They'd had to wait almost fifteen minutes sat on the wall, conversation going round in circles as Sherlock struggled to remember what he'd already asked, hoping a taxi would drive past. Eventually, one had, and then John had had to spend another five minutes convincing the driver that no, Sherlock wasn't drunk and no, he didn't need a hospital, and no, he wouldn't bleed on the taxi, and yes, could he just take them to 221b Baker Street, that would be fine.
John staggered out the taxi after paying the driver, trying to support Sherlock as best he could. The detective had become less and less coherent as the concussion had set in more thorough
"Mmm. So what do you want to do today?" Merlin smiled at his prince across the small wooden table. They had been in Ealdor for three days now, and Arthur was blissfully happy. The wound on his arm was healing well and he was able to move without his head feeling like it was about to implode, but these were not the reasons for his good mood. The reason he was so happy was that he didn't have to pretend here. He didn't have to be Prince Arthur, the cocky heir to the throne who had to keep on the right side of his father, the king. In Ealdor he could just be Arthur, the
Its the first time that I publish something here.
And although I don't have much fate in some things, I believe that we can't give up.
I am portuguese but because most of everyone here speaks or writes in English I will do so.
I hope all of you can give your sincere opinion about it.