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young viren

On the cusp

It was supposed to be an occasion to mark the step from *youth* to *man*. The hints that his uncle had dropped over the weeks leading up to it had made it clear- and it was the first big secret that Viren had ever kept from Harrow; he'd come to regret that fact. It had made sense at first- Harrow had made it clear that he neither liked nor trusted Viren's uncle, and he would never be impressed with the idea that said uncle with have anything to do with a large milestone in Viren's life. The things that Viren was learning from his uncle were important though. They were the things that would not only keep Harrow safe- but allow Viren a place close to his side. An advisor to the throne. A position that none could question- but it meant a lot of study, a lot of learning-

And now this. He'd performed flawlessly of course. It had been made clear to him that if he did NOT pass this test- there would be no more shared knowledge, no more training. He would be an advisor and protector in name only, incapible of being anything but a shell to Harrow. He didn't think once that Harrow would renounce him- but being *ineffective* when he needed him most would be just as bad.

His leg ached. The way that it always did when he questioned things too much- when he wondered what it was that his uncle did to have such rumors around him- to have the treasures that he had locked away. And now he knew the answer to it- and he wondered if Harrow wouldn't have prefered a hollow advisor after all.

Viren could hear his uncle's voice- the smooth reasoning- the fairness of following this path of magic when all other paths had been unfairly taken from them. It would be so easy to listen- he would be able to protect Harrow from *anything*- the way that a ten year old Prince had immediately protected him. And some part of him wanted to be the nephew that his uncle so clearly wanted.

There was a different voice though. It sounded similar to the Crown Prince- now grown deeper and more commanding. Viren finally had a chance to truly have something to offer him- to hold more power than even Harrow did- but he pushed the bowl aside and rose to his feet.

His leg ached- but he left his staff, a gift from his Uncle, behind as he padded to their secret passage and pressed on the rough stone work. He'd climb the long stairs in the dark, and stand on the other side of Harrow's wall while he listened for signs that the tutor had left.

His birthday would be next month, officially a man- but Harrow was more to him than just the Prince and he suddenly wanted to talk to him about it. And surely there he could shake the chill that he'd gotten, working his uncle's magic. Harrow's rooms were always warm.

Gavin

The bombs were coming; he could hear them in his sky and it seemed bitterly unfair that he had to face his death twice at the same time. He pushed angrily against the bars, shoulder still halfway wedged through with nothing to give but his own skin. And it wasn't giving fast enough. He snarled and shoved again- the grit of the stone dust from the hammering that the city had already taken cling to him, coated the back of his throat. Gavin spit and snarled again, yanking his arm back in to the small cell that he'd been trapped in for a week now.

Up until now it hadn't been as horrible as that sounded. A week where he was mostly ignored. Kept confined but fed and watered while everyone waited for someone to take an 'interest' in him, and he was trying to decide if he was going to survive this.

And now THIS shit.

The bombs were coming. The buzzing was in the air, the taste of stone on his lips.

Buzzing, grit on his tongue.

Buzzing, buzzing-

React.

Gavin kicked out as if he could launch himself away from the impact of the bombs. He threw himself away from the exposed window and against the far wall and tripped-

Tripped over blankets and kicked over a table-

The buzzing kept coming, deafening as the taste in his mouth became the acrid taste of fear and-

He wasn't alone. He'd been alone, but he wasn't now. A table, blankets tossed roughly- a softer room, painted in warmer tones than crumbling cement-

He wasn't alone.

Gavin sucked in one ragged breath after another and gestured towards the remaining table with a lamp- he knew the only person that would still be in the room with him when he woke up like that- but with that horrible, teeth grinding *buzzing* that kept clawing at his ears- he needed to see her.

He'd shown the world that the damage the bomb had left behind had not held him back- but she was the one that had opened the world back up to him. She wouldn't have turned on the overhead light while he was still struggling- she knew his triggers as well as her own. There was some comfort in their matching scars.

Another day

One of the questions that John Watson got asked most, from people that knew he served without knowing anything else about him, was 'Do you miss it?'. He had an array of very gentle remarks that brushed the question aside without really answering it- but it came back into his mind again at very strange moments.

Like standing next to a police escort, with his weight off of his bad knee- the upcoming storm had it throbbing as if he'd damaged it all over again- listening to his husband shout his facts at the officer that had requested them.... clearly without truly understanding the requirements that came with that consulting.

The first warning should have been when the man had denied John access.   They didn't need his expertise after all. If Lestrade had been there he could have eased the way- or smoothed matters inside.   John didn't mistake his own importance- Holmes had been doing this long before him, and could have continued it long without him, if they had never crossed paths.   But Lestrade wasn't there, and the pain felt like it was crawling up towards his hip, aching in time with the shouting that was getting... louder.

He slid a casual glance towards the man standing stone-faced next to him, and sighed, shifting his weight. Getting himself arrested trying to interfere would only make matters worse.  He fished out his phone with a casual air and shot off a quick text to Lestrade.   Holmes would be out of sorts about this all day- which meant he wouldn't have much of a chance to take a lazy day.  Nothing bothered Holmes more than a change in their usual schedule, and if this idiot already had him worked up.... well, John wasn't going to make it worse on the man that he loved.

Mentally he planned the rest of his day. Something lighter than usual for lunch- unless Lestrade really dressed this idiot down in front of Holmes he was going to be prickly and overwhelmed.  Clean their flat after that and start prep for dinner.  If he picked something complicated enough the rest of the day would be spent with the background noise of John Watson doing domestic things. Not too loud- but he'd found it was more reassuring to Holmes than dead silence.

Did he miss it over there?   The time in which he'd had no responsibilities had been short- and his daily routine was as structured as it had ever been overseas. And there he didn't have a genius who looked at him as if he was something precious and unique when he had the bills managed and the food stocked perfectly. He didn't have long fingers that slid across his hips bones as if that was their natural resting place. Had never heard the soft affectionate rumble of his voice under the heat of the shower-

It was a pleasant distraction to remind himself of as he settled in for a long day.   No- he didn't miss it at all.