Johnlock: The Prince and His Personal Guardian

Pt. 1 - Learning About Each Other

My editor has a stroke when I do this, but I've noticed other writers add notes in a preface. I like to. This story was started as a part in my book Phrases and Vignettes: Matchmaking about two characters, Alan and his Personal Guardian, Adrian, from my book: "Loving the Towers". I discovered JohnLock and realized these two guys were JohnLocks. I pulled them out, changed their names, tweaked the tale, and gave them their own JohnLock AU Fairy Tale.

Thanks for reading and please enjoy. Luv ya's. CarrieGC

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Once upon a time....

A Prince was born to the Lovely Queen Alicia and her devoted husband, King Eric, the Just. Garwinia, The Green Witch, midwifed the queen and blessed the baby. He would find love and happiness, and the Green Witch would watch over him and help him in times of great need. The child's eighteenth birthday approached, and the Green Witch was expected to attend the celebration.

The child grew, sheltered and over-protected, and as a result, desperately lonely.

St. John Watson, a very Teutonic, very spoiled son of a king lies in bed, pillow over his head, having been awakened by his Personal Guardian making a too-early-in-the-morning noise. "Hans knows better than to wake me this early. What could he be thinking?"  Though muffled by the pillow, he managed a disgruntled loud-ish call, "Knock it off, Hans." He flipped onto his side and nearly strangled himself in his sheets. Grumbling to himself, he mumbled, "Who made this mess of my bed?"

The guard, responding to the prince's call, replied in a disgustingly cheerful voice, "Good morning, My Prince. Please do get up. Your mother, the Queen, is expecting you at Services in less than an hour." This mild remonstrance got his attention. He sat straight up in bed, looking around wildly. He spotted a guy in a Personal Guardian uniform. "Who the hell are you?"

"Language, My Prince." The young prince directed his gaze to the uniformed Guardian standing at attention next to the Prince's chiffonier.

"I said, 'Who are you?'"

The young man bowed deeply from the waist and offered, "My Prince, most call me Locke, but I prefer my name, Sherlock. I am Sherlock Holmes, and I have had the very great honor of being assigned as your new Personal Guardian. I worked very hard to earn the privilege... sir."

"What happened to Hans?"

"My Prince, I understand that old Hans has been retired to a less taxing duty, that of taking care of the stables."

"The hell..." The Guardian cocked his head, a moue tightening his lovely lips. "The heck, you say..." The Prince mused, "Lovely? Where did that come from?" He continued his internal monologue. "And the stables an easier job? ...That's an insult unto itself."

"Well, bring me my red and blue signet cloak. I guess we have to go, (...and with obvious emphasis...) Locke." He stood up, stretched luxuriantly, and reached for his tights and doublet, retrieving them from a colorful pile on the floor. "They don't match the cloak, but 'What the hey?'"

Locke approached, the cloak hanging over one arm, and a cup of hot cocoa in the other. Petulant in general and perturbed over this morning's events, the prince sat on the side of his bed and pulled on his soft suede leather half boots. He took the cocoa with a smirk and set it on a side table. "I don't eat in the mornings."

"Yes, you do." Locke picked up the cup and handed it to the prince again, a gentle smile playing about his lips. The prince gave him an almost snarl, but accepted the cup.