"I knew it; I knew this was a bad idea." Sherlock managed, his voice cracking with incomprehensible emotion. The only man he had ever desired being disgusted by his very presence, why had he opened his mouth, why had he even dared?
"Sherlock, wait, Sherlock just to...just to clarify...?" John muttered, his voice sounding so small and unsure that Sherlock doubted it was even him. Sherlock shook his head, his lips trembling, he felt a sob coming on and he was doing everything he could to conceal it.
"It's stupid, it's impossible, I should leave, I don't...I don't think you'll want to see me any longer." Sherlock decided, turning so that he could make his way to the door in shame.
"Tell me Sherlock." John said so agressivley that it made Sherlock turn immediately, watching as John marched closer to him with a rage in his eyes that made Sherlock want to cower in fear. He never knew that love would be so scary; he never knew that John could ever look so threatening when he himself was finally being so soft.
"I..." Sherlock paused, shaking his head and feeling a tear sliding down his cheek once more. "Please don't make me say it John, I don't think I'm able to."
"I won't believe you until you do." John insisted. Sherlock looked at him in confusion, not knowing what that meant, not knowing what to even think or what to say. But obviously there was only one thing he could say. John wasn't ten feet away, he was looking so determined that Sherlock was worried he might punch him until he would admit to his true feelings.
"John...I'm...I'm in love with you." Sherlock admitted, laughing to himself as the tears fell once more. John stood there for a moment, blinking and staring at the ground, his mind traveling a million miles per minute. Sherlock could only hold his breath unconsciously, not being able to wait for John's response, not wanting to hear it.
"So, so in fact, you're um, you're...?" John wondered, looking up at Sherlock in a bit of a shock.
"I'm a homosexual." Sherlock said flatly, hoping that was the answer John was looking for. God that had been so painful yet so easy, like all of Sherlock's problems had flown away as soon as John didn't scream.
"Yes I've gathered that." John agreed in a very small voice, as if he were torn between two very tempting options of action. "And you want me, well, you are wondering if I am as well?"
"I was kind of hoping that you could come to be. Maybe...maybe half?" Sherlock wondered.
"And that I could love you back." John muttered. He looked very shell shocked, just staring without blinking, obviously not able to process any of this without saying it out loud.
"You're making this a lot more technical than it needs to be, John...oh gosh what have I done?" Sherlock groaned, running his fingers through his curls desperately. "What have I done?" he repeated.
"You've done nothing wrong." John said immediately, as if he were trying to defend Sherlock's actions for him.
"You don't hate me?" Sherlock whispered, not even daring to believe it before he heard if out of John's mouth.
"No, of course not, I mean...somehow I feel like I knew. I feel like I've always known I just chose not to acknowledge it." John admitted slowly. Sherlock was starting to feel hope, a terrible pesky emotion that led to nothing but disappointment. He nodded quickly, stepping closer subconsciously.
"You don't have to do anything, you can walk away, you can think." Sherlock insisted as quickly as he could, hoping that things weren't going too quickly for that poor boy. They were going quickly for Sherlock of course, he couldn't even process that he had been brave enough to say anything.
"But you don't want me to do that." John pointed out. Sherlock looked at him guiltily, shaking his head the slightest bit.
"No I don't." he admitted in a tiny whisper. No of course he didn't, he wanted John to come closer, he wanted be able to live in his dreams in reality, with John and his love and his consent.
"You want me to step forward, yes?" John wondered, walking up to Sherlock so that there was no more than a small gap between them. With every step Sherlock wanted to run, his heart was beating so quickly in his chest that he was worried it would give up all together; he could almost feel his blood rushing and his brain swelling.
"You don't want to be this close to me." Sherlock whispered, wanting to kick himself for even suggesting the idea of retreat.
"You want it." John pointed out. Sherlock felt as if John were reading his mind, somehow he knew, he knew every little thing that Sherlock's heart desired. He knew what it had to lead up to.
"Yes." Sherlock breathed, holding up his hand ever so lightly, ever so cautiously, so that it hovered right above John's cheek, so close that he could feel the heat but far enough away that their skin never touched. He leaned ever so closer, he knew John's face was coming ever closer but he couldn't fully process it, he couldn't except that this was happening. And yet the only part of Sherlock that ever came in contact with John was his breath, it took Sherlock a moment to realize just what he was doing, and what John was doing. He was just standing there. He looked fearful, he looked anxious; he looked as if he knew he had to do this but he didn't quite want to, not just yet. He wasn't leaning forward; he wasn't touching Sherlock's cheek or closing his eyes in anticipation. He stood there like a statue, stunned beyond comprehension and just taking it as it happened. So Sherlock pulled himself away, ripping himself from John's presence as quickly as he realized what was wrong.
"I want this John, but you don't." Sherlock insisted, taking a stumbling step backwards as he realized his mistake. "You're following orders, you're...you're obeying me dispute your own feelings." John stared at him for a moment, taking a moment to really process what Sherlock was saying to him.
"No Sherlock, no of course not I just don't know what to do." John insisted desperately, as if he were trying to protect Sherlock's self-esteem all while really hoping for this whole ordeal to end.
"You don't want to be with me John, you're not loving your friend, you're obeying your king." Sherlock breathed, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment at what he should've done.
"Sherlock wait, you've got it wrong..." John insisted, trying to step forward while Sherlock scurried back. No, this was a disaster, he didn't want to hear what John had to say, he didn't even want to look at the apologetic face the boy forced himself to wear. John was being loyal, he was being obedient, he didn't have feelings, he never would, Sherlock was just doing what he wanted to do without any care in the world for anyone else's feelings, for their fears. And so Sherlock ran, turning as fast as he could away from John before he could call out and running from the stables as fast as he could, up the cobblestone paths to the castle, regretting everything he did and didn't do. 

John POV: There was this sort of stunned silence that was welling up in John's chest right now, threatening to crush his lungs and stop his heart as it grew. He just stood there and stared at the open door into the darkness, the flickering lights of the castle illuminating the grounds the best they could. But dispute what little light was provided, John couldn't see Sherlock as he dashed away, he couldn't even hope to watch as the poor king retreated, terrified of his own actions and the rejection of others. So John was left standing in the barn, accompanied only by the horses as he tried to process what had just happened. Sherlock, well...he loved him. Somehow. Sherlock Holmes, the prince, the king, the arrogant royal who seemed to have a personality of frozen acid had somehow developed feelings for the very man who had dismantled his entire reputation. But why would he ever admit to it, why would he tell John if he would just run away at the last moment? Why would he tell John in the first place, that was the equivalent of emotional suicide, admitting to the most ridiculous of loves. But was it ridiculous, was it really? Well of course, of course it was homosexuality was illegal, anyone who knew anything on the subject knew that much. But to think that the king himself would be submitted to such romantic whims, to fall for someone as meager as a servant, it was all together odd. If John hadn't experienced the whole thing himself he would never have believed such a tale, although somehow he felt like it was the only possible explanation for Sherlock's most recent behavior. Having an emotional breakdown, obviously that was him admitting his feelings to himself, or at least telling it to Molly. That would be why she was so happy, someone who everything thought had a heart of stone was actually able to fall in love, of course she would be thrilled. And that's why Sherlock wouldn't show his face, he was embarrassed; he was terrified of what he felt for John. But that didn't make sense either, if he was planning on telling John the whole time why hide from it? Why would his first interaction since he had thrown John out be the very confession of one of his biggest secrets? John just groaned, wondering if he had just saved his own life or destroyed it for good. Of course Sherlock was right, of course John was just blindly following his directions, but it wasn't because he was the king. If there was anyone who would ever disobey a direct order from royalty it would be John, and why Sherlock thought that he was just choosing to follow directions now was beyond him. John just didn't know what to do; he didn't know what went into this whole homosexual relationship, it felt like it should be more complicated than just walking over to each other and kissing. It almost felt like they were going to be the first two men to even dare such a thing, as if they were the first ones to admit to their feelings and act upon them. But did John even have feelings or was he just overwhelmed by everything that had happened? Certainly he had thoughts, there were nagging voices in his head that told him to be close to Sherlock even when he didn't need to be, but he had never been able to trace the voices back to the proper emotion. He never would've guessed that the curiosity and blind respect he had for Sherlock would have ever resulted in love. But was he even in love, or did Sherlock's love confession make him guilty enough to fabricate emotions just to make the king happy? John shook his head; nothing was certain right now, nothing at all. But would he even dare to ask for a second opinion? Was he really tempted enough to go back to Sherlock and confess his own feelings, was he brave enough to act upon them? It was one thing to admit to love, admit to the thoughts in your head and the beatings of your heart, but kissing another man, especially when that man was the king of the kingdom, especially when it was Sherlock, that just felt odd. Maybe it's because John had never considered it before, maybe it was because he knew it was wrong. Or maybe it was because he didn't care about any of the consequences. But he had been so close, Sherlock had been not a foot away, his hand hovering so close to John's cheek, he was about to bring his lips closer to John's. A movement, even so much as a tilt of the head on John's part would've been enough to make him stay. John was being an idiot, he had been pathetically incompetent the moment Sherlock started talking, how rude had he been, would Sherlock ever want to talk to him again? And how embarrassed might the king be feeling right now, since he thought that his love now hated him purely because he had submitted himself to the feelings his heart provided.
"What do you think, should I do it?" John wondered, looking to one of the horses watching lazily from its stall. Thankfully the horse didn't talk back, because if it did John would convince himself that all of this was just some crazy hallucination. That would make his life so much easier, if Sherlock's confession had been nothing but a hallucination. But then again, it would make his life so much less satisfying. So John just walked slowly up to the castle, watching his feet move along the cobblestone, his mind racing faster than he would've ever thought possible. There were so many variables to this problem and an infinite number of solitons; he just had to figure out the right one. He needed to protect Sherlock's feeling but he also had to take in account his own, he wasn't going to pretend to be in love just because Sherlock was royalty but then again he wasn't going to abandon the poor king just for having feelings he couldn't control. Maybe it was best that Sherlock told John, just so the two could hopefully work it out in a mature and reasonable manner. If Sherlock kept crying and running this whole process was going to be a lot more painful than it had to be. John was willing to think on it, he was willing to ponder his own feelings so that he could hopeful subdue some of Sherlock's. When John got back to the servant's quarters everyone seemed to be going through their nightly routines, they were changing into their pajamas and burring themselves under their blankets with a book or a quill and parchment, writing letters to their families or friends about the events in their day. But as soon as he walked through the door everyone's conversations faltered, they dropped everything they were doing just to stare at him with expectant eyes, hoping to hear every little detail from his visit with Sherlock. John wondered just how all of these servants found out about the whole meeting, they definitely hadn't all been in the room where Greg had read the letter. Then again, news must travel fast around the servant's ranks, especially when that news had to deal with everyone's least favorite king.

    "How'd it go?" someone wondered, and John just shrugged, deciding that none of these servants deserved to hear any bit of John's conversation with Sherlock. Well, maybe just one.
"I can't say, I'm sorry." John muttered, feeling genuinely bad for making all of these servants disappointed. They had probably been looking forward to John's news all night, and now he was just waving them off carelessly. But it was true, he was sure if he spread this news to anyone he would be hanged for treason, but surely Sherlock knew he needed to have some sort of ally through all of this? Even though it wasn't necessary his secret to share he still needed a helping hand, just so that he didn't have to trudge through all of these new emotional decisions alone.
"Nothing, you can't tell us anything?" someone asked in disappointment. John sighed heavily, but shook his head, hoping they couldn't see any sort of tells on his face. He hoped he wasn't still blushing, he hoped he didn't have any tear streaks; he hoped they couldn't sense the uneasiness in his eyes.
"It's some official business; I'm not allowed to tell anyone, I'm sorry." John admitted regretfully. Everyone nodded in agreement but they all seemed pretty bummed as they returned to whatever they had been doing before John arrived. Greg was sitting in his bed reading, almost seeming like he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary had happened. John didn't want to mention anything to him, not now at least, so he changed into his pajamas and lay in the darkness for what he thought was an appropriate amount of time, pondering all of his options until it felt like his brain was going to burst. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Sherlock getting closer, he could see that terrified look in the king's eyes, that blind hope that just one of his mistakes would amount to something. It was somewhat flattering to be honest, to have the king himself notice you romantically. It was even more impressive since John was a man as well; he had to be pretty darn amazing to have someone realize their sexuality just by his existing. Then again Sherlock seemed like an easy man to impress, all it took was a little bit of stubbornness and a little bit of empathy and presumably Sherlock would fall for you. When finally John suspected that everyone was asleep he rolled over to try to squint through the darkness at Greg, who was presumably asleep as well.
"Greg?" John whispered, wondering whether or not he should throw a pillow at him or something. But no, almost as soon as John whispered Greg rolled over as well, his eyes gleaming rather eerily in the darkness.
"Are you going to tell me now?" Greg wondered, his smile evident on his face even from where John lay.
"Ya, but not here." John admitted, scanning the other beds to see the lumps under the blankets, all of the servants sleeping or pretending to be asleep so that they could eavesdrop.
"Well, this depends on the information. Is it so important that you think I'd get up from bed for it?" Greg asked. John nodded immediately, no doubt in his mind.
"I think you'd slay a dragon to know this." John decided.
"Ooh, some secret spreading going on here. I'm in." Greg admitted, getting out of his bed so quickly that John was amazed. Usually it took Greg the longest while to crawl out of bed in the morning, and now tonight John was the slow one. But he knew that Greg would wait, so he pulled himself out of bed with difficulty, automatically missing the warmth his blankets had provided. But nevertheless the two of them slipped out of the servant's quarters, happy to see that there were no soldiers guarding their door anymore. John didn't know if security was slacking or if Victor himself was, but he was very thankful to not have an armored shadow wherever he went, especially while he was dabbling in these very secretive and very illegal acts with the king himself. The two of them walked up to what they decided would be a deserted staircase, scanning it to make sure before they finally seated themselves on the stone banisters. Greg looked very excited, as if this were some sort of excellent story time, but John was very nervous to even trust anyone with such a royal secret. It seemed almost unfair to Sherlock to be spreading this information around, but it was necessary. Sherlock had Molly, John most certainly needed Greg.