Chapter 8: Infamous Among Mortals

One who is infamous is often regarded as such because
of some criminal, scandalous, or shameful act being realised
by the subject, be it real or perceived. Infamy gives the
person an extreme and publicly known bad reputation and
strong condemnation, which can be a lot useful when
carrying out other bad deeds.


The time was drawing near, and Moriarty was impatient to just see his plan realised. It was so close he could almost taste the flavour of victory. He sat next to his gunman —even if he had no qualms with killing, he disliked the mess most of the time— and a few other villains who would want claim over Lady Hudson's wand, once it was retrieved. James called them all there to invite them to reconsider.

The hall was big, yet only a few seats were taken; James had built a vast network working under the watchful eye of the King and the Royal Council, and he was cautious not to compromise any of the vital parts of his organisation for this; after all, once he rose to power he would need idiots to do all the little, menial parts of the job he so dreaded while he was busy having the best time. It wouldn't be wise to have such fun before his plans were secured; well, at least not too much fun.

"The moment of our vengeance is getting near," He started, rotating the chair on which he was seated. A huge grin over his face as his sharp navy suit was soaking up the light from the chandelier above them. "So, I have brought you all here to celebrate our impending victory." Jim exclaimed, swinging his legs over the armrest and sitting sideways at his make-shift throne.

The multiple faces around the table were looking at him with a mixture of confusion and enjoyment; they may not be too happy that James always seemed to be the one who got to luxuriate in any goods or glory that were obtained with the organisation they all helped keep running, but they are surely ecstatic to be present for the festivities in its honour.

"Now," Jim said, standing up and taking steps to circle around the grand table. "As you all may know I have the son of Violet Holmes over there right now, ready to seize the most delicious prize for me." His thick fingers were tracing the back of each chair, walking in such a sinister way that his guests felt uncertain of whether to be amused or terrified. "And soon the power will be back where it belongs." He said, his black eyes shining green by moments. Sebastian Moran, the greatest, most brutal of marksman, sat at the head of the table right next to his abandoned seat; silently smiling with the rows of unnaturally perfect teeth. James smirked the second he saw his expression.

"I'm sure you're all wondering 'oh! what does that mean for me'?" He exclaimed, his voice fluctuating between accents and volumes. The change was nothing short of horrifying. "But no worries, I assure you all will get what you deserve." The somber tone he adopted then, seemed a stark and strange contrast from the cheery and almost girly one he had previously.

It seemed the manner of its delivery was far less important to the villains than the actual words, since they erupted in cheers and claps, extraneously delighted by the mere idea. Moriarty smiled benignly, as he slowed down his pace and took to greet and celebrate with each member of their small gathering. He had no doubts they would try to usurp the crown from him the second he acquired it, no matter how invested they all seemed at the moment.

"And what about those little rats?" One of them asked, clearly not trusting his interests would be completely satisfied were they in the need to share power with scrawny teenagers.

The villain waved a hand in dismissal, pursing his lips as if the mere mention of them was a complete waste of his time; he was very aware that those kids —mainly Sherlock, the other two were nothing short of useless— were the only opportunity he had of getting that which he desired, yet he didn't believe they would demand that much maintenance. Sherlock was highly competent for evil deeds, and would surely prove a useful pupil and ally in the conquering of the kingdom, and if not…well, it wasn't as if he was his actual son. "I wouldn't concern myself with them if I were you." He said, to which the other just replied with a confused frown. "The stupid little things are too boring even for you to think about." Moriarty explained, he smiled and continued walking.

"Oh, it will be so fabulous," The villain clapped his hands in excitement, basking in the cheers and laughs he could hear surrounding him, delighting in the fact that they wouldn't be smiling for much longer. "It's almost sad one of you won't get to see it," He said as he came to stand directly beside the leader of the squirmy little so-called-villains. The faces of those present were beginning to morph into worry as they exchanged looks between them, clearly wondering whether they would do better to run. "But, oh well," James continued before they could actually stand up or do anything else. There was a poignant silence in the hall, as everyone froze in fear, waiting, until the face of the pack's leader began turning baffled. His breathing ragged as he looked down to his abdomen in distress, where a spot of red was slowly growing right at the centre of it.

"Oops." Moriarty muttered, fake remorse painting his expression. Once the others understood what had happened they jumped standing, ready to attack the traitor who stabbed clean through their boss so carelessly, but Sebastian was quick to wave a hand gun at their direction, warning them off from attempting anything stupid. James slid out the dagger from the other's back and gazed transfixed at the hot red blood gathered on its blade. He repeated the stabbing motion a few times over for good measure. He did hate the mess, but only an idiot left their victim half-killed.

Once they all had been convinced to sit back down again, Jim quickly walked back to his place and took a seat with all the grace and flair of a carnival king. The others present were stuck in horror and staring at him with shaking jaws and scared big, wide, eyes. "Unless you want to end up like Swiss cheese over there," He said motioning to the man covered in holes and bent over the table lifelessly, bleeding abundantly unto the floor. "From now on, you will do what I say." He concluded, to which the others took a brief moment to start nodding their reluctant heads in agreement. "Now, let's eat!" Moriarty exclaimed, smiling and motioning to his guests to get the hell on with it. Once shaking hands and frightened fingers started raising shining cutlery to mouths, James picked up his own fork and cut off a piece of pork, placed it on his tongue and smiled at the stale taste.


At around 11 p.m. on Thursday night John heard a soft knock on the door to his chambers. He tied his plush blue dressing gown tightly around his waist and went to find out who could need him at that hour. What greeted him was not at all what he had expected.

"Molly?" He asked at the sight of the short girl smiling up at him —at least there was someone in this kingdom shorter than he was— and invited his friend in; he wasn't going to let her standing on the hallway at this hour. "What's up?" He asked, smiling as he sat on his bed and motioned Molly to sit wherever she liked.

However, the girl remained standing, too keyed up to actually stay still for more than two seconds, it was mildly distressing for the prince to see her so anxious.

"I know we had agreed to let pets attend family day tomorrow." She said, rushing over the words as if the sole moments she would be wasting in proper punctuation would be valuable. "But Carlos is demanding places for him and his more than a hundred dogs and I simply don't know where to put them," Her big brown eyes were open wide and the desperate expression over her features made nothing to ease John's whiplash. "And what if they start running and-"

"Molly-" The prince stopped her, placing his strong hands over her shoulders to snap her out of her tirade. "Molly, breathe." He said, smirking reassuringly and demonstrating how to breathe as a normal individual. The girl halted and took deeper and deeper breaths, smiling at him in gratitude and nodding her head as a sign of her new-found calm. "Don't worry," John started, "I'm sure Mrs. Lin would be more than happy to take them on while they serve lunch." He said, completely aware that he would have to ask her himself; but it was no big deal, he was glad to help his friend, she had been very stressed out planning the events of the sun-cycle —the coronation, mainly— and a new style of hair would never change her out of her neurotic personality.

"Really?" She asked, hope painting across her in such an obvious way that the blonde couldn't help but chuckle; He nodded only to watch her break out in the biggest grin.

"I'll speak to her tomorrow." John commented as he took a seat back on his bed. Molly sighed in relief and sat down on one of his armchairs in exhaustion. She leaned back and closed her eyes, clearly ready to drop into a slumber right there on his sofa.

"Thank you." She said, and then fell silent; John watched her for a moment, waiting for her to come back to life. After a few seconds, she was startled awake and quickly stood up. Looking more alive than ever before. John pondered for a moment if that endless energy had anything to do with her fairy heritage. "Oh, and I'll need your speech first thing in the morning." She commented, dusting off her baby blue dress and heading back from the door. Crisis apparently averted.

Which was not exactly true for John, who had completely forgotten he was supposed to write a speech and now had about eight hours to get it done and he had no idea where he was expected to start. "Oh, yes." He said, and he hoped he sounded far more confident than he actually felt, he knew Molly would not take too kindly if she were to find out a tiny detail could be what brought down all her work. "Yes, totally." John smiled, attempting to convey how there was no reason for her to worry whatsoever.

"Perfect." She beamed and turned to exit his chambers. However, she seemed to change her mind and stopped just as she was about to leave, she turned around and her expression was suddenly cautious and nervous, as if she were not really sure she should do what she was about to. "John, can I ask you something?" She asked, threading her fingers through the keychains attached to her bag.

"Of course." The other responded, now curious to the topic which could have his friend so hesitant.

"Was it hard?" She asked, only for John to turn and look at her in confusion. Her eyes not betraying her true meaning. "What you did for Sherlock and the others?" She explained, twirling her long brunette hair to distract herself.

The prince regarded her question for a moment, questioning the veracity of what he was about to answer, finding it the sole reality. "Not really," He responded truthfully, "It's more a matter of what's right." His hand came up to run his fingers through his golden strands.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think it was very brave." Molly commented, smiling softly. John didn't think it had anything to do with being brave, but it still was pleasing for someone to believe what you were doing had any weight. "And they must be very grateful." She said, and John, in turn, would be incredibly grateful were they to agree with her on that matter.

"I hope so." He said, and the girl nodded in understanding. Clutching her notebook to her chest and making her goodbyes to leave. Once the door swung closed behind her, John let out another sigh. Repeating the words, like they had also been a revelation for him. "God, I hope so."


If Auradon knew how to do something, that was planning incredible events for parents and family. Gatherings where recreational culture was the norm. That said more about the place and its citizens, than its history and politics ever could.

It was mid-morning, and the ever-bright sun was shinning down over the gardens and rooftops of the kingdom. The lawn behind the main building of the school was covered with stylish white tents and the tables placed in rows had flowing cloths and soft gold and blue decorations. A breathtaking event with a variety of flowers arranged over the surfaces and up the posts of the tents.

The families were already gathering near the tables, each of the attendees attempting to find their seat and some of them even making their way to the catering already. Some students acted as companions to their places for the parents and others made sure their glasses were always topped with the richest of fruit juices and the finest champagne.

A group of students —mainly the Welcoming Committee, the Student Body and the Royal Court of Youth— were greeting the guests with big warm smiles and making sure everything ran smoothly and perfectly. Events like these have been a tradition for several cycles since the kingdom was united. After The War of Light, the royals felt it was important to give weight to values and familial bonds once more; it didn't really matter that the victory had been theirs from very early on, the war had left the magical realms fractured and scarred beyond what they had anticipated. So, a custom was made of gatherings were loyalty was celebrated.

John stood at the podium, watching everyone move about their assigned tasks. He tapped the microphone to make sure it worked properly before he spoke into the device. "Hello everyone," He exclaimed, the biggest and brightest smile gracing his features. "It's with the deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you all today." His eyes shone as they scanned the happy faces of the crowd. As of tomorrow they would all become his subjects, and him, their official king. He failed to determine whether that made him more nervous or giddy, so he settled for reciting the speech Sherlock had helped him write over the phone at two in the morning the night prior. "And now I invite you to relax," He paused and breathed as if demonstrating what he meant. "Pull up a chair, and we will proudly present your meal!" At this, the different groups of students started bringing out plates and plates of deliciously looking food and fancy cutlery to match the refinement of the dishes.

"We are so thrilled to share with you a morning filled with entertainment and cheer," John continued, his tone calm but pleasing to the ear; talking to a crowd had never been his strong suit, yet these people were soon going to be as his family, and speaking easily and honestly to them would be a skill he would do well to acquire early on if he wanted to rule them justly. "As a thank you for welcoming me into the kingdom." The words his boyfriend and him had crafted together were perfect for the message he had wanted to convey. He felt it was important to highlight the fact that celebrations were not meaningless, that they always had a deeper purpose. After he saw most of the heads nod in acknowledgement of his gratefulness he decided to be concise and let actions speak for him. "And now, I know you didn't come here to hear me speak," The prince joked, and a few voices of laughter were heard across the gardens. "So, let's dig in!" With that, he stepped back from the microphone and walked away to look for his own family and friends.

He strolled past a few tables, spotting some of his friends in the distance; Molly and her grandmother, Prince Murray talking to a girl he had never seen before; but what made him stop was when he encountered a group of contrastingly dark-clothed kids. He smiled and approached faster; finally, they were there.

Irene greeted him first, smirking and congratulating him for the speech he hadn't even written, —he had no doubt she knew exactly who was responsible for it— and Lestrade made a show of roughhousing him as mates often did when excited; John returned all of the above, yet his eyes were always trained on the third figure standing back from the exchange; waiting confidently, yet reluctant in his black trousers and white dress shirt, his kaleidoscope eyes changing as he analysed the scene around him, looking at him and arching a mocking eyebrow at all the formalities happening at their proximity.

Irene and Greg seemed to notice such looks, because they made their excuses quite quickly and left them alone as soon as they had addressed each other. "So, what do you think?" John asked, taking certain steps towards the taller figure in front of him. "Your very first royal event." Was the explanation. Sherlock smiled playfully and turned his head as if to assess what exactly he thought of the situation.

After a considerable time, he returned to gaze at the prince and shrugged. "It's…different." He said, his full lips pursing, trying to convey the disgust he really felt at that specific type of different. John laughed at the expression his boyfriend was portraying, the corners of his blue eyes wrinkling in delight.

"Well, I'm glad you're here." He commented and looped an arm around his to lead him away from the crowd and next to the dessert table where he knew he would find the exact delicacy he had been very adamant at having at this celebration. The violet-haired boy arched an eyebrow in appreciation once he noticed the vast array of strawberry pastries in varying fashions. Propped on the middle, they even had a beautiful chocolate fountain and berry skewers which Sherlock was quick to deem the most delectable and was soon reaching his arm for one.

"Yes," He answered, smiling back to John in gratefulness for the gesture; the blonde knew the 'coincidence' of why there happened to be so many dishes with his taste preferences would not be lost on the rebel, there was no getting past his amazing intellect. "Well, I-" Sherlock started, but was interrupted by John spotting his parents getting their picture taken. The King and Queen looking royally pleasant in their fancy chairs and incredible hand-crafted gown and suit.

"My parents." The prince explained, as if Sherlock didn't posses eyes, and wasn't able to recognise a face he had seen plastered around the Isle every day of his life. "You have to meet them," John continued, already walking towards them. "Wait here a bit, please." His eyes were pleading, conveying his desire to speak with them before introducing him; Sherlock shrugged in acceptance yet his face looked as if the idea was the furthest item on his long list of desirable things.

"Oh, okay." He muttered, and opted instead for taking a big bite of the red piece of heaven already bathed with rich brown chocolate.

John approached his parents and posed with them for a few pictures. "Oh, that was lovely, John." His mother had commented, enveloping him in her thin arms and fondly patting a cheek with her golden gloves as if he were still a kid.

"Thanks, mum." He mumbled, trying to escape from her dotting grip. "By the way," He said, trying to pose for the camera and look princely while breaking the news to his parents. "I brought someone." He said, and his dad's face broke out into a big grin; he, above anyone else, wished to see him married and with a proper family a few cycles after ascending to the throne 'good for the people of the realm' he said. However, he never realised that, although John cared deeply and honestly for his kingdom, he would marry if and when, —and whom— he wished, whether it was proper for the realm or not.

"Oh, John!" King Ben exclaimed, manly patting him on the back and smiling for yet another photograph. "I didn't know you had a new girlfriend." He commented, as John shifted in nervousness.

"Not exactly," The blonde said, looking to the crowd where he had left Sherlock waiting. He looked so terribly out of place among the cheery and pastel-coloured people. He should introduce him before he managed to eat his way through all the strawberries in what John could describe as anxiousness.

"Do we know her?" His mum asked, attempting to spot the young woman he must be seeking for in the sea of faces; pointedly missing the fact of one of her search factors being exceedingly wrong.

"No." John answered in seriousness; catching the expressive silver eyes with his own and motioning his boyfriend over to them. "He," The prince was adamant to stress. "Is over there. Sherlock?"

As the boy was approaching, John could watch the expressions on his parents' faces transform, going from delighted to dumbfounded; as if they weren't able to comprehend what the young lad walking towards them meant.

"Sherlock, I would like to introduce you to my parents." John announced proudly, placing a hand over the other's waist to guide him and encourage him to get closer to them. "This is Sherlock Holmes." He turned to his mum and dad, as they slowly came back to their minds and extended their hands in greeting. "My boyfriend."

"Hello." His mother was the first one to recover, always keen on not judging a book by it's precedence —although that axiom always seemed to be suspended when it came to the Island.

The violet-haired boy smiled sideways, clearly struggling to appear nice and warm to the monarchs. "Good morning," He said in a polite tone John had never heard him use in the seven weeks he had known him. Queen Harriet smiled and elbowed his father to at least nod and acknowledge the presence of the boy in front of them.

The blonde observed his partner, watching out for any indication of looking more uncomfortable that the scene warranted. "I was thinking he could join us for lunch." He said, not really leaving room for argument, he needed his parents to see that Sherlock and the other kids from The Isle of the Lost, were not in fact lost causes, but very great kids with the potential of being something extraordinary.

"Of course," The king commented, "Any friend of John's." He said, yet his face didn't seem to convey the same conviction. John was pleased with the developments, he had been aware his parents would not automatically approve of him, but he was glad they were acting so understanding towards him; perhaps this lunch could help convince them of what a marvel Sherlock actually was.

"I actually came with my friends." Sherlock said, pointing to where Irene was amusedly watching Lestrade hoover his way through the canapé's table. The prince smiled fondly at both, the joy on his new-found friends, and the fact that Sherlock had referred to them as such. It appeared he had lost that formality he had at the beginning and had come to accept them for what they really were; this was a fact that John suspected not even the rebel himself was aware of.

His mother opened her arms in invitation, making an effort to be open and approachable. "They should joins us, too." She said, and his dad nodded in agreement, going to lengths for their son and his ideals even if they didn't share them.

Irene and Greg were being summoned by one of the helpers and Sherlock took a deep breath in relief, maybe not being the only new one would give him a sense of stability. "How about a game of Melee before dessert is served?" His dad offered, and the blonde boy grinned at his boyfriend's surprised face, as if he were not anticipating being invited to participate in any activity with someone who, by all means, did hold a level of animosity towards him, if only indirectly. "Of course," He had assented, but then his expression became a tad panicked.

After his parents had turned to go to their table at the centre of the tents, John hanged behind to have a few seconds alone with Sherlock. "Do you know how to play?" He asked, his tone kind and not at all mocking. The other grimaced but still managed to look indifferent at the whole debacle.

"I'm sure the rules are quite basic," He responded. "As everything else in this kingdom." His voice was leaden with the sort of arrogance John always struggled not to find hilarious. Sherlock was stroppy as no one he had encountered before —his sister included.

"Lock?" He said, halting their pace and standing in front of him to ensure he was looking at him when he spoke. "Don't worry," He said, watching as Sherlock's expression fluctuated between outrage and sulk. "I'll teach you." John assured, to which the other just took a moment to sigh and nod. Not entirely comfortable with having to be helped in any way. The prince smiled in fondness as they resumed walking towards where his mum and dad were already seated waiting for them all at their places. John beamed at the scene unfolding in front of him. The day couldn't be better.


The day couldn't be worse.

Or at least that's what Sherlock thought when he found himself standing at the centre of an expanse of grass between stupid people doing nothing more than socialising and smiling as if their lives depended on it. The rebel took a moment to wonder what happened once the day was done and they got home, did they unscrew said cheerful expressions? Or had they become frozen like that after so much time faking them?

The only upside to said sunny, loud nightmare was that he was not alone in the torture, Irene and Greg had tagged along as much as they could without looking suspicious, to offer a gloomy respite from all the happiness. John was there, with his shiny blue eyes and a suit that had clearly been chosen for him for that very occasion. Sherlock decided not to dwell too much on his presence, regardless of how much he was drawn to it; since, for him, it was a whole other source of distress. His existence both the problem and the solution to something he did not wish to think about. Needless to say, the violet-haired boy was just weary of the dichotomy.

"Hey!" Greg could be heard exclaiming in the distance. Apparently very skilled in whatever was the sport they were supposed to be playing. "Nice!" He said, sharing a triumphant grin with the prince and greeting some other player. Sherlock couldn't honestly be bothered to try and understand the twisted logistics of the game, and chose instead to observe them all from the sidelines, contributing little to the activities.

"Hello there." He heard the soft, high-pitched voice coming from his left. A feminine tone from a mature, blonde lady.

"Hello." Sherlock responded, a calculating frown appearing on his forehead as he regarded the small, old woman beside him. She looked vaguely recognisable, as if some part of him knew who she was despite the fact that they had never encountered each other before.

"Excuse me, have we met?" She asked, a polite quality to her question. The boy watched her more closely, trying to figure out the connection. The similarity was apparently not one-sided. "You seem familiar."

"I highly doubt it," The curly-haired boy replied. He arched an eyebrow, clutching the club inside his grip a tad more tightly at the dread of having to speak to other people, no matter how enigmatic. "I'm new here," He said, finding he couldn't possibly just summarise the real reason why he was standing there at the moment. He was still reeling at the velocity at which the events of the last moon cycles had taken place, not to mention it was in his best interest to stay mum about the whole situation. "A transfer student, if you will."

In that moment another figure made its way towards them. Quickly running and hurling her petite frame to that of the older woman. "Grammy!" Mary exclaimed, hugging her relative in excitement as her companion trailed slowly behind her.

"Oh, Mary, you look so lovely." The woman replied, running her hands through Mary's hair in fondness. The resemblance, now that he had something to which compare it, was uncanny, the small nose and big eyes impossible to miss.

"Aunt Margaret!" Commented Sally Donovan, who was, moments prior, walking and chatting with Mary before she decided to make a run for it. Sherlock knew they title 'Aunt' was more for show than any actual blood relation. Their two families had been friends for cycles. "So nice to see you." She said in that nosy tone of hers and hugged the older lady with much fondness.

"Grammy." Sherlock stated more than asked. His deduction skills not necessary when it came to pinpointing exactly who this woman was. His face was still surprised, though. He never imagined he would encounter former queen Margaret on this event. Or anywhere else, for that matter; it had never crossed his mind that one day he may have to deal with she whom his mother had wronged so spectacularly in the past.

"Yes, from my mother's side." Mary explained, ironing out her perfect rose-coloured skirt and looking at Sherlock carefully. He could tell his presence made her nervous, still wondering whether he was capable of letting the cat out of the bag right there, in front of everybody. He certainly could, that was not a question, yet he found causing a scene was the last thing he wanted considering his big showdown was less than 24 hours away.

"Aunt Marge, I don't think you should be talking to this boy." Sally said, crossing her arms and staring at him in animosity. Sherlock rolled his eyes but remained silent, watching John still playing whatever Melee was. "Unless you feel like taking a hundred-cycle-nap." Donovan commented nastily, while Mary looked on in apprehension from behind them.

"What? Why?" The lady said, turning her frail figure to gaze more closely at Sherlock. The boy stood straighter, not ready to be deemed unworthy of anyone's time; if nothing else, they would know against whom they were planning on going. "You! I'd recognise those venomous eyes anywhere." Margaret exclaimed in recognition as she took a frightened step back, the fear inside her expression obvious even from far-away lands. "Where is your mother?" She asked, apparently not completely aware there was no way his mother would be able to be there.

"Queen Marge, it's alright." John suddenly appeared at his side, as if he had seen what was happening and had rush back to help. "Violet is gone. This is her son, Sherlock." He said, and the violet-haired boy had to ignore the way in which his name was worded by his boyfriend; there was no time for sentimentalism when he was staring down a threat. "Don't you remember my proclamation to give the new generation an opportunity?" The blonde explained, but it was clear his words were not having the desired effect on the lady standing there, looking for all the world as if the universe were ending right in front of her eyes.

"An opportunity to do what, exactly? Destroy us?" She snarled, her perfect, white teeth bared in a surprisingly savage manner. "You all remember, don't you?" She turned around, addressing the adults present, specially the King and Queen, who had already gathered close to find out more about the commotion. "The poisoned apples, the curses?" That last word had more weight for John's father than Sherlock had anticipated, he had been ignorant on how affected the prince's family still was at his father's previous beastly condition. "My daughter was raised by fairies because of your mother." Margaret said, while Sally was smirking at his left, her smile growing with every sentence uttered. "Her first words, her firsts steps, I missed them all." She turned around and placed a hand over her eyes when recalling the sadness she felt for that.

The guests present looked on in interest. Witness to the argument as if it concerned them. Unapologetic voyeurs of the chaos. Looking at him in disapproval as if he really were at fault of all that. "I told them not to trust them." Donovan was joined by her companion in staring in dislike, and the both of them were enjoying it beyond measure. Anderson pursed his lips in a delighted grimace at the events unfolding.

"I apologise for my mother's actions-" Sherlock began saying, even if he really had no bearing of guilt over them, he felt the lady warranted something other than derision for her tragedy. Yet, he was not able to finish since, when he was about to place an extremely out-of-character reassuring hand on the woman's shoulder, Philip pushed him back forcefully.

"Stay away from her!" He yelled, placing his body in front of Margaret in protection from an attack that hadn't come. Sherlock took a step back, startled by the animosity. Irene and Greg had already arrived to stand next to their friend and were utterly outraged.

"Anderson, don't." John intervened, standing between them and casting a worried look over to the violet-haired boy. Silently, he asked for a sign that he was alright. Sherlock nodded, but wasn't quite sure how much he believed it. Irene crossed her arms and looked ready to fling herself to attack in retaliation.

"What?" Philip asked, feigning innocence; as if it weren't his fault, as if they were forcing him do such a petty thing just by being themselves. Sherlock was torn between feeling distressed and enraged. "They were raised by their parents, John." He continued, his eyes shinning madly with passion over this statement. Lady Hudson took his arm to calm him, yet he was so in trance he didn't even noticed when he shook it off. "What do you think they're trying to do here? Contribute to society?" The questions were not exactly a surprise for the rebels, yet the violent and adamant way in which he was uttering them made something inside them snap.

"Anderson." John warned once he saw the expression shadowing over Sherlock's face. His tone was no longer appeasing, but stern with a subtle hint of danger underneath. He looked at Philip and Sally in a way Sherlock had never seen him look at anything before. He would be lying if he said it wasn't fascinating to watch such fire burning inside someone he already found —against his better judgement— interesting. It was almost enough to distract him away from Philip and his moronic accusations.

"You've seen what he does, his magic." Sally interjected, and Mary reached out a hand to stop her, to just let the matter drop —even if she had made the exact same accusation a few days prior— but the other would not be persuaded, it appeared that she had finally found an opportunity to voice all her objections about them and their presence in the kingdom. "He stole your boyfriend!" She stated, not comprehending the reason why Mary didn't seem to be on board with them burning for what they had done. Sherlock bit his lip in apprehension, the day was past ruined, he had no desires of dragging this into the light too. Not when that subject was already distressing.

"Well, it's true!" Anderson said. His frown deepened as he looked at his adversaries. Greg clenched his fists to stop himself from punching the daylights out of him, but figured it would be so much worse if he did. The desire was there, though.

Donovan nodded in agreement, her expression bearing a nasty smile. "It's only a matter of time 'till they become exactly like their parents." She commented, eyeing Sherlock with smugness. The boy blinked and frowned, without really knowing what to do. He had never reacted like that before, and it was very confusing finding himself out of words. Not being able to even defend himself and completely frozen in surprise.

The crowd gathered around them appeared alarmed at the scene more than at the things they had supposedly —actually had— done. The sun beating down on them turning from warm to brutal. "You're a jerk." Irene snarled, her olive green eyes slanting in loathing. John moved to look at her, clearly not wanting this to escalate any more than it already had.

This for Anderson was like his name-day come early, for he turned to her in delight. "Oh and you!" He said, pointing a finger to his target."You're nothing but a pathetic gold digger and a cheater!" Philip yelled, completely forgetting the fact that he had gone along with it for several days. The girl with the indigo hair took a step forward in defiance. She reached inside her purse for her mirror but John waved at both of them to stop.

"Back off, Anderson. Alright?" The blonde ordered. John was furious, seething at Anderson and protecting them as if they were his to defend. Forsaking any princely behaviour in honest anger. Sherlock struggled to keep his breathing under control, feeling a surge of impulsiveness grow inside him he needed to quiet down as quickly as possible. He had never experienced that white burning inside his veins and he failed to anticipate what it would breed.

"How can you not see it, John?" The other questioned, disbelief present in every part of his body, his tiny mind not being able to wrap around the fact that John somehow trusted them. To be true, Sherlock hated to admit —even to himself— that even with his massive intellect he didn't quite understand it either. "Bloody psychopaths," He continued. "And this freak-" Said regarding Sherlock, yet he never got to finish the sentence since Greg took the two strides needed and punched him right on the jaw. Anderson reeled back in pain, and the crowd around them gasped. Mary caught him as much as she could to prevent his descent into the floor. Greg shook off his hand but grinned in satisfaction at what he had done. Which was probably a good thing, because had he not done the honours, Sherlock was sure John would have, and that would have brought on more problems than they could deal with. The rebel knew it was not worth it for John to lose the faith of his kingdom for this; for him.

"He is insane!" Sally exclaimed, as she knelt next to Philip and tried to bring him back to consciousness. The commotion extended to everyone present. Some of them backing away to escape the possible line of fire of any curse or violence that could take place, and others ready to voice their opinion on the matter.

"Let's go." Irene pushed Sherlock's inert body into moving, quickly walking through the planes of grass and through the tents, both followed by Lestrade. The violet-haired boy coming to enough to at least dodge the chairs and tables. The three of them left them all behind. Sherlock supposed it was for the best that he hadn't allowed himself to respond in any way, an impulsive curse would probably had been a very bad idea.


"Sherlock!" John screamed after his retreating figure, very worried about the boy. Frustrated beyond belief about the events that had happened. When he realised Sherlock was not coming back, he sighed and deflated, the anger slowly leaving his body to be replaced with disappointment. This was not how he had wished this day would go. So much for trying to make them feel included. He turned to look at his parents, standing aside with Lady Hudson and a frightened Queen Margaret, hoping to find sympathy or understanding.

"I feared something like this would happen." His father said, adjusting his shirt cuffs in a pensive manner. The statement made fire return to the prince's blood, refusing to accept a member of his family thinking that about his new friends.

"This isn't their fault!" He said, and turned to them in demand. He was starting to feel as if something was really wrong with his kingdom.

"No, son:" His father said with a sad tone. Staring at him with blue eyes the same as his own, but his gaze conveyed much more weariness at the world. "It's yours." With that, both the king and queen turned to exit. He was left there, standing still against the crowd of people judging him for being so careless. John adjusted his tie, bravely resigned to his fate and not caring how much of a failure they could think he was now for doing the right thing. He walked away with sure steps and his head held high.


The sun was already going down, and Sherlock wished for nothing but for the day to end. Now that he had had time to process and catalogue the events of the afternoon, he was left with a feeling of unsatisfied outrage, a true wrath that he felt was ready to burst out of him at any second.

The three of them were gathered on a table outside the school, silently seated between the rustling of the trees, attempting to wrap their minds around it all. None of them knowing quite how to feel at the conflicting emotions with which it left them. They stared at one another, but remained silent.

"How is everyone?" Said the voice of Prince John Watson, coming to stand behind Sherlock and placing both hands over the boy's shoulders in affection. He slowly rubbed them as if he were able to erase what happened just by sheer motion. The rebel wished he actually could. "They are complete jerks, I'm sorry." He said with hopeful eyes, but the others remained quiet; they just nodded as if they had nothing else to add. "Don't listen to them." His voice was determined, yet kind. Sherlock looked down to the table hoping to find answers in its surface, but he was certain he wouldn't find any, after all, inanimate objects did not posses the magical skill of fixing anyone's problems. "Tomorrow after the coronation everything will be fine." John was ignorant to how much he was adding insult to injury with that statement but he could notice the violet-haired boy tensing. His own hands gripped the arms below him a bit more strongly, as if to convey a message of support. "I have to go," His apologetic tone was recognisable, as was his worry, and despite his previous words, he stayed rooted to the spot, waiting for a sign that his new friends would not despair or disappear. "Will you be alright?" He asked.

Sherlock nodded dumbly, and John sighed and bent down to give him a brief kiss on the cheek; before waving at Greg and Irene and walking away. Silence reigned once more, but it was incredibly short-lived, since they could hear several voices approaching in the distance. The violet-haired boy rolled his eyes in exasperation, but the motion had lost all its sting by the blinking away of the moisture gathered around his eyes, he needed to get rid of those stupid feelings as soon as possible.

"How long does he think it will last?" Anderson wondered out loud, not at all subtle in his attempts for the kids to hear him. His stupid group of friends laughed and mocked while they were walking by. "For now Sherlock is just the bad boy infatuation, it will fade soon enough." His face was conveying a giant smirk. Greg seemed ready to attack him again, but Irene shook her head and placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Yes, like John's ever going to make a villain rule with him." Sally commented, pushing her curling brown hair back. "How pathetic." She stopped and said the words directly to him, and the violet-haired boy had to take a deep breath in order to ignore her. They started retreating after that, but their questionable doubt lingered on, and Sherlock found he could no longer wait on the sidelines anymore. He had never been good at behaving, and these morons had pushed his final button.

The rebel closed his eyes and let his stored deductions flow free. "So is that new underwear you put on for your study session with your cousin's boyfriend." He said, only to hear the sweet sound of laughter dying away into the void, being replaced by stunned nothingness.

Said cousin turned to regard them both in suspicion, only to get back to gazing at Sherlock, only this time there was a question in her eyes she didn't really have to ask. "Whatever the hell you're thinking…" Sally snarled, and Philip took a step back as if planning on fleeing, clearly it wouldn't be in his best interest to be present if her cousin actually found out about his sordid affair with Donovan.

"Oh, not to worry, though." Sherlock was quick to appease the girl. Smiling innocently at them as Greg and Irene stared on in obvious amusement. "At least it was not all lies," He commented. "I mean, she was teaching him something." The boy wasn't able to fight off the smirk anymore, raising his cunning eyes to stare challengingly at the snotty royals.

"I knew it!" The girl said, as she ran away furious. Philip made an apologetic gesture at Sally, but still left her behind to go chase after her cousin. Donovan's eyes shone in anger, and Sherlock felt complete again. He knew enough to recognise that this petty vengeance was something very bad indeed, but he concluded it was worth it a million times over by how good it felt seeing her frustrated expression.

"There is a lot more where that came from." He said, showing them all his Book of Spells and not caring in the least where that could lead them, he was way past caring about anything.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" One of them —the rebel couldn't be bothered to learn his name— uttered, and the boy still gazed at Sally, who was frozen in horror at her secret being found out.

"Oh, you know exactly who I am," Sherlock said as he took a step closer. "You said it yourself," He pushed the upper part of his body forward in intimidation; danger written all over his lithe frame. His whole presence growing more venomous by the second. "I'm just like my mother." He stated. He took a moment to shift his gaze to another figure in the group, Mary was staring at him, she was biting his lip with a frown deep in her forehead, her expression was completely unreadable, and Sherlock found he couldn't stand not knowing. The boy arched an eyebrow in challenge, as if daring her to speak up with any sort of information. "Something to add, Mary?" He said, but the other didn't appear outraged, she looked… pensive.

Sally clenched her fists, but decided not to use a direct attack in fear of other secrets being brought to the light. "John doesn't know how much of a maniac you are." She said in a muted tone, and Sherlock smiled bitterly at the veracity of what she was saying, even if she would never know to what extent.

"No, he doesn't." He conceded, finally letting out all the emotions he had bottled up for the last two moon-cycles. "But you do," Sherlock assured. "So you'd do well to stay away from me." With that, all the remaining royals scattered away, including Sally, no willing to risk retaliation if they stayed and probed him.

Sherlock took a moment to bask in the glory of what he just did and then turned around to watch his trusted accomplices. He smiled and stated. "I can't wait for tomorrow. Let's grab that wand and go." To which the others nodded in agreement, clearly also fed up with the kingdom and —almost— all its inhabitants. "The game is on!" Sherlock said as he walked confidently back into the dorm buildings.


The sun had already set outside the window, and the kingdom was silent, dormant, and waiting for the new day which would mark a new era for the realms. The reign of King John the First of his Name would begin the cycles of prosperity and peace for which they all yearned, or at least that's what Mike hoped.

He had met John when they were merely kids, cycles ago. The young prince had quickly become his most trusted acquaintance, and had taken him in with no regards or really any knowledge of who he was or where he had come from; and he will always be grateful for that. The blonde had shown, even that early on, an incredible character that he admired, a kindness and loyalty he had never been familiar with, and the result had been unexpected for them all.

As they grew up, not only did they become the closest of friends, but Mike had found a love for political and diplomatic relationships he hadn't anticipated, and so became the future king's most trusted advisor.

He couldn't deny he loved his life at the castle amongst the royals, even if somewhere deep inside in his chest he still yearned for all that he had lost before John had found him. He was aware the morning would bring a lot of changes, and with that, he wished the world he knew and enjoyed wouldn't be shattered beyond recognition; yet he had always made it his mission to be objective, to observe and look at things for what they were, and not what they appeared. He supposed it could seem very hypocritical of him, a man who had lied about everything he was —including his very name— to think such a thing of himself.

He would, almost definitely, have to give it all up, once the truth was revealed, but there was nothing for it, nothing to be done; blood would always be thicker than water, no matter how perfect life in the palace could be. He had made a promise, not only to himself but to the subject of said vow, even if he hadn't really been old enough to understand or remember it. At the end of the day, John may as well be his most regarded friend, and the kingdom his paradise; but Sherlock would always be his little brother.


Author's note: So, who of you saw that one coming? I would love to hear what you think.