Heir Apparently

Your Presence Is Politely Required

John lay awake most of that night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what was going on in Sherlock's head. It was a bit sad, losing sleep wondering what another person was doing, but chances are that Sherlock was lying awake as well, staring at his own ceiling and contemplating just what he was going to do with his life. Sherlock was hiding, hiding from John as if he knew what John's true intentions were. But surely he couldn't actually know, how would he have possible figured it out? John didn't tell anyone, no one other than the Adlers knew and they were obviously keeping quiet. So there was something else, something on Sherlock's mind that had to do with John that would scare him enough to make him hide from him, to send him away. Was something about this new kingship doing something to Sherlock's personality? Was it somehow distorted his brain and making him see enemies where he was supposed to see friends? John sighed, he just didn't know anymore. What else could it be other than suspicion? Victor had gotten into his head, he must have. John was up before the sun that morning, and he watched as the darkness started to get consumed by the sunlight creeping in through the window and up the walls, eventually illuminating the servant's quarters and bringing it to life. John dragged himself out of bed, looking around at the servants and noticing that they were all moving considerably faster than usual. Most of the men were dressed before John could even get to his feet, so it made him wonder just what was new.
"What's gotten into you all?" John wondered with a sleepy groan, looking to Greg who was already lacing up his shoes.
"Sherlock's king now, we've got to be on the spot this morning, we don't know what his policy is on lateness. It's the normal new king arrangement, just go fast and be perfect and it should die down in about a week." Greg said with a shrug. John sighed heavily but made no movements to go any faster than usual, and even though he knew he was going to be the last one to the dining hall he also knew that he would get the least punishment. Sherlock was probably going to rule this kingdom with an iron fist, he was going to do whatever he thought was best, and no one else's opinions mattered. But John suspected that even if Sherlock had his mind set on something that with a simple word John could push him to reconsider. Now that Sherlock was king, John was fairly certain he could get away with anything. Maybe even murder.
"Come on John, we're going to be late!" exclaimed the last servant out the door, pulling on John's arm as he tried to pull on his shoes.
"I'll be fine, you go on!" John insisted, pushing the man away so that he could have at least one extra moment to make sure his feet were properly secured in his shoes. Finally he was all ready to go, but for some reason he felt the need to fix his hair, craning his neck into the mirror so he could pat it down and make sure he looked acceptable. For some reason he felt the need to look extra nice today, just in case he needed to calm Sherlock's emotional breakdowns with a nice swoop of the hair. When John finally made it to the dining room he found that it was nearly perfectly set, they were wiping off the goblets with a clean towel as he arrived, putting the finishing touches on the table as if Sherlock would be inspecting every little thing.
"It's only Sherlock, why are we all panicky this morning?" John wondered.
"Because unlike you, Sherlock will throw us into the gallows the moment we mess up." Greg insisted.
"He's threatened me twice before, but now he actually has the power to do it!" piped up someone else as they tried desperately to avoid getting finger prints on their cup.
"That's rubbish; the queen is still here you know?" John pointed out. No one seemed to want to listen to him anyway, so John carried on with his usual duties, fetching the orange juice pitcher from the kitchens so he could check up on Sherlock without making it too obvious. It was kind of worrying, if he had seriously had a breakdown what could it possibly be about? About John? But how on earth could he know anything about John's secret agenda, how would he find out? It had to be about something else, but John couldn't see what else it could possibly be about. When finally it came time for the servants to hide away in their closet John watched through the keyhole, everyone else going about their morning chatter. He watched Mycroft walk in alone; sitting for a moment before his mother arrived, looking sleepy yet elegant as she made her way into the room. So far no Sherlock, so that could either be very good or very bad. Suddenly someone pulled him from the back of his shirt, making John fall away from the door rather violently.
"Don't be spying John." Greg said with a laugh. John groaned, recomposing himself and taking one last look at the keyhole in annoyance. Nevertheless he sat himself on his wooden crate, deciding that maybe it was for the best.
"I'm not spying, I'm just concerned." John admitted.
"Watching people without them knowing is spying, no matter what the motive is." Greg insisted. John sighed in agreement, Greg was right of course, but he wasn't going to be the one to say it.
"I'm just worried about Sherlock; did I tell you what happened yesterday?" John wondered.
"Before you got kicked out? No, you didn't." Greg said with a laugh.
"I didn't get kicked out." John muttered.
"Told to leave." Greg offered.
"Maybe a bit more accurate." John agreed with a sigh. He could hear the servants quieting down; obviously they wanted to hear more of the inexistent Sherlock/John love drama.
"The minute I walked in he ran and hid under the bed, I'm not even kidding. Molly said he had an emotional breakdown and he didn't want me to see, but the mirror was broken and she was smiling as if she'd just seen God with her own two eyes. Like, what could that possibly mean?" John wondered.
"He was scared of you?" someone clarified.
"I think so." John agreed.
"I've got it! He thinks that you're a spy for his mother and he's worried you'll tell on him for something." someone suggested from the back.
"Oh come one Philip that's rubbish!" Greg insisted, and the man retreated back into the corner.
"I think that maybe he's..." whatever they were going to say was lost when there was a knock on the door. John looked around, wanting to clarify that everyone was here, so who could possibly want something with the servants?
"Maybe they've run out of orange juice." Greg suggested.
"They wouldn't be knocking because of that." said a voice from the back.
"We're in trouble." Whispered another one, sounding as if it were retreating to the farther wall. John sighed heavily, deciding that if anyone should receive the call of a royal it should be him. No one seemed to protest as he got up and went to the door, taking a deep breath before grabbing the handle and yanking the door open. But to everyone's surprise it wasn't Sherlock, or Mycroft, or the Queen herself, in fact it wasn't even a royal. It was Molly.
"John, a letter for you." She said with a nervous smile, holding out a sealed envelope with a wax seal.
"For me?" John wondered, holding out his hand and taking the letter cautiously. "From who?"
"Sherlock, of course." She said with a small little smile, looking at John with very thankful eyes.
"Why wouldn't he just tell me himself?" John wondered, looking up at her in confusion.
"Well, I guess the letter explains. He didn't let me read it." Molly admitted rather sheepishly.
"Hey Molly!" Greg said with a smile, getting to his feet and walking up next to John. Maybe he was flirting or maybe he just wanted to get a better look at the letter, but either way Molly seemed to be a little bit flattered by his attention.
"Oh, hello Greg." She muttered, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear.
"You look lovely this morning, if I'm allowed to say it." Greg decided, leaning up against the wall with a very flirtatious smile. John just elbowed him while Molly giggled a little bit, making Greg wince in pain.
"Well, thank you I guess. Tell Sherlock hello from me. Is he not at breakfast?" John wondered.
"No he's um...he wanted some time alone." Molly admitted, looking as if she were trying to hide her smile.
"Is he hiding from me?" John wondered.
"I don't know, just read it, I suppose. Maybe he'll want to talk later on." Molly muttered with a shrug, looking as if she knew exactly what Sherlock was looking for.
"Alright, ya, thanks again." John agreed.
"Maybe we could get dinner sometime?" Greg wondered hopefully. John didn't even want to see Molly's reaction to that question.
"Shut up Greg." John snapped.
"Bye." Molly agreed with a small wave to Greg, and John slammed the door shut.
"Alright, first of all, rude." Greg insisted, walking back over to his crate and sitting down on it moodily.
"Not rude, necessary. You're completely insane, drooling over her like that, she's a noble!" John insisted.
"Come on, you're yelling at me for flirting with a noble when your girlfriend is the king of the whole dang realm." Greg snapped.
"Sherlock is not my girlfriend, that doesn't even work!" John exclaimed, sitting down on his milk crate and observing the letter. It was addressed to him in very neat cursive writing, as if Sherlock had been very careful not to mess up his name.
"Why would he be avoiding me?" John wondered.
"Maybe it'll say there." Someone insisted, everyone moving slowly closer, obviously wanting to read this letter more than John did.
"I don't think I'll open it now." John decided. "Maybe somewhere a bit more private."
"That's rubbish, come on John!" Greg insisted, snatching the sealed letter before John could protest.
"Come on Greg, no, come on, give it back!" John insisted, but Greg pushed John away easily, scurrying out of his reach and ripping open the nicely sealed envelope. John stopped protesting, standing there with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. He only hoped Sherlock anticipated the whole of the servants reading his letter.
"John," Greg started, and the entire room became still. "I know this is a bit sudden, and I know that you're probably confused as to why I've been keeping my distance from you. I'm confused as well, but I'm going to assure you that it's not your fault. The fault is mine, and I know that eventually I need to face my demons rather than run from them. I need to talk to you, privately; I think there's something you deserve to hear, not from your king, but from your friend. I hope I can still call myself that after the fit I've thrown in your presence. I want you to meet me tonight after dinner, as soon as you're free to leave. Come down to the stables, and make sure you're alone. It will be private; I'll make sure of that. You don't have to be scared or anything, this isn't an interrogation; I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to make some things clear, things that I don't quite understand yet. Until then, I await your presence in my solitude. Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes." As soon as Greg finished there was silence, and slowly everyone picked up their heads to look at John, staring at him accusingly, as if he were supposed to know what all of this meant.
"What?" John wondered, his cheeks glowing red dispute his insistence that he knew nothing. Suddenly everyone all started talking at once, a whirlwind of pointless questions and conversations all aimed at John, there was so much talking that John could barely hear one logical word.
"Quiet, everyone, shut up!" John insisted, snatching the letter back and reading it over one last time.
"Why is he so insistent on this whole thing being private?" someone wondered.
"I don't know, but you know what that means." Greg said with a smile. "Party at the stables tonight!"
"Don't any of you follow me, don't you dare!" John growled, folding up the letter and tucking it back into the envelope.
"Come on John, don't be a spoil sport, what could he possibly tell you that's so important?" someone wondered.
"Who cares? He wants privacy and I'm not going to deny him that, it's not fair to him. He's the king remember?" John pointed out. There was a collective sigh of disappointment; obviously everyone was excited to hear the king's darkest secret.
"He can hang us." Someone muttered in disappointment.
"Hang you, burn you at the stake, behead you, anything. It depends on how mad you make him so I suggest not tempting him in the first place." John agreed.
"Alright, alright, fine, we'll behave. As long as you tell us everything you think you're allowed to say afterwards." Greg insisted. John sighed heavily, but nodded. It only seemed fair; the price of privacy was the pointless details, which was fair.
"Fine, whatever. Just let him be." John insisted, sitting back on his crate and staring at the broken seal.
"What's he so scared about, why doesn't he want to see you until then?" someone wondered. John just shrugged; surely they could see that he didn't know everything. Even Sherlock probably didn't know what all went on in his own head.
"I don't know, but I guess I'll find out tonight. As long as he doesn't try to arrest me or kill me then I should be good." John decided.
"You should bring a weapon just in case." Someone suggested.
"And have Victor Trevor catch me on my way to a secret meeting with the prince with a knife? I think not." John said with a laugh.
"This is going to be good, I can sense it John, it's going to be spectacular." Greg decided.
"We're finally going to know what's going on in that weirdo's head!" someone agreed. John flinched when they called him that but he didn't know why, surely their opinions on Sherlock shouldn't affect him that much? John pocketed the letter, getting onto his knees once more to peer through the keyhole again. Nothing much was happening; Mycroft and the Queen were dining in silence, Molly long gone. But the throne remained empty, the throne on which Sherlock should be seated if he were just a little bit more mature. 

 "So what do you think he's going to tell you?" Greg wondered, laying upside down on his bed and balancing his head on the ground, as if he were doing it just to see if he could. It didn't seem difficult at all, but something told John that Greg was practicing for when he could lift his legs off of the bed and stand completely on the top of his head. John was sitting in his bed once more, shaking his head in irritation as he read the letter over once more. It was one of their rare breaks, John never really had any work for some reason, other than meals, so he usually spent his days walking around the castle and striking up conversations. Of course wanted to help, but then again he didn't want to help enough to actually help. John had no idea what Greg was doing, he usually had to work all throughout the day, but maybe a royal had just told him to go stand on his head without realizing he would actually try. 

"I have no idea, honestly I don't." John admitted, staring at Sherlock's signature as if there were some more meanings behind the words.
"Maybe he's going to kill you. What if he's the assassin?" Greg suggested, but John could only laugh, shaking his head. Wouldn't that be ironic, if they both were planning on killing the other?
"No, he's scared of what he has to tell me, as if it's some great big secret." John admitted.
"Do you think it has something to do with his breakdown last night?" Greg wondered. John shrugged; honestly he had no idea what was going on in Sherlock's head.
"No idea. He's just Sherlock; he's probably making some huge deal about nothing." John guessed.
"Or maybe he's making a huge deal about everything. This could be big John, what could he need to tell you privately? Maybe he wants to knight you or maybe you could serve on his court or maybe he's planning on buying you from the Adlers!" Greg exclaimed excitedly.
"For God's sake Greg, I am not a slave!" John insisted, and Greg silenced immediately, his frown looking abnormally like a smile from this angle.
"Alright, fine, but you better tell me. Maybe not all of them, but me for sure." Greg insisted. John sighed heavily, letting his head fall back into his pillows and shrugging.
"It all depends on what it is he has to tell me." John decided.
"Nothing can be that heavy that you can't tell your best friend." Greg insisted.
"Who said anything about you being my best friend?" John wondered with a taunting laugh.
"Me, I did! Who else would it be around here, Sherlock? Please." Greg insisted.
"Well obviously you're my best friend around here, not like I have many at home anyways." John assured. Greg looked rather proud of himself, finally pulling his head up off of the ground and sitting against the wall, looking like he were in some sort of daze as all his blood returned to normal.
"Sherlock's being real sneaky these days; you've got to wonder what he's up to." Greg insisted.
"He's the king, what else is he supposed to do?" John wondered.
"No idea." Greg admitted with a heavy sigh. "It's weird, that pickle is going to rule this whole land."
"He's not a pickle." John muttered bitterly, although he had no idea why he was standing up for Sherlock's reputation.
"Oh come on John you're getting soft, that's really no fun." Greg insisted. John just shrugged innocently, folding the note along the already worn crease and placing it next to him on the blankets, as if it were laying there itself.
"Well I know one thing." Greg decided with a smile that told John nothing good was going to follow.
"Congratulations, I was under the impression that you knew nothing." John said teasingly, and Greg just frowned, not looking very amused.
"I know that whatever he wants to tell you, you need to dress to impress." Greg decided.
"To impress him? What could possibly impress the King of Lauriston?" John wondered.
"Don't call him that, with that name he sounds a lot more intimidating. King is such a strong title, but as soon as you realize it's Sherlock it doesn't hold nearly as much weight." Greg insisted.
"Fair enough. Sherlock. King Sherlock. Doesn't really have a great ring to it, does it?" John asked lamely.
"No, it really doesn't. Now King Greg, that sounds perfect." Greg said with a large smile.
"I'm fairly certain that would never happen, although a kingdom under your rule would be very entertaining." John admitted.
"It would indeed." Greg agreed, sliding off his bed to rummage through what little clothes John had. John sighed heavily, not wanting to look like he was trying too hard but then again, Greg was right. It was one of those rare occasions when he was going to follow Greg's lead, because no matter what Sherlock had to say John better be prepared for the best and worst possibilities.