#royallock

You: Never before had Sherlock been so nervous. He was usually poised and dominant. As a proper King should be. But with John, all rules were left flying out the window. John was not only his servant, but his friend. Someone he could turn to whenever he was in need, and someone he would help immediately if needed. That was how they had always been. They were perfect for each other in every way, and even the brunet couldn't deny their chemistry. Gulping, he pushed the hood off of his head and looked down to the hands in his lap. "I have something I would like to speak with you about. It couldn't wait. And there is more privacy here than in the castle." They were alone, and Sherlock was thankful. His chambers were secure, yes, but he would have gone absolutely mad if he'd had to wait yet another day to confess. He had waited much too long. And he couldn't put it off any longer, despite the risk it was. Yet, apart of him wanted to take the risk. He respected Princess Irene. She was intelligent, and seemingly beautiful to most. But, the thought of marrying her disgusted him. Terrified him. All he wanted was John.

Stranger: Pushing against the (horrid) mattress with his elbows, John sat up with his eyes trained on the tall man, brows knitted close together with worry. At first, that had been John's job (to worry), but now, it was a pure emotion John felt often for the other in moments like these, when Sherlock would hesitate and look down to his hands, lips slightly parted as if about to speak only for them to clamp shut again. Sherlock was very rarely so /raw/ like this with John, never with anyone else, and so the sight of it in front of him had awakened him enough for his mind to race for anything that could possibly cause the damned Prince to risk his life at four in the morning to come to a servant's house when he could wait just three more hours. "Is everything alright?" More awake now.

You: "No," he breathed, softly, clenching his jaw. The brunet ran a nervous hand through his messy hair, and glanced at John. It was easy to notice, through all of the emotions clouding his mind, that John was worried. Not only that, he was exhausted and sore, due to his mattress -or lack there of. Sherlock made a mental note to search for a better mattress for John. He couldn't have his best friend sleeping on something so uncomfortable. But, those deductions only distracted him for a few seconds, at least. He was brought back to reality when John shifted more towards him again. He had to do this. "This is all wrong," he whispered, shaking his head furiously. All of the feelings he had been harboring for so long were suddenly on the forefront of his mind, and he was having a terrible time trying to control them.

Stranger: "What? What's wrong?" John pulled himself up properly, though there was a maintained distance between the pair. There always had been an invisible line that John never crossed - legs would fold up, a step would be taken away; all to avoid breaking past a wall that wasn't there. And he wasn't looking to change that anytime soon, as long as Sherlock was engaged and John was merely a servant to him as well as a friend. When there was a hesitation from Sherlock, John reached out, a careful touch on the other's shoulder. "Sherlock?"

You: He hadn't exactly intended to loose control of himself. But, John's kind words, and his kind touch reminded him of all of the things they were forbidden to have. And he was furious. Not with John. With his family. With his life. "I can't do this," he breathed, tugging on his hair. "I don't want her. I've never wanted her." Sherlock shivered in disgust, feeling the anxiety and rage boil in his stomach. He looked at John with a fierce passion in his eyes. However, it was mixed with sadness. "I want you," he finally came out with it, but instantly looked away in shame - which was something rarely seen on him. "I've only ever wanted you. And I shouldn't. Yet, I'm so tired of lying and hiding, and I had to tell you, and I didn't know what to do.."

Stranger: John couldn't say he was shocked, because he could feel the same thing that Sherlock could. The chemistry they had together was like nothing John had ever had before, nothing John had ever felt before in his life, really. But he was taken aback - he certainly hadn't expected either of them to bring up their chemistry any time soon, regardless of the upcoming ceremony. And then he'd look at John with /those/ eyes; his mind seemed to go blank after that, adoration in his own eyes as he watched his best friend, his long-time 'crush', someone he knew he loved with every fiber of his being, begin to break down and become so vulnerable to John. "Oh," Came a breath of air that John hadn't realised he'd been holding in; John's arms, short and tanned, spread quickly and engulfed Sherlock's neck, head finding the space of his shoulder and pressing the lightest kiss on the pale, thin side of Sherlock's neck, tugging himself so close he nearly toppled the man over. "Oh, Sherlock. I want you too. I've always wanted you. No one but you. Christ." A strewn of words, muffled and rushed but /there/.

You: Sherlock was ready to apologize after that one syllable word was whispered. But he was cut short when he felt John's arms engulf him. And that was it. Sherlock couldn't hold himself back any longer. He pulled John against him, gripped him tightly, kept him close as if he'd be ripped from his arms at any moment. "John.." Sherlock whispered, helplessly lost in their embrace. He shut his eyes tightly, memorizing the feeling of John against him, around him, /touching him/. He didn't know how long he could have this. "Don't go," he insisted, suddenly, in a soft voice. Sherlock's grip tightened. If he had no choice, he would marry. But, if that was the case, he would still want John by his side. He would want John to love. Though he had not known her long, the brunet was quite sure Princess Irene would have no problem sleeping in separate beds. With that, he could spend his nights secretly with John. Tucked up in his arms. As if they were married. As if John was his husband.

Stranger: Right as John was about to pull away, he was tugged right back to the other, their bodies flesh with one another. John was rather fond of this arrangement, honestly, and didn't put up any sort of protest as a firm - almost painful - grip from Sherlock's long arms kept the two steady against one another. "I wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, Prince Holmes." John responded with a twitch of a smile at his thin lips, finally allowing himself to blissfully stare at the beauty that's Sherlock Holmes. Everything from the way he'd clench his jaw to the way he'd rustle his hair, John admired him and wondered how someone could be so bloody perfect. John Watson had never seen the other in the nude, though the two had been in the same room with each other while nude, John never had the nerve to look. Though, his mind seemed pleased to make up what he /did/ look like underneath clothing.

You: Sherlock loosened his grip just enough. Just enough to see John. He lifted a hand and slid it along John's cheek, cupping his face gently. Then, he held the back of his neck, his fingers sliding along the small hairs at his nape. John was stunning, even in the limited light. His eyes were blue like the ocean, glinting with kindness. His smile shared that kindness. His body, Sherlock knew, was also stunning. The brunet had only dared quick glances, and could deduce a fair amount, but he knew nothing would compare to seeing it in full view. To touch it in full view. Sherlock's pale fingers dug into John's tanned skin, pulling his head closer. "Good," he whispered, their lips inches apart. "I want to spend the rest of my existence with you."

Stranger: Christ; when John had first met the Prince, he would've never guessed that this is where he'd end up - almost perched atop Sherlock's lap with their lips just barely ghosting against each other, while he was meant to marry someone else in just a few weeks time. Nevertheless, it was all too lovely and John didn't even think about pulling away for a moment. Instead, he'd let a hand find Sherlock's curls and run through them with a teasing smile on his face as he resisted the temptation to lean just an inch further into him. "I think that'd be lovely." He'd whisper back, and he could just barely feel the brush of the other's lips upon his.

You: Sherlock took a deep breath in, feeling John's breath on his face, and just a wisp of his lips. It wasn't enough. He'd been waiting for John for so long. Craving John for so long. He didn't know how much longer he could go without indulging. Sherlock swallowed thickly, and he nudged his lips closer, placing a ghost of a kiss on John's lips. He didn't exactly have much experience, but he was willing to try. Willing to do anything for John. John Watson, the man he would sacrifice everything for. The man who he so selfishly wanted. The person he would love until the day he died. "I love you.." he whispered, almost inaudible, as he pressed his lips more firmly on John's. ((I am soo sorry, but I'm going to have to go. You've been amazing, thank you soo much!))

You: John wasn't allowed to leave the castle on his own like this. This made it hard to venture into the surrounding lands as often as he wanted. And so, seeing all of these new people made it a wondrous occasion. Often, he'd help the elderly or buy things for the children on his way to fetch Harry, but it seemed that this time, he was going to help a stranger. One who had the most stunning eyes. Verdigris in colour, and they were surrounded by striking cheekbones and dark, messy hair. The blond had never seen a man so beautiful, yet so mysterious. Things only became more so when he saw the deep crimson the man wiped from his mouth. Who was this stranger? Was he in trouble? So many questions tat he wanted to ask, and he knew he would never get the answer to them if he didn't help the man. The only thing that was certain: he couldn't dare let his true identity be revealed, or he would never be accepted. People hated the royal family for their cruelty. Even if he was different, they would never listen. "Make it up to you? he croaked out, nervous, which was something rare for him. He looked over his shoulder to try and spot what this man was looking at, before he turned back. "My help? What can I do to make this up to you?"

Stranger: "I need a distraction." Sherlock said. "Play along." They were almost on him, and if they saw him - well, then he was probably dead. Particularly in his current state. And as much as he held no love for the royal family, this one (obvious) was proving rather curious. If only for now, with his attire and behaviour. He had about ten seconds, and so then, without so much of a warning, he had pulled his hood up again, and then just as promptly crushed his lips against the other man's. Pressing up against, and up against the edge of the market stall. Cupped his cheek, only half intent on his task as he monitored the murderer - striding forward, looking around with agitation. Sherlock deepened the kiss, pulling the other backwards towards an alley, slowly reeling them out of sight. Ducking his head low to the prince's neck next as they glanced at him, one hand on his hip. It was warm, and little rough and clumsy in his distraction. The man moved past and...Sherlock pulled back abruptly, before pouncing on the murderer's back. Slammed a knee into one of their side as the force of his momentum sent them both toppling forward. Smashed his a head against the floor and watched as the killer lapsed unconscious. Finally, he sat back, giving the prince a disarming, wired up grin. High on his success. "Thank you for the assistance. You just helped me immobilze a man who's brutally murdered five prostitutes in the last two weeks. Consider us even."

You: John didn't know what to think. One moment he was staring at the commoner, and the next, he was being kissed. John felt a wall at his back, and eager lips on his own, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He'd never been kissed by another man before, in fact, it was terribly frowned on his Kingdom. He couldn't say that he hadn't had the thought, because though he would never admit it, there had always been something telling him to look at the stable boys. While he had kissed only few women, he'd only imagined what it was like to kiss someone of the same make as him. And now, he had the chance. He could recall the stranger's words in his ear, "play along". He did, but not only for that. He was being selfish in his own desire and curiosity. So he kissed back, tasting the saltiness of blood and the slickness of saliva. The full lips were soft against his own, if not a bit bruised and chapped, but still nice. He wanted more, so much more, but it was soon ending. And the stranger was tackling a man, knocking him unconscious. John was still stunned from the kiss, but he became even more amazed to hear of what the beautiful man had done for the kingdom. He had captured a murderer! The blond erupted into a breathless and adrenaline-filled smile. "You caught a murderer!? That's absolutely brilliant. I-...Do you do this often?"

Stranger: "Somebody has to." Sherlock had intended it to be a scathing rebuke against the King and his indolence when it came to the suffering of everyone poor in the city, but somewhere between thinking it, that breathless smile, and that /compliment/ it softened to something else entirely. Utterly lacking venom. A spot of colour appeared on his cheeks, and the back of his neck suddenly felt hot with the way that the prince was looking at him. Stupid. He wanted to kick himself. Couldn't help but be fascinated still. He'd never been good at turning down puzzles. Or praise, considering how rare it was for him to get it. Whilst most people in the city tolerated him for what he could do, most considered him to be rather obnoxious. The worst considered him born of the devil, considering his other extracurriculars, and ability to 'see into men's souls'. He wetted his lips, staring at the prince, before quickly looking away. He straightened off of the ground, with a grimace as his injuries flooded back to him with a twinge of pain. "Some weeks are busier then others." He caught himself glancing at the other man again. Hovering, rarely, between actions and thoughts. He suddenly felt rather aware of the kiss they had shared. Even more stupid. This was the prince, after all. But maybe Sherlock had always lived recklessly. He needed to get the killer dealt with before he woke up again. "...do you really think it was brilliant?"

You: John knew he shouldn't be feeling the way he did. The butterflies swimming in his stomach, the cloudiness in his head. He'd only just met the man! This was wrong, so very wrong! And yet, he wanted to know everything about him. He wanted to kiss those lips again, until they were bruised and the two of them were breathless. But no, it was only for the act. That was all. This man would think him horrible if he were to know of his attraction. And even worse, if he were to know John's name. But, he pushed those thoughts aside and rushed forwards to help the man up, knowing he was in pain. And luckily, John had been training medicine, despite the fact that his father hated it. "You're injured. You need to sit, rest, and be attended to," he stated, helping them both down to the ground, to lean against the alley wall. "Of course I think it was brilliant. I doubt many here would ever think of taking such a big risk to help those around them. I don't see much use in the King's army, either. The Kingdom's safety depends on a man like you. It's quite amazing," he said, before shutting his mouth. "Apologies. I'm rambling, aren't I? Here, let me see your injuries. I'm John, by the way."

Stranger: Sherlock's eyes sharpened with interest at the rant about the kingdom. Considering the Prince - John - obviously didn't realize that Sherlock knew who he was, there was an extremely strong chance that it was genuine. Which was, well...fantastically unexpected. He'd already noticed the medical callouses too. All the puzzle pieces that didn't fit the perfect facade of the golden prince Watson. His head tilted again, as if to examine John from a different angle. Noted the way that his pupils were slightly blown still, and his lips still a little reddened by the force of the kiss they had shared.  "Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself, after a few seconds. Some people in the palace probably knew that name, considering his troublemaking and connections with the guards - particularly Lestrade - but he wasn't sure if such a thing would have ever reached someone as high up as the prince himself. "Are you not more concerned about retrieving your sister?" He still peeled his shirt off with a wince, so John could inspect his bruised ribs. It was hardly the best impression he could have made of himself, filthy and battered. Perpetually pale skin marred by blood and city grime. Just like most people in his situation.

You: John raised his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "I never said-. How did you know about that?" Wonderful. This sudden statement from Sherlock Holmes had a million more questions running through his mind. It also reminded him of his original task. He needed to return his sister, yes, but how could he dare leave this man to fend on his own? He seemed capable, of course, but he needed help. John was obligated to help him. And, the thought of never seeing the strange and stunning man made his heart ache. He looked down, ripping off a bit of his robe to wrap around a few of Sherlock's cuts. "I do not have anything to clean your wounds here. When you return to your home, gather some water and clean them out the best you can. Then, tie them up again. As for your ribs, you will need to get plenty of rest. None of these heroic excursions for a few days, Sherlock Holmes. Understood? A physician-in-training's orders." Despite the wounds, Sherlock had a smooth, pale chest. John wondered what it would be like to run his fingers across. As soon as he wondered, he shut the thought down. What was wrong with him? If anyone ever found out that he had looked at another man this way, let alone kiss one, it wouldn't matter that he was royal. He would be beaten, surely. If he had been a commoner, he would probably have been killed. God, he hated his home. If he were King, he wouldn't care. People would be able to love whomever they pleased. Crime would be taken care of. People wouldn't be starving on the streets. He would do anything to hlelp those suffering. And he would fight with his men, to keep their Kingdom safe.

Stranger: The firm instructions about his medical care shouldn't have affected him. Sherlock normally paid no heed towards anyone's orders, and he was certainly not inclined to take them just because they were from the future king. /But no one had ever cared to advise him about taking care of himself before/. His mouth had gone strangely dry. He could have kicked himself again. He probably wouldn't actually listen to these orders either, but for once he felt for even a moment that he might. Heart hammering. He decided to focus on John's questions instead.  "I observe," he replied, leaning forwards a little, hand coming up to trace the contours of John's face. Stroking up along his cheek with a slow deliberation. "And you have a rather famous face, sire." He gave another small smile, that didn't quite manage to be mocking. "Rest assured, I will keep your identity hidden. But nonetheless, upon establishing your identity, the reasons for your being in the city were easy enough to narrow down by your direction and your obvious haste at the time." The last part was a little amused, considering the prince had literally careened straight into him. "You should learn how to disguise yourself better. You could get into trouble, John. People are not so fond of the prince in this part of town. You should have gone the other, longer way round to get to the right tavern." Only then, did he let his hand drop back to his side.

You: John held his breath, hating the way his skin tingled everywhere Sherlock touched it. But, oh, it was so nice. How could he hate something so amazing and wonderful? Perhaps from now on, he'd imagined feeling that hand again. Stroking his cheek, his neck, his chest. When he awoke in the morning, perhaps he would pretend he was waking to that touch. God, this was so bloody wrong, but it felt so right. It shouldn't, they'd only just met, but it did. "Observe?" he questioned quietly, but did not say another word. His eyes widened in fear. The man knew. Sherlock Holmes knew he was royal. Surely this would turn him away, and yet, he wasn't angry? Why wasn't he angry? Perhaps Sherlock was wondering a similar thing - why was John helping him? The blond sat back on his heels, looking away. "I'm sorry," he breathed, "I imagine you knowing who I am detests you. I don't understand how someone could notice so much, yet, you do. You're brilliant. Genius. I've never met anyone like you." he glanced at the man, both sadly and in awe. "But it doesn't matter what I think. I know everyone hates my family. They have every reason to. Look what they've done to their people!"  He let out a heavy sigh. "If you take anything from me, please let it be that you should take care of yourself. Treat your wounds. You deserve a lot for what you're doing for our Kingdom." He pulled his robe tighter to himself, glancing around nervously. "You're correct, though. My sister, she spends a lot of her time in the pub. My family doesn't often mention they have a daughter. It's as if they've tried to forget her. I couldn't do such a thing. She's our family. She needs help."

Stranger: As John started talking about Sherlock taking things from him, for a moment all he could do was blink in complete disorientation. Wondering what the hell the man was talking about. Had he heard that Sherlock was a thief? Whilst that was true, he didn't consider it particularly wise to forewarn of robbery. He'd intended the words as a warning. He sat back against the wall heavily, staring at John, brow furrowed. John - John Watson, who could have him executed in a second - was looking at him in /fear/. It was a strange feeling. Not as pleasant as he had once imagined it to be, before meeting the royal. He was used to people looking at him in fear and disgust. He should have expected at least something like it from John, even if he had called him /brilliant/.  "I do not intend to rob you or harm you. No matter what you think of my kind." He stood up stiffly. John had been...generous, in a way, with his words and his insistence on what Sherlock should take. But he'd still assumed Sherlock was going to take, and he had no idea what to feel anymore. Because John was cared. And John was...kind. John thought he was a genius, and he couldn't be furious as he listened to the man talk about the hate everyone held for his family. After a moment, he offered up a hand to help the prince up - like John had done for him earlier. "I need to go and take care of our murderer before he wakes up. If you come out again, I suggest covering your face in some manner."

You: "Your kind? I've seen you do something good, today. I'm not worried about who you are. I have no idea who you are, in fact, and all I can know is that you're helping our Kingdom. And I respect you for that. I'm just worried that who I am will anger you," he whispered, letting out a sigh. Taking the hand that was offered, John stood and ran his free hand through his hair. "Will I ever see you again?" he asked, quietly, as he let his grip slip from Sherlock's. He didn't want to go. He wanted to spend many more days getting to know this brilliant stranger. But he couldn't. Because of who he was. And he hated it. "Perhaps we could meet again?" It was ricky, to ask, but he wanted it badly. Sherlock had offered him a hand, and listened to him when he could have turned away. Sherlock could have hurt him, or called him out in front of the crowds, but he hadn't. Did that mean that the Holmes didn't care whether he was royal? Did the brunet understand that he was trying to be different?

Stranger: "My kind," Sherlock said, in a careless, dismissive tone. "Street trash. Thief. Ask your guards." But now he was almost smiling. Especially at that question. Because, frankly, most people were happy to leave it at meeting him once. Lestrade only kept up their acquaintance through necessity. He would have probably have been executed by now, if he didn't have his secret arrangement with the captain of the guard. The man needed criminals caught, but wasn't given the time or the opportunity or funding to be able to do so to full capacity and patrol the palace too like the king insisted. So maybe Sherlock lent a hand, and maybe Lestrade looked away sometimes too. Maybe Lestrade had deliberately spent a few winters arresting him, because as horrible as the cells were they were a place to sleep that had a roof. "Perhaps we could, John," he said, eventually. "You're...something new." And Sherlock liked new things. Was surprised to find he liked his royal prince John Watson too. "I'll walk you to get your sister. It will be a dreadful anticlimax if you get slaughtered on the way home." He turned to limp out of the alley.

You: John stood and gave a happy nod. "Ah, I suppose you're right. You might want to bring the criminal along. I'll fetch Lestrade on my way inside." The blond hugged the cloak tighter to his body. Had it always been this chilly? He was shivering slightly, but he was warm. Why did this man have so much of an effect on him? Just before they were about to continue walking, John hoisted the criminal up by his shaggy hair. He was just starting to wake, and was heavy, but John made sure to drag him along by his clothing, with Sherlock's help. They were only a few blocks from the pub, but John wished it was longer. "You're not street trash. You're just trying to live, like the rest of these people. I see families starving, and they have no other choice but to steal. Before they can be punished, they always seem to disappear. At least, to the knowledge of my father and Lestrade." He couldn't help but smile slightly. "I should sneak you into the castle sometime. As long as you promise not to borrow any jewels."

Stranger: Sherlock's eyes flickered with a gleam as John grabbed the criminal by the hair. Caring, but not soft. He was growing more interested in the prince by the second. Still, he raised a brow at the street trash comment. Somehow, through some miracle, he thought John Watson might be a better man than he himself was. Because if John thought that Sherlock was good, he was mistaken. Sherlock wasn't doing this primarily to help people. He was doing it because if he didn't do /something/ he would die in a gutter out of sheer boredom. John just cared. Simply cared. It was amazing. His eyes lit up further at the comment about visiting the castle.  "I have no interest in jewels." Books were a stronger possibility. Chemicals and herbs from the gardens and the labs. Maybe a certain prince himself, if Sherlock had been into kidnapping people. "I would...like that." It was strange to say. To be this friendly with anyone. "We should hurry up. As much as he prefers preying on women smaller than him, he's strong and quick with his fists." Sherlock could personally attest. They reached the pub.

You: "I'm not entirely stupid, you know. Not a genius, like you, but I do tend to keep a dagger on me at all times," he added, with a small chuckle. They reached the pub, and his heart sank. Soon they would have to leave one another. What if he were to never find this man again? There was no way they could ever have a chance at being together. That was a fruitless wish. But, a friendship, perhaps? "Will you stay? If not, feel free to head to the castle. If Lestrade throws you in the dungeons, I'll make sure you get out. Maybe smuggle you through the halls." He gave a charming smile. "If you do stay, though, be warned that my sister is quite open mouthed. She seems to have no filter. Especially when she is drunk." And with that, John ducked into the tavern. There Harry was, drinking along with another women. John was so glad their parents never knew that they both had it. The desire for the same sex. He sauntered over and took her by the arm. "Come on, Harry. You've had enough tonight. And if we don't return by morning, you know how angry father will get." He led her to the doors, hoping to God the mysterious stranger would still be there.

Stranger: It would have been easy for Sherlock to leave. In most cases, he certainly would have. But he didn't think he was quite done with John Watson yet. So he waited outside, because somebody had to keep an eye on their criminal friend. He eyed the princess with far less interest. He'd seen her around plenty of times in the city already, and whilst she too was different from the standards of her family, she...well. Fellow addict. No puzzle there anymore. She wasn't her younger brother.  In the meantime, he'd knocked their criminal out again. Disappeared briefly to nick some scarfs of a seller who owed him a favour, before appearing at John's side again as the prince began the journey back to the palace.  "Put this around your face," he muttered, in John's ear. "The two of you make a sight. And come this way." He gripped John by the elbow to steer him through the side streets instead.

You: Why did he trust this man so much? John didn't have an answer. Perhaps it was because they had shown each other a part of their vulnerable side. Perhaps it was because John fancied him. Either way, he did as he was told. He slipped the scarf over his mouth and tugged Harry along. She didn't say much, since she was battling between taking steps and passing out. John was glad she was at least silent. Normally she would have been teasing, or putting up quite the hassle. They were winding their way through alleyways and side streets. John knew almost every part of the kingdom, especially since he had watched it from his window so many times, but even this had him slightly confused as to what route they were taking. They pushed through the thinning crowd, since the sun was beginning to set, until John could see the castle in the distance. "Thank you," he breathed through his mask, taking a moment to glance at Sherlock Holmes.

Stranger: Sherlock walked along in silence, one hand still curled around the crook of John's elbow. That wasn't, of course, strictly necessary. John was following him willingly, he didn't need to drag him along. But maybe he liked the feeling of warm skin against his hand and just didn't want to let go just yet.  "I haven't done anything for you. You have no reason to thank me." To his mind, it was true. Sherlock's posture grew increasingly careful as they approached the palace, until they were at the gates. Because Lestrade was fine - if he ran into Anderson, he would probably be spending a not so pleasant nice until Lestrade came to track him down again. Finally, he let go of John's arm. Reached up instead, to pull the scarf down from where it covered everything except John's eyes. Slipped it so it was around his neck, and that quite lovely mouth was visible again. His gaze flicked over it, though this close to the palace he didn't kiss. "I'll see you soon, /John/." He did so love a challenge after all.

You: John was never going to forget this night. Especially when he slipped into bed. He would remember how it felt to kiss Sherlock Holmes. Maybe he would dream about it? Harry stumbled to lean against the gates, absentmindedly staring into space, and John took the opportunity to take a look at the other man. He got caught in his eyes. John was sure he could look into them forever. But, he knew he had to look away. "I hope so," he returned, with the smallest of smiles. His body tingled, and he wanted so badly to reach out and touch, one last time. Could he? Would it be unwanted? His eyes flicked over Sherlock's mouth, and he gulped. "I think I'll be sneaking out tomorrow evening. I should check to make sure you've been following the physicians orders." And with another chuckle, he quickly glanced around. There was no one watching, and taking a leap of faith, he leaned in and pressed the quickest, and less noticeable of kisses to Sherlock's lips. "And I do have reason to thank you. You've done quite a lot for this Kingdom and I." And with that he turned to open the gates.

Stranger: "Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock returned the nod, trying not to think about how much he would like his hand to be held again. John. The mysterious stranger had a name, a name that seemed too bland for the person that stood before him. He seemed to be a perfect oxymoron, and Sherlock wanted to find out more. He began walking through the crowd again, sure that John would follow him. The weather was warm, and the streets were crowded, and he forgot where he was meant to be going. He knew he had something else to do, but couldn't quite remember what, and this seemed far more exciting. It was unlike him to forget things, but then again it was unlike him to feel strange magnetic pulls towards strangers; and yet here he was. "You're not from around here, are you? He already knew the answer, but he kept up an air of general politeness, as he didn't want the mystery man to think he was a freak. Not like many people in his village.

You: Sherlock. Such a elegant name. One John would expect for a Prince or King, at that. In fact, if not for the evidence that proved he was from the village, John would have wondered if he was of royal blood. Sherlock had begun to travel away, and John had a moment of panic. Did he not want to speak? But no, he realized the stranger was indicating him to follow, so the blond Prince jogged to walk with him again, a warmth erupting in his chest. He'd always wondered what love at first sight might be like, and here, he was beginning to wonder if that's what he felt. There was a tug inside of him, a need of sorts, to know this man. It was so powerful, he began to forget all of the rules. For once, he needed to be reckless. "Is it that noticeable?" John answered, glancing yet again at Sherlock. "No, I'm not, though it is quite lovely. Everyone seems happy," he commented, though he realized his statement probably sounded odd in the eyes of someone who regarded the village as poor and sickly. John shut his mouth and pulled his cloak tighter - he wanted to know this man, and the same in return, but Sherlock could never find out that he was the Prince. It would ruin everything.

Stranger: "It's not that noticeable, no one else would know, but I can see things other people can't." He wasn't sure why he was telling John this, but he had the feeling the man wouldn't judge him. "For example, I know that the lady over there is having an affair, and the man over there is waiting for a date." He could see it all, read people like an open book, and at times it became overwhelming. He couldn't filter it. He would see the good, and the bad in the world, and more often than not it was bad. "We seem happy, because that is all we can be. If we allowed ourselves to be anything else, the weight of our situation would become almost unbearable." People were homeless, and people were starving, and people were hurt. Time demanded the right to pass though, and life had to go on. Climbing up the stairs on the side of a building, he found himself on a rooftop, waiting for John to follow. He preferred it up here. It was quieter, and it made him problems seem smaller. For a while he could hide away from the world, and escape it all. "It's their fault." He indicated to the castle that they could now see. "They make all the decisions without having to deal with the consequences. I don't want a stranger ruling my life, thinking they know what's best, when in reality they know nothing at all."

You: John couldn't help but smile. Oh, this stranger was so fascinating. Not only was he absolutely gorgeous, he was /brilliant/. John eyes fell on each man and woman that was pointed out, and he couldn't help but wonder what it must be like. To observe so much about someone, while others wouldn't even give a passing glance. "That's absolutely brilliant, he muttered, under his breath, unable to help himself as the compliment slid from his lips. There was so much more to learn about the world, and John intended on doing just that. But, first, he wanted to spend more time with Sherlock Holmes. The stranger that made his heart race. He followed up to the roof, and with casual nature, he plopped down and looked to the castle. From his spot, the stone walls looked powerful and intimidating. Emanating glory that none of the people could have. John felt a stab of hatred for his own family. He'd known of the greed, but hadn't expected it to be as bad. "The castle looks powerful. Dangerous and greedy. It seems they've put on a persona that they care. If they did, they'd be out in the streets, helping those who needed it. Meeting those who support them, and understanding those who don't." He loved his family, but at the precise moment, he felt ashamed to be a Watson.

Stranger: Sherlock took a seat next to John, trying to ignore the castle that loomed over them in the distance. Just once he would like to know what it felt like. To have everything handed to you on a silver platter, and not have to worry if you were ill, or where your next meal would come from. Not have to worry about anything really. He had trained himself to need as little food as possible, but there was still some nights that he lay awake in the dark, the hunger stabbing and twisting like a knife in his stomach. John had called him brilliant though, and in that moment it was all that mattered. "People normally tell me to piss off." Sherlock felt more relaxed than he had in a long time, even with the fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something about John put him at ease, and he wanted to know him. He wanted to know more than he could deduce, more than what was on the surface. He didn't know how long they had. It could be a day, it could be a couple of hours. He wanted to make the most of every second they had though. "Tell me something about yourself. Something you haven't told anyone else."

You: John suddenly felt his stomach drop. If Sherlock could notice things about people, then could he tell that John was from the royal family? The blond didn't want that. For once in his life, he'd met someone he truly he enjoyed. He didn't want any stupid rules getting in the way of that. But, if his true nature was seen by Sherlock, the man would have had a different reaction, he was sure. Though he worried, he tried not to make it obvious. "My family, they're focused on rules. They've set a life for me, one that I don't want. One I wish I could get out of." He was vague enough, but yet honest, and hoped that Sherlock wouldn't figure out how relatable his story was to those of royal nature. Though, most in the rich blood did not want to be rid of it. So, he hoped he was safe. John looked to the sky, the blue was beginning to mix with orange, as the sun drifted lower and lower. He felt panicked again, as he realized Sherlock and he would have no more than a few hours to see one another. The thought of leaving was almost unbearable. "What about you? Is there anything, anything at all, that you've kept to yourself? I know I am merely but a stranger, but, I hope I seem trustworthy enough." He laid back suddenly, his navy eyes watching the sky. His gaze then fell on Sherlock again, and he was struck with the beautiful image - shadows fell across his sharp features, causing him to almost glow. It was unnatural to feel emotions like this towards another man, John had been told. Yet, he couldn't help himself as he thought of Sherlock. He thought of holding his thin hand, kissing him gently, courting him and causing a redness to erupt on those prominent cheekbones..

Stranger: Sherlock felt his heart ache for John. He could never say his life was everything he wanted, but at least he was free to do as he pleased. He couldn't imagine being controlled by the people who were supposed to want what was best for you. Not that he had much of a family now. His father had died when he was young, and his mother had ran, trying to escape her grief. He had Mycroft, but he didn't see much of his brother, as he was away, weaselling his way into the palace, with fake smiles, and unarguable tactics. He did leave him enough money for rent, and necessities, so he supposed that was something to be grateful for. The one person that he could class as family was Mrs Hudson, his landlady who had been more of a mother to him than his actual mother ever was. It was a surprise when the question was directed back at him, because it was something he wasn't expecting. Although John had called himself a stranger, he was quickly beginning to feel like so much more than that, and Sherlock tried to push those thoughts away as he watched the sun setting. Streaking the sky with a combination of oranges and pinks, blurring the edges, and giving the world a soft glow. "I think I would like to experience love." Love was such an bizarre concept to him, but it was the catalyst for so many things. How was he expected to broaden his understanding of people, if he couldn't experience one of the most vicious motivators. He just wanted to know what it felt like, for someone to want him, for someone to desire to make him happy. "My brother believes that love is a default, a weakness, but I'm not sure if I feel the same. If anything shouldn't love make you stronger? It should give you something to fight for, you should strive to be a better person."

You: John pushed up to a sitting position again, and he reached over a gentle hand. It fell, carefully, on Sherlock's shoulder, and John instantly felt his skin tingle. "Everyone deserves love," he began, with a nod and a fierce look in his eyes. "It's the age of arranged marriages. Not even for the royals, but for the people. They set a terrible example, the rich. I understand. Love is wonderful. I've seen it, sometimes. People on the streets. They may not have anything but each other, but it's all that matters. I think everyone should have that opportunity." After a few minutes, John had to take his hand away. He looked down at his lap, gulping away the sadness in his chest. Sherlock Holmes was right. Love, it was such a powerful thing. A cause of so much destruction, but also one of great power and kindness. With a sigh, John blinked away the hurt in his gaze, and he glanced at Sherlock yet another time. He couldn't stop. The man next to him, in all of his glory, looked sad. John wanted to pull him close. Kiss away the pain. Give every man and woman on the street money and food. He wanted to give Sherlock love. "I have a sister. Younger. My family has been less harsh on her, though, they haven't had much success leading someone who spends her time at the pub almost every evening. They try not to speak of her, in fact. They are fearful of the damage it could do to their reputation. It's horrible."

Stranger: Sherlock tried not to be disappointed when John removed his hand from his shoulder. The skin tingled underneath his tee-shirt, and he couldn't ignore the way his heart had skipped in his chest. In a perfect world he would stay with John, and the man would show him love, and maybe he could be happy for once. The world was far from perfect though. It was cruel, and harsh, and it would attack any chance of happiness. If contentment was a flame, life was water. The water would get rid of the flame before it had a chance to burn. Society frowned upon same sex relationships, and that only made it worse. He would never look at a women and want to know her the way he wanted to know John. He just couldn't. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was something wrong with him. The sky turned dark, and he swallowed back a sob. It wasn't fair. He had finally found someone who understood him, and so many obstacles stood in their way. He knew nothing about this man besides his name, and yet he felt like he knew him. Like he could know him. It had never been that way with anyone before, and soon John would leave. He would return to his home, wherever that was, and Sherlock would be left alone again. The realisation sat like a weight on his shoulders, and he couldn't stop the tears that ran down his cheeks. Great. Now he looked pathetic. "None of this is fair."

You: John looked to the castle, the torches becoming the only way to see it. Still, it looked dark and terrifying. The sky slowly dimmed, and became dark, leaving the Prince with a longing in his chest. John gulped and blinked with hatred in his gaze. "You're right," he started, clenching his jaw. "I don't want to go home. Not towards the place where everything I want is wrong." He looked towards his new friend, finding a mirrored look in his eyes. One of sorrow. Like a part of him had been lost, only because it had been pushed away. John quickly shook his head. "You deserve to find someone to love, Sherlock Holmes. And I, I want to make my own choices. After everything, I should be able to have that. If the world is unfair, I suppose we can either live with it, or make our own rules." He shifted a bit closer towards the man, hoping that it wouldn't be noticed. The closer proximity had John's heartbeat speed. He wanted so badly to touch. To have Sherlock in his life. To marry this stranger, who'd he'd only just met. Yet, it felt as if he'd known him for ages of time. "I could return," he suggested, hoping that the other wanted it just as much as he did, "I could sneak out and return tomorrow. You're different, Sherlock Holmes, and I can't help but feel as if we'll be good friends."

Stranger: Sherlock shifted, wrapping his arms around John. He knew he probably shouldn't have, but he couldn't help it. It felt comforting, and right, and it was only now that he realised how cold it was. He moved as close as he could, hoping the other man wouldn't mind. He just needed this. John was the first person to show him kindness in a long time, and it was a nice feeling. His heart felt like it could beat out his chest, and he was still crying, but it clung to John like he was an anchor. Anchoring him to this moment in time. It was a moment that was theirs, away from the despair of the village that he so desperately wished to escape. It was untouchable, and unbreakable, and he wished he was able to capture it, so he could look back on it when things became difficult. "I'd like that." That was an understatement, but it was all that he could bring himself to say. He was overwhelmed with all the new emotions. "Please." Sherlock wasn't sure what he was asking for, he just knew that he needed it. Was he asking John to stay? Was he asking him to hold him? Was he pleading for a chance at happiness? Maybe it was all of those things.

Stranger: *he (not it)

You: John didn't know what to think. Everything was a jumble in his mind. He had so many questions, but yet, he couldn't bear to ruin this moment. For the first time, he didn't care what others thought. He didn't choose to be reckless, because his body was already moving. He felt free to do as he pleased, up on this roof, with this villager. In that moment, on that very roof, Sherlock and he were equals. Two people who were right. John was no longer a Prince, and he really didn't mind. Gulping, he reached up to wipe Sherlock's tears away, cupping his cheeks as his calloused thumbs finished brushing under the gorgeous eyes. "Who are you?" he questioned, in a soft voice. "I've never met anyone like you. And yet, I.." he didn't know how to explain himself. He only shook his head, and wrapped his arms around the stranger's neck, tangling his fingers in the soft curls, carefully. "I find myself unable to bear the thought of leaving. Please, don't cry." John had been waiting his entire life for someone like this. He let himself be locked in their passionate gaze. One filled with both uncertainty and an overwhelming presence of emotion. John wanted, and he knew he couldn't have this. Sherlock would hate him if he found out his true identity.

Stranger: ((I'm so sorry, I have to go, but I would love to continue this! My email is ---------))

You: ((Awh, that's such a shame!! I don't normally continue RP's through email, since I'm sometimes shit at replying, but I love this /so/ much, that I'd like to! I hope you don't mind, my replies might be slow at times. My email is ------------ , but I'll send you the log and you can reply c: ))

Stranger: ((That's fine :) Thank you for this, you are brilliant))

You: ((You're welcome, but thank you, as well. You are an amazing writer, oh my gosh <3))

Stranger: ((Aw, thank you so much, that's really sweet of you to say))

You: ((It's the truth. My heart is, like, bursting every time I read your replies. Alright, well, I best let you go. See you on email! :D))

Stranger: ((See you soon! :D))