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]

"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."

[seaweed_writes]

"Excalibur." He whispered the name, like a prayer on his dry lips.

Sherlock licked his lips and looked down at the sword. It did indeed have a soft white glow about it. Even hovering a short distance away, he could feel a subtle warmth to it.

Inviting...

Like he needed to hold it...

His hands shook when he reached out to touch it, he was simply going to run his fingers over the pommel to get a feel for it, but the sword and his hand had other plans it seemed.

Sherlock's right hand gripped the sword, and everything went white again.

It all came into sharp focus.. the battle.. his men, his loyal Knights had been scattered or killed, and it was him and his wonderful, faithful Merlin against the blackness, the ultimate evil.

He left the arrow in his shoulder, joining the others that had felled him off his horse and rendered him useless in a heap on the ground.

He told Merlin that it would be okay, and to find him again.

He was still a million kilometers away when his unseeing eyes turned towards John.

"Merlin?" It was almost just a breath on the wind, hardly even a word at all

[ihadabadday]

Oh.

Oh god.

He was right here in front of him. The entire time.

John's world spun and he just stared at Sherlock.

"Arthur." He said in reply.

His stomach was a knot and he... He didn't know what to do. After looking for his King for all these years. Here he was, right in front of him. And he kissed him! God, he had kissed his King. What a moronic move. He could feel his face heating.

[seaweed_writes]

"I... I am..." Sherlock blinked a couple of times, his vision slowly fading back into 221B, and John, standing in front of him, wide eyed, mouth agape, like he had just seen a ghost.

Sherlock figured that he had.

Slowly, reverently, he picked up Excalibur and tested it in his hands. It was perfectly balanced, like it was had been hand crafted just for him. The grip fit his hand exactly, and it swung easily, with no extra effort.

He looked down at it, and then back to John. He reached out his other hand, still shaking, and put it gently on John's good shoulder.

"I.. I'm still not sure I understand everything. There are fragments of memories, but it's like a puzzle where most of the pieces are still missing. One piece slots in, but there is still so much missing."

[ihadabadday]

John let out a breath and dropped to one knee in front of Sherlock. He bowed his head. "You... You do not have to reveal yourself to anyone if you do not want to sir."

Three minutes in and John had reverted to how it was. How it used to be. He let out a breath, not wanting to look up. Not yet.

[seaweed_writes]

Ever so gently, Sherlock put Excalibur down onto the cloth again. A soft, warm smile filled his face.

He kneeled down in front of John... Merlin, and cupped his chin with his hand, gently bringing his head up so that they were looking eye to eye, only bare centimeters apart, close enough to feel John's warm breath on his skin. His other hand gently ran through John's hair.

"John... Please. Don't feel like you need to kneel to me, or call me Sir." He longed to kiss those lips again, but he hesitated- this was all so new and strange to him. It was so much for a short time.

"I.. I am just Sherlock. I mean, I don't even remember or understand all of this yet. I am not a king.. I mean, maybe I was a thousand years ago, but I'm a consulting detective, and I'm pretty sure I deleted most of what I read about the Knights of the Round Table when I was in grade school. "

[ihadabadday]

Those touches on his skin were like pricks of fire. They warmed him to the core. It was... John swallowed and leaned into the touch. He couldn't help it.

"You are him. No one else could wield Excalibur the way you did."

"Just as I am still John, you are still Sherlock." He smiled at the man. Oh how he longed to kiss him. He licked his lips, barely resisting the urge.