"Sherlock." Molly jostled him to wake up. "Sherlock. Your mother expects you in twenty minutes."

"Go away." Sherlock voice was muffled against his pillow. He had been dreaming that he was asleep against a strong, well-muscled thigh, rubbing his cheek against a soft and well-worn pair of jeans. His dream had been completed by the feeling of calloused fingers carding through his hair. But now the dream was gone and in it's place was his personal servant Molly shaking him awake. The sun was glaring in through the curtains, making him wish all the more to return to sleep.

"Your mother wants you downstairs for breakfast. She'll be cross if you're not there."

Sherlock growled against his pillow and reluctantly sat up. His body was attempting to make up the seventy-two hours without sleep and his mother insisting he wake up early wasn't helping. He assumed it was part of her punishment for him. If he was constantly exhausted, the chances of him running away dwindled considerably. No doubt she'd have every moment of his time planned and scheduled down to the second.

Sherlock ran his fingers through his unruly curls. He thought about going down to breakfast in his pyjamas just to upset his mother. But if his mother was requiring his presence at breakfast, something she hadn't done since he was six, then most likely the suitors would be there as well. That meant John would be there. Sherlock leapt out of bed, suddenly much more interested in going down to breakfast.

"Molly, turn on the shower and make the water just as I like it." Sherlock ordered, dismissing her with a wave of his hand as he went to his wardrobe. He pulled out a dark red shirt and one of his nicest, well-tailored suits. Molly called that the shower was ready and Sherlock placed his clothes on the bed before heading into the bathroom.

Molly turned bright red as Sherlock began to strip in front of her. He would have thought she'd be used to his naked form by now and over her little crush considering he was marrying another. You think the fact that the suitors were all male would be a hint but apparently not. She gave a small squeak as Sherlock pulled off his pyjama bottoms and pants, taking them quickly and hurrying from the room.

Sherlock showered in haste, making sure he was clean for breakfast. He combed his hair in an attempt to tame his curls, making them fall neatly into place. Admiring himself in the mirror, he thought he looked well enough to tempt John. He had no interest in tempting the others. Their files had shown their characters rather vividly and he knew all he wanted to about James Moriarty and Thomas Anderson.

"How long have I got?" he asked Molly, dressing in the outfit he'd laid out.

"Three minutes until your mother is expecting you." She informed him.

"How do I look?" he inquired, turning round in the mirror to examine himself.

"You look – well…I think you – you look…like a prince."

"Thank you Molly, helpful as ever."

"Well you look quite nice. That color is very…"

"Deep?" Sherlock supplied, looking at his servant's reflection behind him in the mirror.

"Sexy." Molly finished, biting her lip and turning away in embarrassment. "On you."

"Sexy…" Sherlock echoed pensively as he inspected his appearance. The red did look nice against his skin and matched the black of his suit. It wasn't quite what one wore to breakfast but he had a Scottish ex-army doctor to impress. He'd never gone to such lengths before for someone. John was different and certainly the best candidate out of the three. When Sherlock thought about spending the rest of his life with John, his chest didn't constrict in terror. In fact he found the idea quite pleasing, low though he was to admit it to mummy.

He left his room with one minute to spare, heading down the spiral staircase and saw John at the bottom, talking with Victor and Henry. Victor nodded in Sherlock's direction, interrupting their conversation. John turned and his mouth opened slightly and his eyes widened in awe. Sherlock smirked as he made his way down the steps. Perhaps Molly had been right about his outfit.

He stopped at the bottom step and John made his way over, offering his hand. Sherlock took it and dropped down the final step. Victor and Henry were exchanging looks and Sherlock scowled at them as he and John passed.

The four of them made their way into the dinning room, everyone else already seated. Mummy sat at the head of the table, Mycroft and Greg sitting opposite each other on either side of her. The other two had arranged themselves so it was impossible for John and Sherlock to sit together. Sherlock almost demanded one of them move but instead John released his hand, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand before they parted. The small gesture made Sherlock shiver.

Sherlock took his seat next to Mycroft, his mummy smiling at him approvingly that he'd not only dressed appropriately but also had come down at all. Across from him was Jim Moriarty, grinning like a cat, his eyes dark and empty. Next to him was Anderson, sitting a little close and leering in a way that was deeply unsettling. Sherlock was forced to move his seat closer to Mycroft, much to his dismay. It almost made him move further away from John.

Sherlock picked at his food grumpily, only eating to avoid conversation. Mummy was chatting away, carefully slipping into the conversation both Moriarty and Anderson's accomplishments; Moriarty's business that had ties all over the world and Anderson's good family, with their massive fortune. Sherlock sighed and tuned her out as much as was possible. He kept sneaking glances at John, who was once again talking with Henry and Victor. They were all laughing and Sherlock wished he was in on the joke. No doubt they were telling John horror stories from when they were at school together.

Sherlock felt a hand on his thigh and nearly jumped in surprise. "You look really good this morning." Anderson said against his ear. Sherlock did his best to force a smile on his face from the compliment but didn't quite succeed. It turned into more of a sneer than anything else.

"Thank you." Sherlock replied shortly, removing the man's hand. Somehow John's innocent touch of his hand had felt much more intimate than a hand so close to his genitals. Sherlock shuddered in revulsion and did his best to turn his shoulder so he was facing away from Anderson.

A small piece of paper landed in his eggs and Sherlock nearly jumped in surprise. He opened it under the table to avoid anyone seeing. Mycroft was attempting to peer at it, the fat git. Sherlock turned it away and glowered at his older brother.

Stop sulking. Was all it said in a neat script. Sherlock studied it for a moment. Clearly male handwriting so it wasn't Mummy. Mycroft had been curious about what it said so it wasn't him. Whoever wrote it was most certainly left-handed. Looking around the table, both Jim and John were eating with their left hand. But Jim was currently whispering to his personal valet, Sebastian Moran. He had insisted on bringing his own and refused using one of the household staff.

That left only John. Sherlock looked at him questioningly and John raised his gaze just in time to catch Sherlock's eye. They stared at each other for a moment, John grinning at him as he put his fork down and picked up a pen, twirling it mischievously. Sherlock smirked in response before John turned away to answer Henry's question.

He had just picked up his fork to begin eating again when the pen John had been holding moments before landed in his eggs. Sherlock made a face but took the pen and began writing a response under the table. Mycroft eyed him suspiciously but Sherlock ignored him. He crumpled up the piece of paper and chucked it in John's direction. It landed in the middle of one of his pieces of toast, one bit of it getting covered in jam. John fished it out and licked the jam away, causing a jolt of arousal to run down Sherlock's spine and straight to his groin.

John opened it and smiled at what Sherlock had wrote.

I'm not sulking. I do not sulk. And whatever my friends are telling you are all viscous lies. – SH

And so it continued throughout the meal, throwing the small piece of paper and pen back and forth between them.

You do too sulk. You are a world class sulker. And you mean to tell me you didn't blow up the science lab at school?

Well that bit's true. But it was only a tiny explosion. They love to exaggerate. – SH

I look forward to you setting the record straight then. By the way, why do you keep signing your name? I know whom I'm speaking to.

To avoid confusion – SH

Just how many notes do you think I'm passing around the table?

It better be just the one. – SH

It is just the one, which is exactly my point.

I guess I'm just used to doing so. - SH

Prat.

Am not. - SH

Are too. Also did I tell you how fantastic you look this morning?

Sherlock's cheeks heated up at the compliment. Strange how when John said it, it was flattering but when Anderson did, it was unsettling. He looked over at John, who was gazing at him from under lowered lashes. Sherlock felt his cock thicken at the intensity of the stare and it took all his willpower not to climb over the table and beg John to take him right there. The look was smoldering and predatory but not in a bad way. It made him feel desired in a way he'd never felt before. He was forced to look away before things got embarrassing for him. He didn't want to leave the breakfast table with a full on erection.

Henry cleared his throat and everyone at the table turned to look at him. "Victor and I have to leave this evening but before we go we thought we might go for a ride, if anyone is interested in joining us. Sherlock?"

"Yes, of course." He nodded, smiling at his friends. That would get him away from mummy and all her schemes for the afternoon. Sherlock glanced at John a little pleadingly, hoping he'd come with them.

"Sounds brilliant." John answered, taking Sherlock's cue.

"Greg?" Victor called down the table. Greg glanced at Mycroft, who shook his head in response.

"Fraid not gents. Maybe some other time."

"What about you two?" Henry asked Moriarty and Anderson politely.

"I have business to attend to." Jim replied, dabbing his mouth and getting up from the table.

"I don't ride." Anderson said regrettably.

Sherlock breathed a quiet sigh of relief at that. It meant it would just be Victor, Henry, John and himself. He'd never been more grateful for his friends in all his life.

XXXX

The four of them set off from the stables, riding over the grounds as Henry and Victor gave John the tour. When they got past the gardens and to the open fields, Victor got that look in his eye and Sherlock knew what was coming.

"Oh Victor no." he groaned. "Aren't we a bit old for this?"

"Old for what?" John asked, rounding his horse to come closer to them.

"When we were teenagers, we used to race. There's a hill about a mile ahead. Whoever reached the top of it first won." Henry explained.

"Sounds like fun." John said.

"Really?" Sherlock raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Of course."

"That settles it then." Victor said.

They lined up their horses: Sherlock's black one, John's grey one and the other two on brown ones. "You're sure about this?" Sherlock asked John before it was too late.

"Absolutely." John nodded, gritting his teeth in determination.

"On your mark, get set…go!" Victor cried out and the four men were off. John rode hard and fast but Sherlock was too experienced to let him get far ahead. Henry and Victor were whooping with glee as they raced over the field. The sound of their horses galloping was deafening as Sherlock bent his head lower.

The hill was just coming in sight and John was in the lead. His small stature made him less of a burden on his horse. Sherlock kicked the side of his horse in order to go faster, racing to catch up with John. When they reached the bottom of the hill, John and he were neck and neck. It was all about who could get up the hill faster.

Their horses went up and up, galloping at high speed, neither of them giving or gaining an inch. John was laughing happily and Sherlock couldn't help joining in until they were both forced to pull on the reigns or risk going over the side of the hill.

John dismounted, balancing on his good leg as he threw the bad one over. John patted his horse and whispered something softly to it. Sherlock got down as well and they waited for the other two to join them. "You know, I wasn't going to come." John said quietly to Sherlock.

"I'm glad you did."

"Me too." John beamed up at him. "No matter what happens, I'm glad to have met you."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "John, I'm fairly certain I've made my decision."

"Have you?" John asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded.

"You shouldn't rush into these thing, you know." John teased, stepping closer to Sherlock. "It's only been two days."

"I realized it after only one." Sherlock stepped closer still, their chests pressed together.

"And what about the things you said in the car here? All that talk about not wanting a husband."

"Had I known who you were, I would not have been so candid."

"You mean you would have lied." John translated, frowning slightly. Well that was no good. John shouldn't have been frowning while Sherlock was confessing his feelings.

"I couldn't have known that you would be so…"

"So what?" John prompted.

"You're never out of my thoughts John."

John smiled up at him, making Sherlock's insides flip. "But you still don't want a husband."

"I didn't, up until yesterday."

"And what happened yesterday?" John asked challengingly.

John licked his lips as Sherlock moved his face closer, their lips just inches apart. "You."

"Hey you two!" Victor called out, interrupting them. Sherlock turned and almost began shouting at his friend. "Your mum wants to see John right away. She says it's urgent."

John glanced at Sherlock in surprise and Sherlock shrugged, unsure what it could be about. John got back on his horse quickly and followed Victor back. Sherlock took a moment to compose himself before mounting and racing to see what the trouble was.

XXXX

When John entered the throne room with Victor at his side, the first thing he saw was Jim Moriarty. He was speaking but John couldn't actually hear what he was saying, his own breathing and heart pumping in his ears too loud to make anything out. Victor gave him a worried look and it seemed whatever Moriarty was saying was bad.

At the other end of the room there were five thrones. Mrs. Holmes sat in the middle and most extravagant one. To her left were Mycroft and his husband Greg. The two on the right were vacant because of course Sherlock hadn't made it back yet and the other was ready for whomever he chose. Me, John thought and it made him somewhat dizzy, even on top of running to the throne room so quickly that he still couldn't catch his breath. He's going to pick me.

Just as John had finished thinking it, Sherlock entered the room with Henry, both doors of the room swinging open dramatically. "What's going on?" he demanded, making his way to the front of the room.

"John Watson is possibly being convicted of treason." Mrs. Holmes replied and John stared at her in a mix of horror and confusion. Sherlock stopped walking at her words and turned so he could meet John's eye.

"What? Why?" Sherlock asked, standing halfway between his throne and John, his gaze shifting between John and his mother.

"If what James is saying is correct, John has impersonated royalty and lied to her Majesty the Queen." Mycroft informed him.

"It must be a lie." Sherlock said, looking to John for confirmation, which he very much wanted to give.

"Your Majesty, if I might speak –" John stepped forward to defend himself, unable to meet Sherlock's expectant stare.

"The Queen does not address peasants, especially not one's who have committed treason." Mycroft spat angrily, as if John's mere presence were insulting to him.

"I neither lied nor impersonated royalty." John said calmly, placing his hands behind his back. "Nor did I come here under false pretences."

"You're not of noble birth." Moriarty cut in. "I've seen your birth certificate."

"No, I'm not." John explained.

"Ha!" Jim laughed triumphantly.

"Arrest him." Mycroft yelled and the guards at the door began to move.

"No!" Sherlock lunged towards John, ready to defend him. Henry and Victor stood closer to John as well looking ready to join the fight.

"Wait." Mrs. Holmes put her hand up and everybody stopped moving. "Let John explain himself before a decision is reached."

"My sister Harriet and I are the wards of Lady Stamford. My parents were very dear friends of hers; my father was her personal physician. When my parents died, Lady Stamford took my sister and I in and raised us as her own. I may not have been born royal, but I have lived as such for the last twenty-three years of my life. I did not come here to fool her majesty and her sons. Mike Stamford, Lady Stamford's son was supposed to be here. Mike, however, had fallen in love with a woman named Elizabeth and they eloped together just a week ago. Lady Stamford, having no other male heir to send, and I – recently returned from Afghanistan – was the best she had to offer. She sent me as a last minute replacement for Mike. We were simply the victims for circumstances and bad timing. I did not come here to trick anyone, I have lived and behave as royalty almost my entire life. I am the best Scotland has to offer. Neither treason nor trickery were my intent. I am simply the last minute stand in because the man who should be before you fell in love."

"You must be of noble birth to compete for the hand of the Prince." James Moriarty pointed out.

Everyone looked to Lady Holmes for her decision. John glanced over at Sherlock and gave him an apologetic look. Sherlock shook his head in return, communicating that he didn't care. When Mrs. Holmes stood, the entire room went eerily quiet so not even people's breathing could be heard. In all likelihood, most people in the room were holding theirs.

"Lady Stamford was once a very good friend of mine. It seems to me that if she deems you worthy of my son, I will trust her judgment. I would have appreciated a bit of warning on her part but seeing as it was all done in a hurry, I will forgive her this oversight. John, you may stay, and the decision on whether this affects your worthiness to win the heart and hand of my son remains entirely up to him."

Sherlock walked forward and took his mother's hand, giving her a light kiss on the cheek. "Thank you mummy."

"You're welcome my darling."

XXXX

John awoke with a start, his heart racing and his breath coming in giant gulps. He tried to calm down, to remind himself that it was just a dream but it had felt so real. His mind was always cruel, replaying things that had actually happened to him. His mind enjoyed supplying him with his worst memories of Afghanistan while he slept.

He got out of bed; knowing sleep would escape him for a while. It always did after one of his nightmares. He grabbed his cane and put on a dressing gown. The palace was quiet as he made his way down the staircase. His leg was bothering him more than usual and he would have preferred to take the lift but he assumed it would be too noisy.

The night was warm with a slight breeze. John took a deep breath and felt better already. The grounds were huge and the last thing he wanted was to get lost. They'd find him in the morning, wandering around with no idea where he was. There was a cobblestone path lead off to the left. John figured if he stayed on the path, he wouldn't get lost.

John walked aimlessly, keeping to the path but lost in his thoughts. He had come close to being labeled a traitor and possibly killed had Mrs. Holmes not shown mercy. He was honestly surprised he had been allowed to stay. Lady Holmes was not exactly known for her compassion.

The path veered off in two different directions, one heading through the gardens and the other towards the lake. John decided a walk along the water was just what he needed. He had just gotten close enough to the water that he could see a figure standing in it. The tall dark figure, slightly in shadow, had their trousers rolled up to their knees. They stood in the lake, skipping rocks across the surface.

The moon rose slightly in the sky, bathing the figure in its light and John gasped. Sherlock, in nothing but pyjama bottoms, stood in the water, the moon reflecting off his pale skin. John moved so he was slightly hidden behind a tree and watched Sherlock for a moment. He had every intention of making his presence known but it turned out it was unnecessary.

"Couldn't sleep?" Sherlock called out and John blushed, knowing he had been caught staring.

"Uh, no." John came out from behind the tree and walked closer.

Sherlock turned to look at him, his eyes extremely pale in the light of the moon. His hair a deep contrast to his alabaster skin. "Nightmare?" Sherlock asked as John drew closer.

"How did you know?"

"You've just returned from Afghanistan. Soldiers are known to be able to sleep anywhere, let alone in a comfortable bed with sheets that have an 800 thread count. It's unlikely you wouldn't sleep through the night unless something woke you. Nightmare is the most likely."

"Brilliant." John gave him a smile.

"Child's play." Sherlock shrugged and bent over, feeling under the water for more stones to throw. John had to look away from the rather magnificent view Sherlock was supplying him with. "Are you just going to stand there all night or are you coming in?"

John shucked off his dressing gown, realizing he had nothing on underneath except his pants. The water wasn't unbearably cold, so he managed to make his way over to Sherlock rather quickly. "What about you?" he asked conversationally, hoping to distract Sherlock from his nakedness.

"What about me?" Sherlock responded, placing a stone in John's hand.

"Why are you awake at this hour."

"I don't sleep, at least, not if I can help it."

"You don't sleep?" John stared at him incredulously. "Are you some kind of insomniac?"

"Sleeping is boring. There's so many other things to be doing."

"Sherlock, your body needs rest!" John scolded.

"Is that your professional opinion doctor?" Sherlock smirked and skipped his rock. It skipped three times before sinking into the water.

"Yes, it is. Doesn't your mum or your brother object to your staying up all hours of the night?" John skipped his rock. It went once before dropping into the water.

"They don't exactly know about it."

"Sherlock." John chided as he was handed another rock.

"I get about four hours a night. My body doesn't require more than that."

"That's because you've starved it on sleep."

"I'm perfectly fine John and I don't need to be lectured on my sleeping habits." Sherlock said curtly, letting John know from his tone that the discussion was very much over.

They skipped rocks in silence for a while. John was starting to get the hang of it, his rocks skipping for longer across the lake. "Sherlock, what you said earlier about making your decision."

"Yes, I recall."

"I just want to know why."

"Why what?"

"Why me? It's only been two days."

"And I told you one was sufficient."

"But how can you know?"

"John." Sherlock stepped close enough that John could feel the body heat radiating off him. "You're the only one that's interesting. You surprised me. And you're the only one who seems to have done anything with their life."

"The army wasn't so much a choice so much as an obligation."

"You're also a doctor." Sherlock reminded him.

"I had to do something with my life." John said modestly. "I couldn't spend it going to parties and functions. Luckily Lady Stamford had Mike and Harry for that kind of thing. I was more or less free to do what I wanted."

"You said the army was an obligation?"

"It was in a way. I wanted to go but it's expected that a member of the Scottish royal family will serve in the military."

"You've actually managed to do something of value with your life."

"Jim has his billion dollar company."

"Boring." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The other two want a trophy husband, someone to place on a pedestal and parade around going 'look at what I've won' but you… I want a companion if I'm to do this marriage thing. Someone who will treat me as an equal and not as property."

"But what is it about me specifically?"

"Well…" Sherlock stepped even closer and placed his hands on John's chest, his long fingers dancing over his tanned skin. "You're loyal and brave, noble and fun. You're not stuck up like most royalty I meet. You're wounded but not broken. You're –"

Sherlock had been tracing John's scar on his shoulder. Suddenly he pulled away as if he'd been burner. "Oh god." Sherlock covered his hand over his mouth and stared wide-eyed at John.

"I know it's ugly." John looked down at his shoulder.

"It's not that." Sherlock surged forward and grasped John's face in both his hands. He pressed their foreheads together and John could feel Sherlock's breath on his face. "It's not that, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" John asked, placing his hands on Sherlock's arms, rubbing them soothingly. Sherlock closed his eyes and seemed to be breathing erratically. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "It's you." He whispered as if he didn't quite believe John was real. "It's really you."

"What's me?" John asked in concern. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

"John, tell me you fancy me." Sherlock demanded.

"What?"

"I know you do. Just say it."

"I've already told you that you're attractive." John shook his head slightly in confusion.

"Please." Sherlock scoffed. "Attractiveness is the lowest level of beauty. All attractive really means is not ugly."

"Sherlock, you know what you look like."

"I know my own perceptions of my beauty. I want to know yours." Sherlock looked at him pleadingly.

"What should I say Sherlock?" John asked, moving his hands up Sherlock's arms until they rested on his shoulders. "Should I tell you about your eyes?"

"My eyes?"

"Yes, your eyes. The way they change color depending on the light. Sometimes they're the most startling blue, with entire universes contained inside them. Or they can be cloudy and grey, like a foggy London sky. Or green, the most amazing emerald green. I've never seen eyes like yours."

Sherlock smiled slightly, his breathing becoming calmer as John spoke. "What else?"

"Your hair and its perfect, messy curls. They would wrap perfectly around my fingers so I could tug you down for a kiss." A shiver ran through Sherlock as John pushed one hand up into his hair. "Or your long limbs that should make you awkward but have just made you graceful. Your long, elegant neck." John ghosted his lips over it slowly. "Begging to be ravished with kisses and love bites."

"John." Sherlock moaned softly, quickly losing himself in John's words.

"Perhaps I should compliment your lips. Your perfectly extraordinary lips that need more than mere kissing. They need to be claimed." John took his free hand and brushed his thumb over Sherlock's bottom lip. "You are striking Sherlock. You could stand out in a room of a thousand." John moved so his lips brushed against Sherlock's ear. "Every inch of you is perfect."

"Oh god." Sherlock groaned. "You're real. It's you and you're real."

"Yes I'm real Sherlock. What are you on about?"

"All those years I never dreamed. I never thought someone like you could possibly exist."

"I do, I'm real." John said, stroking Sherlock's hair soothingly.

"John, I would very much like you to kiss me now." Sherlock tilted his head so his lips would be able to slot perfectly against John's. He could taste John's breath as it mingled with his own. They were a mere inch away and every fiber of Sherlock's being was buzzing with excitement.

"Master Sherlock." Someone called out and John broke away immediately.

Sherlock groaned in frustration and turned to see who had called out his name. Moran, Moriarty's valet was standing on the edge of the lake. "What? What is it?"

"Your mother told me to come fetch you. She wants you in bed immediately. She told me to ask nicely first and if you didn't comply I was to use force."

"Fine." Sherlock grumbled. He looked over at John but John was staring at his feet, his cheeks red from the embarrassment of having gotten caught, both of them shirtless, moments away from kissing. Their eyes met in their reflections on the water and John grinned at him. Sherlock smiled in return before his movement made the water ripple as he made his way out of the lake. Reluctantly, he followed Sebastian back to the palace, staring at John until he was out of his line of sight.

XXXX

"That was close." Jim Moriarty snarled as he placed the mirror back on his dresser. He'd just watched in the mirror as Sherlock and John got uncomfortably close. "Too close."

"I stopped them just in time." Sebastian said.

"Yes, very good Sebastian. We can't let Sherlock and John kiss or this is all over. How are they already there after only two days?"

"It's going to be difficult keeping them apart for the next five."

"We won't have to." Jim said, turning towards his valet and grinning conspiratorially. "Tomorrow I'm going to go talk to the witch."

"You think she can help?"

"I just need a love potion and then John Watson will no longer be a problem. I thought exposing the inferiority of his birth would be enough to get rid of him. Now it seems that we'll have to go to plan B."

"Yes boss."

Jim picked up the mirror again; this time it showed him Sherlock in his bed. Sherlock was staring up at his ceiling wistfully, refusing to go to sleep. "Don't worry love, I'll stop you being bored." He ran his finger over Sherlock's cheek. "We were made for each other Sherlock."