John was already out of the landing and running down the hall to the stairs, diving down to the lower floor two and three steps at a time. Two of the Personal Guards that were more friendly to Sherlock were lifting Locke down from the lashing post as the prince ran into the courtyard. Aware of his consequence, John tried to force himself to slow down. He could not. He ran and stood in front of Locke as he hung slack between the two guardians, his arms across their shoulders, with them trying to support him without touching his shredded back.

The two guardians tried to stand more or less at attention in front of their prince. John waved a hand, shaking his head slightly, his focus all on Locke.  John stepped close to Sherlock and lifted his face with gentle hands. Locke opened his eyes and looked directly into John's eyes, disappointment and pain paramount in his saddened blue eyes. "My Prince," he murmured.

John whispered, "Oh, Sherlock, forgive me... Please..." Locke managed a weak smile and nodded one time, grimaced in pain and hung his head again. The prince's lips tightened into a straight line, as he commanded, "Take him to my chambers. Put him in my bed." He stepped out of the guardians path and followed them stiffly out of the courtyard.

He had never felt more evil than he did in those moments and had no idea how he could make it up to Sherlock. He couldn't think how to begin to try. Realizing that he could never make up for the terrible thing done to Locke, he wanted to cry now, too.

When the group arrived at the prince's quarters, the somewhat agitated queen was waiting with a porcelain pot of some thick whitish poultice. She had her ladies prepare John's bed with a group of pillows arranged so that Locke could lie down on his stomach and be raised above the mattress. His lash-cut back would not be abraded by contact with the linens. The guardians stripped him to his boxer-briefs, while the prince stood by the bed, wringing his hands. "Lie him on his stomach, his head on the softer pillow up here." She patted the large pillow closest to the headboard.

John sat on the edge of Locke's breakfast chair with his hands tightly clasped between his knees. He watched as Locke was laid on the bed. (..."My sweet Sherlock. How could I have let this happen? ...That is a law that must be changed... I will change it...") Sherlock and John's father, the king himself, would be proud to know what the young prince was contemplating.

The guards manhandled Locke into place as the queen had asked. He withstood their ministrations stoically even though, watching his face, they knew they hurt him at least twice. Once he was stationed on the pillows, Sherlock slithered both arms under the pillow supporting his head and shoulders, wincing when his shoulder blades moved. The queen scooped three fingers of goo and gingerly smeared it on Locke's destroyed back, starting at his neck and working her way down to the small of his back. He bit the linen pillowcase, burying his face in the pillow, trying to muffle a scream until the cooled medicine began its work. Hot tears he was unable to hold back soaked the pillow.

"Mother, you're hurting him." The distressed queen glanced at her son and saw the look of desolation on his face. She hadn't seen him look this upset since... since ever. He turned his tortured gaze to Locke, and she feared John was going to cry, as well.

"Darling, am I missing something here?"

"No, mum."

"Why are you... John, what has happened? You will need to be able to do this for him, too. It eases his pain and will help him heal with less scarring. Your father has sent for the Green Witch, but she won't be here for a day or two to help him herself. If you don't think you can do this... It will hurt a little at first... Please let me know now, and I'll have him moved to the castle's hospital ward."

"No, Mother. I want him. I mean I want him here. Don't take him from me... I can do it.  I'll have to..." She arched a brow and glanced at the beautiful but tortured boy on the bed. Locke had turned his head to gaze in their direction. There seemed to be less pain in his eyes, and the stress lines on his face had eased somewhat. He stared at John with what could only be longing.

"Well, can you finish here? I need to talk to your father."

"Yes. Yes, I will do it." The queen handed the half-full jar to John and went to the door to find and address her husband, the king. John approached the bed and slathered some more of the white poultice on the "stripes" on Locke's lower back. As John finished, Locke seemed to collapse to the pillows. The stiffness in his torso and his limbs seemed to have lessened, allowing him to sink into the soft pillows supporting his pain-wracked body. He reached trembling fingers out toward John.

Opening the door again, the queen leaned in, opened her mouth, and started to add some additional instructions for John. She heard Locke's soft request, and reluctant to interrupt, she found herself eavesdropping on what became a very informative conversation.

Locke whispered, "Johnny... Come closer... please." The prince dropped to his knees at the head of the bed.  Taking Locke's hand in his, the young prince kissed Locke's fingers gently, his face only inches from Locke's sweet countenance. A gentle smile played around Locke's trembling lips.

John brushed the backs of his fingers over Locke's tear-stained cheek. "Sherlock, how can you ever forgive me? I have so, so much to learn. You've tried so hard to show me how to do the right thing, and I've been such an arsehole, thinking I know it all already. In my great arrogance I allowed you get hurt badly." A few hot tears overflowed the prince's eyes.

"My prince... my Johnny, I know that you didn't mean for this to happen. You're still so young, and you will learn all you need to know eventually." He winced as a sharp pain filtered its way through to his consciousness. John's lips started to tremble, and he tried to stem the inevitable tears. Locke whispered so softly, "I wish I could hold you, my sweet Johnny. Please don't cry... If only I could make it better..."

John interrupted by putting his fingers against Locke's lips. "You should not always have to be rescuing me from my own folly." He brushed his thumbs back and forth over Locke's mouth, feeling the warm breath emanating from his guardian's sweet lips. "Sherlock, I love you. I love you so much." He leaned very carefully over Sherlock and placed a wobbly kiss on the edge of Locke's mouth.

"Johnny, I love you, too.  You know how much I love you. I am forever yours." Locke closed his eyes and sank slowly back onto the pillow.

"Sleep now, Sherlock. I'll be right here watching over you. We have to make you well. I still will have you as my husband, my only love." The prince pulled the hard backed chair closer to the bed and sat down, gently holding Locke's fingers, his head lying on the side of the bed, his adoring eyes on Locke's precious face.

The queen very quietly closed John's door and hurried herself to the king's side, with a somewhat different message than what she had originally intended. King Eric was still pacing around in the landing thinking about what had transpired earlier.