Finding You Can Change; Learning You Were Wrong

[blamethecupcake]

Brain swelling due to trauma, the doctors had said. John’s body had been able to breath on its own, albeit with difficulty, but the breathing tube took the unnecessary strain off him and allowed his body time and extra energy to heal. Time was needed to see if there was a chance at recovery and if John was going to come out of his coma. They told him not to give up hope.

Sherlock didn't deal in hope. Facts were the tools he used to see and understand the world and so he left hope for those who could not think their way through life. It was with these facts that he knew that the chance that John would wake up was slime, and even if he did it would most likely be with some sort of permanent brain disorder. Was John even in there, or was this just an empty shell?

No one who knew Sherlock would accuse him of being sentimental and his behaviour since waking up attested to that. He demanded answers from John's doctors, and when they could not give him a definite answer he cursed them as incompetents. Lestrade came to visit on the day he woke up and he told the DI an edited version of what had led to the explosion. Not once did he show any emotion other than anger.

Mycroft had stopped by and Sherlock demanded information from his brother. For his part, Mycroft had promised to bring the files so Sherlock could get to work tracking down Moriarty. He seemed eager to get out of the hospital and begin his search for the criminal mastermind and when asked about John he had simply replied there was nothing that he could do for him but get justice. It had been a thoroughly disappointing answer and Mycroft told him so.

It was only late at night, after the lights were out and the nurses had already done their rounds that Sherlock would get out of bed and make the short but painful journey to John's bedside were he would sit for hours not saying a word. He held John's hand the entire time.

John wasn’t sure how long he’d lain there for, but it wasn’t until there was a knock on the door that he pulled his face from the pillows. “Who is it?” He asked, crossing the room to the double doors.

“Mrs. Hudson, dear.” A kindly woman’s voice said from the other side. He opened the door and his forehead creased in confusion when there was no one on the other side. Surely he hadn’t imagined it? A few hours in this castle and he was already loosing it...

“Thought you might like a cup of tea, dear.” The voice said again and he heard the sounds of porcelain clinking on stone. Looking down he was shocked to see a teapot hopping into the room followed by a tea cup, a sugar bowl, and a milk pitcher.

John jumped backwards in surprise. “But you… you’re a…” He stuttered helplessly as he backed into the wardrobe.

“Oh!” The wardrobe cried, doors opening a bit to catch John as he stumbled. “Careful.”

“This is impossible!” John continued to backed away, this time making for the safety of the bed. Luckily it didn’t start talking as well, he wasn’t sure he could handle it since he had been laying on it for the past hour at least.

The wardrobe followed him across the room and leaned on the bed so they were face to face. “I know it is, but here we are.” She agreed good-naturedly.

“I told you he was handsome, didn’t I, Martha.” Said the teacup on the floor. John was beginning to suspect all the animated objects in the castle were women.

“Alright Sarah, that’ll do.” The teapot, Mrs. Hudson, said. She poured some tea into the cup, and the sugar bowl and milk pitcher added their contents without comment before the cup skipped happily over to the bed.

Still a little hesitant, John sat on the floor by the tea set and picked up the cup. “Um, thank you.” He said, sipping carefully from his tea. It was odd, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about drinking out of an object that not only had thoughts and feelings, but vocalized them while he was using it. Still, it probably took them a while to hop all the way to his room, and it would be rude to turn them away now.

“That was a very brave thing you did, dear.” Mrs. Hudson said soothingly.

“We all think so.” The wardrobe added.

“But my sister, I’ve lost her. Who will look after her?” He couldn’t help but sound as miserable as he felt and the three women looked at him sympathetically.

“Don’t you worry dear, Sherlock isn’t as bad as all that. It’ll all turn out, you’ll see.” John could only assume that Sherlock was the beast, and he couldn’t see anything about the man that would prompt the loving tone Mrs. Hudson used when she talked about him. “Oh, just look a me chattering on while I have a supper to get on the table. Come along, Sarah.”

“Good bye.” The cup said with a smile before hopping out the door after the rest of the tea set. This was by far the oddest day of his life.

“We haven’t been properly introduced, I’m Clara.” The wardrobe said as she got up and walked back across the room. “Now what are we going to dress you in for dinner? Oh, let’s see what I’ve got in my drawers.”

Clara opened up her doors and promptly slammed them shut again when several moths flew out. “How embarrassing!” She said sheepishly but laughed it off as she opened up again to look at her assortment of clothes. Already John could tell he was going to like her. Clara was upbeat and friendly, though by her level of enthusiasm he guessed it had been a while since there had been any guests in the castle- and who knew how long she had been locked away in this room. It was horrifying to think about.

The doors were much more flexible than any wood that John had ever seen and he assumed it was the same magic that had made all these people objects that allowed her and the others such a high level of dexterity. She hooked a very expensive looking tuxedo on the edge of her door and held it out to John. “What about this one? You will look simply ravishing!”

John fended off the offered clothes and shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, but I won’t be going to dinner.”

“What? But you must!” Clara said, and once again offered him the tuxedo.

Before he got a chance to answer, the door swung open and he heard the sound of wood pattering on the floor. A wooden clock with silver fringe walked into the room and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Dinner. Is served

The clock (named Lestrade, he learned) did not take the news that he wasn’t going to dinner very well. He had started off being understanding but adamant that John still needed to go. From there he moved on to disapproving, telling him how upset Sherlock was going to be with him- which quite frankly John didn’t care about. Finally, after John still refused to budge, Lestrade left in a huff. John had hoped that he would be left alone for the rest of the night, but when he heard a loud roar from downstairs a couple minutes later, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

The beast pounded on the door so hard that he John saw the sturdy wood shudder in its frame, realizing the lock wouldn’t hold if the creature really wanted to get in.

“I thought I told you to come to dinner!” He roared. John saw Clara flinch and it made him quite angry in return. What right did that monster have to order people around like that? And obviously the staff was frightened of him.

“I’m not hungry!” He shouted back defiantly, crossing his arms firmly across his chest even though Sherlock couldn’t see it.

“You come out or I’ll…I’ll…I”ll break down the door!” Obviously Sherlock was used  to getting his own way if John’s refusal so threw the beast.

“Go ahead!” If he did break down the door and try and attack him, John planned to smash the water pitcher over the beast’s head. He had already double checked with Clara already that it was an ordinary watcher pitcher and not alive in any way.

“I could be wrong, but I don’t think that this is the way to win his affection.” An unfamiliar woman’s voice said on the other side of the door. It was barely audible through the thick wood, but John had no trouble picking up the dry sarcasm in her tone.

“Please, Sherlock, attempt to be a civilized human being.” Lestrade’s gruff voice said, sounding exasperated.

“But he is being so dtifficult.” Sherlock grumbled.

“Gently, gently.” Mrs. Hudson was there as well it seemed. John was beginning to suspect that they thought he couldn’t hear them, or at least he hoped so since the alternative was that they were speaking about him and just didn’t care if he heard their plans to trick him out.

“Please will you come down to dinner?” The beast grumbled like a reluctant child being forced to mind his manners.

“No.”

He heard them all whispering amongst themselves again before Sherlock ground out another invitation, sounding physically pained as he restrained his obvious temper. “It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner…please.”

“No thank you!” Why wouldn’t he just leave? Obviously John wasn’t going to be good company right now and he doubted he could sit down at a table loaded with cutlery and not be tempted to stab the monster.

“You can’t stay in there forever!” Sherlock yelled, giving up on false manners.

“Yes I can!” John was starting to get flashbacks of his childhood fights with Harry, which almost always ended up being ‘are too, are not’ in the end.

“Fine! Then go ahead and starve!” The sheer amount of disdain the man managed to convey in his tone would have been impressive if John had been in any state to appreciate it but right now he was just too angry. He heard another roar from the other side of the door followed by heavy footsteps as the beast stormed off. It was quiet after that.

The next several hours he spent fuming or chatting with Clara. She was sympathetic but obviously worried about ‘Master’ Sherlock’s temper and the consequences of John’s refusal. Not that John cared. Quite frankly he would rather starve than let himself be bullied.

“Oh come on now, the master isn’t that bad once you get to know him. Why don’t you give him a chance?” Clara asked several minutes after Sherlock had stormed off and John sat fuming on the bed. The wardrobe was sitting next to him and he knew she was doing her best to cheer him up as well as soften him up.

“I don’t want to get to know him. I don’t want anything to do with him!” John didn’t like raising his voice at ladies, but he was just so angry and he didn’t want Clara or any of the other furniture trying to con him into being whatever it was the master wanted him to be. It certainly wasn’t being a prisoner since nobody would invite a prisoner to dinner.. Or let them out of the tower for that matter.

Luckily Clara was smart enough to know when to let the subject go and she went back to her traditional place by the wall while John threw himself on the bed and sulked.

It was several hours later before John dared emerge from his room. He actually hadn’t planned on leaving his it at all, but his traitorous stomach decided to remind him that he hadn’t eaten dinner the night before. There was no clock in his room so he wasn’t sure if it was very late at night or very early in the morning, but either way the beast would most likely be sleeping leaving it safe enough to venture down to the kitchen.

Clara was snoring away when he sneaked past her to the door, and she didn’t even flinch at the loud click when he unlocked it. Opening it a sliver he opened it a sliver and peeked out, but he could see no sign of either the beast or any moving objects. The coast was clear.

Luckily the door hinges were well oiled, and the doors didn’t creak when he opened the door or closed it behind him. The halls were dark and very little light came through the windows since it was snowing outside and the clouds obliterated the full moon. Now came the real task of finding the kitchen. He felt it safe to assume that it would be on the ground floor but he had only seen the entry hall before he had gone searching upstairs when looking for Harry.

He went down the hallway from the opposite direction he had first come from, knowing that way led since he knew that way led back to the tower, but it took him several tries to find the stairs- and , once he got to the ground level, even attempts to actually locate the kitchen. The castle was just so huge and it was all too easy to get turned around.

John was about to resign himself to starving to death before ever finding the kitchen the labyrinthine castle when he finally found himself in front of a large set of doors that was tucked far out of the way of the fancier rooms like the dining room, or what appeared to be a study. He heard voices as he pushed the door open but though he couldn’t make out what they were saying he was positive it wasn’t Sherlock speaking., and at this point he was desperate enough to risk talking to the staff.

Whatever they were talking about before he entered they immediately cut off once they noticed him. The wooden clock from earlier spun around and tottered over to him with a smile that looked more like a grimace on his face. “Aw, hello again.” He said in a tone that was actually friendlier than John was expecting considering their last encounter.

“Um, hello, Lestrade was it?” John asked.

Lestrade nodded and held out a hand which John promptly bent to shake; moving object or not, his manners would allow for nothing else. Before he could take it a candelabra dashed up and took his hand first, a feather duster huffing and puffing at her side. The candelabra didn’t have a hand so much as two prongs that seemed to function as her arms with a candle on the end of each which she seemed to use as hands. John couldn’t help but wonder how she got anything done since it had to restrict her dexterity severely.

“Sally Donavan. I just have to say it was great the way you stood up to the freak like that. Everyone here is too afraid, with him being the master and all.” She said enthusiastically as she shook his hand.

The feather duster nodded in agreement. “Wouldn't put it past him to smash one of us.”

“My goodness!” Mrs. Hudson gasped, sounding scandalized by the very idea. Lestrade glared at them.

“Now I don't want to hear any more talk like that. We have a guest and we don't need you two giving him the wrong idea.” The clock gave them one last firm look before sighing wearily and turning back to John. “I assume you came down here for a reason, yeah? What can we do for you?”

“Oh. Well, um, I was a bit hungry actually and-”

“Did you hear that? He's hungry!” The teapot said excitedly and jumped into action. “Stoke the fire. Break out the silver. Wipe the china!”

At her command the stove grinned excitedly and fire rose up from its burner as it set about looking through the pots of what had to be dinner from earlier. The drawers flew open and dozens of cutlery stood up at the ready while dishes clambered from the shelves on their own. John was still not use to the idea of animated objects and watched in amazement as they moved about purposefully. He also found it amusing how Mrs. Hudson was something of a general in the kitchen, leading her loyal troops into battle. Or at least dinner.

“Remember what the master said.” Lestrade said in annoyance as the dishes arranged themselves into neat piles on the counter under Mrs. Hudson's watchful eye.

“Oh tosh, I'm not about to let the poor boy go hungry.” She said dismissively and turned her back on him.

“Fine! A glass of water, a crust of bread, but that's it.” The clock said, irritated by being overruled, but apparently not going to argue with the woman.

“Come on, Greg, you're the one who was saying he wasn't a prisoner . It's our job to make him feel welcome.” Sally said.

“And if it makes the freak angry, then it works out just that much better.” The feather duster piped in for the first time.

“Anderson!” Lestrade snapped, but whatever he was going to say was lost when Sally led John through the door to the dining room. He walked up to a large wooden table and was confused when he realized that there were no chairs. Before he could even ask where he should sit he heard the scuttling of wooden legs on the floor and the seat of a chair ran into the back of his knees, causing him to collapse onto it. The chair was quite well cushioned and it wasn't a bad landing, but there was something unsettling about being ambushed by furniture.

Sally climbed up onto the table followed shortly by Lestrade, who continued to look rather stressed , but didn't complain as large serving trays started walking down the length of the table from where they had been dropped off by serving carts.

“So what would you like? We have soup, hors d'oeurves ?” She asked while the food was uncovered by the dishes and trailed past him.

John looked at one dish as it walked passed him and stuck his finger in some sort of gray paste that turned out to be rather delicious. “That's fantastic.” He said and the little tray danced in excitement.

“Well of course. This is France and the food here is never second best.” Lestrade said matter-of-factly.

Something about that seemed odd to John and his brow furrowed in confusion. “France? But if we're in France then why are we speaking English?”

“Oh look, beef ragu, cheese suffle, pie, pudding.” Sally interuptted as the stated dishes paraded themselves in front of John and promptly distracted him. A beer stein waddled over and stood by John's elbow while plates were loaded with food and sat in front of him. It was all so delicious and he tried to taste a bit of everything. How they had prepared such a vast amount of food in such a short time he wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to complain either. He stuffed himself with as much as he could hold, not wanting to offend the staff that had worked so hard and obviously were very keen to impress, but he felt there was something missing.

“Was that one lump or two, dear?” The now familiar voice of Mrs. Hudson asked. He looked down to see her sitting on a serving cart with a full tea service. Happily he took a cup and sipped what had to be the most fabulous tea of his life.

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson.” He said and she beamed. John had a feeling that if she had arms Mrs. Hudson would have patted him on the arm like a dotting mother. “Thank you all, really. I've never had a finer meal in all my life.”

“It was our pleasure.” The clock said, trying not to look pleased at the compliment and failing spectacularly. Sally was off talking to Anderson, who was doing his job and dusting the table clean of food crumbs while the dishes, napkins, and other assorted items made their way back to the kitchen. Lestrade waved the stragglers away before turning back to John. “Look at the time. Well you should be getting off to bed.”

It was a transparent attempt to get him back to his room and locked up like Sherlock had ordered, but John was in to good a mood to really mind. Besides, he had the feeling that Lestrade was doing it more to keep order then any real desire to see John locked up.

“Oh. Well, I couldn't possibly sleep now. It's my first time in an enchanted castle- or any castle really. I would fancy a look around.” John stood and the chair scuttled off to wherever it had come from.

“Enchanted? Who said anything about enchanted? Sally!” Lestrade barked and the candelabra hopped over quickly.

“Sir?” She asked.

“Did you say anything about this being an enchanted castle?” He had an undertone of warning in his voice and John had a feeling that things would not go well for Sally if he didn't speak up.

“I figured it out myself.” He said dryly as a stray fork dashed across the table in front of him. “I'd like to look around. If that's alright?”

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea.” Lestrade said, but again it was only a halfhearted protest.

“Would you take me?” John asked suddenly. The clock was obviously the man in charge of the staff and would probably feel more comfortable letting John look around if he was personally there to supervise.

“Well alright, but just a quick one.” The man caved and soon they were leaving the dining room.