Hey, I'm back! Did you miss me? Sorry, I've been busy, and distracted by various things, such as One Upon A Time, and school. But I've finally brought you the next part of this story. It has more Sherlock-bashing, and Arthur-healing. Enjoy.

The boy now known as Merlin gave a rather sobbing laugh, and said, "I told you I was coming right back, you clotpole. Why don't you ever listen to me?"

"In case you haven't noticed-" Arthur grunted as John continued doing his best to repair the wound- "I have been stabbed in the shoulder. I have more important things to think about than listening to my servant. Especially now that I know he's been keeping secrets from me for years."

The darker boy spluttered, "Well, excuse me for wanting to conceal something that, if you or anybody else knew about it, would get me executed for sorcery!"

Arthur gave him a hard stare. "You really think I would have executed you?"

"Yes."

"...You're wrong."

Merlin shot him a disbelieving look. Arthur protested, "No, really! I'm king, I wouldn't sully my hands with the blood of a dirty sorcerer, I have guards to do that!"

"I'm a warlock, you numbskull!"

I can definitely see why Emery-sorry, Merlin-thought we have a lot in common regarding our relationships, thought John, rolling his eyes slightly as he wound a bandage around Arthur's injured limb. Even though he had little idea what they were talking about, and some of it sounded a little crazy, hey, probably a lot of people felt the same way listening to him and Sherlock. He had become flexible enough not to really be disturbed by it, though he was still curious. But the doctor focused on fixing the bandage in place.

It was about then that he noticed his patient was giving him a funny look.

"Merlin, who are these people? And what are they wearing?" He glanced over at Merlin, and his eyes widened. "What are you wearing?!"

"What do you mean? I still have this." Merlin indicated his neckerchief with a smile.

"Yes, but the rest of your wardrobe looks different!"

"They dress differently here. We'll have to find you some new clothes that can help you blend in."

Arthur nodded slowly; John got the feeling he would have argued, but at the moment was too exhausted and confused. He sagged limply for a moment, before murmuring, "You didn't answer my question. Who are these men?"

"Don't worry, they're here to help us. The one treating you is a healer named John Watson. The other is-" he stopped blankly, looking at the tall man as he realized he hadn't even gotten his name. Finally he said, "-John's friend."

Both men reacted to this assessment; Sherlock by an outraged splutter, John by a snort of surprised mirth. Sherlock, however, followed up his initial reaction with the words, "I am Sherlock Holmes, the world's one and only consulting detective! For G-'s sake, man, have you been living in a hole?!"

Merlin stared at him, and then glanced over at John. He finally said, "You're that John Watson?"

John nodded, before saying, "We need to get your friend somewhere dry. If not the hospital, then we should probably bring him to Baker Street."

"Good idea." The boy went to a nearby tree; placing his hand flat against the trunk, he murmured in that other language again, and again his eyes flashed gold. He left his hand there for a short time, before sagging slightly, and the rejoining the group.

"...What was the point of that?" Sherlock asked, in his (not used as often as pre-Reichenbach) "you are being a weirdo/idiot/person who has somehow offended me" tone of voice.

"That will save us having to get a cab," Merlin gasped. "I enchanted the tree so it's a sort of portal to your flat."

The detective gave a loud, derisive snort. "Is that really the best you could come up with? Enchantment and portals? That sounds like the plot of one of those stupid TV shows John likes."

Merlin gave him a hard look. "You might not believe it, but it's true."

"Then why didn't you use one earlier when you came to fetch us? Or 'create' one to bring us here?"

"Because I didn't want to startle you."

"Or because you didn't have your tricks or optical illusions set up there. You had to bring us here, where they all are, in an attempt to get us to believe that you are-reincarnations of King Arthur and his wizard Merlin, or something preposterous like that."

John gave him a bemused frown. "You remember the stories of King Arthur, but delete the name of the Prime Minister?"

Sherlock retorted, a bit too defensively, "The adventures of the Knights of the Round Table are interesting. The Prime Minister is not. And that's beside the point. The point is that we have just nearly been the victims of a very elaborate prank."

"If you don't believe me, go ahead and push on the knothole on the tree. That should open the portal," Merlin retorted, a note of challenge in his tone.

Sherlock Holmes, never one to turn down a challenge (one of his more idiotic traits, in John's opinion), strode to the tree, coat flapping dramatically.

"Is this the knothole you mean?" he called over, indicating it with a press of his finger.

"Yes, that's the one." Merlin was smirking slightly as he replied.

Disregarding him, the detective pushed on the knothole, which actually moved inward slightly. Marveling at the special effects, he turned from his companions to look at whatever illusion had been set up-and nearly had a heart attack when he found himself in the living room of his flat.