Hi everyone!

Here's the second chapter of Princes and Knights! :)

I'd like to very sincerely thank OperaGoose, PrincessNala, minijo1990, Torchwood-Babe, Reona, Helen175 and IreneNorton for taking to time to review. Although I love to write in this universe, I sincerely believe this chapter wouldn't be up yet if it wasn't for you!

A big thank you, as well, to all my readers and to the ones who put this on their story alert or favourites lists – I dearly wish this chapter 2 will be everything you hoped for.

John didn't quite know what he had expected to find when he finally arrived at the capital. A castle, certainly – one big enough to contain the royal family and the guards and whoever else was needed to make sure their government could function. Houses around the castle, surely, lavish and complicated because they belonged to the richest nobles. But although he had come upon a sign informing him that he was indeed in the capital of the Baker Kingdom, there was so castle in sight; instead, he had apparently come upon a gigantic market in which his whole hometown could have easily fit, and this included his family's decrepit mansion.

Bewildered by the numerous smells fighting for his nostrils' attention – some more pleasant than others – and by all the noise around him, John began to make his way very slowly through the crowd. His anxiety, which had been steadily rising along with the number of miles that separated him from home, reached its peak as he guided Alte between the market stalls, ignoring the merchants' calls to him the best he could.

Finally he made it out of the maze-like bazaar, although he suspected that the unexpected obstacle had taken him much further south than what he had anticipated. Querying a guard on patrol nearby about the way to the castle he made it there with no further difficulty, opening wide eyes as the road beneath him became more and more regularly paved and the houses around more and more sumptuous. Eventually, unexpectedly, he found himself in front of the royal edifice, and breath left him in a rush. The 'castles' he had seen back home were little more than fortified mansions, with walls of solid stone protecting a few peasants' homes and the ruling family's ancestral house; but this in front of him was much more than that. It seemed as much an object of art as it was a means of protection; everything from the barbicans above the footbridge to the machicolations on the ramparts seemed meticulously crafted in solid grey stone, while the covered parapet walk's roof showed intricate and colourful motifs. The keep itself, proud and massive as it was, cut an elegant figure across the cloudy sky, its pinnacles raised proudly. All in all it was an architectural marvel, and John very much feared that his astonishment was clearly visible.

Leaving Alte in the good hands of a stable boy and getting to enter the castle was remarkably easy as well; finding Lady Hudson, the old family friend his parents had written a recommendation letter to, was not so. After a brief hesitation he had started for the kitchens, figuring the servants there had to know the location of all the nobles' bedchambers; rather than trying to figure their location on his own, he had asked another guard to point him the way. His interlocutor had thoroughly detailed his attire with a rather derisive smirk but he had answered his query easily enough; John was grateful he hadn't tried to trust his instincts because he would have left in the completely opposite direction. A few moments later, however, he figured he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because he was in a part of the castle that seemed much too richly decorated to lead to the kitchens and servants' quarter.

"Hey, you there! What do you think you're doing here?"

Heart sinking, he turned to see another guard, puffed up with obvious annoyance.

"This part of the castle is strictly off-limits to anyone who doesn't belong to the royal family or the royal guard."

"I'm terribly sorry, Guard – I never meant to intrude. I wanted to find the kitchens and was given directions to them, but I must have got lost."

The guard didn't seem terribly impressed by his polite and earnest tone, nor did he seem intimidated by John's instinctive defensive posture as his hand came near the hilt of his sword.

"A likely story, boy-" here John bristled; he had already lived through twenty-seven springs, and surely the man couldn't be much older than he was. "The kitchens are in the opposite direction, so I dare say you must have got more than 'a little lost' to get here. Now tell me the truth: what are you doing here, huh? Looking for something to bring home? Or did you have something more nefarious in mind?"

Truly chagrined now, John acknowledged two things; first, that the mocking guard from earlier must have voluntarily given him wrong directions, and secondly that the guard in front of him now seemed very determined to believe the worst of him. For a moment he felt truly distraught, pondering his few options. Although he believed he might have been able to fight this man if it came to this, he somehow doubted that getting in a row with one of the royal guards would endear him to the men who'd judge his skills as a potential royal knight – however, he likewise suspected that the man in front of him wasn't ready to listen open-mindedly to more protests of his innocence. Just as his imagination started to get the better of him and he wondered if you could be thrown in the dungeons just for being at the wrong place in the capital, a deep and already familiar voice resonated.

"May I know what is going on in here?"

The guard immediately stepped away from the wall he had pushed John against.

"Sire! I've found this suspect individual roaming the royal halls and immediately made sure he could intrude no further. His story as to why he's here was decidedly strange as well."

"Was it? Then I must definitively congratulate you on the successful arrest of this suspicious individual, Gregson. I'll take care of the rest – return to your post."

The guard – Gregson – who had fairly puffed up with importance at the man's first words, suddenly deflated.

"Are you sure, Sire? Surely you needn't bother…"

"I'm sure, Gregson." The guard paled a little at the imperious tone, immediately saluting and leaving. John's attention instantaneously focused on the other man, more than a bit surprised.

"Hello, John. What are you doing around here?"

"I- hello. I'm staying with Lady Hudson during my stay at the castle, before hopefully joining the knights' quarter, and I was looking for the kitchens to ask for directions. But what about you?" John blurted out, before rethinking the question. "I mean, do you…are you a knight yourself?"

Although the other man didn't dress anything like he'd expected the knights to, it'd at least explain the quality of both the man's fencing and clothing, as well as the fact that the royal guard seemed to regard him with such reverence. The grey eyes seemed to dance a moment, as if they were amused by the query, before the man answered.

"I suppose you could say that. No need to trouble yourself with going all the way to the kitchens, in any case – I'll lead you Lady Hudson's quarters myself."

Again mystified by the man's secretive answer, he only belatedly realised the mysterious stranger had started moving down the corridor and had to hasten to catch up with the man's long strides.

"Thank you very much. May I ask about what happened to yesterday's bandits?"

"Oh, the royal guard did a marvellous job of rounding them up and carting them off to gaol" the man answered, and John fancied that his voice was sufficiently sharpened by irony to be considered a weapon in itself. "They are to be judged before the moon is full again."

"What punishment will they receive, then?"

"I'm sure I don't know how our esteemed King dispenses justice; but probably they will be hanged. This is the standard punishment for burglars and pillars, after all."

"Hanged?" repeated John in a blanched tone.

"Certainly." A curious frown. "Does this bother you? They killed three of their victims, you know, one of them an infant boy."

"I…I cannot seem to know if this bothers me. Surely justice has to be done; and yet, knowing that, no matter how inadvertently, I was part of those men's arrests…"

"…Troubles you when you think that those arrests will result in their deaths; John, your heart truly is a wonder of soft-hearted compassion. But I'm afraid we've arrived at our destination, and I must depart now. Good day, John; may your knight's assessment go well."

Before John could determine if he'd just been insulted or complimented or even thank the man for his help, he was alone once more. Shaking his head slightly to clear it, as any time spent with the mysterious man seemed to fill it with both unanswered queries and images of light grey eyes, he knocked on Lady Hudson's door.

John didn't know what he had been expecting when he had knocked on the door of the lady who had been the late Queen Violet's closest confident and the nanny to both of her children, but it certainly hadn't been the energetic little woman that had opened the door herself, clad in a rather simple and worn-out dress. The Lady didn't look like 'one of the most powerful women in the kingdom', as his mother had described her to him, but it was true that she had an intelligent sparkle in her eyes that suggested that she would prove to be a worthy opponent against anyone who dared to underestimate her.

"John Watson, oh my, how you have grown! Come in, come in, let me have a look at you!"

He came in and immediately went for his hat, bowing deeply.

"My Lady, I wanted to thank you most sincerely for your kindness in letting me stay here. My mother sends her warmest regards, and this letter."

"What a polite young man! You look just like your mother John – but you must get told this often enough. In any case it was certainly no trouble to accommodate you here for a while, my dear, no trouble at all. Now, just hang your coat on this patter; perhaps you'll want a moment to freshen yourself up while I call for tea?"

Answering that a little time to rest would be lovely, John took no time in hanging his rather fatigued traveller cloak next to the lady's own coats and furs before crossing Lady Hudson's quarters to the room she had pointed out to him with a flick of her wrist. The room was smaller than his at home but much more richly decorated and he was delighted to find that the basin in a corner had already been filled with fresh water. Rapidly freshening up, he tried to concentrate on what would happen next. His travel had taken him a day longer that what he had expected, meaning that the knights' practice he'd be a part of in order to prove his skills was to be held on the morrow; it left little time for him to prepare. Staring at his reflection in the water, he promised himself then that no matter what happened, he would leave these rooms with no regrets, whether it was to go back home or to move in the knights' quarters.

The rules were simple enough. There were two other contestants desiring to become knights, one a tall, gangly boy that couldn't be over sixteen and seemed particularly anxious – John's heart immediately went out for him, no matter that he was an adversary right now – and the other an older, blond gentleman who had raised a polite eyebrow when he had seen whom he was supposed to be fighting against; John guessed that neither Gangly Boy neither him, in his ragged tunic, seemed particularly threatening. He hoped they'd prove him wrong.

The three of them would mock-fight one another for the first round; if one of them lost his two fights, he was eliminated. The second round would involve a fight against one of the knights. The man explaining this to them was very clear; one position was open, but it didn't have to be filled today. Even the best among the three of them wasn't assured that he'd become a knight.

The first fight opposed the Blond to Gangly Boy; it was quick and brutal. The lad seemed more anxious than ever and the first brutal thrust of his adversary's sword made him stumble when he parried, leaving his left flank open for attack. As they had been told, the Blond then attacked the weakness with the flat of his blade; although it did little more to the boy than wind him a little, it meant he had lost the fight.

The other knights jeered a little, obviously amused by how quick the fight had been; and as John took the Blond's place for his own fight, he felt a little irritated. The older gentleman had done nothing out of the rules, he had won fair and square; but John still felt as if it had been cruel to treat this fight as an inconvenience to be done with as quickly as possible. He was himself of the opinion that the boy in front of him was far from ready to be a knight, but he had also seen potential in his first parry and in his almost-perfect posture – he didn't like the idea that after this second match the boy would be sent home in disgrace, probably convinced of his own worthlessness.

This train of thoughts was the reason why he didn't move when the knight in charge of the fight gave the signal to attack, even though he was usually more comfortable in the role of the assailant. After a moment of uncertainty, the boy in front of him met his eyes. He didn't know how to explain what he felt, so he just let his teaching instincts take over and gestured at himself in a move universally known to fencers. Come on, boy. Attack.

And the lad did; not perfectly, but with surprising strength considering his lanky form. He had left his left side open to attack once again but John didn't end the fight; he did, however, make an aborted gesture to make it seem like he was going to. Careful. Only attack when you can also protect yourself. Once more, the lad understood, and his next attack was much more careful. John nodded his approval. The joust continued in such a way for about fifteen passages of arms, becoming more and more fluid and graceful, before John finally let himself score a solid hit, and although he has involuntarily made the lad stumble and fall back, the eyes that were looking up at him were definitively grateful.

Most of the knights obviously didn't know how to react to this strange version of what was basically a teaching exchange, but the man who had explained the rules to them and was clearly the fencing master was looking at Gangly Boy with a new light in his eyes, so John considered his goal achieved.

Another consequence of his lengthy fight was that the Blond was definitively taking him seriously now, he found out as the third fight began. Neither of them really knew just how good the other was, so they started with cautious tests and rather slow movements, but quickly enough the fight began in earnest. The other man was a good fencer, solidly built and obviously very enduring, John acknowledged, but he was unimaginative; he wouldn't have lasted a minute in a brawl, where the rules of fencing duels were only known so they could be ignored more effectively.

Still, he knew that he couldn't win if the fight became a duel of endurance, so he took a risk, brutally breaking the steady rhythm of thrust/parry/counter-attack they had fallen into by stepping forward, coming close to skewering himself on the other blade before disarming his surprised opponent and pointing his sword at the Blond's throat. In his mind he could hear a smooth voice declaring 'And though easily worried about other people's safety, you have but little concern for yours' and it made him smile a little.

The knights cheered as they both bowed to each other, and John felt an excitement that wasn't totally unlike bloodlust; it was a rush of self-confidence and delight in his victory, both profoundly satisfying and totally unexpected. He could do this, he thought as he readied himself for the second round, he could become a knight. He could stay in the castle along with the dark-haired not-quite-stranger with the smooth voice.

In the end, it was a good fight; the duel lasted close to fifteen minutes, and it certainly didn't lack in animation for the knights standing around. John's adversary was lithe and fast, making up in agility what he didn't have in strength; he was as imaginative and tricky as the Blond had been conventional, and his fighting style was actually a lot like John's. In the end, John reflected ruefully from his position on the ground, it had come down to experience. He couldn't help but feel disappointed, however, and he must have looked forlorn indeed because his adversary held out a hand for him to take.

"No need to look so down, you know! You weren't truly supposed to beat one of us!"

This was new to him.

"I wasn't?"

"No! Well I guess that if you had you'd have been chosen on the spot, but that happens really rarely. What you had to do was to show your potential, and I think that both you and Sir Bolrin did that." Bolrin – so that was the Blond's name. "If we needed two recruits, I think you'd both be taken; but as you beat him, and he didn't last half as long against Cor' as you did against me, I think…" The knight didn't finish his sentence, but John still smiled all his gratitude at him.

At this moment, the fencing master came forward once more.

"Everyone, I'm happy to say that we've found our missing knight!"

Far above from the training grounds, Sherlock watched the proceedings with a look of apathy that felt both very familiar and totally insincere right then; although he had never taken an interest in the choice of new knights before, he had to admit that this time he had wanted to know what would happen. His new-found fascination for a fellow human-being had surprised even him, but the truth was that in spite of the string of deductions he had given to impress John, he felt as if he had barely scoped out the man's limits. The would-be-knight had surprised him far too many times – with his fighting abilities, when he had raised his voice to protest against Molly's role, when he had reacted with admiration rather than fright or disgust to Sherlock's deductions… His responses were unlike anyone's Sherlock had ever known, and he couldn't help but relish the challenge that trying to understand this man provided.

So high up he couldn't hear anything, but this was the price for being unbothered; and anyway, he didn't need to be closer to recognise John's small figure. He had repressed a smile at the teaching lesson the man's first fight had become, figuring it was yet another consequence of John's great heart, and slightly nodded in unseen congratulations as the man won his second fight and lasted for far longer that the average trainee against Knight Gerove, who despite his usual light-hearted behaviour was a serious and expert fencer.

Reassured now that there was no way the other man was going to leave the castle before Sherlock had him completely figured out, the Prince went in search of someone to annoy, wondering if Captain Lestrade would terribly mind Sherlock pointing out every little thing that the guard had done wrong on its last mission; it was one of his favourite activities.

The corridors were surprisingly empty, noted John as he crossed them on his way to Lady Hudson's bedchambers; he had met a grand total of five people in the last quarter of an hour, and none since he had entered the richest part of the castle. He had already noticed this earlier, as he had made his way towards the training grounds. He had expected such a big castle to be bursting with life, but it seemed the nobles valued their tranquillity over everything else. He had no doubt that the servants' quarters were rather more animated.

The reigning silence was soon broken by footsteps, however; and as he raised his head, he found that he was looking into inquiring grey eyes once again.

"Hello. It seems we've made a habit of meeting everyday."

"Indeed. Do I get to congratulate you today, John?"

Meeting those eyes was suddenly difficult.

"I'm afraid not – I was told that I had promise, and to try my luck again the next time such a position opened." He didn't say what was obvious, that his family certainly couldn't afford him to make such trips, using resources and depriving them from the money he made as a part-time sword trainer, if he wasn't going to send home a knight's salary afterwards.

The other man's expression went through several emotions in the space of a second before it became perfectly blank once more.

"If the place is still vacant, perhaps you should try your chance again before leaving the castle."

"No, no, the place was filled. Sir Bolmir – Knight Bolmir, I should say – gave a convincing-enough performance to be considered able for the post."

This time, the surprise was clearly registered on the man's face.

"But you beat him! I might have to reconsider holding the knights' intelligence as superior to the guards' if they can argue with such a result."

In spite of everything, John smiled a little.

"You saw then."

The man didn't reply to his badly-masked query for more details as to how he had known this, choosing instead to question him.

"Are you relieved, John?"

The enquiry would have seemed strange and even brusque if John hadn't known what the other man had seemed to guess about him the day before last; as it was, he understood that he was asked whether he would now try and pursue his own ambitions.

No matter how much he liked the tired feeling that came after a fight or the happiness brought by teaching, nothing quite beat the feeling that you had had a part in saving a life: this was something that he believed in, something that he knew. And yet he couldn't just say it, because not making it as a knight had been a disappointment. Leaving his hometown for the first time had made him realize what he was missing out on; now that he knew he'd soon have to leave, he found that he wanted to have the chance to say that he knew the capital, no matter how big the city was, he wanted to take revenge on that guard that had deliberately misled him, he wanted to live adventures such as the one told by the bards. He wanted to get to know that mysterious man better.

This really wasn't something he could admit to.

Before he could reassemble his thoughts enough to answer the difficult query, two men approached them, looking as if they had been walking for a while now.

"Sherlock, honestly, when will you stop this infantile behaviour? I assure you, your belief that I don't have better things to do with my time than to run after you is quite unwarranted – and you were supposed to be in the throne room an hour ago."

The dark-haired not-quite-stranger that wasn't at all a stranger or even a knight must have replied something but John didn't hear it, occupied as he was to realise the depth of his blindness and naïveté. The man that had approached them had his face engraved on every single one of his purse's coins, and there was only one person named Sherlock that he could think of.

Abruptly coming back to his senses, he dropped to one knee.

"Your Highness."

King Mycroft threw him a quick glance, as searching and thorough as his brother's had been. He had the feeling he had just been neatly categorised as uninteresting and that he'd have been forgotten soon thereafter if he hadn't been in the Prince's company.

"And you are?"

The world must have titled five degrees off its axis then, because John clearly heard the Prince answer.

"This is Sir John Watson – Knight John Watson, actually. I've decided to make him part of the Prince's Knights."

John stayed rigidly immobile, convinced that the world would obediently right itself once again if only he didn't move a muscle for the next five minutes.

"I see. Sherlock, may I have a word with you?"

"Certainly, brother of mine."

"There are no 'Prince's Knights'."

"There is one now."

"And the reason why there are no Prince's Knights is because you ardently refused to even consider the idea the last seven times it was suggested."

"I'm relieved to know your memory isn't failing you yet."

It was the right place in the conversation for a 'why?', and this was precisely the reason why Sherlock knew Mycroft wouldn't ask.

"May I remind you that the elusive "Prince's knights' quarters" don't exist?"

"He is but one man, Mycroft. I seem to remember there's an empty room attached to mine."

Now he had done it; his brother was sincerely surprised. It didn't show on his large face, but Sherlock knew him enough to tell. Wanting a knight all to himself could have been another "caprice" (Mycroft's name for it, not his); deciding to actually share his living space with the man meant this was no laughing matter. Sherlock could almost see the reasoning being pursued in his brother's mind, so identical to his, he could follow him as he brought up and discarded theories. Not a tryst; Sherlock got bored of his lovers very quickly, he certainly wouldn't have made arrangements to share a room with one. Not a way to curry political favours with the man's family – even if Watson had had anything to offer to the Kingdom, Sherlock's only use of the court intrigues was to mock them and occasionally to expose them, contrarily to Mycroft who adored them. Not an enemy – no doubt Mycroft had some records of the Watson family somewhere in this huge brain of his, and anyway John's honest nature was written all across his features.

Only two serious hypotheses remained; either Sherlock had seen something in John Watson that he wished to explore or he was trying to mess with his brother. Mycroft ran an even more thorough check of John Watson's petite figure before throwing Sherlock an exasperated glance; obviously he had decided on the latter theory and had little patience for what he perceived to be another of his brother's games.

This meant that Mycroft had missed the hidden depths of this man, even after a second glance. A delighted smile curled the Prince's thin lips. He now had the proof that he'd been right; learning to read and understand John Watson was going to be the most interesting challenge he had had in a while – and once he was done, surely John could become part of the royal knights or something, so that he didn't have to bother with the other man anymore.

His brother wasn't totally finished, however.

"Fine, Sherlock. I'll indulge this little caprice of yours-" Sherlock frowned, there was this word again "-for two lunar cycles. A knight's salary isn't negligible, and I personally believe we have enough of them right now. So you'll have to convince me that hiring this man was a necessary measure before your time runs out."

Sherlock was unconcerned about this precision, sure that unlocking this man's secrets would require much less time than that – actually, it was convenient for him, as it meant he'd no longer have to think of an excuse to get the man off his service and out of his bedchambers once he had no more use for him. However, his brother did raise an interesting point.

"But surely paying for Knight Watson's salary will barely dent the generous donation sent by Count Bolmir."

Mycroft blinked. Sherlock didn't know if it was because he wasn't supposed to know this or if it was because he seldom expressed interest in any underhanded deals his brother partook in.

"The choice of Sir Bolmir as a knight had nothing to do with money, Sherlock."

"It was certainly no reflection of the man's talent. It had everything to do with money."

"No it didn't. However, it did have to do with the fact that our allies are getting sparser, our enemies stronger and that ensuring Count Bolmir's loyalty was essential to preserve this Kingdom's continual survival, Sherlock!"

"Always the perfect son, right Mycroft? Heaven forbid something happened to Mummy's dear Kingdom."

"Your sarcasms don't reach me, Sherlock. I know of your feelings towards what is left of our parents' lifework, and you know I don't share them. I'll do whatever is necessary to keep our heritage intact."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. I had actually meant to tell you; I'm now engaged. To Princess Adler. The wedding is in two months."

And as Sherlock's mouth stayed shut for once, Mycroft stalked away, his last words trailing after him.

"I still await you in the Throne room; be sure to come at once."

John had had some time to think about what had happened as the two brothers conversed at length. It hadn't been that useful in terms of coming to terms with the fact he had called the Prince's actions disgraceful; but at least he had made his decision.

"John." Suddenly the grey eyes were back; except in the ways that they weren't. Because they didn't belong to a strange man appearing from around a bush anymore, or even to a knight defending him against a guard. They belonged to a Prince. The Prince. Prince Sherlock.

It was still a difficult fact to process.

"Let me escort you to your new rooms. You'll be able to get your luggage from Lady Hudson's rooms later."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your kind offer. Sire."

"What do you mean? You've already got lost once in this castle, and I have to go back to my chambers anyway. You coming with me is the most practical arrangement."

For such an intelligent man, Prince Sherlock sure could be obtuse.

"I meant I refuse your job offer. Your Highness."

"But you hesitated."

"I'm sorry, what? Sire?"

"Stop with all the Sires. When I asked you whether you were relieved to go home, you hesitated and didn't answer – this clearly meant you weren't."

"You won't be surprised to hear you're quite right once more. Sire."

"Then why won't you be my knight?"

John couldn't help but feel his inwards twist the slightest bit at the man's possessive tone; but he resolutely ignored how it affected him to hear this voice calling him his because this was part of the problem. The man seemed to consider him as a pet, and this was an ignominy John wasn't willing to accept.

"Perhaps no bond is as thick as the one existing between comrades in arms-" he couldn't use his voice as a weapon like the Prince did, but he was still fairly sure that his irony came clearly across "-but surely the one between a Prince and his knight is thick enough to require trust." And you didn't deceive a person you trusted. This is what it all came down to, in the end; and John was determined to be steadfast on the subject. Nothing the Prince could say would make him reconsider; actually, if he even tried to bring up the matter of his high salary as a knight, John might well have to break the man's nose, Prince or no Prince.

No, nothing could have made him hesitate – except for what the Prince actually did, of course.

"Hello, John. I'm Sherlock."

His eyes snapped up to meet light grey ones, and he realised it was the first time they had actually exchanged eye-contact in this conversation. He likewise remembered just why he had decided to keep his gaze on the vicinity of the man's shoulder; those eyes were the man's most dangerous weapon.

"It was an honour fighting with you against those ruffians – seldom have I met a man on whom I could depend so completely in a row. I would be much obliged if you'd let me offer you the opportunity to fight alongside me on a regular basis."

John could barely breathe as Sherlock brought his lips next to his ear and – impossibly – lowered his voice even further.

"I'd also like the chance to get to know you more…thoroughly."

John wondered dazedly if this getting-to-know-you thing included a bed before snapping back to his senses. And then he realised that he had beautifully lost this argument.

He found that he didn't mind that much.

"Now come. I still have to show you our rooms, and my brother is no doubt impatiently waiting for me."

John followed reflexively before actually registering what the man had said. His eyes widened as his step faltered. Our rooms?