Fic: The Watson (9/11?)
Title: The Watson
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mentions of past abuse, sexual innuendo, angst
Summary: Prince John tells his tale, and also of what giving three things to someone means in Vernet. Also the Cook and Irene get theirs.
Part 1
The cook grumbled as he slowly headed in, glaring at the empty area before he noticed movement, stopping and watching. He’d been forced back to check on the main course, not wanting to disrupt the King or Princes’ festival, and had only just done it and gone to a slightly hidden side when he saw it.
The man, the Ghost, hurried down, his clothing shifting the various colors as he pulled out the multi-furred coat that the dirty and disgusting Watson wore and…
Before the cook’s eyes, the handsome, much-talked about man turned into the dirty and disrespectful Watson, fishing out something from one of the pockets in his coat and dropping it into the Prince’s bowl before going under the stairs, where he lived, to hide his deed. The cook glared as the servant brought up the soup and slowly headed upstairs to see what would come out of this bowl.
It was near the bottom of the bowl that Prince Sherlock pulled out an odd coin, big enough to put on a watch chain and so curious in design it had to be from the “Ghost”. The whole of the area was muttering about it and about his odd appearance, as well as the fact that Prince Sherlock had come in and returned late to the festival, which caused Lady Irene to look rather angry about the situation.
The cook growled out his resentment and, this time when the King brought him forward to speak, and ask if he knew who had put this in Prince Sherlock’s soup, he smiled and answered, “I do. Give me a few moments, your Majesty, and I shall have the man here before you.” At the King’s nod, he raced downstairs, grabbing the Watson out from his hiding place and shaking him roughly. At his attempted protest, the cook slapped him hard, quieting the disrespectful thing.
“You! You’ve done enough damage, and now you’ll get yours. The King will know of your perverse attachment to his son!” With that and the man afraid and struggling weakly, the cook dragged the man back upstairs, tossing him before the King and assembled guest. “This is the man, your Majesty. I saw him race down, in the outfit the…mystery man was wearing, and throw on his coat before putting the item in the soup. Before I could check, the soup was brought up.”
The Watson shivered on the floor, slowly standing during the cook’s speech and earning a glare from the man for his insolence. How dare he think himself better then the cook!
King Siger looked over at the man and said simply, “Is this true?”
The Watson seemed to look over at Prince Sherlock briefly before simply removing his coat, revealing the multi-colored suit that became white underneath, his face only partly dirty but not hiding the fact that he was, indeed, the mysterious man who had appeared on three occasions and danced with various women, earning them fame when they shouldn’t have had it…
Then…then the King gave a small smile to the man! “So, what is your name?”
The Watson, or whoever he was, stood straighter and looked up at him. “I am Prince John, second son of King Harold IV of Fusiliers and…and if I am made to leave, I am also the fiancée of the same man.”
--
The whole of the area was so silent I could hear myself breathing, hear my heart about to burst out of my chest…no, I had to finish. I had to explain.
“When…when the King’s wife died, he made her a promise to only marry those with hair as hers was. My mother, a widow, had the same hair. It was a few years after her death, and when I came of age, that he…ensured the ceremony for our engagement was witnessed. I could not allow myself to marry him, for the talk of it was stirring rebellious thoughts against him, so I left, hoping that he would find another and free me of this…dangerous bond. I studied and became a doctor, but my father would not have me remain away. He sent my half-brother, the Crowned Prince Hamish, after me twice…and twice he found me, to the…disastrous end of those who helped me.” I could still see their bodies, but I steeled myself, keeping my eyes fixed on the King. “I was finally taken out by a small compliment of soldiers, which an uncle sent in order to send me through the Lion’s Gate of Maiwand. We made it as far as the valley before it…when my half-brother found us again. The soldiers were all killed and I was brought back and…severely punished, for my transgressions.” I could not say how, if I did then what would the King say, especially if he knew how I felt for his son? I had been lucky to escape with my life after all that happened, but was sullied against most others save one who would take me for…charity…I had to finish, I could not dwell anymore on that. “I finally said I would marry, but only under certain conditions. The uniforms I’ve worn, including this one, are the outcome of them, as was the coat. I hid them, put on the coat, and disappeared again, this time going so far as to nearly forget who I was. However, my…injury, I’d gained at Maiwand was still there, as were others. Your hunters brought me in, and your son healed me as best he could.” I glanced at Sherlock, who was playing with the coin I’d given him, and quickly looked away. If I kept my eyes on him too long, I’d confess that I loved him, that I wished him to free me of my commitment and to remain, if they’d let me despite this perversion and unnatural feeling towards my savior. “I…remembered, due to him, and sought to help those who had helped me. I gave your son Sherlock several items I’d taken with me from my home, just…trinkets, but that I thought would help him.”
“Trinkets?” Sherlock’s voice all but forced me to look at him as he held up the coin, “Have you any clue, the value of this coin here? Or the value of the others? To us, your ‘trinkets’ are rare finds. You’ve given me valuable and wonderful things.”
I felt myself blush, unsure how to answer that.
“It doesn’t change the fact that he lied to you,” Lady Irene said from further down the table, getting some attention as she called me out for what I’d done, “or that he’s standing there now, obviously wishing to do some perverted thing to you, Prince Sherlock.” She gave me a smile that did not reach her eyes, “You were only popular downstairs because you showed no signs of wanting to touch a female, so how much do you want a male?”
“That’s enough!” Sherlock growled at her, the low threat causing everyone to shift their attention to him now as Lady Irene shrank back in surprise and fear, “I will not have you insult him like that. I enjoyed his company and am grateful he’s well, I will not stand for you to be so callous!”
I heard King Siger sigh, and all attention turned to him. “I am sorry to say, young Prince John, but you are caught in another trap of union. You’ve given my son three gifts that are valuable but that he can use, indicating how well you know him. From the way he’s behaved the past three times before dinner, I would also say you…danced…with him on each occasion.”
I felt myself pale. How did this man know? I had kept is as quiet as possible, wished no harm to Sherlock…yet he knew.
“Sherlock, as well, has given three gifts to you, the first being your voice, the next your job, and finally your memory, as evil as the past was, and participated in the dances. Both of you accepted each other’s gifts and both have your faults. All that remains, then, is for you both to proclaim your love for one another, and that is settled.”
--
Sherlock had heard of the tradition, mostly from stories about his father and mother’s courtship. His mother had given King Siger two paintings and written a composition full of violins, with one solo she played for their father and did often before her death.
Yet despite all of the things that Sherlock wished to save Watson from, he could not stop the fact that he loved him. He cared enough that he would gladly give him these things again, that his dreams involved him in both forms or morphed into this combination of them, and he glanced at his father then to Watson, who was pale and seemed to be trying to figure out what to say.
I’ll at least speak my part, Sherlock thought, and listen to what he says.
Taking a breath, Sherlock spoke, “I do…I care deeply for him.” Watson’s blue eyes turned to him, surprise and some mixture of emotion that was so clouded and confused that he couldn’t identify them. “I would gladly join with him.”
He heard a gasp from the cook, and another from Lady Irene. He didn’t care, at this moment what mattered was that this man had, unintentional as it might have been, shown him his heart, and Sherlock had done what he could, including hurt him in those few weeks, to try and make sure he would be well, that he would recover and understand if he wished a wife he could have it, but if he wanted him…
“I know I have been cruel earlier,” Sherlock continued, “I did it because I did not wish you to be hurt again, to think only of me when you might have a chance at happiness with someone else, or that you might think yourself tied to me simply because I helped you, as you might think you are now.” Watson was looking at the floor, as if attempting to figure out what to say to the speech or to anything. “John…I promise I will not hurt you, and allow no harm to befall you again. Please, just--.”
“I refuse.”
The room suddenly fell deathly silent, so everyone could hear the intake of breath that the man before them took before looking up at King Siger. “I am sorry, but…but the tradition of my homeland carries more weight for me then this one. E-even if it hurts my family, it is by tradition that we’ve survived this long…I was wrong to try and escape it, and hurt too many in doing so. I will not put more harm upon your son by saying what is not true, or by remaining any longer then I must.” Sherlock was not quite listening to the speech. He was watching Watson, watching the signs he saw. There was a hand on his own, and he could tell it was Mycroft’s, meaning he saw it as well.
There was the small, tell-tale signs that he was doing this to save Sherlock, sacrificing himself in order to save those he cared deeply for. If the sons saw it, the father would as well.
The cook looked ready to speak up, but a glance from the King silenced everyone. “Is that your final word on it, Prince John?”
Watson nodded. “I…I only ask for a horse, to take me back to the Lion’s Gate. It…you needn’t give me a fast one, just one that can be used.”
“Like you are so used, dirty little horsie?” Sherlock felt Mycroft tighten his grip as he cast a glare at Irene, who seemed surprised by his action, before King Siger said, “If you want an escort--.”
“No!” The quick shout made nearly everyone jump, and Watson blushed in shame. “No, I…I don’t think I need one. I’ll be fine.”
King Siger nodded. “So be it. Hopkins will help you get one.” He motioned to the near-Inspector, who jumped up and lead Prince John out of the room.
“My dear cook,” King Siger said, getting everyone’s attention, “I tolerated reports of your abuse because you were, in the end, a good cook and did not bother the girls as some others had. But your conduct in this…investigation, as well as your treatment of Prince John, while you didn’t know he was such, is appalling and the last straw in this matter. I expect you to leave no later then first light. Any delay will be adverse to your health.” He turned slightly. “Lady Irene…I no longer require your services, for much the same reason. That my son’s love was not returned in a normal fashion means he cannot challenge you for his lover’s honor, which you seem rather intent on speaking about when it takes a great deal of courage to say as much as he did about it before us, or even to another. If I see either of you again for at least a decade, I will not be kind or logical in my decisions.” With a wave of his hand, the festival ended, and Sherlock rushed away, Mycroft hurrying behind enough to stop him before he got to the main floor.
“Mycroft, I have to--.”
“Sherlock, think. He obviously wants you out of danger. Do you truly believe father would have let him go if he didn’t realize the danger as well? The man thinks you’ll be killed, and his history allows him to believe that to be true!”
Sherlock growled in frustration, clenching his fist tightly around the small coin. “I cannot let him run into danger, though. I pledged I would save him from it.”
Mycroft sighed. “You think there is danger?”
“I do. His father…sounds ruthless, and if he made it through then someone else might as well. The Lion’s Gate was one of two ways they went, and the Moor is closed to them because of the danger. The Lion’s Gate would simply make it harder for them to find a way out, but they might.”
Mycroft nodded. “A threat to him means they might threaten Vernet and our allies.” He thought for a long minute, Sherlock listening as the sound of the main gate opening echoed and he began to grow impatient.
“There is a secret way…it will allow you to leave after we’ve spoken with father but still be on time. It bypassed some of the roads.” At Sherlock’s near protest, Mycroft held up a hand. “Brother, we must tell father of your mission, then we must get you my fastest horse, your weapons, and some supplies. That I can take care of as we speak to him, and you will be on his trail before those two leave in the morning. It takes a day and a half to get to the Lion’s Gate. My only rule is that you do not run the horse to death.”
Sherlock nodded quickly before they both went to speak to King Siger about the plan.
Part 10