A Righteous Return - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

[ihadabadday]

Once Upon a Time in a kingdom far away and filled with magic and dragons, there was a King and his Wizard. Together they did great things, bringing peace to the world and to its people. They were the best of friends, as close as any two men could be. Until one day the King was gravely injured defending his Wizard...

He gasped as the arrow struck his shoulder. Just between the gap in his armor. Too low to be anything but fatal. He knew that. But he was the King of England. He wielded Excalibur. He would not go down with out a fight. Of course /he/ would call him foolish for this. For defending him in this way. He was a sorcerer, a wizard, after all.

His knees gave out as the blood loss started to affect him. He barely noticed as strong arms came around him.

"It's okay." He assured the man, "You'll be okay. If... I'll return." He coughed a bit, feeling the pain. But it was all okay. His friend. His Wizard was alive. He pressed Excalibur into the man's hands.

"Return this to the Lady of the Lake. Please. It needs to be safe." He knew what would happen if it was in the wrong hands.

He didn't have much time. He knew that. He reached up and touched his Wizard's face. "Find me again." He managed before he closed his eyes, arm falling limply to his side.

The King of the Brits, of England, was gone.

---

John shot up in bed, gasping for breath. He pressed a hand to his face and took a deep breath. Another nightmare. So many had piled up over the years. Loosing Arthur, the two Great Wars. Even recent events were enough to make him frightened. He got out of bed and walked over to the window. After opening the blinds, he stared out at the blinking lights. Albion had changed so much in recent time. Just the past hundred years alone. He let out a sigh.

There had been one time in all these years the had started to feel Arthur return. During the second Great War... The need for him was great then than it had been years earlier during the first. He pressed a fist to the window and sighed. "Arthur, we need you..." There was the unspoken, I need you. It was always unspoken. He had never dared tell the King. He couldn't, not when he had a Queen that adored him so and who he adored in return.

He let out a long held breath and looked back out to the night sky. He didn't need this flatshare, but it was convenient to be around people again.

---

He had been living with Sherlock Holmes for three months now. Just long enough to know he could stand the man, but not long enough to really know how he felt about the man. Other than... Okay.

John had left Sherlock lying on the couch when he went off to work. The A&E. He loved working in emergency medicine. He could help people and keep an eye out for Arthur and the Knights.

Of course, this was the day when a psych patient broke out and started to wave a scalpel at everyone. John stepped in front of a nurse only to get stabbed in the neck. He put his hand up to press against the wound, trembling. Oh, shock. He slowly sunk to the ground as he heard his coworkers starting to swarm.

And it was about fifteen minutes later that Sherlock's mobile started going off.

Comments

[ihadabadday]

"Because you are you and I am me." He answered. "Sherlock. I trust you with my secret because.... Because I love you."

John looked down, face flaming red. Did he really just say that? Admit his feelings. Well shit.

That had not been planned. He actually had never planned on telling Sherlock. He just wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there for the next hundred years or so.

He shifted, keeping his gaze firmly on the floor.

[seaweed_writes]

"I thought that you were John and I am Sherlock.. but... that doesn't seem to be the case for you..." His words were stolen from his mouth before Sherlock could utter another syllable.

And for the second time in just a few minutes, John Watson (well, not actually John Watson, he thought to himself) had rendered him speechless.

"You... " He blinked a couple of times, at a loss at what to say or do. It wasn't that he didn't have feelings for John. He most certainly did. But this revelation, coming on top of everything else that John- (NOT JOHN!) had just told him, left him bereft of words.

"You are... immortal... I am just a man..." He regretted the words as soon as they said them, but he continued. "I will grow old and die as you live on."

[ihadabadday]

"I actually prefer being John Watson. That is legally my name. I was in the military. I did go to medical school. All the things you deduced about me are true. I just also happen to be Merlin..." he said still not looking upmarket

After a moment of no reply, he looked up. Sherlock was staring at him a bit gobsmacked. He licked his lips and made a choice.

He moved over to Sherlock, put his hands on the man's face and kissed him.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock still had no idea how to reconcile the whole idea that this man in front of him was both John Watson, and the supposedly fictional and apparently immortal Merlin the Magician.

If he had wanted to say anything- not that he would have known what to say, it was all taken away when John kissed him.

John KISSED him.

There a moment of shock before Sherlock leaned into the kiss. It wasn't long or overly passionate, it was a statement of fact, and of purpose. He wasn't quite sure who pulled away first, or maybe the did at the same time. It didn't really matter.

Sherlock blinked, licking his lips so he could taste John for just a moment more.

And he was silenced, for the third time.

But in the best kind of way.

[ihadabadday]

"I think I shocked you into silence." John noted. He steered Sherlock to sit down, taking advantage of the shell shocked man.

That had been a lot of admitting things. Things that he had always assumed would be a secret. But he felt good.

[seaweed_writes]

Somewhere deep in his mind, Sherlock was grateful for John steering him towards a chair. Standing seemed to be getting more and more of an impossibility with each admission that passed from John's or whomever he is- lips.

He was still silent as he sat, but he managed to get his breathing and heart rate back under control after a few moments.

He blinked and looked up at John, studying him... REALLY looking at for what seemed like the first time.

Sherlock opened his mouth, and then closed it a couple of times, still trying to think of the right thing to say.. or ANYTHING to say.

[ihadabadday]

"Did I break you?" John poked Sherlock's cheek. It was a bit unusual for him. But he hoped it would knock the man out of whatever this was.

But the gobsmacked expression on his flatmate's face was hilarious. John sat down and just started to giggle. He couldn't help it.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock frowned as soon as he heard John start to giggle. He wasn't sure if he was glad or upset that the man's laughter was pulling him out of his shock.

"How is this in any way funny?" He asked, still frowning.

There were so many questions in his mind, and yet his brain decided to be petulant and childish and asked that one.

He groaned internally, but his face didn't betray that he was angry at himself for saying that, of all things.

[ihadabadday]

"I don't know. I really don't."

John was smiling. He hadn't really smiled since that first night with Sherlock after that insane chase through the city. It had been so exhilarating. He had loved every of it.

"Sherlock.... I'm still the same person you met a few months ago. Just another facet to me."

[seaweed_writes]

The frown faded away, until he was back to his own normal, neutral countenance.

"You cannot truly expect me to just go back to thinking of you as the boring, normal John H. Watson, can you?" He asked, a bit incredulously.

"There are many questions that demand answers, such as, why did your neck heal and yet you still have a scar from when you were shot in Afghanistan?"

His eyes thinned. "Or... is that not from Afghanistan?" even if that was the case and it was a much older scar, that would mean it would be less likely to show, instead of the angry pink star shaped scar that it was.

[ihadabadday]

"It is an old wound. But being shot in Afghanistan caused the scar to deepen." The blonde ran a hand through his hair.

"It.. It was originally wounded during the battle when the King died. An enemy arrow struck my shoulder." He said distantly, "I don't have many memories until probably a year after that. What I can recall are bits and pieces."

He looked at Sherlock. "I was supposed to protect him. And I failed."

[seaweed_writes]

"The king.... Arthur." Sherlock said, a comment, not a question. "You were guarding Arthur, and you were overwhelmed by the enemy." He paused for a moment. "And you have carried the guilt for.. a millennia, or more." He was not accusatory. In fact, there was a tiny hint of what could almost be called sadness to his voice. "Even though you did all that you could." As he spoke his voice lowered, until he was almost whispering.

"And I am sure the king understood that you had done everything that you could. You may be a... wizard." He still found it hard to say that "But you are only one person, and one person cannot hold off an entire army."

[ihadabadday]

"We had been betrayed and... The Knights were scattered. I was trying so hard to protect him. The idiot. He took an arrow for me. He shouldn't have done that. Albion needed him more than it needed me."

John didn't look up. He had been carrying the guilt around for so long. So very long. Loosing Arthur. Loosing his friend, his King.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock didn't even notice that he was rubbing his shoulder, right where Arthur had been shot so long ago. He was quiet, looking at John- REALLY looking at him... He could smell the fires and see the gleam of armor in the sun.. and his shoulder hurt... it really hurt.

"J-john...?"

[ihadabadday]

His head shot up and he stared at Sherlock. "What is it?" He asked. John rose to his feet and moved over to the other man.

"What do you need?" He asked putting his hands on Sherlock's face. There was worry obvious on him.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock blinked a couple of times, like he was looking at John for the first time ever.

"I know you. I have seen you before. I can't explain it." he held his shoulder again. "There is something that you aren't telling me. What is is, John?"

[ihadabadday]

"I'm not hiding anything from you." John said. He honestly didn't know what Sherlock was talking about. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head.

"Well, the there is the fact that the twelve Knights of the Round Table are waking. Which means there is a threat to England. Which means that Arthur may waken. Which is unlikely because he didn't wake during World War II and that was when the country needed him most."

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock thinned his eyes, he wasn't totally convinced that John wasn't holding something back, but he didn't press the matter further when John started to explain about the knights.

"So, whomever are the descendants or reincarnations of the original twelve Knights of the Round Table, they are starting to remember who they were." He said, his mind mulling over possibilities and thoughts at a breakneck speed.

"They have lived their lives thusfar in relative normality, but are starting to have visions of knights and great battles and a wizard." He phrased it carefully, mimicking what he had seen but hadn't told John. "And they are starting to realize that they are knights?"

He paused, not sure how to ask the next question. "Have you... found any knights so far?"

[ihadabadday]

"Some are descendants, some are reincarnations if the original line died. I tried to make sure as many lines survived as possible." John mused.

"Yes one. Galahad." John noted, "A descendant. Greg Lestrade."

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock surprised even himself when he actually laughed. "Lestrade?" He asked, wiping a tiny bit of moisture from his eye. "He is descended from Sir Galahad?"

When John kept a serious lace, his laughter faded. "You really are serious. He is the descendant of Galahad." He was silent for a moment. "Does Greg know? Does know about you.. and about who he is?"

John was serious, and this was becoming a lot more real than he would like it to be. At first he was playing along, but the further they talked, the more he was being drawn in.

[ihadabadday]

"He knows." John nodded, "He does." The blonde sighed and looked to the window. The night was starting to turn towards dawn. Christ.

"When he came with the case. I... I may have frozen the room." John admitted to Sherlock, "And you."

[seaweed_writes]

"You... froze me." Sherlock looked at him skeptically. Yes, he had seen the man conjure fire from out of nowhere, but that could have been a parlor trick that he didn't catch. This.. it was something much more.

"You are telling me that you froze time.. in this room only I assume, so that you and Greg... Galahad, could have a conversation with him, and tell him that he is the descendant of Galahad." He shook his head. This was all just too much to believe, and he was getting more and more skeptical by the moment now. He had tried to humor John, but this was just too much.

"And I assume he... took it well?" Would someone like Greg even believe it?

[ihadabadday]

John could see the doubt falling onto Sherlock's face. He was quiet for a moment before he rose to his feet. "Stay here." He went up to his room and retrieved it. Excalibur. He was supposed to have returned the weapon to the Lady of the Lake after Arthur's death. But he just couldn't. His last connection to Arthur.

"Arthur... Forgive me for not being stronger." he whispered as he touched the handle of the weapon. John could always feel the power of the sword. It was... It was familiar. And it relaxed him. He wrapped up the sword and carried it downstairs.

"No doubt you think I may be a bit mad and are wondering just who you are living with." John said as he set the covered sword down on the coffee table.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock watched John go upstairs with great interest. Usually it was easy for him to know what people were doing to do, deduce their reasoning and movements.

But John, John had always been an enigma, a puzzle to solve, and even after 3 months of living with him, he still couldn't crack the riddle.

He watched, enamored, when John came down with something wrapped in fabric. It was easy to tell what it was by the shape. It was a sword, and not a small one by any means. It looked to be a broadsword by its shape and length, equally adept at being wielded with either one or two hands.

Sherlock tried to look away from the sword, to look back towards John, but he found that he couldn't. His eyes were drawn to it, his entire body was.

Without even realizing it, or knowing why, he stood up from his chair and walked over to the still covered sword. He could swear that it was glowing under the fabric. He was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, he needed to touch it, to raise it, to wield it.

He managed a quick look over to John before his eyes were drawn back to the sword- his look said with no words 'what is this, and why must I hold it in my hands?'

[ihadabadday]

Realization hit John like a ton of bricks and he felt... He felt nearly sick to his stomach. No. He swallowed and let Sherlock do as he wished. The blonde stepped over and removed the shroud covering the sword.

"Excalibur..." He whispered, "I kept it all these years. I didn't return it to the Lady of the Lake. I couldn't. It was my last piece of Arthur and it pained me part from it. Stupid. But the King, he meant a great deal to me. Just as you mean a great deal to me Sherlock."