When it was all over, Locke hopped up and went the long way around to stand on the aisle at the end of the row with other personal guards. As John stepped into the aisle behind his mother, Locke "lock-stepped" into place behind John. John nearly giggled when he thought about, "Lock-stepped...Too funny."

When they were alone, he couldn't wait to tell Locke the joke. "Locke, did you know you 'lock-stepped' in place behind me?"

"Why, yes. That is all I can do. I am Locke. I Locke-step." John looked at his face. Locke was deadly serious.

John could only shake his head. "Idiot," he mumbled. Locke could only look confused. Over the next few days, a routine and a camaraderie developed. Locke would awaken on his tiny cot in the far corner of the room, perform his morning ablutions, brush his uniform to perfection, and consume a liquid protein breakfast. Before donning his immaculate uniform, he performed a twenty-minute workout in his boxer-brief skivvies.

Most mornings, he would awaken the prince with cocoa, and daily, having provided a small tray table, added some other tidbit to the boy's "breakfast", i. e. buttered toast triangles, fresh fruit, a boiled egg. After three days, he himself drew up a chair and sipped a fragrant tea while John consumed as little as Locke would let him get away with. (...Locke had deduced that the prince had made breakfast into a game... Who could be the most stubborn? ...)

One morning, something awoke grumpy John before Locke was ready to contend with him. John flipped over in bed, (...expecting to catch Locke assembling the prince's breakfast, and hoping to find a way to thwart him... He smiled at the thought...) and his gaze fell on Locke in mid-push-up. John was immediately wide awake and staring, fascinated by the sight.

Locke's biceps bulged, his legs and bum were taut and sculpted. Resting on his hands and toes, he lowered his trim body to the floor and then lifting his body, he threw himself into the air and touched his palms together before catching himself on the way back down. He repeated this process a few times before moving on to bicycle crunches. As he turned his head to touch his knee with the opposite elbow, his eyes were drawn to a gawking John, lying on his stomach in his bed, his hands grasping the side of the mattress, his mouth hanging open.

"How can you do that, Locke... Sherlock?" He swung his legs around and hung them off the side of the bed. Locke was wiping sweat on a small towel.

"It is not so difficult, when one does it everyday."

"Everyday? That would probably kill me." (...Locke thought to himself, "No doubt."...) "Why would you work so hard, Locke?"

"I must stay strong to protect you, John." He brushed his hair back, distracting John with the slightly curling black tresses and a couple stray droplets of sweat. Locke stood facing John in his damp skivvies, which outlined what could only be a slightly interested male member. Realizing where John's eyes had drifted, Locke dropped the hand holding the towel to the front of his abdomen. (Things were moving that shouldn't be, especially when he thought about John. "Why do I let his attention bother me so?" )

John kind of shook himself and hopped off the bed. "What are we doing today?"

"Horseback riding. May I shower before we go?" He turned his back to John and reached for his pants and shirt. "You are not usually up so early." Locke realized that he had made it sound accusatory. John looked hurt. Locke tried to soften it, "It's a nice change, John." He looked back at John to see if the comment helped. A smile was gathering at John's lips. "How about that shower?"

"May I join you?" Locke tried not to react... almost successfully. John looked hopeful.

"Sure. C'mon." He grabbed John's hand and started toward the water closet. John pulled off his drawers in a kind of hop and walk motion. ( Locke was busy reciting analysis tables and thinking about the queen mother naked. He was partially successful in distracting himself. Maybe cold water will finish me off. ) With his back to John, Locke stripped his skivvies at the edge of the shower tiles and tossed them into a hamper.

They set the shower to "rainfall" and ran in and out of the water a couple times. They splashed each other when one had water and the other did not. They kicked water off the floor to see who could get it to splash the highest up the wall. After all, they were essentially just two teen-age boys. After a few moments of play, they actually got under the water and washed and rinsed, spluttering and gargling.

Running and sliding across the shower floor, John's feet flew out from under him and, flailing the air, he was taking what would be a painful, if not disastrous, fall. Locke, feeling like he was moving in slow motion, sliding on his knees, drifted under John to catch him around the chest. Locke threw himself on his back to break John's fall, keeping him off the floor.

Holding him to his heart, Locke whispered, "Are you hurt?" John, just now feeling the aftermath of his scare, looked a little sick, shook his head, and wrapped his arms around Locke's chest.

"N... No..." (...and mumbled under his breath, "Bless the Green Witch...") "Thought I was gonna buy it." He kind of chuckled and giggled a soft sob. "M'mum would have been pissed."

"And rightly so..." They were sitting on the shower floor, John in Locke's lap. Locke brushed the wet hair off John's forehead. "They would probably have hanged me." He grinned. John kind of laughed, still a little upset. He leaned into Locke's chest and closed his eyes. Locke held him close and closed his eyes, too. ("Damn, what am I going to do now? I think I like him too much. Merde...")

Becoming aware of what day it was, a slightly rumpled Prince John, became weirdly morose. He was sitting on the side of his bed looking woebegone, his hands clasped between his knees. Starched-up perfect Locke moved to stand in front of him, and inquired gently, "What is the matter, John? You look so unhappy, sir. Is there a way I can help?" John looked up at Locke's concerned face.

"I'll be eighteen in one week." Evidently John thought that that was an explanation unto itself. Locke seated himself next to John and copied his clasped-hands-between-the-knees posture.

"This is a problem why?"

"The 'rents are gonna make me get married." He dropped his chin and added, "Soon."

"Oh..." Locke became suddenly morose himself. "Whatever will I do when he has a wife? I'll be transferred to another position, and they'll be together, and I'll... I'll be alone... again." He turned to look at John, and saw the hopeless look in his eyes. "Aren't we the pair?"

"John?" Locke lay his hand on John's arm. John stared at it as if he didn't know what it was. They both looked up and locked eyes. John stared into Locke's beautiful blue eyes, saw the sadness, and felt curiously funny inside. His lips parted and Locke felt funny inside, but he knew what he was feeling. He leaned toward John, his eyes drifting to John's lips. "What are you doing, idiot? He doesn't need this extra problem." He changed course and just slid an arm around John's shoulder, pulling him to be held against Locke's chest. "It'll be all right." He didn't believe a word he just said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about? My life is over."

"C'mon. It can't be that bad." Locke was holding John and stroking his hair. Strangely, neither of them found this to be unusual. John cuddled closer and clutched at the front of Locke's uniform jacket.

"Sherlock?" Locke's brows rose considerably and his eyes widened. "Sherlock? God, he must really be scared."

"Yes, Sweeting?"

"What am I going to do? I've thought about it. Besides having to live with a wife, they'll take you away from me, too." Locke's arm tightened around John's shoulders and he caressed the prince's bicep. John whispered sadly, "I don't know why, but that seems to be the worse fate." Locke's lips tightened into a straight line.

"It's because you know I would do anything for you. You know that I would die for you..." He paused and lay his cheek on top of John's head, kissed his hair, added "You know how much I love you." A strangled sob escaped John's lips.

"What am I going to do?"

"Let's wait and see what happens. We'll take it a day at a time for a while. I'll be right here beside you, protecting you, caring for you... and loving you." He held him for a while longer and finally insisted they go about their day. (...He needs a distraction...) "You want your parents to see you being responsible, don't you?"

John sighed, "I guess so." He went to the long mirror and tried to tidy up his outfit. Locke was busy tidying up the room. One of the things he put away was an instrument case that he slid under his bed. Nosy to a fault, John inquired, "What's that?"

Locke glanced at the case. "My violin."

"You have your own violin?" John was impressed. He was aware of the value of such an item. "How did you get a violin?" He actually realized how snotty he sounded. "Oh, Locke, I am sorry. I didn't mean it that way." Locke continued making his own bed, overlooking the momentary hurt he had felt.

"I earned it... in a competition. It isn't a Strad, but it is still a very good one." He sounded proud, but then felt bad for such a display of hubris. He lowered his eyes and chastised himself internally.

John inquired eagerly, "Would you play something for me?"

"You're just stalling to keep from having to go out."

"No. I would like to hear you. I'm not a complete barbarian, y'know. I do have some sensibilities. I just have no musical talent of any kind." His lower lip trembled slightly.

"Okay." Locke felt bad for upsetting the boy, but he was inordinately pleased that John really wanted to hear him play. He didn't often get to do so anymore. Dropping to one knee, he pulled the case out and set it on the bed. Undoing the latches very carefully, he lifted out a highly-polished violin and a bow.