"Ready to go then?" Molly wondered, walking around into Redbeard's stall and watching as Billy struggled.
"You claim to be a lady and yet you borrow my pants." Sherlock pointed out. Molly scowled, looking down at her rather controversial outfit and struggling. She was wearing a pair of Sherlock's rather baggy pants and a cotton shirt, wearing a pair of leather boots with her hair in a braid. She looked good, in a rugged sort of way, it impressed Sherlock that someone who wore dresses every day of their life could also wear pants.
"They're a lot freer than a dress; I can jump around and not run the risk of exposing too much leg to the general public." Molly shrugged.
"Yes well, I suppose that's a good thing." Sherlock grumbled. He looked over at Billy, who had finally gotten the saddle and reins attached, and sighed heavily.
"I need to tell you about something." Sherlock muttered to Molly, quietly so that Billy wouldn't hear.
"Is it about...you know who?" Molly wondered. Sherlock nodded with a small little smile, and Moly clapped her hands in excitement.
"He said yes?" Molly wondered.
"No, of course not, but he might. We're meeting in the throne room after dinner, where it will be nice and private." Sherlock said with a hopeful smile.
"You've got a date tonight?" Billy wondered, popping up behind Sherlock's shoulder as if expecting to hear some sort of story.
"No, go away Billy." Sherlock snapped, and Billy frowned a little bit, looking at Molly hopefully.
"Then who are you meeting at the nice private throne room?" he wondered.
"No one Billy!" Sherlock growled.
"It's alright, you'll find out eventually. Sherlock's not very quiet when he's excited." Moly insisted.
"Is this the same person you were so scared to meet las tonight, when you were brushing your hair a million times?" Billy guested.
"Stop having a mind of your own and get on the horse." Sherlock insisted, pushing Billy away rather forcefully.
"Alright, I'll see you two on the road." Molly decided, smiling encouragingly at the two of them as if wishing them luck before prancing back over to Helen's stall. Billy had just managed to get onto the horse when Sherlock swung himself up, remembering the last time he had ridden a horse, with John's arms wrapped carelessly around him. That had been a wonderful time, that is until Sherlock almost drowned and John yelled at him. Still, they had been closer than ever.
"Alright sir, here we go." Billy warned, kicking the horse and starting him off down the pasture. Molly was already a ways down, riding on Helen as fast as she could, presumably loving the freedom. Sherlock made sure not to wrap his arms around Billy or any sort of thing, so he very gently held onto his shoulders, just to be sure there was no unnecessary embraces. Then again Redbeard wasn't going very fast, and by the time they reached the edge of the forest Molly was already stopped and Helen had enough time to feast on the many grasses and flowers that grew on the edge of the field.
"About time you two showed up." Molly teased, kicking Helen and starting her way down the narrow forest paths. Sherlock now had his arms crossed, being bumped up and down gently as Redbeard took his steps.
"So where exactly are we going?" Sherlock wondered moodily, looking through the trees for any sign of life. He would be satisfied if they just shot a bird or a squirrel and went home; honestly he wasn't in the mood for trekking around in the wild with Molly and Billy.
"Just to the river, then we'll tie the horses and walk from there. "Molly decided.
"I thought you were the one hunting?" Billy wondered, and Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
"Billy you know I can't hunt." Sherlock snapped.
"Then how do you get all of those deer and pigs?" Billy asked, craning his neck so that he could see Sherlock on the back of the horse. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head as if that were a pathetic question.
"You wonder why I take Molly on these expeditions, well that's how. She kills them for me." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"You're kidding!" Billy exclaimed with excitement, looking over to where Molly was sitting up a bit straighter in her saddle. Obviously she could hear their conversation from where she sat. They finally reached the river bank where they could still see footprints in the mud from their past excursions. Sherlock wondered which footprints belonged to him and which to John, but there was no way of telling without really concentrating, and Sherlock was no detective. They tied the horses to a tree, fed them a couple of carrots and grabbed their things, making their way through the very narrow footpaths that lead farther downstream. Mollyled the way with the bow, making her way easily through the underbrush like some sort of graceful deer. Sherlock was having a little bit of trouble, he ducked under branches but the quiver on his back kept getting caught, tree branches snagging an arrow and spilling the whole thing on the ground. Billy was bringing up the rear, as usual, weighed down with the game back full of Sherlock's books, even though there probably wasn't going to be much room for literature on this trip.
"Do you even know where you're going?" Sherlock called over the roaring of the river, jumping over and tree root but landing in some mud. Sherlock groaned, trying to clean off his shoes the best he could without letting Molly get too far ahead.
"Of course I do, there's a clearing just up ahead, I think you'll like it." Molly decided.
"I swear if we have to sit in a tree again I'll kill you with one of these arrows." Sherlock threatened, remembering one fateful hunting day.
"That was fun, admit it!" Molly insisted.
"You only shot like what, a groundhog? And then it started to rain." Sherlock defended.
"Well at least we had the canopy to keep us dry." Molly muttered.
"Ya, until we walked back." Sherlock growled. Molly sighed heavily, but obviously she could tell when she had been beaten.
"Alright, so maybe it wasn't the best hunting trip ever." she agreed. Sherlock smiled in agreement and forged on, his legs getting a little bit sore from all of this physical labor. Who knew walking could be so exhausting? Finally Sherlock could see sunlight poking through the trees, and before he knew it he had walked into a beautiful field of flowers. There were all sorts of wildflowers growing in this clearing, everything from white daisies to purple violets; the field glowed with life and beauty. The sun was shining down on the field with a golden light, butterflies were flying around and there was a chorus of birds chirping in the trees. Sherlock smiled widely, looking around and having the strangest sense to frolic.
"I knew you'd like it. Now let's kill stuff." Molly said with a smile, walking over to a nice spot on the edge of the woods, standing next to a tree with the bow in hand.
"So we just wait?" Billy wondered, finally catching up and taking deep breaths, like he had run.
"Have you ever been hunting before Billy? Ever in your life?" Sherlock asked with a scowl.
"Have you ever actually killed something?" Billy wondered, and Sherlock's confidence flustered.
"Yes, I have. Remember that time there was a spider in my room, but you were out getting water for my bath and I had to kill it myself?" Sherlock pointed out, looking quite proud of himself.
"How very brave." Molly mumbled. "Now everyone shut up, we won't see anything if you keep talking." Billy frowned and Sherlock pouted, but the two kept quiet and watched the woods and the fields for any signs of life. It was terribly boring to be honest, so instead of standing next to a tree Sherlock went out into the field and picked a nice arrangement of wild flowers for John. He was kind of worried that Molly would mistake him for a deer and shoot him, so every once and a while he'd perk up from where he was crouched and wave to the two. They waved back, of course, and he went back to picking the flowers. At the end of the day Molly was only able to kill a raccoon (which they were all convinced was a little bit psycho, since it had been running around in circles before she shot it), a couple of squirrels, and a nice fat rabbit. IT wasn't much, but it was enough for the queen to be proud of her son, even though all he killed were a couple of lovely flowers.
"Who are those for?" Billy wondered, noticing the bouquet clutched in Sherlock's fist. Billy was still carrying the game bag although there was no game inside of it; all of the dead animals were slung over Molly's shoulder with ropes tied around their back legs, as if she were so proud of killing them that she instead on carrying them.
"No one you need concern yourself with." Sherlock snapped, increasing his speed so that he could walk closer to Molly.
"You better get back soon Sherlock; you're expected in the throne room after dinner right?" Molly wondered. Sherlock nodded, looking up at the sun's positioning in the sky. It was getting later, he knew that, but if he had to miss dinner that would be alright. Billy had packed sandwiches for them for lunch, so it wasn't like he was going to starve.
"What do you think will become of tonight Molly, what do you think he'll say?" Sherlock wondered.
"I don't know, but I have a feeling that whatever it is, you'll like it. I think he likes you Sherlock, I really think he does." Molly assured.
"Who likes you?" Billy wondered, nosing into their conversation uninvited.
"Shut up!" Sherlock insisted, swinging the quiver at him yet missing entirely.  

When they finally made it back to the castle Sherlock was able to present the animals proudly (they gave proper warning about the insane raccoon). Everyone thought that he had been the one to shoot them and they were all very proud, yet no one seemed to be able to notice the beautiful arrangement of flowers in his pocket. This left Sherlock just enough time to pop into the dining room and announce he wasn't hungry, since his mother and brother had just sat down. He needed to get changed and pretty himself up for his visit with John. It didn't take much preparation of course, he didn't wear the cape or the crown or any sort of noble clothing. Just a simple purple cotton shirt and black pants, he decided that it was appropriate enough to face John. Sherlock made sure to brush his hair very nicely, examining himself in the mirror and tying a nice yellow ribbon around the flowers that he had picked for John. This was the night; this might be the only night that truly mattered in his pathetic life. This was the night that he was either going to have his first kiss, have his first boyfriend, or the night that he lost everything. He could become the happiest man in the world or the most miserable all in the next hour. But he had to think optimistically, John wanted to talk to him, he was the one that set it up, he had even mentioned his own happy thoughts, this had to be right, this had to go in Sherlock's favor. Right now John was the only person that mattered, right now Sherlock could care less about every other living human on earth. So he made his way down to the throne room, knowing that when he got there it would be empty, but that left him plenty of time to set himself up and be prepared for John's arrival. He pushed open the wooden side door and walked into the darkened hall, the magnificent marble room echoing every footstep he took, even his exhales seemed to be louder as the nervous breath escaped his body. This was it. Every other torch was lit on the banisters, to shed just enough light in the throne room so that the statues of past kings wouldn't be engulfed in darkness. There was no sunlight to stream in through the massive stain glass windows, and the beautiful glass murals loomed eerily above the darkened thrones. However there was a certain mysterious magic to the hall, a sense of peace and quietness that Sherlock had never felt before while walking down this velvet carpet. The four thrones stood empty before him, all made out of gold and jewels, the tallest and most magnificent of them all waiting for him when he arrived. The king's throne, a chair he had never been able to sit in until tonight, a chair that reserved for him and him alone, for he was the king of Lauriston. Sherlock approached it, the usually gleaming gold looking almost bronze as the darkness reflected off of its polished metal. Sherlock stared at it for a moment, and seemed like all of the statues of the kings stared back, waiting for him to seat himself in the chair made only for the most powerful man in the kingdom. That was him now, he had all of the power, all of the authority, he was king, and this was his throne. Sherlock took a deep breath, turning towards the empty and darkened hall and seating himself magnificently in the throne, putting his arms on the sides and sitting as tall and powerful as possible. The velvet cushions absorbed his weight but the chill of the gold ran shivers down his spine. This chair reeked of power and absorbed weakness, any man who sat on the throne of Lauriston had not only power but responsibility. Sherlock stared at the kings and the kings stared back, the shadows playing over their faces so that it almost looked like they were frowning. Sherlock took a deep breath. He was the king now. He set the flowers on the queen's throne, craning his neck and looking around to see if John were lurking in any of the shadows, watching him as he took his rightful place on the throne. But no, John was nowhere to be found, he was late, if he was even coming at all. 

John POV: John was on his way to go see Sherlock, or at least, he had been. He made sure his hair looked excellent, he made sure that his clothes were properly ironed and that his face looked clean and kissable. Everything was perfect, he was going to say yes, he knew that much. Sherlock deserved a man to love, he deserved none other than John Watson, the man he longed for the most, and John deserved him as well. Together they were going to be happy, and tonight they were going to spark that happiness and ignite a fire of love. John was just on his way to the throne room when someone grabbed him from the hallway, pulling him roughly into what looked like a broom closet, and put their hand over his mouth. John squirmed desperately, trying to kick and fight his way out, but this unknown stranger was strong, strong yet delicate.
"Shut up John, do you want us both to get caught?" hissed a voice, a feminine voice that John recognized.
"Molly?" John muttered under her hand. Finally the hand was ripped away from his mouth and for a moment there was silence, the stranger was doing something in the darkness. Suddenly a match was lit not two feet away from his face, and he saw in the flickering light of the flame that it wasn't Molly, but Irene, looking livid.
"Irene, what are you doing?" John wondered, and she shook her head in annoyance, her dangling earrings swaying this way and that.
"You don't think they might be listening? Victor's lurking the halls, him and his guards, every minute of every day, we can't talk anywhere but here." Irene insisted. "Hold this." She demanded, shoving the match into his fingers so that she could fish out an envelope from her pocket.
"King Moriarty wrote this morning, he's not happy with you John, not at all." She insisted. John was struck with fear; he had completely forgotten about this whole mission, he was so caught up with loving Sherlock that he had forgotten about killing him.
"What do you mean he's not happy, what have I done wrong? I'm doing what you all asked me to, I'm getting closer to Sherlock, I was on my way to see him just now." John insisted.
"In the throne room?" Irene wondered doubtfully. "That is where you're headed, am I right?"
"Yes, yes, he wanted to see me." John agreed, holding the flame up higher so that he could see the disappointed look on her face.
"The whole point of this whole thing was to keep the Holmes family off of the thrones; as soon as Sherlock became killed you failed part one. Moriarty said that Mary has done a good job, she has one more royal to kill and her family is freed. Your family, however, is desperate. They're starving John, thirsty, tired, they're sleeping in the stone dungeons, freezing and fatigued, and you keep stalling. Moriarty gives you one week, if Sherlock Holmes isn't dead by one week, then he starts with your mother." Irene warned.
"He can't kill them, I'm trying, I'm doing all that I can!" John insisted.
"Don't get attached to them John, you continue to make that mistake." Irene warned.
"I'm not attached at all." John snapped, even though he was just on his way to admit his feelings to the man he should be murdering.
"You have a week John, I suggest you use it." Irene insisted, and John sighed in agreement. There was nothing he could do to save his family except comply to her wishes, so that would be what he was going to do. But not now, she was ruining the moment.
"Alright, alright, I will." John agreed, handing the match back to her and fixing his hair once more. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go visit the dead man walking." And with that he opened the door and stormed out into the deserted hallway, making his way down to the throne room where he knew Sherlock was waiting.