Chapter Text
It was like a picture out of a fairytale. The light filtering in through the windows was white, matching the white of the marble tile, the white of the linen tablecloths, and the white stone of the altar. John’s hair glinted like spun gold. Sherlock’s eyes were ultramarine one instant and pale green the next, as the light passed over them in turn. Every person in attendance sparkled like a jewel. This was not surprising, John noted, as indeed the guests’ collective stock of diamonds could feed and clothe an entire province. The two grooms in the prime of their youth stood stoic, the expressions on their faces casting an air of nobility. This was surprising for John, who was—as rumor had it—only a commoner.
When John took the prince’s hand to put the ring on it he noticed how very cold it was. It was the first time they had ever touched. He noticed that Sherlock very pointedly did not make eye contact, which was a shame; because in the portrait John had seen in the outer wings of the castle he remembered that his eyes were quite distinctive. While the royal preacher droned on and on about commitment, or new bonds or something of the sort John thought of another way this day, his wedding day, could have gone.
They would have married in the parish church of the village his father had grown up. After a journey by wagon into the country he would have married a nice girl, in the daydream her face was that of one Mary Morstan, who was too poor to be in attendance now. Afterwards they would have returned to the city, where he would have set her up in the flat on Baker Street above his smithy. But of course that wasn’t to happen now. Instead of the lovely Miss Morstan his betrothed was this cold, silent stranger. A cold, silent stranger whose freezing white hands had now slid a golden ring on John’s finger. A ring that was worth more than all the money John would earn in a lifetime as a blacksmith.
After the ceremony they stood together for what felt like hours, shaking hands and making polite talk with the bejeweled guests. John didn’t know anyone, and felt their eyes go up and down on his person, felt their quiet judgment even as their lips conveyed their congratulations. At dinner they sat together, yet even then they weren’t alone as various people made toasts and gifts were opened and titles were handed out. John was made a baron of some remote area he had never heard of. Sherlock was given a duchy of some area John had heard of once or twice. At the wedding in the country they would be square-dancing by now by the light of a fire. For all their money, John thought, the noblemen were dull.
It was only at the end of the evening, when the candles on the tables were blown out, the carriages called and the plumed headdresses put back on heads that John realized what was expected to happen. He was going to be alone with the prince. His husband, actually. Which was a strange thought if there ever was one.
“Don’t idle,” the young royal said as he turned a corner, his black cloak swishing in his wake.
John scurried after him, not quite sure where he was going, as he had never been this far within the castle before.
“Your highness—” John started to say.
“Sherlock, please,” the prince didn’t even turn around.
“Sherlock, don’t you think we should discuss this-this thing that’s very much happening,”
“What’s to discuss?” Sherlock ran up a flight of stairs, “In an effort to please the populace, I, the younger son, have been married off to a commoner I have nothing in common with. It’s hardly likely you have a problem with it. It’s not as if you could possibly do better than a prince of the realm.”
“Hey, you may be spectacularly rich, but I’m not completely okay with this either, it’s not all about money you know,” John snapped.
“Oh I know that, you were thinking of it the entire time at the altar, about her, some idiotic farm girl you were hoping to marry, your little smithy, if you hadn’t just returned from the Ogre Wars with a wounded leg you would have been content to work there your entire life, but the work is taxing on you now, you have a limp, at least partially psycho-somatic, you would go to your brother for help, but you’re not particularly close to him,” Sherlock strode down the hallway and threw upon the doors of the third room on the left.
“How did you possibly know that?”
“Ogre Wars? Well your accent’s changed slightly, it’s not exactly common anymore it has a bit of that Southern twang to it, you’ve been there and picked it up but you’ve been back here a while so it’s fading now, I’d say two to three months, you limp sometimes but not others, it’s too inconsistent, has to be psycho-somatic. The brother? You’re wearing his timepiece, only expensive thing you own. It was a gift. But he wasn’t at the wedding. So not close. As for the smithy, your hands, blacksmith’s hands. Obvious. And the girl, shot in the dark, but that besotted look you were making at the wedding was hardly for me. We’ve only just met,”
“Amazing,” John said the first thing that came to his mind.
“That’s not what people usually say, or well, think, they usually don’t say anything, it’s a privilege of rank that I can get away with anything,” Sherlock turned to face him and as their eyes met for the first time John thought the portrait really didn’t do them justice.
“What do they usually think?”
“Piss off, or some variant,” Sherlock took off his cloak and hung it on a hook near the bed, “What’s wrong?”
“This room is the size of my entire flat in the city,” John said.
“This is one of the smaller ones in the palace, as I dislike open spaces,” Sherlock remarked, “Your things are already here. Good night.”
“That’s it then, we’re married and you don’t even want to talk about it,”
“Like I said, there’s nothing to discuss,” Sherlock said rather coldly, “Just a rather unfortunate situation I’ll learn to deal with in time. You on the other hand have the chance to be a part of high society, most people enjoy that sort of thing.”
“If you’re just going to insult me constantly—“
“You’re the one who wanted to talk,”
John sighed, “Fine. Fine then. We won’t talk. We won’t do anything about this.”
“Of course we’re not going to do anything. Though of course you’re welcome to watch me undress,” Sherlock loosened his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.
John, who couldn’t tell if the other man was being serious or joking, turned away, “I didn’t mean like that.”
As soon as he was done a few moments later Sherlock turned off the only light in the room, leaving John to undress in the darkness. John cursed aloud, hoping Sherlock could hear it; after all, he couldn’t possibly fall asleep that fast. He had only agreed to this marriage because his family needed the money. He was glad he had done it of course. But living with Sherlock was going to be a waking nightmare. He was one of the richest men in the country. But he was no Prince Charming. And this was no fairy tale.
***
John tossed and turned the entire night. Rather angry at Sherlock for sleeping so peacefully a mere two feet away. They both faced away from each other, and John was spared any awkwardness related to waking up next to him by the fact that he was gone at the first light of day. There was a note on the ridiculously ornate bedside table and John was irked by the fact that Sherlock wrote in a perfect curved script.
Down the first staircase to your right. Turn at the portrait of the man with a wart on his nose. When the carpet changes from scarlet to burgundy take a left. Past the first set of double doors is the kitchen.
John didn’t know whether to be thankful or upset that there was no indication as to where Sherlock was, or even a good morning. As he was hungry, he decided, thankful it is. The directions were remarkably easy to follow. And once in the kitchen he asked the cook if she knew where the prince was as he had a bagel.
“His highness was here himself in the morning, said to tell you he’d be back in the evening, that you’ve got etiquette training today in the Green Room, I can show you where it is,” the woman said kindly.
“Did his highness tell you where he was going?” John asked.
“It’s hardly my place to know or ask,”
***
“Don’t look at me like that, etiquette lessons were Mycroft’s idea,” Sherlock said when he came into their bedroom that night, “Strange, it’s pretty late, I was expecting you to be asleep,”
“Where were you all day?” John snapped.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize this was a real relationship where I’m at all accountable to you,”
“What am I supposed to do all the time then, hmm? Participate in stupid etiquette lessons while you prance around outside doing god knows what, and then be your arm candy at public events?”
Sherlock nodded, “That was the expectation when you entered into this arrangement. You didn’t think you’d be allowed to continue being a blacksmith living here. And I wasn’t prancing.”
“What were you doing then? While I was in here being taught about the different kinds of forks,”
“If you must know I had a case, and you’re complaining after a few hours, this is my life, etiquette lessons, court functions, welcome to the other side!” Sherlock raised his voice.
“You know what? I’m not speaking to you, good night!”
“See how much I care. Good night!”
***
“Married life not suiting you?”
“Shut up Mycroft,” Sherlock paced about the room, “You said if I married him I could have a greater role in royal affairs,”
“I’m not letting you rule, not unless I die, and you could hardly pull that off,” Mycroft said smoothly.
“Then why…” Sherlock snapped, “Why have you chained me to some common oaf?”
“He’s far better than that and you know it,” Mycroft said, “It helps popular opinion. Besides. Get to know him. He might be good for you.”
“Good for me? He’s pining for his smith and his idiotic farm girl,”
“Is someone jealous? That’s touching, Sherlock,”
“I am not jealous,” Sherlock glared, “Only pointing out that my aspirations in life are not even vaguely aligned with his,”
“It’s been a week, give it another,”
“We haven’t been speaking, not really,” Sherlock explained.
“There’s a ball tomorrow evening, I’m going to need you to make nice, can you manage that?”
Sherlock bowed low, huffing sarcastically, “Of course, your will is law.”
“And you will do well to remember it.”