Heir Apparently

Justice or Jail Time

    Sherlock awoke quickly when he heard shouting, the door of the barn being knocked violently open, men rushing in with armor and swords and torches.
"What the..." Sherlock exclaimed, jumping to his feet in fear when he saw the Lauriston crest on all of the men's uniforms, they were palace guards. The torch light illuminated their makeshift bed, John just stirring dispute all of this commotion.
"Your majesty get away from him!" one of them exclaimed, grabbing Sherlock by his arms and pulling him off of the hay. John sat up in shock, just in time for him to be pulled away by many guards, placing shackles on his wrists and retraining him the best they could. Sherlock looked at John in horror, watching as he was forced to his knees with a yelp, looking pained but submissive.
"What is this, what's going on?" Sherlock wondered, pulling his arms away from one of the guards who held onto him. The men looked towards the back of the barn, as if they were following someone's lead, as if that man was waiting for some sort of dramatic entrance.
"Sherlock Holmes, we just want to keep you safe." said a snakelike voice, and the soldiers parted, letting a man with a black cape sweep forward, a crooked smile on his pointed face as the flickering firelight illuminated him. Sherlock stepped away, very intimidated by whoever this man claimed to be.
"John's not a threat." Sherlock snapped defensively.
"Don't you want to know my name?" the man wondered, walking ever closer. Sherlock took another step back, the back of his legs pressing up against the hay, knowing he could go no farther. Thankfully the man stopped, smiling down on Sherlock and looking very out of place in the midst of the colorful guards. His armor was black and he wore no crest, he had a sword hanging at his side and a cape the color of a raven, the only thing that shone of color was his blue eyes, staring down at Sherlock with interest. Sherlock shook his head; he honestly didn't care what this man called himself, as long as he left John alone. The man held out a hand, to which Sherlock flinched, but his smile only widened.
"Victor Trevor." He said importantly, as if this name were supposed to mean anything. "A pleasure to meet royalty." Sherlock didn't shake his hand; he didn't even introduce himself, which, if he were in the company of his family, would be considered very rude. But he had no more reputation to uphold, so he decided that it really didn't matter. He didn't even know this Victor but he already knew that he loathed him. Any man that came to arrest John was already a sworn enemy of the prince.
"What do you want with John Watson?" Sherlock wondered, walking over to where John was on his knees, his head being forced down so that he couldn't see what was going on.
"I was called by your mother to come catch your father's killer, and I'm starting by taking everyone associated with the Adler family and, well, confining them to a certain area of the castle." Victor decided.
"You're putting them in the dungeons?" Sherlock wondered in horror. Victor sighed heavily, but nodded.
"I didn't want to say it too flatly." He decided.
"I'm not a killer!" John exclaimed quickly, the soldiers rushing to silence him.
"Oh Mr. Watson, I don't believe that you are, but to make sure that this all goes as planned, well, I need to take the necessary precautions, even if that does mean arresting even the most peaceful of servants. Although, you're not peaceful are you John? The tournament proved your worth on the battlefield; you would make an excellent assassin." Victor decided, turning his attention from John back to Sherlock, his blue eyes glinting dangerously.
"And why, on the night that your father had been killed, are you alone with a man you've only known for a short time? Why are you off in the stables with a stranger?" Victor wondered. Sherlock looked on him in fear, blinking rapidly as he tried to think of a reasonable excuse.
"I know that I'm safe with him, I know that he'll try his best to protect me. We knew that I couldn't go to my room, that the assassin might try to kill me as well." Sherlock insisted.
"Why didn't' you take someone you knew better, like your lady friend, or your brother? Why did you put your life in the hands of a man who doesn't even serve under your kingdom's rule?" Victor wondered.
"I trust John with my life." Sherlock said flatly, glancing over at where the soldiers were stuffing fabric into John's mouth to silence him.
"Well I don't, in fact, the only person in this entire kingdom that I know isn't out to kill you is myself." Victor insisted. Sherlock looked at him in suspicion, wondering how one man could be suspicious of an entire kingdom.
"My mother, my brother, Molly Hooper, Billy, you think that they would all want to kill me?" Sherlock wondered.
"A treasured prince proven to be a fake? Publicly humiliating his entire kingdom, his family? Treating everyone below him like dirt? Look at the way you treat your servant, and tell me why he wouldn't want revenge. Look at the way your mother must feel, knowing that the boy that she raised grew up to be a liar and a cheat, and tell me why she wouldn't want to be free of the burden your disappointment costs her. And your brother, longing for nothing but the throne your father left behind, and knowing there was only one person that stood in his way. He might want to kill you as well. And Molly Hooper, your best friend, always in your shadow, always getting yelled at, trying to live up to her expectations while you keep complaining about yours. Wouldn't she like you to be forever silenced? You see Sherlock, suspicion is my expertise, I prey in people's hatred, in their secrets, I find the assassins, I find the murderers, and I keep all of your brains in your pretty little head." Victor finished dramatically, tapping Sherlock's head once with his finger as if to prove his point. Sherlock could only stand there, stunned, not knowing what to do or what to think. But no, he couldn't listen to this maniac's lies; he couldn't be lead to believe that his family or his friends would try to kill him. He was just trying to get Sherlock to be as paranoid as he was, and Sherlock wasn't going to stand for it.
"Don't arrest John Watson." Sherlock insisted flatly.
"And why would you defend someone like him? A meager servant, the one who had toppled your very throne?" Victor wondered. Sherlock stood up taller, trying to stand as tall as Victor even though he knew it was going to be impossible. Victor seemed to be one of the only people who stood taller than him.
"I trust John with everything I have and more, and if you can't trust my decisions then you shouldn't be trying to protect me at all." Sherlock snapped.
"Your life is in danger Sherlock, there's no reason to get upset." Victor insisted.
"There's no point in locking the Adlers away when you think even my own family would try to kill me. Anyone couldn't hired that assassin, it could be anyone." Sherlock pointed out.
"But the outsiders are the most likely candidates." Victor defended with a smile.
"DON'T LOCK UP JOHN WATSON!" Sherlock yelled, his anger bubbling over at Victor's calm words. He didn't deserve to be calm; he didn't deserve to be listened to. Sherlock was a prince; Victor was no more than a psychopath. "Free John Watson or lock me up as well." Sherlock insisted, holding out his hands in surrender. Victor stared at him, the guards were stirring uneasily. Obviously Victor wouldn't lock Sherlock up, he wouldn't dare, but then again he was so anxious to get John in a cage.
"Fine, he can walk free. But I'm going to keep a close eye on him, a very close eye, with many interrogations. And I want your bedroom guarded at all times, soldiers will accompany you wherever you go, and all of your closest friends and relatives will be interrogated as well." Victor decided.
"It's not only me that's in danger; my mother and my brother are under threat as well." Sherlock pointed out.
"And you don't think I'm giving them the same treatment?" Victor just laughed, shaking his head. "You're not the special one anymore." he pointed out, and with that he waved his hands at the guards holding John. They looked at him in confusion, but Victor raised his eyebrows threateningly, and slowly they released John, taking off his shackles so that he could pull the fabric out of his mouth himself.
"At least let us escort you both to the castle." Victor offered, his eyes flashing so that Sherlock knew this wasn't just a suggestion.
"Fine, to the castle, but leave us from there." Sherlock insisted. Victor just laughed, shaking his head and stepping even closer, dropping his voice to a whisper.
"Don't count on having any more alone time with Mr. Watson, your life matters more than your heart." He whispered, stepping away and starting off to the castle. Sherlock blinked, standing there as the guards starting to follow, not knowing what to say to something like that.
"Come on Sherlock." John insisted, grabbing Sherlock's arm and leading him off towards the castle through the darkness, the sun only starting to peak over the horizon. They followed Victor's flowing cape all the way up the cobblestone paths, trudging sleepily through the dawn, no one talking. Sherlock felt rage boiling up inside of him when he saw that the castle was fully lit, everyone was probably running around, completely paranoid, there would be funerals and ceremonies and the queen would have to decide which of her sons would be the one to take the throne. Everything was changing so quickly for Sherlock, he had lost the tournament, lost his honor, his father was murdered, and now everyone he knew was going to be questions, everyone could be his murderer. He looked over at John, who was keeping his head down, not saying a word. It was like he didn't want to look at Victor, just in case the man looked back, just in case he saw something in his eyes that shouldn't be there. When they arrived at the castle the door had to be opened by many guards, the small party of people walking through the heavily guarded entrance way, being watched closely as if someone was about to pull a knife on the prince. Sherlock felt like all of this protection was seriously unnecessary; if someone wanted to kill him they'd obviously have done it by now, what could possibly be holding an assassin back?
"Mr. Holmes, I will be the one taking you to the throne room." Victor decided, stopping in the stone corridor and walking up to where Sherlock stood.
"And John?" Sherlock wondered, standing up taller and prouder, trying to show this man who was boss.
"You don't have to worry about me Sherlock, I'll be fine." John assured in a small voice.
"And John?" Sherlock repeated, pretending he hadn't heard John's comment.
"Mr. Watson will be taken care of, of course. He'll be escorted down to the servant's quarters, where he will stay." Victor insisted, nodding at one of his soldiers to take care of it. One of them stepped up, grabbing John's arm to which the servant pulled away, looking at him in disgust.
"I know how to walk." He snapped, starting down the hallway without a goodbye. Sherlock had expected that he would be a little bit more grateful, considering Sherlock had just guaranteed his freedom and all.
"Be safe John!" Sherlock called desperately. John turned his head to look at him, giving a nod of encouragement before turning a corner, walking down to where his makeshift jail cell would be.
"Leave us, all of you." Victor demanded, whisking all of the soldiers away with no more than a sweep of his hand. They all scurried, leaving Sherlock and Victor alone in the hallway, the flickering torches lighting their way as the sun struggled to illuminate the sky.
"Why do you care so much for a servant?" Victor wondered, folding his arms and flexing one of his hands in his leather glove. He didn't look tired, which was odd, considering he must've been up all night traveling to the kingdom and hunting down the escaped prince.
"Why are you here?" Sherlock wondered, answering the question with another irrelevant question.
"I'm here because your mother called me, or well, she called for my father. We helped him mop up an assassin case back in the day; we're rather good at what we do." Victor said simply.
"Then why isn't your father here as well? Why did he leave his son for all of the legwork?" Sherlock wondered. Victor sighed heavily, looking at Sherlock with pitiful eyes.
"Well I suppose we're in the same boat now. He's dead, my father. Some sort of disease, the doctors never confirmed it, so I've taken over the family business." Victor said proudly, not a sign of remorse in his cold blue eyes.
"Who killed my father?" Sherlock asked.
"If I knew don't you think I would've told you by now? I don't know, but I intend to find out, to make sure that none of our royals get hurt." Victor assured with a smile.
"We wouldn't want that, would we?" Sherlock snapped back.
"Follow me, Mr. Holmes." Victor insisted, turning with a dramatic swish of his cape and starting off towards the throne room. Sherlock had no choice but to follow, noticing that there were more and more guards lined along the hallways, out looking for unusual behavior. When they finally got to the throne room they had to pass through the doors and through numerous layers of guards, all fully armed, watching as the two walked into the long, magnificent room. But today it looked morbid; it looked like more of a tomb than a throne room. The king's throne was empty, the golden chair sitting there as a permanent reminder of who they had lost. The queen was sitting in her throne, sitting up straight and watching the two enter, the king's crown in her hands. Mycroft was pacing the room, still in his clothes from the ball, his cape flowing back and forth as he turned on his heel. When there was a tragedy Mycroft could never sit still and this was just another way to prove that.