Whoo! That last chapter broke my heart just writing it! I want to apologize if I don't get my next chapters out within a timely manner. I'm doing massive overhaul on my When The Hunter Becomes The Hunted, meaning I'm basically starting it over and I'll be bouncing back and forth between these two.

Also, I have a very quick sketch I did of Sherlock, if you'd like to see something of what I pictured he'd look like about now. It's at the end of the chapter.

Anywho, I do hope you enjoy this one. Sir Boast-A-Lot makes an appearance.

"Send word out to Prince Mycroft Holmes. Tell him he is needed back in London." John frowned at the messenger clad in black and blue perched on a matching black horse. "The sooner he's here, the better."

The messenger nodded tightly before snapping the reigns on his horse and riding down the outskirts of the town. John let out a small sigh. The first task of the day was done and now it was on to task two: Get Sherlock. By far, running the country on his own was a much easier fear than actually getting Sherlock to see the London fields again. But John's not going to be jarred so easily. He strolled languidly through the bustling people, watching them duck in and out of houses in dismal black outfits. Children provided the only source of color except for some of the gardens throughout. They ran happily about, blissfully ignorant of the state of disarray London was currently falling into. John envied them and their youth. He remembered once being that happy-go-lucky, but his bloodline determined his fate before hand, and ripped any fun away as he grew.

The children spotted him and their playing screeched to a halt. John saw it written in their faces. They could see the obviously tear streaked face. He knew they could. He wasn't stupid. No doubt these kids would be expecting abuse from his highness just about now. It's not like his parents set the best example for the Watson bloodline. John forced a smile and have the kids a small wave, but continued to walk on. If he was in his right mind, he'd have squatted down next to them and asked what they were playing, or maybe tell them the story of Sir Boast-A-Lot for the hundredth time. Sir Boast-A-Lot was an excellent tale. It portrayed the tale of a man who was all seeing and could look at you and tell you your whole life's story. He traveled the Isles with his trusty mate, Sir John Watson the Brave, and solved mysteries together.

The first story of Sir Boast-A-Lot was told to him when he was only four years old by the neighboring King of the Southern Isles, King Marion Moriarty. King Moriarty was, no, is the best story teller of all. He was very kind and continually visited London, until his son was born. That was the official kickstart of John's life going downhill and abandonment becoming his common friend. John shook himself out of his recollection. There is no point in making himself more deject than he already is. Thankfully, the palace doors weren't that far of a walk away from his current standpoint. He reached the palace gates quickly and shut them almost as quick behind him. No one was to come in through those gates, unless it was his messenger with word on Mycroft, the palace staff with daily necessities, or Mycroft himself. The presence of too many unnecessary guests would be too much for him.

John's thoughts assaulted him in the dreary light of the castle.

What happened to I am fire? Why does everything have to leave me? Why am I the one that always has to clean up someone else's mess?

He had no energy left to keep the poisonous words at bay. The past few days had washed salt over his fresh wounds, and now he was left weak and brittle. Easy prey for such self-loathing thoughts. John couldn't do anything but let them hit, wave after wave of filth encrusted venom.

Is it my existence that drives people away? Am I not good enough? Maybe, I should just leave. I could leave the palace and just walk out of here right now. But that wouldn't be fair to the good people of this town. Who was going to keep them together? Sherlock? No, stay for them. Once Mycroft returns, I leave. I'm going to decline my spot in line for the throne. Then I'll hop on my horse and high tail it out of here. Maybe, I can catch up with the knights that'll most certainly be gone by the time I ride. I could fight in the war. I could be Sir John Watson the Brave.

John steeled his face and found new strength to withdraw his emotions. This new plan, to leave, is the best course of action. He'll be able to leave all of his pain and misery in favor of a new life. One that doesn't involve abandonment. Just the adrenaline and danger of war. For once, the past will remain in the past.

Footsteps jostled John out of his void like state. He recognized the small figure and smiled, actually smiled, for the first time in two months.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson." John greeted her as he picked himself off the ground and engulfed her in a tight hug.

"John, it's good to see you too, although the only place I've been lately is the garden out front." Mrs. Hudson murmured.

John instantly released his grip and held his hands behind his back, feeling the scarlet begin to engulf his face. "I apologize Mrs. Hudson. It's just been so rough and…you're the closest thing I have to a parent right now."

A warm and friendly smile snuck its way onto Mrs. Hudson's face before she placed one hand on his face, cupping his cheek. "Oh, John. I've always thought of you as a son."

She released his face before following, "I should tell you, that messenger of yours. He's requested your presence in the garden."

John practically flew out the front doors, stopping only when he remembered that he'd just rudely left Mrs. Hudson in the hall.

"Uh, thank you, Mrs. Hudson." He yelled without looking back. All John could focus on was the fact that his fate laid before him in the garden. He'd either be king, or he'd get his chance to leave London, and fingers crossed it's the latter.

John pushed through the doors of the palace harder than necessary, resulting in a loud crash as the doors hit the carefully placed stonework adorning the outside walls of the palace. Light filled his eyes too quickly and he winced. When John's eyes came to, he blinked in disbelief.

It was Mycroft.

Is that Mycroft?

Yes.

That is definitely Mycroft.

John blinked in rapid succession, his jaw trying to form words but his brain unable to compute what stood in the garden amongst the soft grass. The eldest Holmes brother turned to the doors and smiled at John.

"John. I was on my way back when I ran into your messenger. It is a shame. I was rather fond of my parents." Mycroft smiled softly. "I hear there's a coronation to be held. When am I to do the honors?"