Spoiler-Free Prompt Post
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"I want to stay incognito," said Prince John, "I have to figure some things out."
This was, technically, an order, and of course Sherlock wouldn't ruin his cover anyway. He understood disguises.
He tried to treat John with proper deference for a few days - for all Sherlock was an exiled recluse, but he wasn't raised by wolves - but it was patently ridiculous. Grand bows and titles just didn't fit in his hut, and the Prince still insisted on cleaning things.
"You know, Sire," he finally said, "it would be safest if we respected your incognito in private."
"Yes, please," the Prince exhaled in relief, and became John again.
-
It took Sherlock about seven months to think to ask John about the things he was figuring out. Treachery, apparently, usurpers and plots, and this was precisely the sort of thing Sherlock was brilliant at. (Precisely the sort of thing the refused to think about when it was Mycroft asking.) He solved the Matter of the Poisoned Prince in a few hours time, and made it possible for John to ride in victoriously and re-claim what is his - and cast the appropriate uncles and cousins to whatever dungeons the royal family kept for such occasions.
Sherlock rode in with him, and actually nearly got shot by a particularly hard-to-arrest royal cousin - and John saved his life in a most unregal way, with some shoving and ducking. It was brilliant, and exciting, but then John had to be a Prince and Sherlock had to go back.
"I hereby revoke this man's exile," John said, sitting on his blazing throne, "his previous crimes are diminished by his assistance to the crown and Our person."
Sherlock bowed, stiffly, and let the queen herself kiss his cheek for returning her son - pleasant woman, the Queen of Hudson. He was at a loss. He had wanted to return to his hut regardless of the amnesty, but the idea had no special appeal. Everything would be the same as it once was. Calm. Solitary. Boring.
"Sherlock," asked the Prince later, in a non-formal way, but of course everything was going to be formal from now on, "I don't suppose you want to stay?"
"And do what, Sire? The city has enough rat-catchers and fortune-tellers, and those are the only professions I've ever had."
"Stay in court, with me. You can - give me counsel."
"I'm not noble, you id - Sire, and a petty criminal besides. You cannot put me on your board of counselors."
"No, but - unofficially? You could be my bodyservant, or, or something."
John trailed off, fumbling.
"Is this an order?" Sherlock asked, to clarify.
"No, of course not." The answer was firm and immediate, and it helped Sherlock make up his mind.
"I accept the offer, Sire."
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PS: sorry if it gets double posted, I don't seem to find the comment I previously posted. :/
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