically so.

"You are here with Sir Boast-a-Lot, aren't you? I'd better warn you; sever all communication with him as soon as you can."

"Why?"

"Sir Boast-a-Lot does not get any royalties for being here. He likes the terrible things that the knights see, always being the most enthusiastic to investigate them. Why? They bring him pleasure, and I tell you to look out because I have no doubt that someday he will be the one to put one of the horrors there. Just a fair warning. You have Lady Guinevere to thank," said she, walking away the way she came. I was stunned by this impromptu statement of hers, which left a bitter aftertaste, to be honest. Not that I took what she had said to heart. No, I definitely hadn't.

As I there stood deep in thought, I heard Sherlock Holmes walking towards me. He had a glint in his eye and a grin on his face. All of my strange doubts and ominous feelings had dissipated as I followed him down the meandering, labyrinthine halls, looking around.

"I have a question for you; how did you that earlier?"

"Do what?"

"You knew all of those things about me. How?"

"I have already explained it to you. I don't know, I notice, is all. Unlike most people, I actually pay attention to my surroundings-" and I felt a strong pull that almost knocked me off of my feet. Actually, the person tugging me was careful to reach all the way around me to grab my right shoulder, avoiding my left.

We stumbled into an infirmary of sorts (I stumbled, Holmes gracefully stepped in); it was a startlingly clean place, and there was only a single nurse in the entire place. She was a nice-looking woman with a pleasant face and kind eyes.

"Oh, it's you, Sir Sherlock, you startled me. Who is this?" she asked, smiling meekly at Holmes next to me, whose facial expression seemed to be marmoreal in almost everyone's presence, excluding only a couple of people. She was not one of them, it seemed.

"John Watson, at your service," I answered, slightly bowing as is the custom.

Over the next couple of hours I observed the abuse of young Molly Hooper who brought forth specimens of varying levels of gruesomeness and of varying species to Holmes, refusing to accept my help, while Holmes carefully looked over them and stayed quiet. Any attempts to make conversation were futile, and the lack of patients made it all the more boring. I was also in for a small surprise; while not off on otherworldly adventures with the eccentric knight of ours, this is where I'd be working. After watching the strange relationship between the two people before me, because they obviously have known each other for quite a while, I decided that maybe he is a bit laconic to the point of rudeness at times, though that does not necessarily detract from his positive qualities.

That evening I also met Mrs. Hudson, and I have decided that she is a saint on earth. Not only does she not pay attention to the eccentricities of her other boarder, her cordiality towards myself was immeasurable. Treating Sherlock as a son, I saw that in her presence he even laughed, while she smiled and put more food in his plate and ale in his cup, insisting that he eat more. Of course he refused, but it was worth a try, was it not?

"We have something to do tomorrow, John. We shall head out early, so be wary," said Sherlock as we parted that evening before going each to his own respective room. Though curious to see what type of equipment he was talking about earlier, I suspected it to be for more of his experiments (which he mentioned briefly much earlier today), I resisted and went into my own infuriatingly empty one. All of my possessions fit into a single messenger bag, and I was left with more than three quarters of the place completely bare.

I couldn't sleep; I had nightmares once again that night. I've gotten used to them by this point, but I still need at least a small bit of rest at night. As I lay there, I think about what I have gotten myself into; I have signed up for going off on strange adventures with a taciturn knight errant with a bad reputation, charming smile, and childish happiness about him (whenever he actually decides to show it). This may be the best decision I have ever made, but it may also be the worst. I suppose that we will have to just wait and see, for the Fates shall be the ones to decide.