Part VIII
by ElenaC


Warning: For those who don't like that sort of thing, there be mer!sex ahead, lol. I've toned it down a bit and hope that it's not too racy for this site.

A/N: Thanks for reading and for your comments! I'll be posting the last bits in rapid succession so as not to keep you waiting too long, and then I'll get back to writing the Vampyre fic :-)


"So," King James said severely, "you have been consorting with fishmen."

John sighed wearily. The king's pleasure at having his son and heir back safe and sound had been surprisingly short-lived, and already John was back to being continually inadequate. "No, Sire. With mermen. More precisely, with a merman."

His father's broad face hardly moved, but one corner of his mouth rose beneath his moustache in a royal sneer. "I do not care by what name you call them. You have been to the sea, every day, to meet with one of them instead of taking care of your duties at court. I assumed you were studying, preparing for the throne, writing to a prospective bride, or at least practicing the knightly arts. Instead, I find that you spend your time with a fishman. Why, for heaven's sake?"

"I have been forging diplomatic relations," John said icily, his indignation giving him the incentive to twist the truth. Besides, it was only a very slight twisting, wasn't it? "Sherlock is the Emperor's second son. We were on equal terms all along." Yes, that was still a source of amusement and amazement for him. He wondered why Sherlock had never mentioned that bit, but, with it in mind, the merman's occasional odd remark now made sense.

"Diplomatic relations, indeed. Half the court saw you next to him, and how you snarled at Buchanan when he was reluctant to allow your orders to supersede mine. Do you take me for a fool? There are already jokes about you and that creature, and they are repeated often enough to have reached even my ears. The prince and the fishman. You have made me a laughing stock."

"I do not care," John said, aware that he was sounding like a petulant child and growing even angrier because of it. "He understands me better than anything with legs does, and that includes this court and everyone in it. He found me when I was in danger and everyone here was either doing nothing effective or fiddling their thumbs for want of ideas."

"I'll not have you belittling the efforts of my investigators, John!"

"I'm not belittling them! If I were, they'd be too small to see! The point is, you are disapproving and jeering my friend who was there for me when no one else was. Well, I'm not having it. He's not a 'fishman', Sire. He's an honourable, highly intelligent being whose conversation is a hundredfold more stimulating than anything I have ever experienced at this royal court." He fairly spat the last two words. "If I had to choose, I should prefer his company over anyone else's."

The king had risen from his throne. His face had darkened. "So Buchanan and five guards observed when you were quite unable to keep your hands off him."

"I thought he was dying, and I was merely offering my assistance! You treated him like a common prisoner, a criminal even, and all he wanted was to help!"

"Very well, John. I can see that I shall be unable to accomplish anything by appealing to your reason. Therefore, you are henceforth categorically forbidden to go near the coast, and do not think I will not enforce this edict. In any case, it's time to stop that foolish nonsense. Tomorrow, a delegation of the court of Iwerthon will visit in order to present Marie, the princess. It's high time. I expect you to formally ask for her hand in marriage."

John, who had stood as well, fell back onto his chair, thunderstruck. To be forced into marriage so suddenly had an effect akin to tearing a veil from his eyes, and suddenly, he saw what his heart had known all along. The realisation was, quite literally, staggering. "I – I cannot," he forced out. "I cannot marry her."

"Whyever not?"

"I love another. I'm sorry, father. It's impossible."

The king's moustache quivered. "May I ask who it is that you love, John?" His tone implied that he had a suspicion that he would very much like to hear was unfounded.

John, however, was not about to do him the favour. He rose to his feet once more. "I love the only being who has ever shown understanding for me, and who loves me for who I am rather than what I am. I love Sherlock, and I will not marry another, neither princess nor commoner."

There was a pause during which John feared that his father would actually strike him. Then the king gathered himself with a visible effort. "This episode has clearly addled your brains, John. Go to your rooms and stay there until you've come to your senses."

"I have never been clearer, and nothing you do or say will change how I feel."

"I said go to your rooms!" King James was now very close to losing his temper. "Go, or I shall summon the guards and have you taken there!"

John could see that there was no reasoning with his father, so he raised his hands in a soothing gesture. "I'm going, Sire."

"And do not cross my sight unless it is to tell me that you will marry the princess," James called to his retreating back.

John turned back briefly. "Then I shall never see you again, Sire. I will not marry Marie, nor anyone you care to name. There is only one for me, even though he will never be able to stand before you."


A few miles out to sea and several hundred yards beneath the waves, Sherlock was faring similarly badly.

"You confess, then, that you have not only approached the land, but you have allowed yourself to be seen by landfolk, and in all probability even talked to them, repeatedly. As a result, you nearly lost your life."

Sherlock's face remained expressionless as he returned Emperor Sherrinford's incensed look. "What exactly is your accusation, father?"

"The breaking of an edict, which is punishable by banishment, as you very well know. Do not mince words with me. Your life is of course your own, and you have always chosen to do with it as you please, a situation with which I have grown quite familiar. But now, you have taken to flaunting our laws, and that I cannot allow to go unpunished. Do you confess?"

"I confess disregarding an edict that was made centuries ago, and in doing so I endangered nobody but myself. In fact, I –"

"And there you are wrong, Sherlock. The landfolk had forgotten about us, considered us merely legendary. Thanks to your ill-advised actions, they now know we exist. It is only a question of time before they will start hunting us down."

"Forgive me, but that is pure paranoia. There is no evidence that the landfolk will do that, nor, in fact, that they ever have done anything of the kind. Our histories -"

"There is no evidence that they won't, either!" Sherrinford drifted out of his throne and began to swim back and forth in his agitation. "In any case, the law must be upheld. The charge is clear. You have confessed. No court proceeding is necessary. In accordance with the ancient edict, I declare you now banished."

Sherlock stared at him. Banished! Being forced to leave behind his family, his friends, his work, everything that held meaning for him. "Father, this is hardly fair. If you would hear me out, I could explain to you that I have succeeded in opening diplomatic relations with Albion. Surely that is worth more than the upholding of any outdated law. Besides, you cannot argue with fate."

The emperor forced himself to stillness by resting one hand upon the headrest of his throne. "I have no choice in this, Sherlock. The law is quite clear, as you were very well aware when you embarked upon this foolhardiness. Any lenience towards you would be construed as nepotism on my part. But since you are my son, I grant you two cycles to bring your affairs in order before you have to leave."

Sherlock repeatedly sifted the water through his lungs and gills in an effort to calm himself. When he was sure of his voice, he said dryly, "How magnanimous. You are aware of the signal you are sending with this, are you not? Inability to adapt to change is an unfortunate trait in a ruler."

Sherrinford's face darkened. "Enough. Insulting me will not help your cause. Leave now before I change my mind and set the guards upon you immediately rather than in two cycles."

Beneath his calm exterior, the hot temper he had inherited from his grandmother flared in Sherlock's stomach. "Turning me into a martyr will not help your cause, father. I will leave as soon as I have talked to my brother, your heir, the one who will be upholding these stupid laws when you are gone. Or maybe he won't, and then, in the long run, you will have lost all that I can offer this realm, and for nothing."

The emperor's face did not change, and Sherlock knew that all was lost. With a heavy heart – for what was a merman alone, away from his people? – he turned and left the emperor's abode to let the currents drift him away.


John pulled the curtains closed in front of him, hoping that Hudson would not see him. The bag the prince had slung over his shoulder was almost too big to give him enough room in this alcove, and Hudson was taking his blasted time with the fire in a room nobody was using anyway.

Only one more floor to go down, and he would be outside. Then get his horse, and nobody would catch him before he was in his boat. Sherlock would find him, and then everything would somehow turn out all right. It would.

In some corner of his mind, John knew he was behaving foolishly, but he did not care. There was no way he was staying here in the palace under these conditions. Albion would go on without him – it had for centuries, after all.

Suddenly, Hudson turned around. "Anybody there?"

Damn. He must have made some sound after all. Not wishing to be found skulking like a thief behind the curtain, John stepped out. "Hudson," he said, thinking fast, "how deeply are you attached to your position?"

"Sire?"

"Suppose I offered you another one, a position that might be less luxurious, but certainly more privileged, and infinitely more exciting than your present one."

Hudson still looked confused. "Sire?"

John took a deep breath. "I'm leaving, Hudson, and I'm offering you the opportunity to come with me. We shall go by boat, leave Albion. Find a new home somewhere."

Hudson stared at him, and John was already weighing alternatives – should he knock him out or just send him away? – when the servant surprised him. "If I may be allowed to speak freely, Sire, I have for some days considered giving notice and accepting a position that has been offered me in Cumartin. But I have always liked the sea. I daresay the outings you were kind enough to ask me to accompany you to have reminded me of that."

Changing mental gears, John smiled broadly and picked up his sack of provisions. "Splendid. No time to pack, though, Hudson, I'm leaving immediately. Drop that coal-scuttle and come along, then."

"Sneaking off in the dead of night like a common criminal, Sire?" Hudson asked, an expression of dignified horror on his face as he brushed off his hands.

"It would seem so, Hudson."

"How very exciting, Sire. I shall be right behind you."

John nodded and walked off. "Oh, one more thing, Hudson. I'm not Prince anymore as soon as I leave Palace grounds, so there's no more need for calling me 'Sire'. From now on, 'John' will, do, or 'Sir', if you must."


John, former Prince of Albion and now an ordinary if high-born person, and Hudson, former royal manservant and now merely John's servant, had just reached the coast and were preparing the little catboat for its first truly long journey when a very familiar dark head surfaced in the shallow water next to John's right foot.

"Sherlock!" John cried, dropping the rope he was holding and letting himself fall with a slosh into the knee-deep, warm water to give the surprised merman an exuberant hug. "I am so glad to see you! You look well, I'm relieved to notice. Oh, Sherlock, there's something I have to tell you."

Sherlock smiled as he returned the hug. "I, too, have interesting news, John. But first, allow me to do this." With that, he framed John's face in both hands as John had done to him a few days ago, and kissed him full on the mouth.

Hudson's eyes widened alarmingly. Blushing furiously, the servant curbed his curiosity about being close to the merman he had heard so much talk about, and he turned away and walked off, muttering something about setting the horses free and bringing the rest of the provisions.

This retreat was not noticed by either of the participants of the pleasurable tangle in the surf, which presently became even more complicated when Sherlock added the prehensile nature of his long tail to the hug, literally wrapping himself all around John without ending the kiss as the waves came and went around them.

Finally, breathless, John managed to gasp, "Sherlock, we've got company!" He disentangled one hand and used it to stop the merman's which was insinuating itself into John's shirt in quest of the russet body hair that had fascinated him so.

Sherlock, ignoring him, was kissing his way down John's neck, obviously intending for his mouth to join his hand. "He will find something to occupy him," the merman muttered disjointedly whenever his lips were not in contact with John's skin. "It is the way of servants everywhere."

John smiled. Now that they were finally together, it did appear as though everything would simply resolve itself, and his smile blossomed out into a carefree laugh. "I've run away, Sherlock," he cried, exuberant. "I'm free to go where I please. I thought to take the boat and just sail away, to another land, an island maybe – Sherlock, stop that."

The merman obviously had no intention of stopping. "I too am free to go wherever I please, provided only that I leave," he mumbled, his mouth close to John's left nipple. "It seems our paths have finally joined." His tongue flicked out briefly to tease the dark flesh. "I cannot say that I am displeased."

"Stop that," said John, suppressing an unmanly giggle and looking around to see where Hudson had got to. There was no sign of his servant. Then his attention was captured by the dark head that was still at the height of his chest and slowly inching lower, face submerged in the water that was still half covering both of them.

Said head lifted, and storm-grey eyes glinted up at him. There were little droplets of sea water upon Sherlock's face, and his long hair, moved by the surf, was tickling John's chest. "Do you truly want me to stop?" the merman asked seriously.

John smiled. "Of course not."

"I thought you might not mean it. I also think you should divest yourself of your clothes."

"Here?" John's voice sounded positively scandalised.

"Where else? Besides, your clothes are wet. They will dry better when out of the water. But if you insist, by all means, let's move a little away from here." With that, he grabbed John securely around the waist, rolled onto his back, and swam along the coast for a few hundred yards while John hung on, at first for dear life, and then with growing enthusiasm. Sherlock, still on his back, slid through the water swiftly just beneath the surface while John was pulled along with his head above it, drawing an enormous wave behind him.

"This is fun!" he cried when they finally halted in a deserted cove that looked inaccessible from the land. "Oh look, sand!" he added, exuberantly.

"I thought a sandy beach might be preferable over pebbles for what I have in mind," Sherlock said.

"You planned this!"

"I hoped it might not be entirely unwelcome, so I looked around for a suitable place. We shall be entirely undisturbed here."

It was heavenly to lie in the soft sand with the surf playing around him, and John found himself advancing no objection as Sherlock's deft fingers undid his buttons and fastenings until he was as naked as the day he had been born, and a second later he found himself once again wrapped up in his merman, the warm sinewy body pressing tight against him.

Confused thoughts about the how were drifting to the forefront of John's mind like the bits of kelp and foam that were drifting about the two of them, gone too quickly to be appreciated clearly and yet too insistent to be ignored. But even as he was trying to put them into words, he noticed something happening between their tight-pressed bodies. Where before his increasingly aroused manhood had been alone, it now felt as if it had been joined by something else.

Curious, John wormed a hand between them as Sherlock, whose head remained thrown back and covered by the water, mouth wide open and eyes closed, curled himself even more tightly about his two-legged lover, ecstasy personified. Then John's hand closed about the two of them, finding the flesh his hand encountered not very dissimilar to his own, and, moved equally by pleasure and love, he held his breath to be able to fasten his lips to those of the merman.

Their bodies found the rhythm that seemed to be all around them in the surf, and within them in the parts of their bodies that, despite their different physiologies, still remembered the time when their species had been one. Then John reached a point where he did not notice anymore the salt in his eyes nor the warmth of the sun upon his back as the pleasure reached its peak, cresting like the waves around them, and he groaned his release.

Sherlock seemed not far behind him, for suddenly, the long, powerful tail contracted about John's legs in an unmistakable spasm and the heat between them increased momentarily, before everything relaxed, and another wave rolled in, washing away the evidence of their joined passion. When John's hand made another foray between their bodies, he found nothing but smooth scales.

Sherlock's head appeared above the water, and exuberant smile upon his lips. He spat out the water in his lungs and said, in a tone of voice John had never heard from him before, "Fate, John. We cannot argue with it."

The former Prince of Albion found himself in complete agreement.


To be continued...