Chapter 11: The Opposite Mayhem
Mayhem is recommended when one strives for something
wickedly entertaining. A situation gone, or driven out of the
rails of control and into the most exciting experience. For
better results, make sure to include reckless behaviour and
destructive actions.
Sherlock could tell something was wrong right away. For one, his limbs ached deeply, as if he had fallen from a very high distance, and there was also a strange luminescent quality to his surroundings. He had awoken in an unfamiliar room; the walls a mixture of rundown and apparently new, as if they were very old yet completely unused. Silence stretched out into the air, so predominant that even his own movements caused the loudest of screeches in comparison. He couldn't quite recall what had happened before he got where he was, nothing apart from the fact that he had recited some incantation inside his head and there had been a terrible pain raking all over his body; after that, there was nothing. Nothing and then, here.
His opal grey eyes searched around him for some indication of what had happened, and how had he managed to transport himself to an unknown location so quickly, specially since he had discarded his coronation suit and was now standing there draped in his signature coat once more.
He walked up to a door, and he slowly reached out his hand to open it. Once the wood swung open, he was welcomed into another room, quite similar to the one before, except for the fact that this one had no ceiling and a great and mighty waterfall was letting heaps of water into it; yet the level of it never rose, it remained steady as the water that would be supposed to heighten it disappeared out of sight.
Sherlock eventually figured out wherever he was couldn't be a dream, as his aching figure complained by the strain of walking and his hand still had the blood from where he had cut himself on the floor of the cathedral.
At the lack of any other option, he kept walking, moving from room to room until he would be able to figure out what had happened; always a different space after every door, yet never a way out. Endless string of assortments, each more confusing than the last. After a while, the quiet was gone, and had been instead replaced with muffled sounds and sentences, and it was only when he recognised one phrase in the chaos, said to him several cycles prior then and carefully stored among his memories, that he understood where, exactly, he had been trapped.
It was a distressing surprise. Not the fact that he had been locked away inside his own mind, —although that was also quite alarming in its own right— but rather the fact that he had been so painfully slow to catch up with something which he had deliberately intended to do. The moment he recited that last word of the spell he knew what would happen, even if experiencing it would undoubtedly be different, he had been completely aware of what he was allowing to happen in an attempt to stop Moriarty. Which was the only comfort he felt at the situation, if he was there, that meant Jim must be trapped somewhere too, someplace in the darkest part of his mind in which Sherlock failed to determine what could possibly inhabit.
The words continued, and the rooms didn't cease from appearing either. So Sherlock kept wondering around until he had run himself tired and oh-so-very bored by it. The violet-haired boy stopped in one of the rooms, a landscape similar to the borders of The Isle, edged by an ocean and filled to the brim with discarded objects.
He paused his movement, the still waters making him anxious. He leaned a bit and stared into the deep blue tranquility, not really recognising why it was suddenly such a frightening sight, yet he couldn't draw his eyes away. Standing still and staring into the vastness of its deep underwater mysteries. An eternity of possibilities lurking down there, but confusing him by being familiar for some reason. The voices became louder then, almost screaming at him phrases he had thought he had forgotten, or regarded as unimportant when he should have been paying attention.
Sherlock jumped back, standing up straight again and hastily impatient to put as much space as possible between him and the tranquil waves. He approached another door, and just when he was about to turn the knob, a watery voice called out his name and made him halt his movement, turning around to look for the source of said noise. When he found none he carefully opened the door, only for him to feel an invisible force pushing at his chest insistently and violently throwing him backwards into the infinite abyss.
He opened his eyes to bright natural light. An array of blurred figures appearing on his sight and blocking some of the glare hitting his sensitive eyes. Faces were staring down at him and the soft, blue carpet supported his body, as a cool hand patted him in the cheek to get his attention. "Sherlock?" A soft, worried voice said above him.
The boy blinked and waited for his vision to clear a bit. John's face becoming more defined by the second. His smiling expression very prominent on his sight. "That was tedious." Was all Sherlock could mutter from where he was lying on the floor, rubbing his purple head trying to wrap his mind around the developments. After a few seconds, he recognised several other people peering down at him in concern.
"What happened?" Irene asked. And Sherlock stared up at her, watching all their bewildered expressions and not being able to deduce the cause. Him blacking out could be quite distressing, but it did not account for the haunted mood he sensed among them all. His deduction powers were failing, he supposed he should make John check him for a concussion once he had some answers.
"I-" He muttered, but his hoarse voice impeded him from finishing without clearing it, once he had, he tried again. "I'm not sure, I was-" He said, hastily running over everything that had happened before that strange Mind Palace episode. One glaring detail coming forth as the most important, one that he should have never forgotten in the first place. "Moriarty." The sigh of realisation that left his lips brought its own set of apprehensive thoughts and rage, if he was here, then… "Where is he? I have to-" He demanded, hastily standing up in wobbly legs, ready to chase down and tear apart if necessary.
"Calm down, It's fine." John said softly, as he wrapped his arm around his flailing frame and supported enough of his weight for the other to stand up fully and not fall on his face. "He's right over there, unconscious." He motioned to his left, and the others around him nodded in agreement. The violet-haired boy frowned as he searched John's eyes for any sign of deceit. Once he found none, he sighed in acceptance, but was not able to refrain himself from shaking away from the king's arms and running to the figure sprawled on the marble flooring anyway.
The sight of the one that had tormented —yet filled so much of— his life, laying there, almost dead to the world was bizarre to witness, but at the same time, only at the second he could see it with his own eyes was he able to let out a breath of exhausted relief. "It worked." He whispered, not really able to believe he had managed to pull his outlandish plan off. There had never been any question of who, between them, would win when it came to ruthless violence against each other, and that wasn't him. Yet somehow, against all predictions, he had managed to do it, and that fact left him slightly wrong-footed at not understanding how all the wrong steps he had taken had, by some unknown means, ended up with him standing there and Moriarty consumed inwards into his own psyche. He supposed he would never know, and that thought alone was more torturous than he needed at the moment.
"Indeed, it did." A feminine voice came from behind him, Sherlock twirled around to find Lady Hudson smiling knowingly at him, her lithe arms crossed in a dutiful figure but her old, kind eyes squinted in delight. "That was a powerful spell, young man," She admitted, which made the rebel look around to check if anyone else had also witnessed this surprising turn of events, or whether the bump in the head was acting up more than he thought. "You should be up there trapped too." Lady Hudson said, bringing him out of his reverie by poking him in the forehead to make her point. Sherlock ran a hand though his violet hair and shrugged, not having enough data to answer. What was he supposed to say: 'I didn't really know what I was doing? It was sort of an accident? I, too, am worried on why he's like that and I'm not?' Somehow he suspected none of these explanations would cut it, not when the enchantress in front of him had centuries of experience over him, and he was just an admittedly very clever miscreant with a half-thought plan and vicious determination.
"Worked?" Greg asked as he peered closely at his friend's face. His strong arms resting on his hips in demand. "What worked?" He said, matching the confused look every other present had decided to portray. The fists inside his fingerless gloves, clenching and releasing as he always did when he could determine danger around him, as if anxious for a fight.
Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but Lady Hudson was quicker wrapping her thoughts into a coherent sentence. "He used the reversal incantation to lock Moriarty inside his own mind." She explained, and there was a pregnant silence in the room for a few moments. All of them astonished at the news of what he had unwittingly accomplished.
The first to recover was, surprisingly, the new king who quickly approached the violet-haired boy once more, and, in a fit of spontaneous affection, wrapped his sturdy arms around his waist and hoisted him up in the air in celebration. "John!" The rebel complained in disgust, patting the blonde's shoulder to get him to put him back on the ground once more, where he belonged. John laughed that honest laugh as Irene and Lestrade chuckled in amusement behind them. Sherlock shot them both a nasty, murderous look; but once his sight reached the royal, his eyes turned slightly more charmed and the glare lost some of its heated intensity.
"You're amazing!" John exclaimed and continued to smother him in human contact —which he knew Sherlock hated, fact that made the boy suspect he was purposely doing this for that exact reason— and grinned conspiringly at the others.
"I'm regretting this already." The silver-gazed muttered and rolled his eyes. Not entirely up for that level of cheerfulness after the events of the day. He was still reeling at everything that had transpired in just one morning, and the thought about what his future would look like was too complicated to contemplate at the moment. Also, he would be caught dead before he ever admitted, or even showed, that very deep down in his mischievous soul, he enjoyed every second John payed him enough attention to annoy him.
"Next time I rescue you, okay?" The royal said, looking pointedly at the rebel, his expression sure and demanding. The boy struggled to keep from laughing as he recognised that tone John always seemed to use when he was scolding him for something.
"Knowing me, you'll probably have countless opportunities." Sherlock smirked, and bent over to pick up the discarded crown off the floor. He turned around and placed it perfectly over the blonde hair. He took a step back to asses the look, John smiling but not meeting his eyes in confused awkwardness; but Sherlock frowned and wrinkled his nose at that: there was something wrong with the picture. The violet-haired boy took a step closer once more and reached out to skew the golden crown on his head, grinning a cheeky smile when he was finally satisfied with the more adventurous result.
Irene pursed her lips in a dangerous smile, foreboding all the blackmailing material she was already planning to use in her favour. "You managed to get out of the spell," She commented, skeptically crossing her arms and putting all her weight on one hip. "How did you do that?" The Woman asked, taking a few steps towards them but glancing around in contemplation, once her gaze fell back on the rebel she smirked knowingly.
"I really don't know." Sherlock admitted, turning to look over his shoulder at every Auradon inhabitant still present and witnessing the undeniable truth. "I didn't even know I could do that." And wasn't that just the biggest punchline? He had finally overthrown the big shadow that had ridden passenger seat during the majority of his life, and he didn't even really know how he had managed it.
"Sherlock Holmes doesn't know something?" Lestrade replied, the amused tone was entirely not appreciated by the violet-haired boy. Greg chuckled along John and Irene, as Sherlock turned his accusatory gaze to the king: wasn't he supposed to be on his side? "This really is an extraordinary day." The amazement was painted all over his face.
Apart from the jest, Sherlock could deduce he truly considered the day to have been exceptional, and in a way the boy agreed with that, down to his bones, so he said: "Oh, piss off." There was no need to let Greg be aware of that and suddenly believe he could start acting like he had an idea all on his own which the rebel actually regarded as true. His friend grimaced and shoved his shoulder in retaliation, stepping aside and throwing his arms up in exasperation.
John smiled up at the taller teen, with his big blue eyes and that glinting crown on top of his ridiculous head. Sherlock rolled his eyes, because it should be disgusting and cheesy, but yet he found himself thinking the image of a royal looking at him with anything other than animosity or horror was second to none other, —despite his earlier assumption— considering it was the right royal.
Irene and Lestrade retreated, as did Lady Hudson to chase after her granddaughter. John and Sherlock stayed there, watching Moriarty's body silently while the crowd dispersed. Two lonely figures regarding a terrible threat without knowing exactly how to proceed. The silver-gazed shuffled his feet and attempted to gain back his breath, a breath that he felt he had been holding since he first devised this plan and found out spelled cookies could be the worst thing that could happened to a person like him.
"Will he be like that forever?" The blonde asked, bringing him back from that trailing notion. His expressive face betraying how much he didn't wish to set his hopes high, only for Moriarty to waltz back into their life in a return from oblivion to haunt them once more.
The rebel's mouth quirked up in a side smile, glad that at least that he could give to John. He could provide that small peace of mind he so needed. "Yes." He said, returning his gaze to the floor. "You can stop worrying now."
"I don't believe I ever will." The other responded.
A few seconds passed in relative silence —with the other royals still distressed by the events and rushing about to get the cursed people on stretchers and out to get magical aid. All of this, coordinated by the former King and Queen, of course. The rebel wondered why John was not there helping, since his first instinct would have characteristically been to make sure his people were safe, but perhaps now that his parents had taken care of that, he was left staring down in apprehension at Jim, as if making sure there was no way for him to bounce back to life and destroy them.
"Well, he always did regard himself as 'a man of the mind'." Sherlock quipped as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of the plum blazer he was still wearing, finding it hilarious: The two of them, just standing there dumbly as if nothing of importance had happened.
"Yeah." John said between chuckles. "A bit not good." He commented, statement that was completely killed off by his grinning face and the sparkling his eyes were doing as he looked at Sherlock.
"Yes, you're probably right." The violet-haired boy conceded, and turned his gaze away from the criminal, only for them both to burst out laughing nervously at the scene.
In that moment, a voice was heard behind them that made Sherlock's blood run cold; not out of fear, but because he had no idea how he was going to face his lost brother right now. "Can you two behave?" The older man said, and the boy clenched his fists in frustration at not knowing how to react. Thankfully, John took care of that for him when he excitedly exclaimed: "Mike!" He said as both of them turned to find Mycroft, no longer made of ice, standing before them and clutching an umbrella. Sherlock recalled him as the most stoic human from when they were small, now however, his face was betraying a myriad of emotions. Deep sadness, and slight exasperation mainly, but also a flicker of joy when his sight locked with the rebel's.
"Or well, I mean," John stuttered once he recognised what exactly was happening, and how much he was intruding. "Mycroft." He amended, standing straighter and nodding in acknowledgement. "You know, I'll just-" He babbled dumbly, but he suspected none of the others present were paying attention. He took a small step back to allow the two brothers to get reacquainted.
"Sherlock." Mycroft was the first one to talk, calling his name as he had not been able to do for so many cycles. The violet-haired was not ready to answer, he just took a moment to notice all the differences about the other that he never thought he would have the chance to observe. His brother had always been a tiny adult, that he knew, even if he was way too young when they were separated to remember any clear details. A familiar stranger in his own right.
There were endless questions he wanted to ask him, the things he wanted to say too many to count. So much he didn't even really know where to begin.
"You gained weight." Was what he settled on.
Mycroft seemed surprised for a second, clearly not expecting their first conversation after thirteen cycles to be about that particular subject, yet the smirk that quickly made its way to his face said he had no reservations about it. Apparently any topic was as good as any when it came to them. "Lost, actually." He commented, his familiar upper, posh accent distracting Sherlock from what he really wanted to talk about.
"You never came back." The violet-haired boy commented, not reproachfully any more; in some way, he understood what it was like to make choices which were not even under your control. The limitation of options when someone in the world is the way they are. His opal eyes searched the other's expression, changing between questioning and contemplating, as he believed his brother would be doing with him as well.
"I tried," Mycroft responded, a dangerous edge to his voice, and if daring the other to imply he hadn't tried hard enough. "However, a magical dome is beyond even my mortal capacity." His hands shifted over the handle of his umbrella, and his shoulders were back as in defiance. Holmes' never took too well at admitting personal shortcomings; Mycroft being a mortal with no magic, clearly believed he had many of those. Sherlock could see the sincerity in his eyes, and in turn nodded in acceptance, letting go of things which he couldn't change.
The older sibling, sensing they had reached a silent understanding raised his eyebrows and regarded the other teen present. John stood back trying to appear as if he wasn't listening in and failing terribly under the combined deduction power of the both of them. Now that John was watching them together, he could see a resemblance so obvious he wondered how he had missed it on the first go. "Perhaps it was for the best." Mycroft said, pretending to shake off a lint off his impeccable suit."Never quite had your talent with the world of villainy."
"You were rubbish." The other concluded. Remembering fully well that if there was something his brother couldn't handle, it was a world of unleashed chaos. Which happened to be the defining trait of both, The Isle and Sherlock himself.
"He's actually really good at this, you know?" The king chose that moment to intervene, looking at both of them with amazement. Clearly still trying to figure out how it was possible that his life-long best friend had ended up being his boyfriend's big brother. "He's practically been running the kingdom for the last three cycles." He admitted, which was so very true no one in the realm would dare deny it.
"Well, he was never able to keep his large nose out of everyone else's business." Sherlock smirked, but the shifting of his weight on each his feet was telling enough about his inability to determine what to do after all this time had passed. Acerbic remarks were always where he ended up falling back when in doubt, yet, somehow, he knew Mycroft may understand it.
"It's good to see you, baby brother." The ginger said, an aloof and unreadable expression across his face once more. He turned around and made to leave as he swung his umbrella from side to side. Nonchalant in every sense of the world, except to the ones looking closely.
"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" The violet-haired boy demanded at his retreating form. He was frowning and his eyes were definitely raging at the frustration of being so wrong-footed. He turned to look at John as if attempting to search for an ally in this discombobulating outrage.
"What indeed?" The older brother called back, and disappeared out of sight between the sea of people, leaving a dumbstruck Sherlock behind.
The boy blinked in confusion and sighed. "So, yes." He concluded, after the whirlwind of events had died down inside of him. "He's still as insufferable as I remember." He said, only for them both to collapse in giggles for the second time that morning. Sherlock took a moment to amaze in how quickly his mood had changed once Moriarty and the wand were not looming over him anymore. Speaking of Lady Hudson's wand, it was still clutched on his left hand as if embed into his skin. "Wait here." He said to John and walked over to where the Defender of Light was standing lecturing a blue-gown-clad Molly.
"I believe this belongs to you." He said when he reached them and extended his arm towards them. Lady Hudson raised her arms in surprise, but smiled once the magical artefact was retrieved.
"And I believe this," She said, as she procured John's golden ring from her pocket, which she had probably found discarded among the commotion. "Belongs to you, dear." She dropped it on his hand and her kind eyes regarded him in respect. Sherlock reverently slid the ringlet on his finger like the king had done a few hours prior, then he noticed Molly shifting her feet beside them, obviously regretful of her outburst from earlier. The violet-haired boy found he couldn't possibly blame her from wanting to resort to magic as her ultimate choice, he had been that desperate only seconds before.
"Listen," He addressed Lady Hudson, his shoulders set in determination. "I was the one who put all those insidious thoughts in Molly's head." The rebel confessed, watching the girl show gratitude all over her figure.
"Oh, I know." Martha responded, swatting him in the arm for his troubles. Her eyes looking at him in disapproval. "And I shall expect you all at intensive Remedial Goodness 101 next Monday, young man." She said sternly, to which Sherlock could only chuckle lightly and shrug.
"Fair enough." He responded as she nodded in understanding and took her leave to aid the victims of Moriarty's insane attack.
Sherlock was left standing there with Molly, feeling like the height of idiocy personified. "I wish I could make an argument against magic, but well…" He commented and waved his arm at the people being rolled away for magical care. He believed nothing he could say could possibly convey his meaning. Magic was such a destructive thing, but for him, it could also be something so wonderful, its destructiveness just one of the aspects of why he now found himself incapable of possessing any desires of walking away despite having only being acquainted with it for a few moon-cycles.
"Yes." The girl agreed, her hands fidgeting in nervousness but her expression showing him she understood exactly what he meant. "But maybe I shouldn't listen to your suggestions anymore either way." Molly concluded, even if her hand came up to brush aside a strand of her perfectly —magically— styled brown hair. Sherlock nodded along for lack of any other way to react. The both of them stayed in silence as they witnessed how Lady Hudson got people standing and 'cured' with just a wave of her platinum wand. Sherlock's eyes turned contemplative and Molly smiled sadly at him. "I guess I really got lucky on the family department." She said, startling the other to turn and regard her in surprise. His set mouth conveying how interested he was at her ability to read him so accurately. He had never encountered someone who could see through him so much, not even Irene, —although she came the closest— had mastered that particular skill in all their cycles of acquaintance, let alone in just a few weeks. The Woman could almost deduce what he was feeling, but there was never the sort of bone-deep understanding that Molly appeared to gain whenever she recognised what was flying through his mind. Perhaps —despite their contrasting choices at externalising said traits— Molly and him were not so different after all.
The silver-gazed took a step back and lightly bowed to her in gratitude for her loyalty. To which she responded in rushing to him and crushing him in a big hug. All of his other friends didn't do this, but Sherlock supposed he could tolerate it from her for a few moments, he did manipulate her into what would probably cause her a myriad of problems.
Once she released him, she hurried away to talk with Donovan and Anderson who were approaching, and the violet-haired boy made sure to escape before he had to deal with that. He may have just decided not to cater to his villainous desires of overthrowing John's reign, but perhaps he was not yet ready for that sort of trial. He was really trying to fight the urge not to commit anything that might be deemed 'not good' right now, and it would be tremendously helpful if Anderson's utter idiocy was not anywhere in vicinity for that.
The commotion was dying down, and John couldn't be more grateful for it. He didn't believe any other king before him had already had to deal with an attack such as this on the day of his coronation. "Take him to the cell, and bring Lady Hudson to secure it with the highest of magic." He ordered one of his guards, as they were picking Moriarty's body up from his resting place and carried him away. "I don't want there to be any way for him to get out." He said, running a worried hand through his blonde strands.
He watched them hurrying away and sighed; he had no idea whether Moriarty was aware of what was happening, or if there was any way he would be able to break out of there. Sherlock had apparently managed to do it, —although not even him seemed able to determine how— so what made both cases any different? By any rights his boyfriend should be trapped too. One could rarely receive a favour from the other side such as this and give nothing in return. Those sort of deals did not exist in the world of black magic; and he would be lying if he said thinking about this fact didn't worry him out of his mind.
Irene and Greg were there, staring at him and exchanging knowing glances between them once they recognised his hunched, tired shoulders but his unwavering smile. At that moment, Sherlock approached once again, looking more at peace with his surroundings but still watching everyone as if they bored him to death. John supposed, now that the dangerous and interesting part was over, he would start feeling restless any second. The king decided then to cut all of their exhausting day off and finish his duties as soon as possible, so the kingdom could breathe easily once more.
"Everyone, may I have your attention?" He said as everyone around him silenced and turned to face him in respect. "The kingdom is safe, the threat is gone now." He assured, lifting his arms in a display of innocence and solace, attempting to soothe his scared realm. "However, we still have a bit of official business to attend to." The boy said and looked in regret at Sherlock; he knew he was probably not going to like the next part, but it was his duty as a ruler to right whatever wrong that had happened during his reign, specially if said trespass had been overlooked by himself directly.
"Sherlock Holmes," John took a deep breath and now addressed the boy who had so quickly become the best part of his days. He wished he was doing the right thing for him; since despite all of his mistakes, he had still accomplished to save them all from utter destruction. The issue wasn't even caused by him precisely in the end, —no matter if he had planned on doing that exact same thing, but didn't get a chance to— and he still had put himself on the line in order to stop the Villain Consultant, and that was a good thing in John's book. "You stand accused of conspiracy against the crown and attempted treason." He said seriously, attempting to convey his meaning as clearly as possible, he didn't condone of such behaviour and was fully expecting never to have them repeated in the future. The kingdom turned then to look at the violet-haired boy, who was standing there confidently, owning his actions entirely, but not appearing smug about them in the slightly. He accepted the truth about what he had done, but that didn't mean that he didn't know better now. "So, as king, I have no choice but to make you answer for your crimes." John could identify a sort of resigned sadness pass over the other's expression in a fleeting second. There and it was gone again, but it was enough to clutch at his already flayed heart-strings. The last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to feel attacked for what he had done for them.
"So, as of today, you will be banned from using any forbidden conjoury in all the magical realms." He stated, careful to keep his voice as professional and regal as he could, even if he knew nobody really expected it from him at the moment, after what had taken place. If he was to reign justly he needed to put the wellbeing of his people ahead of everything else. He just hoped Sherlock remembered The Isle of the Lost was still part of his realm, and that made the rebel his subject too.
"Also, as a service for the community, you'll be expected to aid in the lifting of the curses casted by Moriarty, and attend daily to your educational responsibilities with the according restrictions." Sherlock stuffed his hands inside his pockets, adopting an out-of-character vulnerable posture as he faced his trial in silence. All of him was so very far from what he had looked like when he first came into the kingdom that John could barely believe it was the same person, and yet his eyes remained the same. The blonde could see past the disappointment of his words and take a glimpse of the mischievous and dangerous nature that had always been present and that he dared to admit he found the most appealing. The silver gaze was fixed on him, as if awaiting for the guillotine to snap down, but John took a moment to faintly smile at him, silently asking him to just trust him. "And finally," He added, his voice soft and calm as he could make it while he ignored the confused frown appearing on the other's face. "I sentence you to carry out your punishment here in Auradon, where I will personally oversee the duties I have placed upon you to make up for your transgressions."
The shocked and hopeful expression that then broke out to the surface on the rebel was worth every second John spent trying to figure out how he was going to solve the incredible enigma that was Sherlock Holmes, and he was infinitely glad he had apparently made the right choice. The subjects present seemed as taken aback with his sentence as he was, but the royal couldn't find any objections among them, even Sally and Phillip stayed completely quiet. Silently accepting his decision for once. The new king watched as his parents stood at the back, proudly smiling at him for his justice and mercy, it made John wonder if perhaps Sherlock had been right all along —as per usual— and there was a way he could become a good monarch for his people. "Yes, my King." The younger boy was quick to reply, once the surprise had been processed and the doubt erased from his brain. John beamed, he would be a fool to give him up now that he had finally found him.
"Brilliant." John's smile was incandescent as he stepped up to approach the other. Greg reached the boy first and patted a friendly punch over Sherlock's shoulders. The violet-haired boy looked at him in annoyance but the delight in his posture was impossible to hide. Irene arched a perfect eyebrow at the new king as he passed her by, shaking her head and biting her bottom lip in respect as if saying 'you, smooth bastard' and motioned him to be hasty to his destination.
The blonde came to stand just before the architect of this whole thing, be it the chaos or the resolution, and he wondered how so much could be confined in a rebellious boy that enjoyed strawberries and sweets as much as he did causing trouble, and who was ready to face down a threat as big as the most feared living being on the world but was just a tiny bit anxious around heights and deep waters. Sherlock scrunched up his nose and regarded him silently, then asked casually, almost as if he were talking about nothing of importance. "So I get to stay in this hell?" He asked. John had to fight hard the urge to just fling himself at the rebel —whether to punch him or smother him in affection was yet to be determined— at the audacious tone with which he worded this.
"Yes, you're stuck here with me." He replied, raising his arms as if saying 'too bad', letting the other know how much he cared for his false opinion about his perfect solution. If the violet-haired boy believed he would be allowed to push John over just because he was smarter and incredibly more expertly callous than him, he had another think coming his way.
Sherlock looked up and sighed in faux suffering. "It's going to be torture." He commented and the king did punch him this time, albeit playfully on the shoulder, and took the other's hand as if to symbolise that there was really no way of getting rid of him this time. The silver gaze peered down to where they were intertwined and its owner smiled secretly for a second, only to scowl in annoyance when he returned his sight back up and watched as Anderson was loudly inflicting his completely wrong opinions upon those nearby.
The festivity was in full throttle now, everyone in the kingdom eager to celebrate their joyous triumph —not really, most of them did nothing— against Moriarty. A collective attitude of carelessness as if they hadn't just watched death in the face and ran for their lives. Sherlock was completely aware that he was expected to celebrate too, at least to appear like he wanted to attend such a gathering, but that was of course not the case. He still had a lot to figure out about what had happened that day. He had to run though some aspects with Hudson —who was clearly more acquainted with the whole debacle— and figure out how the hell had he managed to outlive Moriarty, of all people. There was still a lot he didn't know, and he would rather spend his time searching for the answers than having to stand there, between people —the majority of which he despised— and act as if he was not feeling completely done with the whole thing. The only reason he was there, if he were being honest, was because the king had to attend, and had asked him to accompany him, and there was no way he could have said no, even if he had tried.
He was aware of how dangerous the power John had over him was, but he saw no way out of it, and he doubted he would find it any time soon. If Sherlock stopped to think for more than one moment about it, he would find it appalling, disgusting even, how much he was invested in the blonde boy, and how much he didn't wish to change his situation. The royal had tore down all of his carefully built defences from the very beginning, as if they hadn't been made strong enough to resist him, and had managed to utterly destroy him in the process. Sherlock was amazed to find he didn't mind any of this. Still, that didn't mean he had to enjoy the stumbling drunk idiots at the party. So, as soon as he could slip away, he stepped outside to get some fresh air and light up a cigarette.
Out on the balcony at the side of the castle, there was someone leaning over the railing. Contemplating the scenery of the kingdom below. The figure she made clad in sparkling rose and blue was contrasting against the darkness of the night. The violet-haired boy found no reason why he could not share the space with her; despite everything else, she at least was tolerable.
He approached the edge and took out a smoke, discreetly lighting it up with a magical flame, and he took a long and much needed drag. His eyes were closed as he exhaled, and once he felt the calm of tobacco sweep over him, he was able to open his eyelids to the light and landscape that conformed the realm. The little sparkling lights of the town, the dark forest and beyond, a vast expanse of water and the gloomy silhouette of the island in the distance.
"You are not allowed to smoke those here, you know?" Mary said from beside him, her hands tightly clutching the jumper she was wearing against the cold air of the night. "John won't like it." She added, but her expression showed how much impact she believed her suggestion would have with someone like Sherlock. Said boy, wondered then, why she bothered saying it in the first place.
"John would like the alternative even less." He replied smirking, knowing full well that his —now past— opiate habits would not come as a surprise to anyone. The boy looked at her and deliberately took another drag, smirking as the puff of smoke went off his system. The princess scoffed a laugh, but she did not comment further on the subject.
Silence fell between them for a while, as the rebel finished his cigarette and she grew tired of watching the scene. Sherlock felt his shoulders relax and his body letting go of the last of his apprehension. A satisfied side smile making its way over his face now that he had time to reflect on the unforeseeable events.
"So, is it over?" The girl in pink spoke again, and the silver-gazed did not need clarification of what she meant. They all knew he was the schemer behind the whole thing. Yes, Moriarty had been the instigator, but if he had laid low and just refused to play his game none of it would have happened; he was even responsible for Molly snatching the wand first. "Are you done now?" She posed the question firmly, but her tone wasn't accusatory. Sherlock thought Mary was not as insufferably dull when she was not desperately trying to guard a stupid and inconsequential truth.
He contemplated his answer, and quickly drew up the possibility of him pulling a stunt such as that. There was no accurate or reliable way of telling, but he thought he must answer with the few facts he had right then. "Probably." He said, as the princess searched his face for sincerity. She then nodded in acceptance when she figured she would have to trust his word for now and wait and see what time would unveil.
"And you'll take care of him for me, won't you?" Her tone was uncertain, as she looked at him and fidgeted with a button on her jumper.
"Taking care of someone is not in my nature." Answered the rebel, deliberately turning away and watching the moving crowd through the glass on the balcony's doors. There was no way he should even be there, no logical explanation on why someone like him should found himself present. But here he was, standing in a suit, wearing the king's ring and chatting with a princess about caring for another human being. He could only say he had never seen that one coming.
"Nor is it in John's nature to accept help," Mary replied and pinned back into place a strand of blonde hair that had fallen from her elegant binding. "But you're a clever boy," She said. Her eyes strayed away from him and took instead to looking at the party as well. "I'm sure you'll figure it out." It was her turn to smirk at him, and the other just rolled his eyes and settled.
The boy cleared his throat and ran a hand through his unruly purple curls. "I take it you wish for your secret to stay that way." He predicted; because Mary had not gone through the trouble of losing a boyfriend and the opportunity to become queen just so she would carelessly allow him to do as he pleased with the information. She would definitely want to make sure he didn't blabbed to anyone, and Sherlock just wanted to get past that conversation.
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble." She replied. No other thing needed to ensure —as much as she could anyway— that he would remain silent.
"For now." He said, since he had no real gain from it. Perhaps it could serve useful in the future —what was it Irene always said: Secrets are insurance?— but it was useless to him at the moment. "You should tell John, though." He turned around and looked at her, as if attempting to convey his message, because doubting him was understandable —hell, distrusting him was the most fucking smart thing you could do— but the blue-eyed was another matter altogether. "He'll surprise you." He was sure of it. After a few moments, Sherlock mutter under his breath, "He does that." Barely loud enough to hear, he doubted Mary even caught it.
"I'll think about it." She replied and smiled at him for the first time. "You should go back," Mary urged, as they both watched John inside pass by for the third time, glancing around and clearly searching for something in particular. "Your Majesty is looking for you." She said, and the boy took one last opportunity to read her. After a moment, he turned around and elegantly strode away from the rail and pushed the door that took him into the warm air of the celebration inside. Never sparing another glance to the figure frowning at his back.
A few hours later, found him still in the thick of it. John had had a bit to drink, but not nearly enough to be considered drunk. Sherlock and him were sitting at a table watching as Lestrade made a complete idiot of himself. A few moments in, the violet-haired boy turned away, uninterested in the proceedings now that he had watched them unfold for almost half an hour. He glanced around in search for something to interest him, when John noticed his fidgeting and turned to acknowledge him.
"You are a hero, you know." The blonde said, wearing a big smile that made his eyes squint and his nose wrinkle. Sherlock sighed in annoyance, he had no idea how he was going to convince John out of his delusions about his character. He hoped once the king eventually came to his senses he would still be allowed to stick around.
"I told you, John: heroes-" He started, but the blonde raised a hand and cut him off before he could finish his well-known statement.
"Don't exist, I know." John added. Rolling his eyes as the innocent expression never left his face. The violet-haired did say it rather a lot for the royal to learn it with such accuracy. "But still," The blonde added, placing a determined hand over the younger man's shoulder. "You saved us today."
Sherlock turned to look at him in surprise. That couldn't be right. That wasn't what he had done, was it? "Moriarty had to be stopped." He concluded, extremely sure that was the sole intention he had had at the moment. All other thoughts of protecting John and defending the kingdom shoved to a corner of his Mind Palace where he could ignore them. "You all were just," He paused and waved his hand around in dismissal. "Collateral damage."
The blue-eyed shook his head and smiled. "No, I know you." He assured, and the trust the rebel could recognise inside his gaze made him stop and blink in confusion. He regarded him silently, and tilted his head to the side; the movement was quite intimidating to look at, but he intended only to analyse and deduce the impossible human in front of him.
"Are you sure about that?" He asked, his intense grey eyes boring into the turquoise pools of the other. An arched questioning eyebrow present.
"Yes, I am." The blonde responded, as his sight never wavered back to the party. "But don't worry, your secret is safe with me." The joke was lighthearted, as if he didn't have a worry in the world anymore. Sherlock believed that sort of optimism was highly dangerous, there were always things lurking about in the shadows, and one victory didn't make you immune to their threats. How was John able to be as ridiculous as this?
"Shut up, John." He said, but his harsh words didn't match the amused tone he carried. His hesitancy was not enough to overpower the intense joy that threatened to come to the surface once he looked at what he had gained. As impossible as it seemed, he felt genuinely satisfied for the first time in his life.
"Except for the statue I'll have made to commemorate your heroic deeds, of course." The king added, and Sherlock was not sure if he was actually kidding, but his horrified face must have communicated enough since the blonde bursted out laughing at his expense.
"Like I said." Sherlock commented. "Completely regretting it." He insisted.
At that moment a high-pitched voice cut through the roaring of the party and addressed them. "What are you two lover-boys doing now?" Irene asked, coming to sit next to Sherlock as Greg and Janine gathered close to watch the proceedings, interested —and fairly inebriated— faces on all of them.
"No." The violet-haired boy was quick to order. "Don't call us that." He said, in that tone he reserved for the most unpleasing aspects of life, drawing such a disgusted expression that made John grin and just unable to resist leaning in to kiss his cheek in affection. Sherlock swatted him away and scoffed even more.
"Why not?" Irene asked, "I think it suits you." She placed a hand over her chest, mockingly offended by his repulsion.
"No person wants to be called that." The boy was quick to grumble, completely aware of the entertainment that he was serving, which made him even more annoyed at the developments.
"I do." Lestrade pitched in, smiling brightly and reaching a hand to mess up the purple curls on top of Sherlock head.
"I said person." Replied the same rebel as he struggled to smooth out his wild ringlets. Glaring at him in animosity, as if foreboding the storm that would arrive once they were all out of the castle and back in their dorms.
"Okay okay. Calm down." Irene intervened. "Why don't you both come celebrate with us?" She grabbed John by the hand and yanked him up into standing. Janine and Greg already disappearing into the dancing crowd beneath the coloured lights.
"You go," Sherlock said to the king as he remained seated. Encouraging him to celebrate his coronation as if it were the only time he would be able to do so without the burden of the worry that came with ruling a kingdom. Which was exactly what would happen, he deduced.
"But-" The other wanted to protest, but the violet-haired boy just shook his head and shrugged. "I'll be fine." He said. "I need some time away from people anyway." The mischievous smirk he gave him was enough to convince the other.
John accepted his decision and both him and Irene made to leave the table to join in on the merriment. Before they went though, the girl came back for one last remark for her best friend. "I'm counting on John to shag this attitude out of you, you know?" She smirked with her blood red lips, as her almond eyes sparkled.
"Dully noted." Sherlock responded, with a bored tone painting his words as the others hurried away. "I heard that!" He could hear John say in the distance while they all laughed at her joke.
The rebel took a deep breath, ready to settle in for a few moments of lonely watching as the kingdom rejoiced in their victory against evil, witnessing a complete era ending before him. The realm and all its citizens would sleep fine tonight. Saved by an unlikely figure of the night who never thought he would encounter himself right in the middle of such a situation. Sherlock sat back in the dark corner of his table, and as the cheerful commotion went on in the dance hall, no one noticed his grey eyes turn bright green.
SEQUEL "THE FORGOTTEN OCEAN" AVAILABLE IN MY PAGE.
Author's note: When I started this project I never really believed it was going to end up being so long or different, but I had a lot of fun writing it.
So, I hope you all liked it and thank you to anyone who took the time to read it/comment/favourite.
