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“I don’t understand, I thought everyone in the castle would be enchanted.”
“Oh, we are. Completely ecstatic, I assure you.”
The man clearly did look very happy, and all that excessive glee seemed centred on John. The prince pursed his lips and frowned. He had not expected this conversation. Hell, he had not expected any conversation. The castle was supposed to be under a spell whereby every living being in it was asleep. Or at least that was the traditional version. He was meant to find his way to the prince’s bedchamber, kiss him and hopefully break said spell. Instead he was being steered by an ebullient majordomo around the frankly frantic activity of the castle.
“Is it always this busy?”
“Oh, lord, no. There has been a peace treaty being brokered here and it has finally been signed this morning, so there is a big ball being thrown in celebration tonight, and we are just tweaking the last little niggles. If it were not for Myc .. hrem, His Majesty King Mycroft being ever so busy, he would have met you himself in his study. Of course you are more than welcome to join in the festivities, but we have to ask you to postpone the kissing of the prince until all the guests have left, which they should have done by tomorrow noon.”
“Er, fine. But if the prince woke up, wouldn’t this event make the celebrations even more special?”
“It really wouldn’t.” And at John’s frankly surprised look, the servant sighed.
“I’ll show you to your room, and I’ll answer any questions you have.”
***************
His guide, Lestrade, described John’s accommodation as bijou, which was his way to prepare the prince for the smallness of the room. John didn’t mind at all. The castle was almost at full capacity, and all the best rooms were already in use. Thankfully the armchair was comfy and conveniently positioned near the fireplace. He settled gratefully into it and, plied with plentiful tea and delicious hobnobs, he began to unwind from his long journey. It also gave him a chance to review the recent events and there were definitely questions he wanted answers to. But before he could phrase them diplomatically Lestrade surprised him with his candour.
“We can’t possibly attempt to wake prince Sherlock before tomorrow. He would ruin everything. We had to wait until he was asleep to begin brokering the peace.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“There’s no reason to beat about the bush. God knows, if he wakes, you’ll find out pretty soon yourself, so perhaps it’s best to be forewarned. The prince is frightfully clever.” – And there was definitely a flinch as the ghost of past memories flitted by – “He can deduce people’s lives and motives with just a quick glance, and that would be a great asset if he chose to report these findings privately to his brother King Mycroft. He does not so choose. He is very vocal and public about it all. Only the king’s consummate skills as a diplomat have helped to avoid serious incidents. But he couldn’t let matters continue as they were, so he approached a very reputable witch...”
“I’m sorry, ... witch?”
“Oh, rest assured Lady Hudson is very well thought of in our circle. Indeed any circle. She cast a sleep spell on the prince, so that only his perfect match can wake him.”
“Hang on, that’s quite specific. You are telling me that the prince can be, well, a bit difficult, so how likely is it that his perfect match will be kissing him any time soon? He could end up sleeping his whole life!”
“Oh, lord no. We’d never allow that! After a few months we’d give him the antidote.”
“What? You have an antidote?”
Lestrade looked somewhat shocked. “You don’t really think we would spell cast our prince without one, do you?”
John foregoes to mention that spell casting your prince just to keep him out of the way is just a wee bit morally questionable.
“Soooo, this is effectively King Mycroft’s attempt to hopefully marry his brother off, and get his peace both private and political for a few months. Won’t the prince be really annoyed when he wakes?”
“And how would that be different from normal?” Then, looking at John’s stunned expression – “I’m not selling this to you, am I?”
John giggled. It had been a long day, the situation was absurd, and the whole ridiculousness of it was making him laugh. It also made him intensely curious about the prince.
“Tell me more about Sherlock.”
***************
John woke to the lovely sounds of a tea cup being filled and placed on the low table by the fireside, which had already been lit by clearly the most stealthy servant in the kingdom. He mumbled a slurred greeting and got a chirpy hello from Lestrade. After their chat the previous day, he had to admit to getting pretty fond of the guy. He didn’t mince his words, but seemed to find his prince fascinating rather than annoying. He had also clearly been assessing John on the sly, and he hoped he had passed muster. Mind you, only the ultimate test would answer that. Either Sherlock woke, or he didn’t.
John mentally giggled, remembering the story Lestrade had related yesterday, when that creepy prince Moriarty had attempted to cheat by employing a waking spell that would take effect when he kissed the sleeping prince. Unluckily for him, Lady Hudson’s magic came with all sorts of failsafes, and the royal git would have to remain in frog form until he met his perfect match.
The majordomo couldn’t stay long as the guests were departing all through the morning, and he was needed everywhere. So at John’s request he squirreled him in King Mycroft’s famed library, where he spent the rest of the morning allegedly perusing anatomy and medical tomes, but really buzzing with barely suppressed excitement that made him unable to think on anything but his impending task.
***************
At last it was time to meet the prince. John hadn’t been at all nervous on his arrival. He had reckoned he would just give it a go, and shrug his shoulders if he were not successful. But now that he was really intrigued by Sherlock, he did not want to consider the possibility of failure. He found his heart beating faster the closer he came to the prince’s quarters.
Lestrade ushered him into the bedchamber, but remained discreetly by the door. As John approached the bed he could not help noticing the rather unprincely room. Curiosities and scientific implements were strewn with abandon anywhere where there had been a smidgen of space, and books were haphazardly stacked and teetering here and there. The place was somewhat lacking in princely luxuries, and only the bed looked comfortable though fairly plain.
And as he got nearer he at last set eyes on the marble paleness of Sherlock’s beautiful face, framed by the curly dark locks spread out on the white pillow. The royal portrait had not done the man justice, though to be fair the less formal and rather more alluring pose might also have something to do with it. In fact the scene was a little too artistically set to be natural. John could scarcely imagine the prince looking so peaceful, even in sleep. He suspected Sherlock of tossing and turning, hogging the bed with his splayed long limbs, and possibly kicking. The desire to experience this and everything else besides, to be tangled in every part of Sherlock’s life made John’s pulse race.
The night shift was partly unlaced and revealed Sherlock’s long neck, and as entrancing as that view was, John found his attention shifting to the prince’s plush lips. As he gazed upon them he found himself licking his own. There was definitely trepidation when he bent down to kiss them, and fervent hope.
As he moved back he was startled by Sherlock’s eyes suddenly snapping open and skewering him with a critical and suspicious look.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my bedroom?”
“I am prince John and I just woke you from an enchanted sleep.” And as the glare intensified he added with a cheeky grin – “And you are welcome.” John was positively euphoric after his success, and no amount of glowering from those stunning eyes was going to put him off.
The prince looked furious. “Oh, for god’s sake. Mycroft! This is his idea of getting me married off, isn’t it? Well, it’s not going to work. I’m not marrying the first idiot who kisses me.”
At this the majordomo felt impelled to intrude. “Your Highness, he is not the first idiot to do so. I mean, the first person to try. He is the first to succeed.”
Sherlock shot him a furious glare. “So what? I’m supposed to be grateful enough to marry him? I don’t do grateful, Lestrade. And I’m not at all happy to be subjected to some dodgy spell.”
Sherlock would certainly be talking to his brother about abuse of magic and about the several idiots he had allowed unrestricted access to his lips.
“My prince, the spell was contrived and cast by Lady Hudson.”
“Oh, well...” – he huffed a little – “she does know her stuff, but it still doesn’t mean...”
“Actually, the spell was very specific, which is why so many failed to wake you. Only the one who is your perfect match, who completely complements you, can break the spell.”
This explanation did nothing to improve Sherlock’s mood. Rather he was even more outraged to discover that it was many idiots rather than several who had been lavishly granted kissing privileges.
He then eyed John critically. “What kind of romantic idiot thinks this is a good way to meet their future spouse?”
John had still not sobered up completely from his initial euphoria, notwithstanding being referred to as an idiot several times.
“To be fair, my father insisted. He said it was the princely thing to do. He thinks I spend too much time studying medicine.”
“You are studying medicine? That’s very... unlikely in a prince. Uhm, perhaps you are not as much of an idiot as everyone else.”
“Thanks?”
Sherlock pushed the covers off. His shift had risen to his thighs during his sleep, revealing his long legs which were at present a subject of serious contemplation for John. Sherlock smirked and ordered the prince to fetch his dressing gown. John good naturedly helped him into it, and then Sherlock shooed Lestrade away, demanding tea. A slightly awkward silence descended on the pair, but John had been a good student of princely diplomacy and been well trained in exactly the right thing to say for the correct occasion, and he did not fail now.
A surprisingly feral grin graced his features. “Want to know what happened to Prince Moriarty?”
***************
The next few days were a whirlwind of, well, prince Sherlock. Once he had given his brother a piece of his mind, he stormed back to his rooms to sulk. John waited until word from Lestrade assured him that it was reasonably safe to approach him. Then he turned up with tea and hobnobs, and sat there partaking of said delights while Sherlock muttered about scheming brothers, and how much time he lost when he could have been working.
“What work do you do?”
Sherlock sighed. “Are you really interested, or are you just making small talk?”
“No, I’m really interested.” Sherlock watched him carefully, but there was nothing but quiet earnestness in John’s demeanour.
“I’m a chemist. I have my own laboratory, and I spend most of my time there.”
“I didn’t get that in the tour.”
“It’s at the bottom of the winter garden.”
That was a fair way from any other building, and John wondered at how good a chemist the prince was. An image popped into his mind of a soot-covered, singed-haired Sherlock grinning maniacally against the background of a smouldering building. Some of this must have shown, as Sherlock looked a little affronted.
“I haven’t blown up anything spectacularly since the incident with the blue powder when I was twelve.”
John smiled around his cuppa, eyes filled with mirth. “Is that when you got your new digs at the end of the garden?”
Sherlock smiled back, excitement sparkling in his mischievous eyes.
“Want to see my lab?”
***************
Two months, some small explosions, and several experiments involving Mycroft’s favourite umbrella later, Sherlock and John were married. Initially there had been some concern as to their future happiness from those who knew Sherlock (though none whatever from those who knew John), but as everyone watched their interplay, their shared looks, their laughter and yes, even their stormy quarrels, they could all agree that the two belonged together.
As he watched the carriage trundling along towards their honeymoon destination, filled with John’s giggling and Sherlock’s rumbling laughter, Mycroft could smugly congratulate himself on a sneaky job well done.
What was the point, after all, in enjoying the services of Lady Hudson is she were not perfectly capable of ascertaining in advance who would be the perfect match for his exhausting brother. After that, a discreet request to John’s father had ensured the young man would make the trip. He had arrived a little earlier than expected, but overall the timing had been excellent. Now he could concentrate on his other project concerning Sherringford...