Chapter 5: Cheat You Once
A very common action between villains: Cheating is the
act of behaving dishonourably or unfairly in order to gain
any sort of advantage for a given case. Find an easy way
out of a situation by dishonest or forbidden means,
and make sure to get rewarded for it.
The lights of the kingdom were already on, and John felt nights like this were unmatched; silent and calm, without a thing to disturb them. At least that was true for nature, his life was another matter altogether. He questioned how fragile something had to be in order to break so easily; or whether circumstances could change so quickly as to become something else entirely in a matter of days. Whatever the reason, he had proof now.
"The dreams are gone." He said, contemplatively. Mary, who was sitting on the bench next to him, looked at him as if he were not making any sense, as if she didn't know about the recurring nightly vision he had had for moon-cycles.
"What?" She inquired, confused by the non sequitur the prince had muttered. She reached a hand to brush back a lock of blonde hair that was falling over her face.
"The dream I always had," The blue-eyed boy explained. Seeing before his open eyes the reminisces of every image his subconscious had presented to him. Of running around a run-down place which he had never visited. Having to swerve crates, and boxes of diverse dubious things; always chasing or running away, but never finding resolution, be it catching or being caught. Forever following some unknown image that he was never quite able to reach, to make it stay. Those dreams were gone, and it had been days of silent and empty nights ever since his proclamation was put into action. "About the Isle." He explained squinting his eyes to the vast darkness. The thing he found most curious about the situation is that instead of relief and satisfaction of having rid himself of distressing and confusing images, he felt completely furious that he couldn't seem to figure out where they have come from in the first place.
The girl sighed in fatigue. "John." She said, and made a mildly patronising expression. John turned his head to look at her, but he found he had no desires of hearing comprehension if it wasn't also directed at his ideals. He had no need of more talks about how he was wrong in believing he could change any part of the kingdom. The fact that he already had his doubts on his ability to rule effectively didn't help in the slightly.
"You are not personally accountable for whatever life has thrown at them, you know?" She commented, expertly avoiding touching the subject of The War of Light which had left the realm more damaged that would be believable; few individuals knew about this and it was not a matter on which any royal liked to dwell, specially John. "You don't have to do this," She continued. "They are not you responsibility."
"I do need to." John was quick to respond. Balling his fists in stubbornness. "I can't just look away when part of my people still lives like that." He declared, his blue eyes betraying how scared that thought actually made him; that he wouldn't be able to help fix everything that had gone wrong in the past.
"I mean: you have enough on your plate already without this." The princess explained, John knew she may be right in that respect, yet he failed to see how him trying to actually do his job as a king was so hard for her and some of his friends to understand. Yes, the kids of villains were at a disadvantage, but they were just that; they wouldn't rot just by proximity, they weren't apples. "I don't want to see your hopes crushed when it doesn't turn out how you want."
The prince frowned and exhaled a harsh breath, "They won't disappoint me." He assured. He didn't even know where that passionate and deep loyalty to his new acquaintances came from, but he just knew there was so much more to them than the surfaced betrayed, and he doubted that if he didn't try, anybody else would bother.
"You can't know that." Mary replied, standing up from her position and crossing her eyes in defiance. "He used magic, you know?" She said. "The Holmes boy; on Molly's hair, and Lady Hudson is not happy about it." John barely knew about that, perhaps magic was outdated —nearly forbidden— now, but he didn't see the need to condemn such inoffensive action.
"What's the harm?" He asked, yet he knew he would be met with quiet derision. And true to form, his girlfriend was giving him such an intense glance of pity for his perceived naivety.
"It starts with that, but you don't know where it will end up." She insisted, trying to reach for his hand in regard, but the prince felt betrayed that she didn't trust him enough to listen to his judgement. He knew she cared for him, yet she seemed not to be able to have confidence on his decisions. "John, this is exactly what I mean," She said after watching his expression. "You are so blinded by your expectations you are not seeing what is clearly happening here."
The blonde stood from the bench, now really hurt by the implications. "And what is that?" He asked, yet his voice was not entirely audible in the dead of the night. Even if the royal gardens were quite private, he did not wish for someone to overhear such a delicate conversation, no matter how strained their relationship had become, the regard he felt for Mary prevented him from letting her be exposed like that.
"They are using you!" She exclaimed, with little care as to whom may hear it. "Yes, they seem to be adapting perfectly to the rules, but don't you think that is a tiny bit suspicious?" She challenged, her expression showing him a sign: there would be no going back from this. "This is going to blow over, and I'm not staying around to watch it." She said, locking her blue eyes with his in a last attempt to salvage something both of them already knew was lost, maybe even long before the kids from the island arrived.
"I'm sorry, Mary." He responded. Not with anger but exhaustion. She watched him for a few moments, then nodded in admittance and turned to leave. The prince remained there long after she was gone, trying to figure out why the separation didn't make him feel sad.
Love spells were technically forbidden by both, the ancient rules and the new laws imposed after The War; good thing Sherlock was never one to adhere to or abide any sort of rules. During his lifetime, Sherlock had made a lot of strange things for the sake of getting his way, yet he never could have imagined his most wicked deed would come in the form of cookies.
After only being acquainted with the concept of pastries for a few short days, he found it ridiculous, if not entirely hilarious, that he was tasked with baking a batch of cookies as the magic's allocation.
"Alright," Sherlock said, finishing mixing most of the dough, desperate to be done and able to get out of the horrible apron protecting his clothes. "It says that we still need one tear," He read from his Book of Spells. "And I never cry." Looking around to his two companions, already thinking in ways in which he could insult some innocent bystander into crying —he had done it before— however, it would prove difficult seeing as is was almost midnight and way past the dorm's curfew.
"Let's just chop some onions." Lestrade suggested, searching for his intent in every cupboard on the kitchen —where they were not allow to be, specially that late. Sherlock ran a hand through his curls and snarled in frustration.
"No." He said. "It says we need one tear of sadness." He specified, jamming his finger over the line where the offending instruction was carefully written in the book. Lestrade and Irene bent closer to read it. "And this spell has the highest rate of success, so we need to follow the procedure exactly." He explained, as he pushed aside one of the stolen chemistry graduated flasks that he had used to demonstrate such aspect.
"Well, good luck finding someone to torment at this hour." Greg commented, leaning back on the table behind him and crossing his arms in waiting. Sherlock glared at him and sighed.
"I still don't understand why I can't just use my seduction skills on him." Irene argued from behind him, smiling and carefully inspecting the glassware in front of her, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
"Your methods usually take between thirty five to fifty two hours approximately;" The violet-haired boy said. "And tomorrow the seats for the coronation will be assigned, we need to secure the location before that." He explained, not mentioning the fact that they will probably require something stronger than just mere skills in order to make honourable Prince John Watson forsake Mary's trust so easily; He knew Irene —although very good—was not fit for that, not like magic was. But he failed to know what will The Woman do if he implied her talents were not enough, so he refrained from saying so.
"Okay," She relented, yet her gaze still trailed the table and its contents adamantly. Sherlock had never seen her so…pensive. "But why does it have to be you?" She inquired, this time turning her head to fix her eyes on him. "Isn't the fact that you are a man going to make it even more complicated?"
The boy had not considered such notion, and much less that Irene would push the issue, considering her participation would hinder her pursuit of Anderson's riches. "Because…" He began, but found he couldn't name a reason for such a decision. Before he had to come up with one, he was halted by a familiar figure at the door. "Janine?" He exclaimed, even if he normally despised obvious statements.
"Oh, there you are!" The newcomer said, entering the kitchen swiftly. "I've been looking for you all day." She explained, her smiling face was far too cheery for Sherlock to endure at the moment. "I wanted to let you know your idea was perfect. You should've seen how ridiculous they looked hiding their hairless heads." She laughed smugly, completely delighted by the services Sherlock had rendered, and that brought a strange and unexpected wave of pleasure and satisfaction inside the boy. Disappearing their hair was a bright and wicked idea, and perhaps if he got eventually bored of world domination, he could make a profession of using magic to solve all the stupid people's conundrums.
"Whoever had seen them before would think it a good improvement." Irene commented, ready to leave her thoughtful attitude behind to enjoy basking in another's demise. The three of them had shared many an afternoon like that back on The Isle.
"Midnight snack, huh?" Janine asked, finally realising the activities they were carrying out. "Never took you for a baker." The girl said.
"It's simple chemistry." The boy answered, although the question made him remember the impasse they had encountered with the 'tear of sadness', perhaps, if he deduced brutally enough, Janine would provide them with one?
"What are you making?" She asked obliviously. Ignoring completely the furtive glances between the other three present.
Sherlock picked up the bowl again and made a show of mixing the dough once more. "Cookies." He answered and placed the container on the table quiet forcefully. Smiling innocently.
However, none of them expected the girl to reach out her hand and dip her finger in the mix, only to return it to her mouth and consuming what was to become their weapon of attack. "No!" The three rebels screamed in unison, worried at the implications a half completed potion could deliver.
"What?" She asked, clearly confused at their over-the-top reaction. "I'm not going to double-dip." She assured, yet the wide eyes of shock couldn't disappear from their faces.
"Do you feel anything?" Greg asked her, taking small steps toward her, waiting in case it was necessary to contain her. Seeing her confusion and continued normal behaviour, they were compelled to ask anew.
"Like it might be missing something?" Irene insisted, smiling in that attractive way she had to convince her into providing any information.
"Maybe some chips?" Janine said, taking a step back from their overt staring. It was obvious she didn't have them in such low regard as almost everyone else did in the kingdom; in fact, Sherlock would dare say they had managed on securing a few unexpected allies in the short days they had attended Auradon Prep. "Chocolate chips," She explained, once the surprised expressions turned into those of confusion.
"And those are?" Lestrade asked, adjusting his leather gloves on his hands and turning to look at the others. The violet-haired boy could deduce it was another concept of which they had been ignorant on the island.
"Chocolate?" She insisted, turning around and searching for something on the shelves behind her. "The most important food group." She said as she placed a bag of brown, soft-looking drops on the table. It looked suspiciously similar to the treat Greg had so gracelessly devoured on their journey there. She emptied half the bag over the bowl and regard them with curiosity. After encountering only unrecognising faces she was bound to ask. "Didn't you mums ever made you chocolate chip cookies?" She started. "Like when you're feeling sad and they are fresh from the oven, and she makes you laugh and everything is better…" She trailed off when she realised they were not following. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Sherlock knew what their faces must tell at the moment, how not one of them had experienced something even remotely akin to what she just described in all their life. Irene and Greg's single parents were hardly attentive, and cared for their offspring more as an asset to obtain their desires than actual children, and Sherlock didn't even have a family to speak of; just a maniac with a power-complex for a guardian and a lost brother that nobody had seen for more than thirteen cycles. —not that his mother had been even the least affectionate when she was alive. He doubted anyone on the island got to live as they did on Auradon. Everything there was business transactions and violent reluctant deals. No time, nor use, for anything else.
"It's different from where we're from." Irene explained, when she saw Sherlock was frozen in realisation. The boy had not felt so out of sorts for a long time.
"I know," Janine replied, an uncomfortable smile on her expression. "I just, I thought 'even villains love their kids'" She laughed nervously, perhaps as an attempt to ease the unrelenting tension on the room, yet it did nothing to wipe away the disturbed look over their frames. Her half-smile was erased and instead replaced by an expression of deep sadness, tears gathering inside her eyes in sympathy. "I'm sorry." She said, letting one teardrop roll down her cheek, only to be startled when Sherlock reached out and wiped it away with his hand. Discretely dropping it into the large mixing bowl while Janine stood there, puzzled as to what had happened.
"Yes, well. Big bummer." Sherlock smiled dismissively. "But we need to get these into the oven." He said as he walked around the kitchen table and started gently pushing her out of the room. "Thank you for coming by, glad to see the plan was to your satisfaction. Good night. Evil dreams." He recited, and before they knew it she had left with just a simple and bewildered 'goodnight'.
The room was quiet for a few seconds, but the silence didn't last long. "Okay, cookie sheet." Sherlock said, ready to bounce back into action after such an awkward moment. "Irene, oven." He ordered, already showing his back to rummage the drawers for cutters; completely unaware of Irene's inspecting eyes still evaluating over his turned figure.
The school seemed more alive that day than any other they had experienced since they arrived. Sherlock figured it had something to do with the upcoming Tourney match of the evening, followed by the official royal announcement for the coronation and its respective ball. The boy attempted to avoid any crowd of excited alumni, preferring instead to use the least traveled paths he had set himself to find once he realised their plan would take a bit more than just one night. There was only one person he wanted to run into that day, and the bag of cookies in his bag attested to that fact.
Greg leaned back on the lockers next to where Sherlock was retrieving his books, making an effort not to open the door too much, lest anyone could get a peek inside and find out how many 'borrowed' scientific equipment he had stuffed in there. "Are you feeling sort of weird about this?" Lestrade asked, running a hand through his messy hair. "I mean," He continued. "It's not so bad here, you know?" He said as he eyed the group of leaders of cheer that was passing by in front of them.
Sherlock turned around baffled, not expecting having to ponder that right now, not when their plans were so close to being true. Maybe now was not the time to question whether he actually enjoyed some aspects of their new —temporary— life. "Are you insane?" He snarled, not completely sure to whom he was talking, Lestrade or himself. "Long live evil!" He recited hushing, narrowing his eyes at the other's expression, trying to figure out if Greg really was that unsure of their resolve. "You're mean," He assured, never straying his silver gaze from his face, ready to catch and deduce any expression that might pass by it. "You're awful. You're bad news." He continued, smirking at seeing a spark of mischievous recognition mirroring his own. "Snap out of it!" He said, snapping his fingers, Lestrade smiled and sighed in relief.
"You are right," He commented. "Thanks, mate. I needed that." The taller boy commented to his friend adopting once more his though and rebel posture. Sherlock chose to ignore the fact that he would be more convinced had Lestrade refrained from using the royal's slang. 'Close enough' He thought and smiled back at him.
After that, Lestrade seemed to come back alive and waved him goodbye to chase down the group of girls they saw earlier. "Hey! you're all going to the Tourney game tonight?" He asked, putting on his 'score' face, which always made Sherlock crack up and roll his eyes, he was glad he never had to resort to doing things as stupid as that. "Look out for the number eight." He heard Greg mutter in the distance, already disappearing from sight into the crowd of rushing students which always flooded the halls when it was just this side of 'late' to classes. Thankfully Sherlock was not fazed by skipping some classes or arriving after the designated time, he knew they weren't supposed to raise any suspicion, but there were things Sherlock thought were not worth doing.
He watched him go for a few more moments, still startled by the waver he had seen Lestrade experience. He was distracted enough that he didn't notice someone standing behind him and greeting him until he turned around surprised, and found himself face to face with Prince John.
John watched as Lestrade walked away and the violet-haired boy stayed behind next to his locker. So he decided to go and greet him. Once he reached him, the other seemed completely startled by his 'hello' but seemed to recover quite quickly. Most people wouldn't have noticed, but the prince had special care to thread lightly with them; not because he was afraid, but because he felt the different upbringing could result in him putting his foot in his mouth again.
Sherlock turned around and his silver eyes danced across his face, when he seemed satisfied by whatever he found there, he shifted his gaze to the space around him, as if searching for something. "Where's Mary?" He asked, yet the face he was giving him betrayed that he pretty much already knew, or at least suspected, why she wasn't there.
"Oh, we-" He started saying with a hoarse voice, but had to stop. After taking a moment to clear his throat he finally said. "We broke up." He declared, as casually as anyone could with personal matters. Still, the boy in front of him didn't judge him or question him, just raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Turning once more to his locker to retrieve something.
"I just made a batch of cookies," He said, showing John the bag filled to the brim with them. "Double chocolate chip." Sherlock explained, shaking the round brown, baked pastry and the royal couldn't lie, they looked delicious.
"You bake?" The prince queried impressed. "Is there anything you can't do well?" He asked somewhat amused. To which the other just smirked and winked at him.
"Want one?" He offered and extended his arm for his to take one. "Cheer you up?" He explained as his face was breaking into a wide grin. He shook the bag as if he were presenting a treat to a hungry pet.
"Oh, I-" John made a grimace, annoyed at having to turn down such an opportunity. "I've got a big game, and I never eat before games." He explained, watching the face of the other fall slightly in disappointment. "But thank you so, so much." He was quick to placate, but the damage was done, Sherlock was half-smiling in an attempt to not make him feel bad about it. "Next time, maybe?" He suggested, absentmindedly placing a hand on the other's shoulder.
Sherlock looked at said limb as if he didn't know what it was or where it had come from. The blonde laughed and took it off with a smile. "No, yeah, I understand completely." The curly-haired boy stated, waving a dismissive hand at him. His dark coat making him look smaller than he actually was —which was almost a head taller than John, damn genetics.— "Be careful of treats offered by the kids of villains." He recited, like he had heard that a million times before, about him.
"No, no, no." John insisted, his blue eyes turning wide. He couldn't believe he had actually behaved like a right moron, again.
"I'm sure every kid in Auradon knows that." Sherlock continued, while he fidgeted with the bag. John needed to find a way to fix this, the last thing he wanted was to make him think he was scared of him, because that couldn't be further from the truth.
"No, no. That's not it. I really do-" He started saying, but was swiftly interrupted by the other shaking his head in appeasement.
"No need," He said, halting him with his hand and a smirk. "I get it. You're cautious," He explained, clearly not getting it at all. "That's smart." He commented, and in any other circumstances the blonde would feel flattered by being called smart by the cleverest person he knew.
As Sherlock took a cookie saying 'well, more for me' the royal knew he had to do something. He reached for the treat and plucked it out of the other's grasp, quickly stuffing a big bite inside his mouth with a grin. "See that." He said, his speech impaired by the massive ball of food inside it. "I totally trust you." He admitted, "Totally."
Sherlock looked at him, an expression of glee and amazement painting his handsome face. "How are they?" He asked, biting his lower lip in excitement. Frankly, the cookie was like heaven in his mouth, the ingredients completely and gracefully blended together.
"They're great." John said trying to brush away the crumbs from his mouth. "Amazing." He continued, chewing delighted and closing his eyes in satisfaction. "They are chewy and, is that cinnamon?" He asked, still savouring the taste of such a rich pastry. "I love it," He admitted, his eyes still locked into the gray ones in front of him. He had never noticed how brightly they sparkled when Sherlock was happy. "I mean..The cinnamon…it's…" His train of thought seemed to have been lost, or at least derailed. He wasn't completely aware of what he was eating anymore, just that it was, "Perfect, and sweet, and gorgeous." John babbled, raking his eyes over the violet-haired's frame, goofily grinning and taking a step closer, wondering why did the sun seemed suddenly brighter? "Sherlock, have you always had galaxies in your eyes?" He inquired, genuinely curious of such attribute. 'How is it possible for someone to be so extraordinary?' He thought; trying to finish off the piece of delicious feast only to be stopped by Sherlock. He pouted, but eventually let him place the cookie back into the bag.
"How are you feeling, mate?" A voice said behind him, he didn't know who it was, and he didn't care if the sound was not coming from lovely Sherlock. "John?" Another, higher tone breezed by him, yet he was unaffected. Too distracted by chiseled cheekbones and high collars.
"I feel like singing you name!" He screamed, elated for having found a treasure such as him. "Sherlock! Sheeeeerlock!" He belted, ignoring the curious looks he was getting from passerby people. A leather-gloved hand covered his mouth but he could only concentrate on the nervous, amused chuckle tumbling down from Sherlock's perfect lips.
How had he gone so long without intoning his name to the wind? He will never know. He only knew he never wanted to stop.
If it weren't for the fact that attending was in his best interests, Sherlock would have skipped —better yet: avoided like the plague— the Tourney match. As it was, Irene had convinced him that no matter how well the spell seemed to have worked, it would be wise to attend the game and remind John whose name he had to write down when the front seats for the coronation were assigned. So, there he was, huddled in the bleachers under the unforgiving sun, in his too warm coat. A dark figure surrounded by a sea of gold and blue. Every sports devotee clad in the kingdom's colours, clapping and waving as the game dragged on in front of him.
He had to admit, though, for someone who wasn't used to playing as a team, Lestrade was doing quite well on the field. Brutal and relentless as he never was in anything other than stealing. Sherlock was actually a bit pleased he got to experience such a fascinating event. However, no matter how good Greg appeared to have become, he didn't hold a metaphorical candle to the beast that was John Watson at sports. The violet-haired boy was barely able to tear his eyes away from the strategic way the prince seemed to face the other team. If he ruled as he played, Sherlock doubted he would have any problem to make his kingdom prosper and maybe even take it to its golden age. Yet, that was never going to come to pass, because Sherlock would steal a wand and the magical realms would be seized by villains long before that happened. The boy sighed and settled to watch the rest of the game.
The teams were tied, but they still had plenty of time to get the advantage. And as the whistle sounded and the players spread through the field towards their positions, no one really had any fears of their school losing. The Knights —yes, the school mascot was a knight, go figure— managed to get ahead fairly quickly against The Dragons, and if that was not telling, Sherlock failed to know what was; even if he didn't understand what it was actually supposed to be saying. In an adrenaline-filled move, Greg managed to contribute on several of the passes, dancing smugly at the other team players when they resulted on scoring. The crowd erupting on cheers that had the rebel covering his ears in fear of losing hearing for the next week. Perhaps seating with Irene, Janine, and Molly had not been such a good idea.
At only seconds left of the game, Greg managed to cover John and the ball by picking up another player by the shirt and using him as a shield, Sherlock laughed at such display. Perhaps Lestrade was suited for this, specially since every other kid in the field was mildly-to-very afraid of him. You didn't have to be a genius at deduction to notice.
In the end, they won, —obviously, the other team was filled with Andersons. fortunately their team had just the one— and the attendees cheered excited in victory. The bleachers were full with celebration and amazement; no one could really believed they had won the game thanks to someone who was supposed to be one of the biggest threats to the kingdom. If anything, no matter how pointless it all seemed to the violet-haired boy, at least Greg being a player gave them more credibility at the face of the citizens.
"What a victory!" The announcer exclaimed into the microphone from the sidelines, as every player jumped and bumped each other in triumph. "Here they come, folks." He said, motioning the students to huddle close for a few words. "The winners of the first match of the season-"
The man started, but never got the chance to finish since Prince John snatched the microphone and yelled. "Excuse me!" He said, wearing a stupid grin on his face at the discombobulated expressions of the crowd. "Can I have your attention, please?" He asked, and every sound and chatter died down in order to listen to the royal. "There's something I'd like to share." The blonde commented searching the bleachers for a particular face. Sherlock turned to Irene in wonder, and the girl shook her head confused, both curious to watch how the scene would unfold. Cheerful laughter was coming from every corner.
"See, I met someone who rocked my world!" John yelled, and the realm seemed to rejoice with the fact, supporting the apparent joy on their leader's face. "And now all I think about is those gorgeous eyes that make me want to write poetry." He laughed, and posed as if acting out an ancient play. "And did I mention? I treasure one of the beautiful strands of your hair I found earlier." He admitted, completely unaware —or uncaring— of the shame he was thrusting upon his person, the whole audience erupting in laughter. When Molly turned to look at him, Sherlock faked a smile in second-hand embarrassment.
"The cookie," Irene murmured, looking at Sherlock in understanding, unable to hide how amusing the situation was. Placing a hand over her mouth to hide the big shriek that was threatening to come out.
"I never thought it could happen to a regular bloke like me," John continued with the sparkling eyes of a lovesick fool. "But now look what you've done to me, I'm down on my knees!" He said as he threw himself to the floor to kneel, displaying the motion with such passion and then sprawling down as if swooned when he caught Sherlock's gaze in the crowd.
"What the hell was in that cookie!?" Sherlock asked, genuinely surprised at the effects the spell was causing. He knew affection was a given, but he wasn't expecting this. He scrunched up his nose in bewilderment, not knowing what was happening anymore, until the claps and whistles startled him from his wondering.
Irene grabbed the boy's arm and shook him in amusement, making an excited and insinuating face at him; Sherlock eyed her with a disturbed expression. The other players around John clapped him in the back and roared with laughter at the declaration. Making rude gestures and throwing lurid, teasing words at him. From the field, Lestrade gave his friends on the bleachers a thumbs up while the curly-haired boy grimaced back at him, and bit his lower lip in response.
"And this love I feel for you is completely ridiculous," The blue-eyed commented, smiling handsomely at his direction, as if he were not sorry of said fact at all. "So much you make me want to just dance." John's dancing skills left much to be desired, but thankfully, the prince was well loved among his subjects, so the act caused more fond amusement than actual humiliation. He shook his arms and moved his hips clad in the blue uniform, to which Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle.
"I need to know what to do to make you be mine." He continued, placing a hand over his heart and closing his eyes to sigh longingly. "And if your heart is not in it I don't know what I will do." Sherlock felt an unfamiliar pang of shame inside his own chest at that, yet it was out-shined by John attempting —and failing completely— to do a front flip and landing on his bum with a big smile. Sherlock actually let a yelp slip past his lips and was unable to fight the faint laughter starting to erupt from his insides. If John needed to stage his cheesy love confession why did he just had to do it in such a public, and fearless, and just ridiculous way that Sherlock was incapable of hating?
By then, all present on the field and on top of the bleachers where already cheering and clapping for John and his impossible infatuation, only going wilder when the blonde decided to ungracefully take his uniform jersey off to show the one he had underneath. A total atrocity of a shirt sporting a heart with the name 'Sherlock' at the center of it, which was clearly hand-made in a hurry. The crowd bursting in catcalls and surprised gasps. Bisexuality wasn't a completely alien concept in Auradon, yet hearing it coming from 'ladies man John Watson' must be quite the revelation. The royal threw his used jersey at Sherlock, who absentmindedly caught it and was now left standing there, watching a romantic and frankly hilarious display of emotion, clutching the blue piece of cloth as if it were the only thing that made sense anymore.
Irene stared at him in obvious glee, definitely planning on teasing him about the genuine smirk she could see on his face for the rest of their lives. Beside her, Janine and Molly were screaming in excitement and looking at him as if he were the luckiest person on the planet. The violet-haired boy chose to ignore that.
John began to stalk through the crowd, climbing up the stairs on the bleachers and making his way through the spectators at the scene. Grinning goofily at everyone as if he wanted to share his immense joy of being in the rebel's presence with the whole realm. "And I will give up my kingdom for just one kiss." He declared, just as he reached Sherlock's location. He stood on the step above his and so, managed to look down at the younger boy in expectation. He leaned down to steal a kiss from the violet-haired boy's lips, yet Sherlock was quick to dodge the attempt, blocking the target with John's shirt, still safely in his grasp. "I love you, Sherlock. Did I mention that?" John finished, intensely looking at the other's kaleidoscope eyes and wrapping his free arm around the boy's shoulders.
"Sherlock, will you do me the honour of accompanying me to my coronation?" The blond asked, and the whole audience chanted a string of 'yes! yes!'. Sherlock wondered how they were so on board with the plan when just mere hours prior most of them had been so turned off by their mere presence on the kingdom, specially since the prince's desires didn't lie within their normal heteronormative societal rules. The boy would never cease to hate the double standard that was predominant on that country. The only three people who didn't look amused in the slightly were Donovan and Anderson —who had grown annoyed and bored at watching, and were currently snogging behind the benches— and Mary, who was eyeing Sherlock with such animosity that it only made the next words he spoke all the more satisfying.
"Of course I will!" They younger man accepted into the mic, only to fear for his hearing abilities for the second time that afternoon after the uproar it caused.
"He said yes!" John cheered, staring at him with a devotion Sherlock started to feel he didn't deserve. Greg seemed to sense the hesitancy on his friend's movements and grabbed John to drag him away and down the steps to rejoin his teammates, with an excuse of them being waiting for the celebratory rituals for their win.
After the prince was gone, the voices around him seemed to muffle out, Sherlock just stared at the garment in his grasp; unable to completely comprehend what had just happened. Only the look on Irene's face brought him back to focus, aiding him in concentrating in something other than the odd sensation inside his stomach. The girl glared at Anderson, clearly feeling betrayed by the fact that not only did Sally signified she wouldn't be able to fulfill her mother's wishes, but additionally because it also meant her seduction powers —which never failed— hadn't been enough to keep him interested. Perhaps these people were too stupid, or too unassumingly dangerous, to be worked with. Perhaps the three of them just weren't cut out for a world such as this.
"Ugh," Sherlock uttered, curling his lips in aversion. "If I were capable of feeling an emotion other than disgust for Sally Donovan it would be pity." He commented, to which The Woman averted her eyes from their figures and turned to look at him in confusion.
"Why?" She asked, twirling an indigo strand of her perfectly styled hair as she always did when she was upset. Sherlock shrugged and rolled his eyes.
"Because if she were smart or attractive she wouldn't need to shack up with a moron like him." He explained, carefully arranging John's shirt to fit inside his pocket, trying to pass the comment as no big deal. "Trust me, any girl is better off without him." He ended, and the expression Irene gave him had no rival. His friend smiled at him in gratitude and arranged her shoulders back into her usual confident stance.
"Yes, I believe you're right." She agreed, taking the other's arm as they both turned to watch Greg cheer and celebrate with the team. The three of them with a pleased smile upon their faces which they never expected to portray.
