Chapter 9: This Is My Treason
Treason is often times considered the worst sin anyone could attempt, yet its nature is quite simple and its benefits are vast. All that is needed is betraying someone else's trust or allegiance, specially by attempting to overthrow the ruling force, for any sort of personal gain.
Sherlock was scribbling angrily on his notebook. Scratching the pen into the paper with a fury only matched by the worst minotaur ever encountered. He had a pile of books over the desk before him and several papers discarded around him; yet none of it was important, the subject, the words on the paper, none of it mattered. They were just a distraction, a way to will the time to go by faster and the night to spend itself as quickly as possible and deliver the day already. The rebel didn't really wished for tomorrow to come, but since there was no way to get away from it, he just wanted to get it over with.
The small lamp providing a warm light over the table swung when he heard the door to the library open and close. Sherlock sighed, there was only one reason someone would want to enter the library at 4 o'clock in the morning —apart from distracting oneself from impending doom— and that was to find him specifically, and he didn't particularly felt 'chatty' after the horrific day he had had.
"Molly," He muttered, acknowledging her presence just enough, but not even straying his gaze from the several texts he was scanning on amino-acids. He heard her shuffle closer, her atrocious shoes stopping in front of the desk.
"Hello, Sherlock." She greeted, yet her usual cheerful tone was absent from the words, as if she were nervous of the yet unnamed subject she was here to broach. As we covered before, 4 a.m. is hardly a time to establish any casual conversation. "Um, I wanted to ask you if you were alright." Molly said, her soft-waving hair following her movements as she tried to keep track of everything the other was doing at once. She smiled shyly, but made no effort to halt her talking to allow him speaking time. "You know, about earlier," Her stammering was getting on Sherlock's nerves, filling every precious silent moment with mindless yapping. "Because, you know, what Sally said-"
"Molly," The violet-haired boy interrupted her, finally raising his head to look at the girl. She was fidgeting with her jumper, but her slipper-clad feet were shuffling in even more anxiousness. "Stop trying to make conversation." He said, with an expression that warned her not to waste his time any longer when he was already so on edge. Molly, for her credit, understood immediately and just bit her bottom lip in chagrin.
"Oh, yes. Sorry." The apology stemmed an exasperated sigh from the other's mouth, and she was quick to get closer to the point, lest he grew bored and 'muted' her before she had actually made her point across. The boy stayed in position, pen held mid-word and body hunched over the paper to return to his previous activity at any given second, yet she could tell all of his attention was on her, so she decided to continue. "I just wanted to tell you that if you, or the others," She said the last part as an afterthought, but Sherlock figured it still counted. "Need help, for anything…" She trailed off at the other's confused expression, as if he were seeing —deducing— her for the first time.
The puzzling offer made him drop his pretence of being engaged in something else and he leaned back on his chair in order to assess the situation more holistically. His left eyebrow arching in contemplation, "And what could I possibly need from you?" He asked, and even though the girl knew the question should feel offensive, she could clearly tell it wasn't meant to harm or belittle, but instead it was painted with genuine curiosity at its intentions.
"Support." Molly offered, only to earn a disbelieving scoff from the silver-gazed boy in front of her. Sherlock was actually quite surprised by her loyalty, no one else —aside form John— had ever offered to help him in something before. He found he was unsure on how to proceed, even if he knew there was absolutely nothing she could do to help him.
"Support doesn't work." He said truthfully, disinterestedly shuffling around some papers in order to avoid meeting her gaze. "Not like magic does." His words could have been cryptic to anyone else, but he thought Molly, —with fairy heritage herself— would understand the call magic had on a soul, specially when things looked dire and no other way seemed plausible.
"I just," She commented, grimacing frustratedly at her own failure to articulate most of her meaning. The violet-haired boy just waited, uncharacteristically patient. "Well, I've seen the way you look at him," Molly said, a hint of terror behind her words, Sherlock could deduce she was afraid of the effect the words, and the subject, would have on him. "At John." She explained, and Sherlock fought hard not to let the pain show on his face, she already knew and observed too much about his personal life, he didn't wanted her to start digging around on what his purpose actually was in the kingdom. "Like you're gonna lose him." She finished.
A stab through the heart would have been less painful, the boy figured as he tried to ignore the sole truth. Because she was right, he was about to lose John, before he even sincerely had him —a love-spell was cheating at best— and despite knowing it from the very beginning, hearing the affirmation come from such an honest individual made it all the more tangible, more real.
"If I wasn't everything you think I am," He asked, in a bout of vulnerability. His eyes searching for the truth in her. "If I were everything everyone else thinks I am," Despite the level of intensity with which he uttered each word, his face was passive, almost calm. "Would you still want to help me?" Sherlock questioned.
Molly smiled, "Anything." She repeated stubbornly, drawing a faint smirk over her unexpected friend's face.
After a few moments of silence Sherlock shifted his focus from her to the books in front of him once more, he had concluded something, but Molly didn't really had to know about it. This, he had to figure out on his own, no matter how tempting the thought of assistance could be. "Go to sleep, Molly." He ordered, combing his fingers through his purple strands of hair and motioning for her to go. "You've got a event to run tomorrow." The boy said, and Molly looked as if she wanted to protest but thought better of it and left, leaving him alone once more.
Sherlock was at an impasse, he wasn't able to determine whether he wanted the stupid carriage to go fucking faster or slow down even more to stall the coronation a bit more; anything to delay what was coming. His silver gaze danced around and stopped at the happy faces he saw pass by on the streets from the high altitude of the carriage driving —more like parading— them to the cathedral where the coronation was to be held, and the boy wondered if that had anything to do with the nausea he felt at the pit of his stomach.
John sat next to him, looking like pure, unadulterated magic in a bright blue royal uniform and his hair swept back stylishly out of his face. The blonde held his hand tightly, and smiled at him every time their eyes met. Sherlock squirmed in anxiousness in the deep plum velvet suit Irene had made him wear and tried —somewhat ineffectively— to steady his breathing before he fell over and caused an embarrassing scene for himself.
The prince ran his thumb over the skin of his hand and grinned reassuringly at him, and the only thing the rebel could do was grimace back and look down at the small yellow present on his lap. "Don't be nervous," John said, his voice carried the soft and lulling tone to which everyone seemed drawn. The boy wished he would stop. "All you need to do is sit there and deduce everyone," He joked, sentence that at least helped Sherlock feel sort of human —which he was only half of— and calmed down his raging apprehension. "Just silently, please." The blonde finished and winked at him, the violet-haired boy smirked and fussed with a stray curl over his forehead.
"I make no promises." He answered and took a deep breath. Suddenly, the air felt a lot lighter, which was ideal. The last thing they needed was him on edge before the ceremony even began. He also decided to ignore the tender look that the blonde was giving him, not entirely able to deal with that just yet —or perhaps ever.
The moment passed, and the wheels kept on spinning, approximating him to what would probably be the most important minutes of his life, for better or worse. After a few more quiet breaths, John appeared to have gathered the courage to ask what he wanted and turned around to look at him. "Sherlock," He said, and the boy just raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment. "Would you wear my ring?" The blonde said, extending a hand and offering said item to him, yet Sherlock felt he couldn't accept it, he was barely able to keep up the farce as it was, there was no need to get in it deeper than it was necessary; than he already was.
"Maybe not." The rebel replied, taking his hand away and placing an apologetic expression over his face, "It would probably just fall right off me." He was quick to explain, he didn't want John to feel rejected in any way, today was supposed to be his day and Sherlock was already going to ruin it later, to do so before then would be more cruel than the boy was able to get when it came to Prince John Watson.
The blonde, for his part, didn't look upset; slightly disappointed, yes, but not angry or upset. Just understanding. It made the silver-gazed boy want to bolt off the carriage even more. "I have something for you," Sherlock said when he remembered there was still a very important thing he had to do.
"For me?" The blonde seemed surprised, even though Sherlock had been carrying the stupid box the whole ride. Needless to say, John was clearly not the most observant person in the kingdom when he was excited. "Yes, it's just for later." Sherlock replied, offering him the tiny package and smiling shyly at the other, the older boy took it with much enthusiasm and swiftly lifted the top. "For when you need the strength." Once he opened it, John found a small bite-sized fairy-cake inside and smiled in wonder. "Some carbohydrates to keep up your metabolic energy levels." Sherlock said, in lieu of reason why the little pastry even existed, he needed to sound sincere, if the blue-eyed suspected anything it would end in disaster.
"Always thinking." He said, eyeing the small cherry-flavoured cake and beamed at the rebel in gratitude. The hole inside Sherlock's chest grew bigger by the minute, and had him wishing the next minutes would yield some catastrophe which would allow him to escape. "But I can't wait." John continued, snapping him out of his hypothetical fantasy. He shoved the fairy-cake inside him mouth in one whole bite and grinned as he started chewing.
"No!" The violet-haired boy screamed, reaching out his hands to stop him from devouring that which would expose him in such a ruthless way; but it was too late, the cake was already inside his mouth and there was nothing he could do anymore.
"Mmm," The blonde moaned in delight at the taste, while the other shrank more into the seat in terror. "This is really good." John said. "No matter how much you say it's simple chemistry, this is magical." He closed his eyes and savoured it, the sun shinning down over his skin.
Sherlock ignored the irony and the image, all that, not really able to concentrate on words when he was frozen in astonishment. "Do you-?" He mumbled, but found he failed to even know how to phrase what he wanted to know. He had no precedence on how to ask someone whether the love spell they didn't know existed still worked. "Would you say that you still lo-" He started, but paused at the term, the word not able to come out of his lips. He took a moment to gather himself back again and tried an alternative. "That you have very strong feelings for me?" He cautiously asked, searching in the other's eyes for any indication that his whole purpose was not yet ruined.
"I'm not sure," The blonde pondered. He smiled, still munching on the tasty treat. A suspiciously nonchalant look a over his features. "Let's give the anti-love potion a few minutes to take effect." John said, wiping his hands on his trousers.
Sherlock nodded absentmindedly. "Alright." He mumbled, blinking distractedly; Until his brain caught up with the words and reeled back. "Hold on," He halted, while John couldn't contain the chuckle any longer and bursted out laughing. "You knew?" The violet-haired boy demanded, a shocked tone voicing the question.
"That you spelled me?" John asked, beaming sincerely at his boyfriend, as if delighted that he had finally managed to catch the other by surprise. "Yeah, I did." He replied, a clear, bright morning written all over his expression.
"For how long?" The boy questioned, a hesitant, unwanted half-smile forming in his mouth, his confused silver gaze tracing every line on the other's fantastic face. He needed data, it was unfathomable for him to realise he had not known about this. He closed his eyes once the obvious truth came to him; and he opened them at the epiphany. "Idiot," He mumbled under his breath, knowing exactly when the spell must have ended.
"Sorry?" The prince said, but there appeared to be no way of getting rid of the mirth he was showing, not even Sherlock potentially calling him an idiot could change that. Plus, the rebel thought he must be used to that by then. Sherlock shook his head, letting the other know he wasn't referring to him.
"Our first date," Sherlock explained, silently berating himself for being so compromised as to not being able to figure out John had known this whole time. "The spell washed away in the enchanted lake." He deduced; that had been the moment when the lovestruck attitude had changed into something softer, more subdued, more —dare he say— real?
John grinned proudly, "Yep." Completely smug with the situation. Sherlock smiled back at him, his mission forgotten for a second, but soon his face turned sour, when he realised he still had one concept to unravel. "So you have been," He paused, trying to ignore the stab he would feel speaking the next word. "-faking it since then?" He asked, attempting to keep the —surprising— heartbreak he felt at the mere idea of it being a reality. Because that had to be the reason, there would be no other logical explanation.
The prince regarded him for a moment, becoming more serious although never losing that pleased manner he had acquired. He reached to take Sherlock's hand once more and placed it palm down, then took the ring off his finger —the one Mary had returned a few days prior— and slid the golden circlet on the violet-haired boy's first finger. "I haven't been faking anything." He stated, and bent down a bit to kiss his hand in a royally fashion.
"I-" The rebel started, but he didn't know how could he possibly finish. All his calculations, his carefully crafted predictions hadn't ever resulted in this, and now he was at a loss on how to proceed. "You have to know I didn't-" He tried to explain, not really knowing what he was supposed to say in these circumstances; there was no way he could tell the truth and still rely his actions as 'redeemable', it would have to be one or the other, but before he could implicate himself further, John had already cut him off and had offered a suitable explanation.
"Look, it's fine." He said, "You had a crush on me, I had just broken up with Mary," He shrugged his shoulders but made no move to change his stance or get away from the other. "You didn't think it could happen on its own, right?" John said, glancing around as if he weren't really concerned about it. 'You can't be more mistaken' was the thought that fleeted through Sherlock's skull as he heard John's conjured explanation, the violet-haired boy still wrong-footed at the paradox that the reasoning caused. He couldn't believe the prince had found something that was so accurate yet managed to miss the mark completely. "Sherlock?" The blonde asked, now a bit concerned when he found the other deadly silent and with an expression of sheer terror on his face. John drew his eyebrows together and his eyes searched those of Sherlock's in exceptional confirmation of the horrible truth he was unraveling.
The bells of the cathedral chimed loudly, and the moment was broken. John still managed to shake off his hesitation and return a true smile to his face, reaching his arm to make contact with his partner to live the most important day of his life with him, but Sherlock knew it was done, they had crossed the line, the prince suspected something was up, —even if he hadn't realised it yet— and there was no going back from that, not once the idea had already taken root; and there was nothing the rebel could say that would benefit the situation. He took the blonde's offered hand and got off the carriage once it had stopped, feeling as if he were handling a time bomb, it was just he didn't know when its time wold run out, or which of them, exactly, would be the one who would inevitably explode.
Times like these made Moriarty wished he had taken that deal with his friends on the other side all those cycles ago and sold his soul, if only to overcome the frustration he felt. The bets had been raised, and it was time to roll the dice. The wand, the crown, the whole kingdom were at stake, about to be auctioned to whoever was most powerful, his entire ambition within reach; And all he was able to do was watch it from afar as images coming from a ratty old television transmitting Prince John's coronation. Situations such as this were the reason he desired to strike a match to the complete universe for being so fucking dull. It would be his pleasure.
He was perched on his seat at the center of the room, and a few other villains were also there, making chatter and spewing off opinions as if nothing important was happening. Jim rolled his eyes in animosity, wishing he didn't need them and he was be able to shoot them. Any of them would do. Couldn't they see? This was probably the only real chance they would have to get out of the hell-hole into which they were thrusted, and they were arguing about decorations and gowns.
In the TV, pictures of several carriages were winding down the road in luxurious flower-packed streets, each one more impressive than the last, and Moriarty just felt indifferent to them all, only focused on the wand and that little urchin he had sent to retrieve it. It was a good thing he had managed to snatch the son of Violet Holmes off the streets, before he had learnt to steal for himself and become 'independent'. He had had the opportunity to mold the young half-pixie at his image and now all he had to do was use his magical abilities to grab the wand without ruining everything.
The parading figures on the screen kept on going, trailing down the winding paths in a sea of pastel colours and cheer. The noise on the background became more intense once the son of The Great Schemer and The Adler Queen were spotted in the crowd. Looking around in a mixture of wonder and determination. James was quite confused: where the hell was that stupid purple head? He would not tolerate another slip up like the one he had had with Ricoletti.
It took a second for him to recognise the reason why Sherlock was not standing with the other villain kids at the side of the big blue carpeted way towards the entrance of the cathedral. The main carriage, a big golden monstrousity with vines twining up the sides, stopped at the front of the yard in front of the building. From it, descended a stocky, blonde boy dressed in blue as the trumpets sang for the arrival of the King-to-be and the kingdom cheered, but even better was what came after; Sherlock, suited all in a dark colour and his vibrant violet curls a stylish mess atop his head, squinting at the crowd while extending his hand for John to help him get off the vehicle. Moriarty felt as if he could soar from satisfaction. The other —lesser— villains could brag about the looks or the brawn of their children all they wanted, but his convenient ward had duped a prince and was oh-so-close to getting the key which would unlock the Pandorica's box that was The Isle of the Lost.
James smirked smugly at the moving mages and stood up, "Villains," He said to the vast hall of the castle, "Our revenge begins today." He declared grandiosely, faces turning around in regard, and eyes lighting up in agreement. The board was set, and all he had to do now was wait for it to break apart. James eyes settled more vigorously on the screen, carefully taking in every detail of the glorious events transpiring in it. 'Don't blow it, Holmes.' He thought, as he grinned and sighed in victory.
Sherlock and John walked hand in hand, slowly going up the stairs towards the big double doors of the Cathedral. The rebel tried to ignore all the noisy trumpets playing slightly out of tune to the entrance of John Watson. Arriving to the top, John let go of the other's hand and greeted his parents with a nod, Sherlock vowed down in respect to the couple and took a step aside. The King and Queen looked radiant, perfectly styled and joyful about seeing their son take the throne at last. King Ben smiled proudly at the Prince and turned around to regard Sherlock in a curious manner; the boy met the gaze with his own kaleidoscope eyes in uncertainty but didn't seem to find any animosity in them, just reluctant acceptance and openness. Perhaps it would have been better if they hated him, considering…
"I told John this wasn't going to be easy." The King commented, as his wife grabbed him by the arm and joined in on the brief exchange. The boy in the purple suit and dragon collar nodded in agreement but pursed his lips in pursuit of what to say to acknowledge them.
John, of course, beat him to it when he answered his dad with conviction in his voice. "You also taught me that a king has to believe in himself," He said. "Eve when it isn't easy." The fire behind his eyes was unparalleled to anything Sherlock had ever encountered before. Those present seemed taken aback by it as well, but everyone recovered fairly quickly, they must already be used to John being this extraordinary; Sherlock, for his part, couldn't say the same for himself, and he doubted he ever would be.
The blonde's eyes twinkled with joy when his mother came close and wrapped him inside her arms. "Oh, John. We are so proud of you." She muttered, and placed a gentle hand over his cheek, the prince chuckled in embarrassment but made no move to deter his mum from showing him affection, "Such a good man you've grown to be." As the queen released him, John had to adjust his uniform and whispered his thanks with such an elated expression that made the other boy take a step back, for once in his life feeling as if he didn't wish to intrude in such an intimate moment. He was really nothing to them —including John— barely anything more than a complete stranger, an enigma who was about to unleash a terrible evil over them.
The trumpets kept on blearing, but it was time to keep things going, so the violet-haired boy took his place next to John's parents and made to walk with them inside the building, leaving the new king behind to make his daring entrance alone, as was tradition. Just before they parted, the prince grinned hopefully at the younger boy and said "Wish me luck." As if Sherlock's desires would really make a difference or help in any way. He smiled faintly, and reached his hand to put a supporting arm over John's shoulder. It had been the first —and most probably the last— time he had initiated any sort of physical comfort for the other, and as soon as he realised this, he swiftly retreated his arm, and half-smiled in appeasing manner. The King and Queen motioned him to get moving and he hurried to his place. The blonde sighed in anticipation and proceeded to walk slowly into the cathedral.
The church was grand and full of space, light streaming through the stained-glass creating a beautiful pattern of colours all over the floor. The choir was singing as the prince took sure but slow steps across the floor. Sherlock was standing towards the front, glancing up to the balcony were Irene and Greg were looking at him with such anxiousness and dread in their eyes, the boy was unsure in whether to keep on looking at them in sympathy, or to turn his gaze away and avoid the truth a bit longer.
As the prince passed by the gathered crowd lining up both sides of the trail, his subjects made a vow. Graceful figures clad in the softest of fabrics reverencing down as an expression of loyalty to their new sovereign and coming back up in a strange dance. John approached to the front and grinned at Sherlock, the boy lightly bent his knees with an unwanted smile on his face; but as soon as the prince had passed the moment turned sour. When they started on this mission he had believed glory and a ridiculous amount of fun would be the only things they had in store, he didn't anticipate the complete devastation John would make of his very insides, and now, the violet-haired boy was left standing as everyone else was still vowing down, a straight odd figure among a sea of devotion, with eyes fixed on the other's back and a broken expression over his face.
Lady Hudson, wearing a flowing dust-blue gown, walked to the centre of the platform where a breathtaking glass dome guarded a sparkling silver wand underneath. Swirls of crystal decorating the top of the jar and subtly forming a lucent, transparent rose that refracted prismatic light unto the very air around it. White, pure magic floating intricately about everywhere. She smiled kindly at the King and Queen, soon to become just another dearly loved Royal Couple as many had before, she made a reverence and lifted the crown off from King's Ben head while the man grinned proudly at the crowd. John stood at the middle, with his back straight and his head up.
Lady Hudson took a few steps needed and placed the golden crown over the prince's blonde hair, all the while Sherlock could only watch form the background as the moment of his doom was fast approaching. John's mother was already crying from the emotion and all the gemstones —representing justice, loyalty and mercy— over the gilded surface of the coronal, glowed as if spelled with undying enchantment.
The lady removed The Beast's spell jar and delicately grabbed the wand inside it. The curly-haired boy glanced up to his friends; Irene smiled sadly and nodded, as Lestrade placed a hand in her shoulder, they were looking at him in support, as if saying they would be with him no matter what he chose to do.
"Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of Auradon with justice and mercy," Lady Hudson started, speaking despite the huge grin breaking all over her face. "As long as you shall reign?" She asked, lifting up the wand ready to bless his reign if he were to accept.
John nodded fervently and slowly said "I do solemnly swear." The words were so carefully crafted, Sherlock could tell the blonde really did mean each and every one of them. If he had come to know anything about John in the months that he had known him was that when he set his mind to do something, he was going to put his entire heart into it, maybe even to the dismay of everyone else.
The crowd, joyful and anticipating, waited for the Fairy's blessing to come and make the new reign official for the loyal kingdom subjects. "Then it is my honour," Lady Hudson said as she placed the wand over one of John's shoulders. It wouldn't be long until she finished the ritual and the wand would be back into that sacred and impossible-to-open glass jar. He had to make a decision quickly, before the wand was sealed again and the only chance he had at fulfilling his destiny as Violet Holmes' son was gone.
Sherlock took a deep breath, but found that no matter how much he ordered his feet to move, they refused to do so. Fixed in place in a vicious will, which had the rebel very confused; he had planned this moment for so many nights, but now he was hesitant, without a single clue on what he was going to do once he managed to get un-stuck. "And my true joy," The lady continued, Sherlock figured it was now or never, his last opportunity to grab his future in his own hands. "To bless our new king-" The fairy said, but was unable to finish since the wand was brutally snatched from her hand by a pale arm.
The crowd erupted in shocked gasps. Time seemed to stop as everyone tried to wrap their heads about what they were witnessing. The new king standing up in a worried rush, always eager to defend his people. "Child! What are you doing!?" Lady Hudson said, as a horrible screeching sound erupted from the wand akin to nails on a blackboard and short-circuit-like sparks bursted from its surface. The kingdom shocked into surprised exclamations by the beam of light that erupted from the magical item and shot up towards the sky, producing the cracking of thunder as the arm holding it was not able to control its sheer, raw magic.
"Magic will fix everything." Was the response, and Sherlock stood shocked, discombobulated at the face of Molly battling with the wand in her hands. The crowd around him started backing off in panic, worried some stray incantation would be able to strike them by casualty, but the violet-haired boy couldn't move for a very different reason; He hand't been able to foresee this, he never thought his words would be so poisonous as to infect all of her thoughts. "It has to work!" The girl exclaimed her little-thought-out plan, her arms still struggling to control the wand and not let it fire away without command, as any mighty artifact does when not in the grasp of a power similar to its own.
The rebel looked up to the balcony, were his friends had been a second before, but now he could see them rushing through the people on it to get down. He glanced around him at the chaos unraveling from every corner of the cathedral, some of them trying to protect people close by and others running for their lives, with Mary frowning in the far wall, and Donovan and Anderson yelling at someone to stop her but doing nothing to achieve it themselves. At the front, the former king and queen stood back, not really able to do anything without the risk of being accidentally spelled, yelling 'take cover!' to everyone around them. Molly was quickly loosing the little control she had left, and was clearly not able to stop anymore, even if she dropped the wand it would continue to fire off aimlessly and no one would be able to even try to contain it then.
Lady Hudson approached her granddaughter to help, but a powerful spark exploded towards her and she had to dodge away to avoid being shot. John snarled in frustration, his eyes squinted and looking at Sherlock as if he were angrier with him than with the girl for standing there like an idiot in the exact line of fire instead of escaping. Of course, as was per usual to John, he then proceeded to do the opposite to whatever anyone would expect and rushed to stand before the violet-haired boy like another idiot to act as a shield from the wild magic bouncing off the girl at the centre of the commotion. At such display of protection, Sherlock was unfrozen as he calculated what their true opportunities were, and they were not many. Chaos was a vital part of the boy's life, a pleasure from deep within his very soul, but for some reason he felt compelled to solve the puzzle, fix the problem. With a determined look over his face, he stepped forward and, summoning all the will he possessed, he reached out a tentative arm towards Molly and, in one swift movement, snatched the wand off her hand.
"Careful, Sherlock!" He had heard John's mother yelling to him, but she needn't have bothered. Silence fell all over the building, yet Sherlock, still looking in confusion to the Queen Mother's concern, failed to notice why for several minutes. It wasn't until he turned to look at John that he noticed everyone was staring straight to the wand raised over shoulder-level by his own arm. Because apparently, once in his grasp, Lady Hudson's wand had stopped shooting away and had become deadly calm.
Sherlock stared at the wand in confusion as Molly ran away in fear and regret. The violet-haired boy took a moment to observe her as she went, but soon came back to question the wand as if it would be able to give him any actual answers. The attendees to the coronation stepped back with fearful expressions. Clearly afraid of what the son of Violet could do, but still worried enough to keep on looking. The silver-gazed boy realised in that moment that he had become the threat, and failed to decide whether to feel smug —mainly at Donovan and Anderson— or if it was the most distressing feeling he had ever experienced. The new King stood in front of him, staying back a smart amount of distance but placatingly reaching out a hand to him. "Sherlock," He said, his voice nervous but soft, as if he were talking with an unruly child, —which in a way, he supposed he was. The rebel just waited, looking back and forth between the item in his grasp and the blonde boy wearing a crown in front of him. "Give me the wand." The command was soothed completely by the kindness he could perceive, which made what he was about to do all the more difficult.
"Stand back," The violet-haired boy warned, pointing the magic tool at him even though he had no intention of doing actual damage, he just needed them to step aside and allow him to do what he had to. Irene and Greg came running through the atrium at last, ready to stand behind Sherlock in what would be the tipping point of their future.
"It's all fine," The blonde said. Smiling sadly at him like the first time John had realised just how different things back at The Isle were. A mixture between a deep sadness and determination, like he would never give up until he saw it fixed. Sherlock would catalogue the look, were he not busy having the equivalent of a cornered-animal reaction.
"John, I said: Stand back!" He yelled and the crowd took two more steps further away from the commotion, clearly starting to get very afraid of what he may do. Sherlock's gaze darted all around him, trying to focus on anything other than the unreadable expression he found when he looked at the deep blue fire that were John's eyes, yet it was difficult, the royal didn't deserve this, and here he was, ruining everything anyway.
"I told you so!" Donovan yelled from behind him, resulting in various noises of agreement which did not really help the already dire situation all that much. Sherlock could sense Anderson smirking satisfied next to Sally, crossing his arms and looking smugly at him as the undeniable truth was revealed: they had both been so right, yet the universe would probably tore right open before Sherlock ever said it. The violet-haired boy turned and directed the wand at them threateningly, both of their pleased attitude wiped right off their bodies as they took a surprised step back. Sherlock allowed a tiny flicker of wicked satisfaction rush through him at that.
The blonde didn't really let the comments bother or distract him from this. "You really want to do this?" He asked, his eyes looking all over his 'boyfriend's' face as if trying to figure something out, like he were deciding something about the situation.
The younger boy arched an eyebrow in defense to the question, and snarled, "What does it look like?" He was completely aware of the consequences such actions would have, and he silently resigned himself to endure the moment in which John would eventually realise he was not bluffing and that spark of affection would die out from his expressive face right in front of him.
However, the king didn't seem dissuaded yet, if anything his resolve appeared more decided, like the answer for which he had searched was forming up clearly for him to recognise. "Like you don't, actually." He said, leaving behind his alerted pose and dropping both his defensive arms to his sides, as if confident he was not going to be made a target of anything he didn't desire. As if daring him to take a shot at him. This threw the rebel off for various reasons, what could possibly be written in his face that John still wholly trusted he would never intend to hurt him? The boy didn't really wanted to find out.
The rebel's breath was ragged and he felt a surge of chocking emotions bubbling up into the surface, brimming his eyes with moisture. "You don't know anyt-" Sherlock tried to counter that impossible argument, but the blonde beat him to it.
"I think I do." He assured, a small side smile making an appearance on him. "Look," Even the tone he used was different, it wasn't one of belligerence, but instead was of an honest trust. "I get it." The blonde said. "Your parents want you all to be like them, but they made their choice long ago." Sherlock turned his body around to gauge his friends' reactions. Irene and Lestrade seemed struck dumb, not doing anything to help the cause, just standing there as if that notion had never occurred to them before. "Now it's time to make yours." The king said.
The boy examined the people present he could recognise, how very expectant they appeared. But the offer to actually choose what they wanted had never been an option for them. "You're so naive." Sherlock scoffed at how wrong John was. How wrong he must be, because Sherlock had never been anything other than this, changing now would be completely futile. For him, there was only this life he had carved out for himself, and without it, he failed to comprehend who he was underneath. "Mary tried to tell you." He remembered, glancing at said girl, who was staring at him with disappointment painted all over her; her short, blonde hair framing her face of disapproval perfectly. "Maybe you should have listened." He tried for dangerous, but the effect was completely lost by the crystal tears streaming down his face.
"No, no." The king shook his head, "All of this is not enough, it doesn't fulfill you." He assured, with an inviting smile as he took one sure step toward him. "Any of you." He gestured the other two kids. "Tourney and victory pizza with the team makes you happy." John said to Greg, whom he had come to know as his mate, grinning goofily as he saw the tiny flicker of interest cross Lestrade's gaze at the mention of his true passion. "And you, Irene." The blonde turned hopefully, but Irene was far more skeptical than Greg. "Yes, you are gorgeous. But you are so smart, too." The blonde admitted. "You don't have to settle for someone just because they have a castle." The Woman looked away with a downcast expression. Sherlock had recognised before the way her whole world had lit up once they crossed the Castle's doors for the first time, perhaps he knew it back then that she had found a higher interest in something other than mischief.
"And you…" John said, speaking at Sherlock with a raw vulnerability that almost took the other's breath away. The rebel clenched the wand tighter, maybe the ridges digging painfully into the skin on his palm would help remind him of his purpose, keep him from drifting away. "You're brilliant, and surprisingly kind," The new king continued, ignoring some of the disbelieving faces from the crowd. Sherlock's silver eyes moved to them, but he could barely deduce anything in his manic state. "And I wish you could deduce yourself and realise you're not evil." John concluded.
Sherlock's insides were crawling, digging sharp pain into his muscles as the need to do something, to lash out, curse the entire kingdom, something that would aid in clearing that devastating confusion he had inside. The loss of control evident by his whole body, yet his hand was steady as he held on to the magical object that was the physical representation of everything he feared.
"Trouble?" The blonde added, "Oh, yes. A world of trouble." He said in part to ease the tense line on the other's shoulder, but mainly because it was true, there was no way to deny the violet-haired boy was just made for a bit of misbehaving, but that didn't necessarily mean that he was rotten as everyone else was so ready to believe, including himself. "But not evil."
"You can't possibly know that!" The other answered, with rage permeating every word; that combined with the tears gave him a mad look which resulted in the crowd growing anxious at the outcome of the situation. Maybe their King was right, maybe Sherlock was not really bad at heart and it all would be fine. Or perhaps he was, and John was wrong. and this would end in tears and devastation beyond repair.
Sherlock could barely register John was a bit outraged at his accusation, showing that nerve the rebel had always liked about him. "I may be an idiot, but I know a lot more about this than you do." The blonde demanded, not ready to be dismissed as Sherlock intended. "I was five when the war started, remember?" He asked. "I've seen bad people. I know what that hatred looks like," Revealing the fact of which the genius had been previously unaware. Of course he could do the simple math, but he had never stopped to think about John actually witnessing anything like he did. "And you may have her eyes but you are not her."
The sheer power of those words made Sherlock reel back as if struck. "And what?" He said, a sarcastic and poisonous tone invading his phrases. "You expected to make a touching speech and suddenly it would magically change my mind and fix everything, just like that?" He asked, yet the John Watson that faced him was not one of battle, nor John the monarch, as he had expected. Instead, he got the John that wanted to be a healer, that yearned to make him understand something about himself he had never knew.
"No." The blonde concluded. "I know I'm not going to change your mind." A soft but sure phrase to encompass the reality he thought about what the younger boy had said. There was a pregnant pause after that, the kingdom holding its breath in wait of a resolution. Sherlock eyes found the deep blue of John's and what he found there made him as devastated as he had ever been. He sees it, that true belief in his cause even after all that had happened. This wasn't about his proclamation or his kingdom, he just simply believed in him like no one ever had. It made his resolve falter, his hands finally starting to shake at the revelation.
Just when he thought he was at the edge of falling apart, John spoke, his final statement laid down like the last nail on the coffin. "You already did that all by yourself." He said.
Sherlock stood there, out of the maniacal trance he had entered in his distress. The wand raised against an inexistent threat, as the ring on his hand glinted wildly at him from the reflecting light. He looked around but didn't pay attention to any of it, not his friends' understanding faces, nor all the others present waiting for him to lay down the fight, he just saw that smooth band around his finger. His breathing slowed and his arm made its way down from the upright pose. The adrenaline rushing out of his veins as fast as it had entered, while his stance of defense turned into one of exhausted defeat. Because his battle was finally done, he had lost, and wasn't it the strangest of things that Sherlock felt almost relieved for it?
Once the wand was down, he looked at John, who was wearing the biggest grin he had witnessed and allowed himself to smirk faintly. Suddenly feeling lighter and oddly emotional. As if he had solved the most mystifying puzzle. The crowd around him released their worried postures and began to calm down as they realised their realm would not be destroy that day. The new king took a step forward, ready to encounter Sherlock at the center of the Cathedral's aisle, but was interrupted when a round of roaring thunder broke out from the sky.
After that, an eery silence was left and the atmosphere turned dense. Those present looked around attempting to find a reason for the most distressing feeling of anxiousness and doom. After a few moments the walls began to shake and the air coloured lime green. A cloud of smoke and sparkling light formed at the center of the atrium, making the crowd gasp once more. It roared and grew until it dissipated, leaving behind a man with lime green eyes, dressed in a sleek suit.
He smiled a devilish grin and muttered: "Did you miss me?".