The time before John's match faded away very slowly, but together the three of them (and Billy, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere as soon as he noticed them leaving) made their way up to the stands. Thankfully none of the people noticed that it was them, and Sherlock and his makeshift friends were able to sneak into the very back of the stands without too much drama. Times like these made it rather hard to be famous, when you just wanted to be there for entertainment but people were fainting at the sight of you. It was a good problem to have, but all the same, it was a problem. The tail end of the more recent fight was still going on, big men with long, thick swords were smashing their blades around at each other, blocking with their shields and trying to body slam the other to the ground. It was a very brutal match, but the spectators seemed to love it. Finally when the bigger man managed to knock the other off balance, he pinned the other with his foot and was declared the winning, smiling to the crowd as they cheered and made this huge fuss. Billy cheered with them as well, but after getting three stern looks from his companions he silenced, deciding there was no use to cheer for people he hardly knew.
"Up next we have Knight Evans from the kingdom of Valhalla, and then we have John Watson, a servant from the Adler kingdom." The announcer said loudly, almost with a tone of amusement to his voice. Sherlock couldn't help but feel a nervous twist in his stomach, hoping that John didn't get beaten too badly on his first match. Then again, something told him that John would be fine; he was a lot more qualified than most of these people gave him credit for. There were massive cheers from one end of the stands, and a brute looking man entered from one of the large entrances, all armored up and ready to fight. He looked tough yet had an air of stupidity, even from here. Sherlock frowned when he saw this man, knowing that he was going to be the one who was going to try to defeat John. From the other entrance marched John, looking very small and unimpressive in comparison, with his old armor and messy hair. There was a much quieter cheer from the crowd, but all four of them clapped politely. Sherlock watched John as he made his way towards his competitor into the middle of the arena, looking nervous and very small. The Knight looked about two heads taller than John and about twice as wide, looking down on his competitor with a pleased smile, as if deciding already that he had this in the bag. They shook hands, John wincing as if the other man squeezed his hand just a bit too hard. Sherlock twiddled with his sword even more, worried not for his own sake but for John's, who looked as if he didn't have a chance. Sherlock couldn't even imagine what was going through John's head right now, probably fear beyond belief.
"That poor kid doesn't stand a chance, good thing you got a last word in before he's killed with one blow." Irene muttered with a sly smile, making Sherlock frown.
"I think he's got a chance, he's better than he looks." Sherlock decided, but even he knew that was a lie.
"Well I certainly hope he survives, for your sake." Irene muttered, and Sherlock looked at her in confusion. Whatever he was going to say, however, was cut off by a cheer of the crowd, the men were putting on their helmets and raising their swords, taking a couple of steps apart. A bell was struck and the match began, the two circling each other with quick feet. John was definitely quicker than the other man, more agile because of his size, and Sherlock only hoped that he would use that to his advantage.
"Here we go." Molly muttered, chewing on her painted fingernails nervously. The knight made the first move, striking at John's head, to which he ducked and knocked the sword out of the way, making the other man stumble backwards in shock. He regained his balance quickly, going in for a stab, but John just jumped out of the way again, spinning out of the other man's sword reach and trying to body slam him to the ground. Unfortunately the knight was simply too heavy, and John bounced lightly off, getting thrown to the ground himself.
"Oh dear, this is it!" Molly exclaimed horrifically, and Sherlock almost screamed in horror. The knight was closing in fast; John was on the ground, his sword clutched almost uselessly in his hands. But somehow, John was quicker, and as the man raised his sword to strike John jumped to his feet, prancing around the man and kicking the back of his knees from behind. The man instantly fell to his knees, to which John jumped on his back, holding down the man's sword arm with his leg and holding his blade to the man's neck, just in case he tried anything funny. There was a moment of silence and Sherlock could hardly breathe, not knowing if John had done the most intelligent thing or the most pathetic. But no, the bell rung, and even though John won through obscene methods, he still ended up winning. This time Sherlock's cheers joined the rest of the crowd, many people getting to their feet in excitement. Sherlock got to his feet as well, clapping loudly and cheering on John carelessly, for a moment he didn't mind what Irene or Molly thought of him, John had just won his first match in this tournament, he had done it. John tore off his helmet, falling to the dirt and dropping his sword, jumping around like an excited little kid, the smile on his face evident even from where Sherlock sat in the top of the stands.
"HE DID IT, HE DID IT!" Sherlock yelled happily, running down the stands to the exit without waiting for any of his friends. The crowd was still cheering as John left the arena, joined immediately by a large crowd of servants, all clogging up the exit so that Sherlock could barely get through to see the champion. All of the servants were cheering and carrying on like complete hooligans, screaming and whooping and trapping John in a massive group hug. None of the other victors had gotten any of this, Sherlock had never gotten any of this in all eight years he had actually won the tournament, and John had won one round and they were acting the he had single handedly saved the world. Sherlock lingered at the edge of the crowd and not one servant even noticed him. If they did they hardly cared, they were so focused on John that even royalty was irrelevant. Suddenly the crowd moved in, and John bubbled on their shoulders, looking terrified yet thrilled, his hair sweaty and messed up from being trapped in that helmet. He looked honored, he looked excited, he looked...beautiful. And finally John looked down on Sherlock, turning his gaze to the prince standing off to the side, their eyes meeting rather awkwardly. Sherlock couldn't help but smile, nodding in appreciation, and John smiled right back, smiling as if they were more than sworn enemies. Smiling as if they shared more than a common hatred. The eye contact was short lived, however, because the servants started to move him away, carrying him off to his tent in a royal precession. Sherlock was left standing in the grass, feeling rather awkward now that he was unable to congratulate John, he had nothing to do with this pent up emotion, all of these feelings that were now buried inside of him.
"Sherlock would you stop running off?" Molly asked, running up to him and breathing heavily, watching as the remainder of John's little parade faded off into the sea of tents.
"He won." Sherlock muttered, as if Molly didn't realize that already.
"That kid has some serious fight in him." Irene decided, sounding impressed.
"Are you even allowed to do that in a sword fight?" Billy asked, appearing at Sherlock's side. As usual, he got three glares, and he silenced himself, not wanting to ruin the mood.
"I don't care what he can or can't do, he won." Sherlock decided, not bothering to hide the awe in his voice.
"Maybe you're right to consider him a worthy competitor." Irene muttered. Sherlock nodded, giving her a little 'I told you so' smile before walking off to his tent, hearing the cheering of the servant's tent from here. John was getting quite a show; obviously they had never expected him to make it past round one. No one did, actually, especially when they saw his competition. John's fighting style was like nothing Sherlock had ever seen, he was impressive, he was mind blowing. It made Sherlock smile just thinking about the happiness John was probably feeling, the feeling of a victory well earned. Sherlock had never felt that, he had never truly deserved any of the victories he had received. John was better fitted for his crown than Sherlock was.                         

                 Ittook a while for it to finally be Sherlock's time to fight, since it wassupposed to be the grand finale of the night everyone had stuck around, andSherlock knew he was going to have a very impressive audience. He stood in thewings, swinging his sword around and trying to look intimidating as everyonepassed, wishing him luck and patting him on the back, making metallic sounds astheir fingers hit against his armor. Molly, Irene, and Billy were all standingaround him, making sure his armor was tight, his hair was alright, and hissword swings looked impressive. Sherlock was good at showmanship, if hecouldn't swing a sword he could at least pretend he could. But he knew thatthis fight wasn't going to be anything big, the man he was facing was obviouslyskilled, but he was greedy. He took the one hundred gold pieces that Sherlockoffered him and was willing to walk away with that, and so Sherlock didn't haveto bother being afraid.
"Alright Sherlock, ready?" Molly wondered. Sherlock nodded, looking around atthe crowd in the wings and hoping to see a particular face in the sea ofpeople.
"He's not here, if that's what you're looking for. I saw him go up to thecastle." Irene pointed out, and Sherlock couldn't help but frown. John didn'teven want to see him fight, after so much excitement? Sherlock had been thereto watch his match, why didn't John both staying an extra twenty minutes? Therewas an eerie silence that fell over the crowd and finally Sherlock heard hisname get called, the audience bursting into applause once more.
"Alright Sherlock, good luck!" Molly decided, pushing Sherlock towards thedoor. Sherlock walked into the arena, waving and smiling up at the crowd asthey all shrieked, positively dying just to get a good look at the Golden Prince.Sherlock loved the screaming, the admiration, he tried to convince himself thathe deserved it. He put on a show, swinging his sword around and laughing alittle bit, seeing the man come from the other wing, his competitor. Theysmiled at each other, but the man nodded, as if he were confirming their plan.Sherlock smiled at him once more, happy they had come to a mutualunderstanding. They shook hands and put on their helmets, and through the slitin his vision Sherlock could see his father, sitting in his throne with the restof the family and looking nervous, as if worried Sherlock wouldn't win thisone. But Sherlock knew precisely what he was doing, and when the bell rung hemade some swings, blocked some weak swings from the other man, and played the crowdup more and more. There were maybe ten swings exchanged, the men jumping out ofthe way and blocking very easily, but if you saw it from afar you'd think theywere trying their hardest, you'd think this was an actual challenge. FinallySherlock swung his sword at the other man's hilt very lightly, and the swordmagically flew out of his hands. Sherlock elbowed him in the chest and man fellonto his back, letting out a groan of agony just for show. Sherlock stepped onhis chest plate and the bell rung, announcing him the winner. The crowd wentwild, and Sherlock pulled off his helmet, holding his sword in the air proudly,as if this were really an achievement and not more than a play that paid well.The crowd cheered some more, and finally Sherlock helped the other man up andwalked out of the arena, noticing his father was on his feet, cheering proudly.Sherlock smiled at him before disappearing into the wing, but as soon as heleft the arena, unlike John, all was silent. No one cared that the Golden Princehad won yet another match, and he doubted that, from this point on, anyone everwill. When the arena finally went dark, Sherlock and Molly trudged up to thecastle together, the flickering torches from the castle lighting their pathfrom afar. Billy was carrying all of the armor and weapons and was galling waybehind, because for some reason he kept dropping things with metallic clangs asthey fell onto the cobblestone. Sherlock didn't know why Billy insisted onmaking such a mess, surely he knew that everything he dropped and scratchedwould be more work for him when he returns to the castle? Sherlock had to lookperfect for tomorrow's matches. There were going to be three tomorrow, threethe next day, and finally the finals, which was only one round. Sherlock knewthat he would get to the finals, he had enough gold to make any of his greedycompetitors rich, but it was the outcome of the finals that worried him. It alldepended on who he fought when he got there, whether it is a noble swordsmanwho would take a bribe or John himself, who would undoubtedly have Sherlock onthe ground in two seconds flat. Sherlock hadn't seen John since he left for the castle, and he couldn't help but feel a little bit betrayed when John didn't show up to support him. Sherlock had gone out of his way to watch that bumbling servant win his first match, and John couldn't even bother to stick around to hear the end result. It was selfish, not to mention rude, and for some reason Sherlock was deeply insulted by it. 

"So, how's our Sir Evans?" Molly wondered.
"On his way home with his pockets full of gold." Sherlock said with a little frown, casting a look back at Billy, who had just managed to drop Sherlock's helmet. It started to roll, of course, and Billy chased it down the hill, multiple pieces of armor falling out of his hands as he scrambled to retrieve it.
"Don't you feel a bit guilty?" Molly wondered, even though she tried to have this conversation every year. Sherlock always had the same answer, of course.
"Why would I be guilty? We both got what we wanted." Sherlock pointed out with a careless shrug.
"John won't take the money." She muttered. Sherlock sighed heavily, shaking his head and watching his shadow march up the grounds, his cape flowing impressively behind him.
"Yes, I know. We'll have to do something about that I think." Sherlock agreed.
"Why can't you just let him win, have his glory?" Molly wondered.
"Because that glory should be mine! He may disappoint his little servant friends if he loses, I'll disrespect my kingdom, my father, and most importantly my reputation." Sherlock growled.
"For someone who cares a whole lot about how people think of him, you really don't work hard enough. Have you ever considered actually training for this tournament?" Molly wondered. Sherlock thought back to when he and John went to the woods, and we all know how that ended.
"No of course not." Sherlock muttered. Molly nodded, as if that were her point exactly.
"This John kid might be exactly what you needed. A wake up call." She decided.
"He's nothing to me Molly, nothing!" Sherlock insisted, and Molly just laughed, as if she didn't believe him for one second.
"Irene seems to think so." she pointed out. Sherlock groaned, he hated even mentioning that witch.
"Who knows what goes on in that twisted head? I have no idea what she's giggling at half the time." Sherlock admitted. It was true; of course, he didn't have a clue what was so funny whenever John was mentioned. It was almost as if all the women could sense it, while Sherlock fumbled for a hint. They walked into the castle through the entrance hall, being greeted by all of the men and women who mingled around. They all congratulated Sherlock of course, but some people, more the servants, cast him a rather nasty look. For once they weren't cheering for their prince, for once they didn't want to acknowledge his victory. That was fine with Sherlock; of course, he didn't need any sort of praise from the meager servants anyway. Molly and Sherlock made their way up to his room, both grumbling about how tired they were and how they wanted nothing than a warm bath and good food. But of course, Sherlock knew that there would be no relaxing until the tournament was over. When finally they got upstairs Sherlock collapsed on his bed, groaning loudly while Molly pried her high heels off of her now swollen feet.