Chapter 4: Manipulation On A Tuesday
Manipulation is a type of social influence that aims to change
the behaviour or perception of others through deceptive
tactics. A successful manipulation can only be achieved when
the subject isn't aware that they are being influenced in any
way. For better results also view: lying.
Well, it turns out 'Remedial Goodness 101' was even worse that they had initially anticipated. Not only did the subjects and questions were redacted for extremely stupid people, but the whole class was completely pointless. Sherlock felt he was about to melt off his desk in utter, tortuous boredom. Seriously, who in hell could believe learning that one should avoid carving out a baby's heart if one attempted to be good —obvious— would make any difference? It wasn't that the villain kids had no clue on what one did if they desired to 'do good', it was just a matter of not wanting to do it. If he had to hear another questionnaire about the morality of curses he was sure he would spontaneously combust.
After answering yet another 'what do you do when…' question right, Irene —who was sat at his right— chipped in, "You seem to be on fire today, Sherl." She commented half-disinterestedly. Sherlock wished he were actually on fire, it would at least be less painful that sitting there and listening to that non-sense for another second. He turned to look at the girl and comically rolled his eyes at her. The notebook in front of her containing everything but class content; filled with some casual sketches and highly inappropriate ideas she seemed to be getting. Sherlock supposed at least by telling them 'what not to do', this class could spark some interesting notions to cause chaos.
"I just pick the one that doesn't sound like any fun." He answered, to which Lestrade threw a loud and interrupting belly laugh that cut off the voice asking yet another situational interrogation. Mrs. Hudson —who had appointed herself, as main Defender of Light, to impart as much knowledge of virtuousness to the three additions to the school's alumni— cleared her throat impatiently, clearly not at all amused that they seemed to be taking the class so indifferently.
Just as she was about to berate them once more to pay attention, a petite figure entered the classroom quickly and as quietly as was possible for any human to walk. She was of small stature, brown eyes and walked with her brunette-topped head down, as if trying to draw the least amount of attention to herself that she could. Walking with short, yet swift steps towards Lady Hudson and shuffling her frankly atrociously clad feet as she waited for the older woman to notice her.
"Oh. Hello, dear." Hudson greeted. Extending an amiably smile towards what appeared to be such a familiar face in front of her. Sherlock evaluated you didn't really need to be a genius to see the resemblance; but since he was, he could tell a lot more than just the familial traits on their bodies.
"You need to sign off the early dismissal for the coronation." The girl said, while she passed a brown folder to her grandmother. She tugged on the sleeves of her flower patterned jumper in apprehension at having three strange pair of eyes fixed on her. With her standing that close to the group, the violet-haired boy could observe even more details from her stance, and the interesting thing happening with the girl's hair had a wicked idea already forming inside his head; you don't get that pink from just anywhere.
"Everyone knows my granddaughter, Molly?" The older woman introduced, to which Lestrade turned his head and looked at him with a pleased glint on his gaze, Sherlock knew exactly what it was that his companion wanted. Irene arched an eyebrow in regard but dismissed her fairly quickly. Sherlock, however, was smiling with the possibilities this meeting would reap.
"It's okay." The girl muttered, and struggled to gather the papers she had dropped in nervousness. Anxiously attempting to get out of the room before she could embarrass herself further. "Don't mind me."
Molly hurried out of the classroom along with all her belongings, and the class droned on for the remaining twenty minutes. Lestrade and Irene got to try out his theory of getting the right answer just by choosing what seemed the least appealing option; but he wouldn't have known, because in his mind he was already weaving strategies.
"Hold on!" The booming voice of the coach was heard across the field, followed by the high-pitched ring of his whistle which halted all the players in and out of the designated 'kill-zone'. Tourney was the most important sport of the whole kingdom, making it rise above every other in the hierarchy of physical abilities. John, of course, was not only in love with the sport, but was also naturally the best player their school had. He counted becoming the First Knight —basically captain— of the team one of his biggest achievements; since it was something he had gained solely by passion, talent and hard-work. It had nothing to do with who his parents were, or the title that had been placed upon his shoulders since the day he was born. The accomplishment was entirely and exclusively his and that was a feeling unlike any other the prince had ever experienced.
Today's practice was specially interesting since it would be the first —of many— that would feature players from The Isle of Lost. To say John was beyond excited would be a gross understatement. "Team!" The coach yelled and motioned the players to gather close and greet the newest addition to the game.
Greg Lestrade was standing in the middle of the field, wearing the right uniform and crossing his arms in an expression of dubious disinterest. John approached him and waved, to which he only got a half-hearted scrunched of eyebrows in return. They were fun —these kids from the isle. "This is Lestrade," The tall man said, waving the papers he was holding in obvious sign of its official state. "And he will be joining us at regular practices from now on." He announced, and both Greg and John looked around for the second head that should be among the players. "Where's Sherlock?" The blonde boy asked, raising his sight up to the coach in wait for information.
"Oh, you mean the other one?" He asked nonchalantly; the two teenagers nodded their heads, one in anticipation, the other with annoyance already painting his features. "He has a skin condition that prevents him from attending any outdoors activities, the poor kid." The coach explained. "So it will only be you with us."
"Bastard!" Lestrade uttered, clearly used to his friend getting away with things by lying, and the prince couldn't help but chuckle at the word, knowing fully well he shouldn't laugh at such a term —even if only said in jest— most kids of the villains were bastards, including Sherlock, and it was in very bad taste for a royal to insult such societal status, but he was unable to contain; besides he doubted the violet-haired boy would have been insulted had he heard him, he looked pretty unconcerned with the opinions of others about himself.
At the sound of his laugh, Greg turned and smiled mischievously at him, as if he approved of the other's humour; John hoped that could mean he could actually befriend one —if not all— of the three teenagers. The other boys present looked at them with animosity, specially Philip Anderson, who was sporting a nasty grimace at the fact of having to spend his afternoon around 'villain kids'. The blue-eyed boy ignored him and kept smiling amusedly. The second note of the whistle brought them out of their laughing and into running to the field with helmets and lances, ready to be in joust position.
The game started, and after a few minutes the blonde noticed the other man was clearly lost as to the role he was supposed to be playing; so the next time he ran past him on the left field he yelled 'ball to the net!' and gestured to where he had to shoot. Greg seemed to pick it up fairly quickly after that and was soon rushing and dashing through the other players so violently some of them even had stood back once they saw him approach. It was obvious Lestrade was winging it, not really knowing the ins and outs of the game, but such fearlessness and speed could come in handy when they competed against other schools of the kingdom.
After three —illegally-scored— hits by his team, and ninety five minutes of game, Lestrade was beaming with victory and some of the players were sporting a few new bruises. But all in all, it was a successful practice and the expression Adam —the coach— was giving them proved he believed it too.
"Get over here!" He yelled at Lestrade and the teenager jogged to them. "What do you call that?" The tall man asked tersely. Greg just shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "I call that raw talent." The coach finished, congratulating him with a manly pat on his back. "Welcome to the team, son."
The boy still wearing his leather gloves shook the trainer's hand, while in the distance John could hear Anderson complaining about the unfairness of someone making the team just because he was a 'mindless brute', of course the prince didn't care for that description but decided against saying anything and ruining the first triumph he got to witness from his guests —Lady Hudson had already told him about how wonderfully they were doing with their goodness classes— so he stayed quiet.
"I could really use a tough guy like you." Adam said. "The team is a bunch of princes, if you know what I mean." He raised an eyebrow, to which Lestrade laughed and nodded in agreement.
"I know, they're all 'after you, old chum' and 'no, pardon me'." The other answered in a mocking voice, rolling his eyes and grinning.
"Oy!" John complained, yet there was a high level of amusement on his tone. He scratched the top of his messy and disheveled golden hair as he watched the exchange before him.
"Where I'm from is 'prepare to die, fucker!" Greg explained bunching up his uniform sleeves as if he were preparing to 'rough aomeone up'. The coach was clearly delighted by the strong nature of his new player; John figured channeling that energy would be quite in their favour.
"We need to explain to you the meaning of a 'team'." Adam said, scavenging all the balls on the 'safe zone' of the field and placing them inside a net.
The blonde boy knew that there was no need to hang back, Lestrade obviously had the situation way under control, but he found himself saying: "I'll work with him, coach!" To which the older man just nodded and praised, then excused himself sporting the biggest grin he had seen him display since they won the tournament two sun-cycles ago.
Once the coach had left and the two teenagers were walking to the changing lockers, the prince started talking, figuring now was as good time as any to not only explain the game's mechanics to its newest member, but also to have a chat with him. Aside from the fact that their rebel behaviour was like a refreshing glass of ice water to the realm's hot, demanding, boring, routinely desert, these kids were his responsibility now, and he had to teach them that there were other —better— ways of living than just stealing and causing fires. "A team is like a family." He explained truthfully.
"You don't want to be at my house for dinner." The other answered, not getting the point at all. The island's inhabitants must be worse than he thought if the basic concept of camaraderie was so outlandish to them.
"No, I mean like the different parts of the body." He explained patting his arms and knees. He thought he should feel silly doing something like that, but these kids needed all the help they could get. "That is what a team is, different players working together to win."
Lestrade seemed to contemplate this, mulling over the concept before turning around and arching an eyebrow at him. "Can I be the fist?" He asked, as he halted. A wicked stance as the prince retraced his steps.
"Ha!" John laughed. "Sure." He answered and started to walk again towards the locker, hiking up the strap of his changing bag. "You've never played a team sport before." He stated, not really needing affirmation of that reality, he just felt it was immensely impactful the fact that something so vital to him could be so alien to someone else. He sat on the bench in front of the metal door with his number on it —the 14 on bold brick letters staring back at him.
"Nah," The rebel waved a hand in dismissal. "On the island is every man for himself." Lestrade described, placing his things over a bench and rummaging around his own bag for a towel.
The kid was his age, yet as he spoke that, he seemed several sun-cycles older, —the fact the he towered over John, just like almost everyone else did, didn't help either— John stayed seated on that bench long after his new teammate had gone off to shower and most of the other kids had left the building. He vowed he would make sure things were different for them there.
A row of student lockers is lined up at the side of the building, attached to a hallway with a rail on the other side, over-looking a garden with picnic tables and several trees surrounding them. At the far side of said hall there were Sherlock and Irene, talking and laughing about who knows what, John couldn't help staring as the both of them took books out of their places.
"Those kids are trouble." He heard Sally's voice to his left. She was crossing her arms over her mint green dress, standing much too close to Philip Anderson for comfort, who seemed to agree to her statement quite wholeheartedly. At the distance, Irene bid her friend goodbye and left his side, leaving the violet-haired boy alone.
"Oh, come on." John bemoaned, tired of his friends being judgmental just because of where they were from. "You should give them a chance." He said, remembering how much of a good time it had been playing Tourney with Lestrade earlier.
"No offense, John." Said Mary to his right, using that soft tone that made the prince exasperated lately, "You're just too trusting." She declared, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him around and away, far from where the boy could hear them. "Look," She states, pushing a strand of her soft blonde hair behind her ear. "I know your mum fell in love with a beast who turned out to be a prince. But with my mum, "The Evil Fairy" was just an evil fairy." The princess expressed, the other two people present nodding along as if encouraging him to listen. "That boy's mother." She gestured to where Sherlock was stuffing a dubiously looking chemistry set inside his locker, the door of which was decorated —vandalised would be a better description— with several holes, the origin of which John didn't dare to question, and a smiling face sprayed in bright yellow.
"I think you're wrong about them." John answered, not just to his girlfriend but to the others as well. "Listen, Mary…" He started saying, but the presence of their two friends deterred him. He sighed, and made a dismissive gesture with his hand, figuring it was best to talk with her when in private. Turning around to escape the usual onslaught of arguments on why his idea had been the worst anyone could have ever had. "I'll see you later," He threw back to Mary as he approached the other boy; now watching the scene with amused eyes. "Hey," John greeted, although he felt the effect fell flat now that Sherlock had seen him practically running away from his friends.
"Hello." The boy answered, turning around to pay attention to his beakers once more; the beakers that were suspiciously identical to the ones from the school lab, the same ones you are not supposed to take back to your room or anywhere outside of said classroom.
"How was your first day?" John asked, an innocent grin over his expression. He was completely aware of what was happening, but perhaps he needed to take everything one step at a time. He leaned back on the lockers next to the boy and smiled, he knew he shouldn't trust him so easily, but the kids from the Isle were alright and despite having few interactions with him, Sherlock's acerbic personality was his favourite.
"Super." Sherlock answered in what seemed to the prince a highly sarcastic tone. The blonde believed he was never going to understand what was going on with this boy; whether if he was just playing him, or if he genuinely was that moody and rude; or both at the same time. He supposed he would just have to know him better to be able to tell.
"You know," He starts, motioning to the inside of the boy's locker. Sherlock's grey eyes pierced through his in intensity, as if he were trying to figure something out. "The labs are open from 7 in the morning to 11 pm, you should really think about returning those beakers where they belong and just experiment there," John commented. "What do you say?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but shut it closed when someone walked by them, the figure of the prince' friend Molly quickly walking away from them as if she were afraid of the violet-haired boy. 'Not you too, Molly,' John thought.
Once she was out of sight, Sherlock spoke, "I say:" He started, a teasing smirk radiating all over his pale face. "Way to take all the fun out of it." He said, just before he closed his locker door, swiftly turning around and walking away.
The girl's loo was not a place in which Sherlock could say he had ever found himself before, but he had never had a real reason to walk that uncrossed line. Upon entering, he saw his target, washing her hands in a frantic movement and clearly impatient to get away from the restroom before someone else entered. 'Too late' thought Sherlock.
"It's Molly, right?" He asked, his deep voice resonating on the powder yellow tiled walls. Did everything in the kingdom just had to be some shade of pastel colour? Have darker shades never been introduced to these stumbling humans?
The girl jumped in surprise; apparently terrified of not only having to confront another person, but seeing as he was a man, and one of 'the villains' it had her taking a step back. "You can't be here." She stated dumbly, as if the boy didn't know how to differentiate between signs on loo doors.
Sherlock ignored her fear and pressed on, yet he made sure to soften his facial features and open up his stance to seem less threatening. "I just-" He started, a hint of hesitation on his tone. "I noticed your hair." He commented gesturing the rose-coloured roots peeking from the dull brunette hair bunched up on her head. The tell-tale mark of someone with enchanting blood. It was practically impossible to replicate the sort of shimmer magic gave to any physical attributes of the owner.
Molly was startled, trying to quickly stuff her things in her bag and nervously running her fingers through the strands that fell from her high, slick ponytail. "Um," She mumbled. "It's not-"
"It's fine." Sherlock hastened to reassure her, it would not do for her to think he was antagonising her for it; or maybe planning to exploit said fact in any way —which he very well was, but she did not need to know about that. Once the girl stopped looking as if she was going to bolt out of there in a split second, he continued. "Purple hair." He gestured to his ridiculously violet curls wildly looping atop his skull. "Why hide it?" He asked.
The girl scratched her arm in apprehension, an obviously uncomfortable subject for her. "Mum says it's too different." She explained. "And we don't really use magic any more." Her sad smile was letting him know he was making real progress.
"Lady Hudson is your grandmother." The rebel stated, his sharp eyes raking over her frame, sussing out every nuance he could. "Surely they wouldn't mind. Your friends…" Sherlock trailed off, giving her a chance to elaborate.
"I- I really don't," She stuttered. "I mean they don't-" Sighing in frustration and taking a breath to start her sentence again; once she was calm, she finally replied. "It draws too much attention." From what the violet-haired boy could deduce she clearly didn't have an incredible amount of friendly acquaintances. She shrugged shyly, but set her shoulders back in dismissal, in an obvious attempt to make it seem less impactful than it was for her. "But it's fine," She said. "I only need to cover the roots. I can't change it but I'm used to it."
"Wrong." Sherlock corrected, a smile already drawing on his face.
She seemed confused, specially when he steepled his hands under his chin and slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them, her expression hadn't changed, but something else had. Her hair was no longer styled back in a plain ponytail; now it cascaded around her face in soft waves with a very low side-parting which concealed most of the pink on the roots, and since it was magical she will have trouble not to have it that way in the future. Everything else aside —compared to her previous atrocity— Sherlock believed he inadvertently did the world a favour.
"What-" She exclaimed touching her hair, then swiftly turning around to asses herself in the mirror. "How did you-" She questioned, a mixture between elated and bewildered. Barely able to take her eyes off the solution to her problem he had so readily provided.
Sherlock showed her his spell book, considering it safe for a girl like her to know he had it, she wouldn't really tell anyone. "This way at least it's less visible." He offered as an excuse to mask the true intention of helping her. "And you almost don't notice your…other features anymore either." He commented, making an effort to maintain the friendl(ier) expression on his own attributes.
Suddenly excited, Molly turned around and looked at him with eyes full of expectation and new found regard. "Can you make it turn brunette?" She asked.
"I'm afraid not." Sherlock offered with a pained face, stuffing his hands on his coat to appear embarrassed. "I've practiced but those methods are still very advanced." He saw the disappointment flood her posture and decided it was the perfect time for attack. "But your grandmother!" He exclaimed as if he had just thought of the best idea. "With a wave of her wand you would never have to worry about colouring again!"
"She doesn't use the wand anymore," Molly admitted, still subtly looking at her head on the reflection. "She believes real magic is in knowledge and friendship."
'Moron,' The boy muttered under his breath, leaning back against the wall of the bathroom. "Just, I understand she used magic on that ratty princess, yes?" He clarified, only waiting for the other to nod before moving on. "And she wasn't even family. Doesn't she love you?"
Molly opened her big eyes in surprise and stammered a response. Something along the lines of 'what matters is on the inside' or some other lark like that. To which the silver-eyed boy just said: "Exactly."
She looked confused, not really following why he agreed with that. "What-" She started asking, but if the boy had to endure some more few days in this realm he figured he had to make it a habit to cut people off before they filled his head and time with more stupid questions.
"No," He interrupted her. "That's the face," He stated, imitating her big sad eyes and bottom lip pout. "Just look as if you heart were about to break and she'll do whatever you want." Sherlock explained.
"She will?" Molly looked confused, but the glint of hope in her eyes gave the boy every confidence that she was definitely going to listen to him. He had her.
"Yes, I mean that princess did it and worked, correct? She just magic-ed her into everything she wanted." He shrugged and took a step towards her, trying to encourage her to buy into what he was saying. "And if she, you know, breaks out the old wand, invite me." He finished.
Molly smiled and nodded, turning back to grab her bag and watching him as if he had hanged the stars himself. "I will," She said. "Thank you so much." The girl beamed and ran out of the room in excitement, leaving Sherlock alone there, in the Ladies Room.
He stuffed his spell-book back in the inside pocket of his coat and slightly adjusted his dark curls; then turned around and left behind the smirking reflection of his face on the mirror.
Chemistry classes came as a divine relief for Sherlock. It's not as if he hadn't covered all the course material already, but the chance to work with chemicals again calmed the storm inside his mind. He found thoughts of his elaborate plan and having to adjust living on a place where everything was simultaneously new and stupid had him needing something to occupy his racing mind.
Next to him, Irene was scrawling something on her notebook but completely ignoring the lesson and the teacher; the boy didn't blame her, he was clearly not qualified to give this course. The fact that they had to share the lesson with Philip Anderson didn't seem to help either.
"He is in line for a throne." He heard Irene say next to him, as if considering his worth —which in Sherlock opinion wasn't much.
"Ugh, Irene." He exclaimed quietly, a disgusted curl to his lips. He knew exactly what the other was thinking about. "Don't tell me you're actually listening to your mother." He said.
The Woman shrugged one shoulder and regarded her target, not turning around to see the disapproval on her friend's face. "Perhaps I could come to like him?" She offered, placing her chin on her hand and pursed her mouth in dissatisfaction as Anderson was attempting to balance a pencil on his fist like the moron he was.
"No, you couldn't." The violet-haired boy insisted, not really seeing how that could end up well for her. Physically shivering from repulsion at imagining a lifetime full of that. "First, he has the personality of a dead fish, and the face to match." He said, as the teacher kept droning on about some periodic table facts —incorrect periodic table facts that is— and the rest of the students seemed to be interested in anything but the lesson. "And second," Sherlock continued. "You are a lesbian."
"I know." Irene sighed in defeat, "But still, he has a castle." She complained, completely put out from the fact that the way to get what she wanted was so unpleasant, Sherlock believed she wasted her time since they were set to take over the world in a few weeks; so obtaining a castle or something similar would definitely not be a problem then. But still, he figured her delusions were not of his business. "And you know I'd make an exception for you, though." She turned to him and winked lewdly.
"Yes," Sherlock answered flatly. Not at all impressed or surprised by those sort of delusions; it's not as if she hadn't offered before. "You've mentioned." His disinterested face probably spoke for him about how appealing that sounded.
"Or for that dishy Prince John." She added with a grin that spelled trouble. The boy genuinely had not expected the king-to-be to be part of the conversation; he scratched his arm, suddenly uncomfortable. He failed to determine the reason for such sensation; thankfully, he was saved from having to answer when the teacher clearly had enough of their hushed conversation.
"Miss Adler, perhaps this is just review for you." He said, placing his hands on his hips in an obvious effort to make himself seem intimidating. "So, tell me, what is the average atomic weight of silver?" He asked, to which Irene turned to Sherlock with panic in her eyes; but before the violet-haired boy could assist her she had been ushered to the front and told to write it on the board.
There was an easy way out of the situation, but they weren't supposed to cause any sort of trouble until the wand was in his hands, and the kingdom right where he wanted it —arson would probably be labeled as 'evil' anyway—. He assumed he could just stand back and watch her make an idiot of herself, but he found he was unable to keep quiet when the solution was so… accessible. Sighing, he brought his hand up and simulated as if he were looking at his reflection, once Irene caught the meaning she smiled gratefully and discreetly took her magical mirror out of the pocket of her skirt. After just few seconds, she was correctly scrawling the answer on the board, and turning around to a room full of surprised faces.
"I forget," The teacher commented. "Always a mistake to underestimate-" He started, but was cut off when The Woman caught his intention.
"A villain?" Irene completed, smirking and walking towards him. "Don't make it again." She said as she placed the chalk on his hands before walking back to her seat. She smirked at Sherlock and sat back down, just in time to watch the boy roll his eyes at her again.
Perhaps Sherlock had miscalculated with forming a casual acquaintance with Molly Hooper; now she was perched up on the desk chair at his and Lestrade's room, going on and on about her parents and her grandmother and her dream cats. To top it all off, there was no real gain from the endless one-sided conversation, not when the brunette had already told him the results from his carefully planned scheme.
"My grandmother said that I should learn to fix my problems with hard work instead of trying to get her to use magic to do it." She explained, for the thirteenth time that hour. The boy failed to know what was worse, the fact that he was basically back on square one with the wand, or that this useless information was being piled on over him; can't someone just attempt world domination without the world making him want to fling himself from the window? Villains before his time definitely had it easier when putting a whole kingdom to sleep was possible, now he had to work with the scraps of magic the War of the Light had left behind against humans —or not completely, since Molly was merged-blood— literally too stupid to be manipulated.
He sighed in boredom from the sprawled position he displayed over his bed, but straightened up when Irene looked at him in warning across the room. What could possibly be the point? It's not like Molly would ever be brave enough —or determined enough—to try again. "What world does she live in?" She went on, uncharacteristically complaining and tugging her new hair in dissatisfaction.
"Auradon?" He asked sarcastically; he had had quite enough of the realm and its philosophy for the day. Turning back to his Spell Book and letting Irene deal with their unwanted guest.
"Well," The Woman started, watching her reflection on the full length mirror at the inside of their wardrobe. Admiring the way her very short midnight blue dress fitted her figure. "It has its perks." She commented, making Molly smile with delight.
"Like Anderson?" Sherlock couldn't really help the disgusted note out of his tone as he voiced his question; for him, gaining wealth wasn't worth spending one more second around Philip Anderson than necessary, his secret paramour was no better either.
"Prince Philip?" The brunette perked up at the mention of his name, it looked like she was also deluded into thinking someone like Anderson had anything worthwhile to contribute to anyone's life. Sherlock clutched the book closer in exasperation and attempted to will himself out of the room, to a quiet place where he could plot without distraction.
"Oh, yes." Irene answered, a mischievous smile forming on her lips. Perhaps Molly wasn't aware of the real reason why the girl wanted to make an intimate acquaintance of him, but he did, and that fact at least lowered the disappointed image he had placed on Irene ever since she decided to follow her mother's advice.
"Is he your boyfriend?" The brunette asked dumbly, completely oblivious to the atmosphere in the room. "How exciting!" She exclaimed, standing up from her seat and looking at Irene as if she were incredibly lucky for snatching herself the catch that was Philip fucking Anderson. What a dreadful subject of conversation it was!
"Tedious." He couldn't help but utter, bunching up the sleeves to his crisp plum shirt as if that would help him concentrate all the more.
"And how would you know?" Teased Irene, pausing a second from her self-lusting at the other side of the room to stare at him expectantly, as if he had time to waste on such notions.
"Romantic entanglement is a waste of time," He recited, completely drained of having to repeat the same line every time the subject came up. "Time I can better spend planning-" But he stopped himself. Unknowingly —for her— using Molly for their own gain was one thing, but it was a completely different one to allow her to know they were planning something. She may be oblivious and easily manipulated but, unlike almost everyone on the kingdom, she wasn't a completely stupid person and would be able to put two and two together, and if she told John… Sherlock couldn't let that happen. "My experiments." He finished, and Molly didn't even bat an eyelash.
"Oh, I forgot!" Irene exclaimed, grimacing and looking at her watch as if it had personally offended her. "I was supposed to meet Anderson at the bleachers after lunch." She elaborated, to which Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
"And that is exactly what I mean." He said in a hushed voice and tugged at his violet curls in frustration. In that exact moment, there was an incessant knocking on the door that kept going right until Irene answered it. A girl with long black hair and angular face entered the room, introducing herself as 'Janine' and standing confidently on the middle of the room.
"Daughter of The Warrior Princess." Sherlock completed for her, to the astonishment of almost everyone present —Irene was already used to his deductions by now. The new girl just beamed and nodded, not at all phased about being recognised that easily by someone who she hadn't met before.
"Yes, that's me." She affirmed, placing one hand on her hip as if that were in itself an incredibly huge achievement.
"Boring." He replied, raking his gray eyes over her stance and not feeling impressed at all. Irene kept watching him with an amused expression, knowing exactly how enjoyable he was finding the evening.
"Sorry?" Janine asked in half-mock, her smile showing her true feelings about the situation. At the other end of the room, Molly watched on with blatant fascination, the violet haired boy was not sure why she was still there, but he supposed making her go away now that she was of no use to him would be considered 'rude' and he had to thread lightly until he could blow his cover. The only way he could stand this monotony was thinking of what he would gain once he got the wand in his grasp.
Taking a deep breath, he prepared to let the dam break, smirking slightly at his own ability. "You want my help." He stated first, which was no news to anyone. "I know you're having relationship problems, and you want to find out whether your prince is cheating on you with that short-haired girl who thinks she is special just because she knows the son of the Emperor and you'd like to know if you would be better off with someone else." He paused, standing up and mirroring the confident posture of his subject. "I know all that and more, what I don't know is why you think I would I ever do something for you." Sherlock questioned.
"I'll pay you fifty coins." She offered, twinkling her purse in demonstration.
"Good answer." Irene commented and stepped forward to grab the pouch and placed it on the desk with a smile. "So Sherlock," She said, turning around to her friend in anticipation. "What do you think?" She pointed to Janine.
"I think you should find the missing part of your dress, Irene." He commented, gesturing to the exposed part of her legs with a smirk. The girl just rolled her eyes at him in annoyance and the boy chuckled.
"Oh, I should probably have warned you." She said to the other two other girls. "Sherlock thinks he is hilarious." The others laughed, although Sherlock wasn't sure whether they ware giggling at his joke or hers, probably The Woman's.
"No, no no." Molly shook her head as an answer to his unvoiced question. "I've seen it." She explained, suddenly ready to defend him; all he had done is fix her poor attempts at hiding rose-coloured hair, for evil's sake! And that had been completely in his selfish interests. "He's good at people problems."
That statement puzzled the villain. "I am?" He asked, leaving his spell book on the bed and crossing his arms in confusion.
However, Irene had a different reaction. She laughed, possibly at the notion of him knowing anything about real human beings, probably at the face he made when he heard said idea. "He is?" She asked between chuckles.
"Yes!" The brunette affirmed, her eyes lighting up in excitement. "You should give relationship advice." She innocently prompted, which drew a horrified expression on the boy and more howls of laughter from the seductress.
After a few moments of feeling quite uncomfortable, the boy cleared his throat and decided that focusing on the task at hand was the best way to rid himself of the unfortunate subject. "So, potential cheating boyfriend, you said?" He queried, more as a statement than a question, there was no possible way this girl's lover had not been playing prince with at least two other princesses.
"Yes," Janine responded, completely aware of the fact that she never had said who this mysterious boyfriend was. Not that Sherlock needed a name to know practically everything about him already. "Is he?" She asked. "Cheating, I mean."
Sherlock looked at her and walked closer. "Oh, there's no question about that." He said. "The real question is what are you going to do to get back at them?" He ended and smiled a misbehaving grin.
Janine seemed to be sold on his mischievous nature as well. At least not everything was doomed to be boring here, if anything else failed, Auradon looked like it could be a perfect place to stir up trouble. "Mr. Holmes." She started. "You're going to be incredibly useful." Janine swore and smiled.
A few hours later found Sherlock bent over his desk, turning page after page of spells, trying to figure out a way to circumvent the highest security of the kingdom to get to the wand. It was no easy fit, no matter how brilliant he was; magic was still fairly new for him and its rules had changed so much since the war no one was completely sure of how it worked now that it had become outdated.
"Anderson's castle is beyond belief." Irene said, recounting her meeting with the waste of space that was her new prey. The boy understood the need to live up to one parent's expectations —be it from a madman that wasn't actually his parent— but she should have chosen someone at least bearable with which to spend her life.
"His stupidity is beyond belief." He stated, turning on the small lamp beside him as the day was quickly turning into dusk in the world outside.
"I call that making my way in the world." The girl stood up and paced around the room, a clear sign that no matter how much she said she enjoyed her new status, she was totally aware that it would make her miserable within the fortnight. Specially since it was a deal that quite specifically ruled out indulging in her most favourite activities, activities with another woman.
"I call that prostitution." He threw back. "How is that any different than being a dominatrix?" He inquired, genuinely baffled by the distinction between the two acts, particularly because morals were never his strong suit. He had been born blessed with dubious ethics.
Irene never answered, which the violet-haired boy took to mean she no longer wished to discuss her magical afternoon with Philip's privileges. Sherlock was actually grateful, since now he could concentrate on what really mattered.
Sherlock needed time and silence to be able to draw an elaborate and delicate plan that could land them where they desired before he ended up ripping off all his hair in frustration; And that is exactly the moment when Lestrade decided to come bounding up into their room with heavy, banging steps and talking loudly. "Hello Ladies!" He greeted with a smirk and threw his smelly and dirty bag unto his bed. Making Sherlock groan by the odor, and the fact that —judging by the new shirt— he was, as of right now, living with an athlete. Marvellous.
He figures he must have pulled a face, since Greg was quick to comment. "Did the Hooper plan worked?" He asked dumbly. "Is she going to take you to see the wand?" He sat on his bed and started pulling off his sweaty shoes.
"Lestrade, take your stupid questions and your foul feet elsewhere." He bit back, shy from snarling his teeth at him. "I'm not in the mood." Sherlock grumbled.
The older man turned to look at Irene in question, as if to find out what had him so riled up. "He completely struck out." She explained, crossing her legs and leaning back on the love-seat she had invaded. "He's been going over every page in that book for hours." She complained. "I placed one of my crown circlets on his head earlier and he hasn't even noticed." She gestured, to which the other moved his head taken aback, only to watch as a silver ring of metal dropped from his curls to the floor dully.
He eyed the girl in animosity, not having time for her childish pranks. "What do you think Moriarty will do to us," He started, "To me, if I go back home empty handed?" The boy asked venomously. The other two were quickly snapped out of their easygoing attitude, there was no way that could end well for anyone involved.
"Okay, fine." Lestrade relented. He grabbed a nearby chair and sat next to him ready to help figure out what the next move should be. "How can we get the bloody wand?" He thought aloud, only to have Irene placed a chagrined hand on her forehead and hesitate to talk.
"I forgot." She said, as an excuse for what she was about to say and for not having mentioned it before. "Philip told me Lady Hudson blesses Prince John with it at the coronation that we all get to go." She revealed. "I have nothing to wear of course," The girl commented in an effort to soften the blow she knew was coming.
Sherlock eyed her as if she were the worst moron in the realm, but before he could say anything she was saved by another round of knocks on their door. Sherlock was fed up with uninvited guests and surprises for the day. He stood up quite forcibly and marched to the door ready to scream at whomever dared to disturb his already miserable day. "What!" He said as he opened the door, but the rest of his attack died on his tongue when he realised it was John at the other side.
The prince smiled innocently and put his hands behind his back in a friendly manner, the violet-haired boy felt ready to scream from frustration for a completely different reason. "Hey, Sherlock." He said, and once he saw the other two members of his gang, he perked up and greeted them too. "Sorry, it's just I didn't see you at all today," He explained as reason for his dropping by so suddenly. "And I was wondering if you guys wanted to go somewhere or hang out…" He trailed off but never lost that optimism on his face. Sherlock didn't know whether to punch him or mirror his smile, so he settled for going right into business.
"Is it true we get to attend your coronation?" He inquired.
John grinned, ecstatic to see them taking interest in social and official activities. "Yes, the whole school goes." He answered, and stuffed his hands on the pockets of his mustard tailored trousers.
"Oh, brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed, while Irene and Lestrade shared amused looks behind him. "Does that mean it's possible for us to stand in the front row next to Lady Hudson?" The boy asked, already drawing up a new plan. "Just to observe all that goodness more closely."
The blonde hesitated, it was apparent he was about to decline, yet the villain could do nothing but wait for the blow to fall and ruin his scheme. "It's really just me and my parents." He explained, hasty to placate them into not feeling left out. "My sister would have been there but she's traveling with her husband." John said, noticeably still standing outside the room, at the corridor.
A last resource occurred to Sherlock. "What about your betrothed?" He asked a bit more aggressively, although not enough to be recognisable.
John seemed confused for a minute, as if he were unfamiliar with the concept. "Who?" He asked with his light eyebrows drawn together and his lips pursed in contemplation.
"Mary," Sherlock clarified. Maybe this wouldn't exactly be an arranged couple, but the king-to-be with the daughter of the most influential royals was not a very surprising match to anyone.
"Oh, right." John replied, the smile completely gone from his face; instead replaced by a haunted and pensive look the boy failed to describe. "Yeah, she should probably be there too." He said scratching the back of his neck, yet he didn't sound completely sure. It appeared as if he hadn't thought of having her there with him, on the most important day of his life, to support him. "Girlfriend, not betrothed." He added.
"So you, your parents and your girlfriend." Sherlock recapitulated, nodding his head in deliberation. Maybe he could still work with that.
"Yes. I'm sorry." The prince said, the mood drastically changed from the happy-go-lucky that annoyed Sherlock and so happened to be his usual personality.
"Okay, thanks. Bye." The younger boy declared with a smile just before starting closing the door on the other's face.
"Oh, no but there's plenty-" John was unable to finish his sentence before Sherlock had left him standing there unsure of what had happened.
Inside the room, Sherlock was grinning again, and the other two looked on in anticipation. Every time he looked determined like that, everyone knew he was brewing trouble. "Irene," He said, prancing across the room and stopping at his desk once more.
"Yes, dear." She responded while the other frantically turned the pages of the Spell Book, but in an opposite manner than earlier. This time it was with an objective in mind.
"I'll need you to draw out everything we can about John Watson's preferences. Basically, tell me what he likes." He ordered, still looking through the papers. "You'll get your wish." Sherlock explained, "John is about to get himself his first boyfriend." He declared, his finger arriving to the exact spell he was looking for.
