Chapter 6

Hi everyone!

Yesterday I engaged a staring contest with the double of Benedict Cumberbatch.

I went to a classic music concert, and I sat in the first row. The clarinetist was playing right in front of me during the whole show; and he looked just like Sherlock. Naturally I did not stop staring at him – I mean, so much that I think he thought I was a psycho– or that he had a really big red spot on his nose. But really, the resemblance was astonishing – even the mannerism is the same! The clarinetist had the same wrinkles while frowning, the same smile, the same shape of eyes, everything.

I looked on internet if I could find a picture on which he looked like Benedict Cumberbatch, but I didn't find any. Pity ^^ I wanted to show my fellow readers my discovery!

So, when he stood up during the ovation, I was still staring at him and gaping at the resemblance like a goldfish – and a rather stupid/psycho at that. He was looking over at the whole public when he saw I still hadn't stopped staring at him for no reason, so he started looking at me too. I stared at him for a few more moments, and he kept looking too, so I looked away for like three long seconds, and tried to find some interest in my clapping hands.

I glanced sidelong at him to see if he was still looking at me, and he was. He was even biting his lip and trying not to laugh. I stared back during the whole ovation, and our staring contest was only broken when the musicians left the scene. It was really funny and awkward at the same time.

And that was only at the break between the two parts. I don't even know how I made it out of the second one without bursting out laughing.

Anyway. That made me think I had to write a chapter with Sherlock, so here it is :D

*cheering crowd*

Hope you enjoy and remember that I love reviews! *winking*

Thanks for reading!

Oh, and thanks again to all who reviewed this story: Souffle Girl in a Blue Box (I love your user name by the way), IndiaMoore, Vivig1212, messie23 and as well as Anonymous and Guest :) And thanks for alerting, following and favoriting this story!

Sherlock was currently staying in a tavern near Essetir's border. He had already solved some cases this week near the Easter coast, and had now had to move to another region so that Mycroft wouldn't be able to find him. He wished his ennoying brother would stop looking for him someday. It was getting ridiculous.

He was awoken by a sudden tremor coming from the restaurant room downstairs. From what he gathered, a man was looking for his seven-year-old boy that had disappeared the night before. Ahah! It was not the first time he heard this since he had settled in the region.

Smelling a good opportunity to get sword training, Sherlock grabbed his cloak and left the tavern.

A crying woman was sitting on a bench by the door, looking completely exhausted.

Sherlock sat by her.

'I know you are responsible of the seventeen children's disappearances that have been happening since the beginning of the month. Now, there's no need to try and escape, as you are not quick enough for me. Where were you yesterday at fifteen past seven?"

The woman looked utterly horrified at Sherlock's accusation and spluttered out, trembling:

'I-I was in my house, cooking dinner.' She hesitantly looked at him. 'I cooked some stew made of we-but that's-it's not important. My son was playing with the o-other children of the village in front of my house as he did on-on every evening before eating and going to sleep.' She burst into tears, but swallowed down and bravely continued. 'I heard a horse coming down the only street of the village. It certainly was the one we use for our harvests. But that's not the point. I went out to tell my kid to come for dinner but the children had dis-disappeared.' Sherlock frowned. 'I am innocent, I swear! I just want my little Tommy back!'

Alarmed by his wife's cries, the man from the tavern ran out of the building to check on her, brandishing a poorly sharpened sword.

Sherlock was already far. He was running after the slave traders that had kidnapped the children – the traces in the mud indicated the horse that had passed through the village drew a heavy carriage behind him, a carriage plenty of children. As for the direction, he ran south, to Essetir – the last kingdom of Albion where slavery was still allowed.

After finding a poorly concealed track – poorly for a detective of his level anyway – he evaluated the battle strength of his opponents. Seven men, and not weapon experts – pity, he needed some serious training. Some children were bound and going to Essetir by foot – his skin crawled at the thought of it-, and the youngest were in a cage drawn by the horse – it was a young white horse, that had been stolen three days before.

Sherlock just needed to get a weapon to force the cage's lock open. Mycroft had ordered him to always have a weapon on him, so naturally, he did not carry any. Not even a toothpick – and yes, it was a weapon, and a sharp one at it.

After a few hours of quick-walking after the bandits, he finally caught up with them.

The kidnapped children were all aged seven or older. Except for a little dark-headed one, that was exactly as old as Merlin when he was attacked. His brown innocent eyes widened when he spotted Sherlock, who was kneeling behind a tree. The Prince raised his finger to his mouth to shush the child, and the kid nodded in understanding. He looked as innocent as Merlin. Sherlock's cold heart beat faster.

He decided he would not go easy on the traders.

There were indeed seven bandits – satisfied smirk of Sherlock – his deductions were as accurate as ever. He quickly examined them all.

The bandit leading the horse had broken his leg at age twelve, and still limped slightly on his right side. The traumatism could be revived by a good angled kick. There were two traders walking around the cage and examining the kids greedily. Both planned to kill the other one and get the money raised by selling the children. The bandit walking behind them had a broken wrist. The young girl in the cage had bit him so deep the bone had been broken. Good point to the red-haired girl. The bandit walking at the back of the pack was half deaf and blind.

There were also two sorcerers, but those wouldn't be a problem. They did not even carry a normal weapon. He smirked – this would be a nice fight.

Sherlock sneaked behind the deaf bandit and knocked him out with a sharp blow to the temple. The man crumbled without a sound.

Sherlock fell in pace behind the bandits while deciding his course of action.

The bandit walking before him was the broken wristed one. His left hand rested on his sword sheath. Right.

Sherlock jumped on him. He grabbed the swollen hand and squeezed it. The man shouted in pain, and tried to get his attacker's hand off his. Sherlock took out the unprotected sword and hit the man's head with its hilt.

The convoy had stopped at the commotion, and now the traders were surrounding Sherlock.

One of the would-be leaders attacked him. The Prince snorted. It would take much more than a poorly trained bandit to take him down. A child shouted – the little one. He ducked, avoiding the blow, and attacked back with renewed fury. He knew he would win. Semloh's fighters were known and feared in all Albion. Their technique was unique. The sword and the fighter had to be one, fighting around multiple foes in a deadly choreography. Sherlock had perfected his technique long ago, and no one had ever been able to overpower him since then.

He parried another hit, and turned on himself, his black cloak flying around him as he danced around the battle. He drove his sword through the second leader that had treacherously been sneaking behind him– really, this was so obvious. The other leader was already trying to impale him. Sherlock lifted his leg and crushed the man's nose with his foot. The bandit ran away from him, shouting to the sorcerers to do something.

Sherlock nearly giggled. This was his favorite part.

The first sorcerer stepped in front of him, shouting with big grotesque movements:

'Acwele!'

Ah, the villains' favorite spell.

The Prince stared without blinking as the lethal spell was shot in his direction. He calmly raised his hand. The blast went around him, avoiding him as if it were pushed away by an invisible forcefield.

Sherlock had always been bestowed with this magic-repressing shield. No magic had ever been able to affect him unless he wanted to. And since Merlin's disappearance he had never allowed anyone's powers to go near him.

The magic hit the second sorcerer, and the Prince knew without bothering to turn around that he was dead by the second. Sherlock smirked as his attacker's eyes went wide. Five down, two to go.

He brandished his sword and rushed forward the gaping sorcerer. He regained his composure and shouted every spell he knew to shield himself from the magic-protected man. Sherlock inexorably advanced towards him, going through every shield the sorcerer put around himself without breaking a sweat. He was about to run him through when the sorcerer transported away. Interesting. It was the first time Sherlock fought against a sorcerer powerful enough to teleport. That was neat. His ability seemed to work even on the most powerful sorcerers.

The last trader, the limping man, had climbed on the horse. He rode away, pulling the cage and the children behind him.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

The road led to the edge of the forest. If he took a shortcut through the thick forest, he would get to the end of the forest on time.

Not sparing a look at the dead or injured bandits, he dived into the thick forest, bending under the branches, jumping over the bushes, running to save the children.

He found himself on the road before the edge of the forest. The carriage had been quicker than him, and was ahead.

He did not stop to catch his breath.

He was inches away from the children when a hooded man stepped in front of the carriage. The bandit was flung off his horse, which had stopped dead in front of the man. The trader got up and tried to escape, but the man shot him dead with a crossbow bolt. Lestrade put down his weapon and pulled down his hood. He grinned at a scowling Sherlock, who was certainly disappointed not to have landed the final blow. The Prince shrugged, broke the cage's lock with a well-adjusted sword blow, and helped the children out of it.

'Your Majesty! Are you alright?'

Sherlock grumped as he lifted the youngest child, the one that remembered him of Merlin, on the bandit's horse. The kid giggled.

'These children were kidnapped during the last weeks by slave traders. Mycroft should have sent you and your knights to save them. Tell him I am not doing all the job in his stead.'

'Sherlock! He didn't know about the bandits. You should not have gone after them alone. There were sorcerers in this group, and -'

He was panicked, wondering why his Prince went after those bandits alone.

'Lestrade, stop panicking. I am alright, see." He sighed. "Didn't Mycroft tell you? Sorcerers cannot do anything to me.'

The head knight shook his head, appalled at such an obvious recklessness.

'Sire, forgive me, but this is preposterous.'

Sherlock sighed and fastened his walk, pulling the horse behind him. The children were sitting in the cage and enjoying the ride home.

Lestrade, who had lent his horse to three of the children, was trying to keep up with his peculiar prince. He sighed fondly – what had his Prince thought by attacking those bandits alone?

The older knight was now running to keep up with his pouting prince's long legs. Sherlock took his breath.

'Believe me. Magic cannot affect me unless I want it too.'

'How-?'

'Don't know yet, working on it. Now, if you would go back and tell Mycroft I am not going anywhere for him.'

He gaped. 'How could you possibly know what I am going to ask you?'

'Why would he have bothered to send his head knight alone to fetch me except for making me travel in his lazy stead?'

'Right. As usual, you are right. You are meant to get to Camelot in two days' time to sign a -.'

'-peace treaty. I know.'

'As I was saying, you are already near Essetir, so you could get to Camelot on time, but you obviously already know that.' Sherlock did not even bother to nod. 'And you know that if I have to go back to the castle to tell the king to go in person, your brother will never be there in two days. You have to go for the sake of the kingdom. There is an escort waiting for you two miles north, in the tavern you slept.'

They entered the children's village. Heavy rain was falling on them and soaking the Prince's travel clothes. Sherlock did not even look like he had noticed – here again, you never know what he is thinking.

The parents got out of their house, and the children ran into their opened arm with happy shouts. The villagers acclaimed the two men that had saved their children.

Sherlock didn't even look like he was even listening to the praises, and Lestrade was getting increasingly annoyed by the unresponsive attitude of his Prince.

'Sherlock?!'

'Alright, I'll go. But first'

He addressed the whole village:

'I hope you'll manage without me. Have a nice rainy day.'

He mounted the bandit's horse under the flabbergasted peasants' stares and rode away alone.

So much for the Prince's waiting escort in the tavern.

Lestrade shook his head and smiled. Sherlock would never change.

Please review and tell me what you think of this story :)