Sherlock sighed heavily, leaning forward on his elbows as if he had a very important matter to discuss. But for some reason all he did was watch John curiously, as if a servant eating was a very fascinating thing to watch.
"John..." Sherlock muttered, as if this were a really touchy subject. "Could I ask something of you?" 
"Ya, sure." John agreed, looking up from buttering a piece of bread at Sherlock's serious eyes.
"My father, he wants me to win this tournament. As you probably know, I win every year." Sherlock admitted. He didn't look very proud of that, in fact he looked pretty upset.
"Yes I know, the servants told me." John agreed.
"I can't actually fight." Sherlock admitted quickly. John looked at him in confusion, setting his bread down on his plate.
"I know." He agreed. "You ran away from that pig, and obviously you weren't doing all that much training down with your friends."
"Molly's my friend, Billy's not." Sherlock said quickly, as if that needed explaining.
"Yes, alright." John agreed, laughing a little bit at Sherlock's defensiveness.
"Since you're the only one who really knows who I am, would you mind...training me?" Sherlock wondered. John almost laughed, looking at Sherlock as if trying to tell if he were being serious or not.
"Sherlock you hate me. I hate you. That's the thing here; we're like...mortal enemies. How do I know you don't just want an excuse to impale me and make it look like an accident?" John wondered.
"You hate me." Sherlock muttered, looking down in shame. Of course he knew that, didn't he? Or did he think this dinner was enough to settle any feuds between them? John sighed, looking at the prince and shrugging in agreement.
"Alright, I'll do it." he agreed. It would give him a good excuse to be alone with Sherlock, maybe even find the right opportunity to use the silver knife. But as John watched Sherlock more, the exposed, scared boy, he was starting to think that this assassination would be a lot more difficult than he had thought. Sherlock's smile looked enough to make anyone's heart glow, the carefree happiness that now filled his face made John need to smile back.
"You will?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard John properly.
"I guess, I mean I've got nothing else to do." John shrugged. Sherlock stared at him, raising an eyebrow curiously.
"Aren't you a servant?" he wondered. John paused, nodding proudly.
"Ya, I am, but they don't give me much work, they think I'm rather...awful." John admitted.
"You're an awful servant? Well that's a shock." Sherlock said with a laugh. John smiled a bit teasingly at Sherlock.
"Is that anyway to address your trainer?" John wondered.
"Oh don't you getting egotistical on me now, I'm your superior no matter how you look at it." Sherlock snapped. John nodded in agreement, but he couldn't help but have a smile on his face.
"Well I need to go up to the castle; Greg's going to wonder where I am." He decided, getting to his feet.
"Yes of course." Sherlock agreed, getting up as well as if he felt obliged to walk John to the castle himself.
"I'll meet you at the arena after lunch. In the morning I have to see if I make the tournament in the servant's ring, I'll just keep my armor on." John decided. Sherlock looked at him kind of shyly, tapping his fingers against his leg awkwardly.
"John do you mind keeping this between us?" he wondered.
"What, dinner?" John asked. Sherlock couldn't help but smile, nodding in agreement.
"Yes, that too. Don't speak of Irene's leaving, or me letting a servant eat royal food, but don't talk about our training either. Say that I'm making you polish my armor or something, they can't know that I can't fight, it will ruin my reputation entirely." Sherlock pointed out.
"Of being a good fighter, or being a jerk?" John wondered. Sherlock scowled, crossing his arms defensively. Now that was the Sherlock that John recognized.
"I am a jerk; don't go making me look like a better person than I am." Sherlock snapped.
"I'm sorry your majesty, I guess I mistook whatever this was for kindness." John admitted with a smile. Sherlock didn't smile back, his scowl stayed.
"I'm being selfish John; I want your help so I'm using my money and power to convince you." Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes of course." John agreed, laughing a little bit at the ground.
"It's true!" Sherlock insisted, looking a bit like an angry child.
"No, of course I believe you." John assured. "Now I should be going." John started off down the path, walking slowly in case Sherlock wanted to end their conversation.
"John!" Sherlock whined, and John turned, smiling proudly.
"Yes Sherlock?" he wondered.
"I'm really going to make you polish my armor after training." Sherlock insisted.
"Alright, that sounds fair." John agreed. "Goodnight my lord." John bowed mockingly, turning around and continuing down the path.
"AND I'M NOT GOING TO PAY YOU!" Sherlock called at him. John just smiled to himself, knowing that in some way he had just cracked Sherlock's mask right open. He had known there was a nice man, a hero, buried under that scowl. When John arrived back at the servant's quarters Greg was sitting up in his bed, his head propped on a pillow and a book open in his hands. The room was dark and there was a chorus of snores from all around, Greg was only reading by the light of a dim candle by his bed. Maybe it was later than John had realized.
"Where in the world have you been?" Greg wondered, shutting the book and setting it down next to the bunk.
"I've been talking." John admitted, which was pretty much the truth.
"With who?" Greg wondered. John sighed, thinking of his promise not to tell anyone.
"None of your business." John said with a smile, quickly changing into his pajamas and burrowing underneath the woolen blanket.
"If you've got a girl that I don't know about I'm going to be pretty upset." Greg decided. John just laughed, shaking his head in annoyance.
"No girls, of course not. You just wouldn't know who I was talking to, someone from the Adler kingdom." John pointed out. Greg sighed, not looking convinced. But never the less he rolled over and extinguished the candle, plunging the room in total darkness.
"Well then, goodnight." Greg decided with a yawn.
"Goodnight Greg." John agreed. He heard Greg roll over in his bed, getting comfortable underneath the scratchy blanket. John, however, stayed still, laying and staring at the darkened ceiling. He wondered if Sherlock was actually being serious, did he really sink so low to ask for help from a servant? And was he really just pretending to be nice, or did he actually have a heart under all of that sternness? It would be very interesting to see how this all plays out, to see just who the Golden Prince was, underneath all of those expectations, underneath all of that scowling. Maybe he was nice, maybe he was kind, caring...loving. It made John's stomach squirm to think that he was going to be the one that would have to kill him. He was going to be the one who had to spill all of that royal blood, he was going to be the one to silence Sherlock for the rest of eternity, and no one will ever know what he would have to say. John would have to stop a life before it had lived to its fullest, and now, while he saw Sherlock as more than a jerk hiding underneath a crown, well, he wanted to see him as more. Maybe he could actually befriend the prince of all princes. But no, that was impossible. It was Sherlock Holmes; Sherlock would never befriend a servant. So John just gave up, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes, and soon the chorus of snores that filled the servant's quarters were joined by one more voice.

When John woke up there was sunlight streaming through the dusty windows. Everyone was already moving around, getting dressed and ready for feeding the royals breakfast. It couldn't be earlier than five o'clock.
"Ready to go dueling?" Greg wondered excitedly.
"After breakfast, right?" John wondered, his stomach growling dispute all of the food he had.
"Yes of course, royals come first, always." Greg assured. John nodded, rolling out of bed and changing back into his day clothes, sliding on his shoes and shuffling out with all the rest of the servants.
"So who else is entered into the servant's round?" John wondered. Greg started listing off names, all of men who John had never heard of.
"They any good?" John wondered.
"Oh you know, they're alright. I've seen them all fight, and they don't look very professional." Greg admitted.
"And you're professional then?" John wondered with a laugh. Greg straightened up proudly, smiling at John as if he knew nothing.
"I do my best." He admitted. "You're the only wild card really, you're the only one I haven't seen duel."
"We trained together yesterday." John pointed out.
"Yes, but we weren't fighting each other, I don't know your fighting style. I don't know your ruthlessness." Greg said dramatically. They had finally reached the kitchens were all the grumpy cooks had already lined up bowls of watery, unappetizing oatmeal. As John ate his oatmeal he wished he were back at the gardens, sharing a lovely feast with Sherlock. The worst part about this whole thing was that he couldn't tell anyone about his experience. His entire perspective of Sherlock had changed, and yet he couldn't even tell Greg of the events that night. It was a painful silence, like something bursting in his chest, drying to get out. They finished off their oatmeal and set the table for the royals to eat their breakfast. John didn't know if they were all going to eat as one, if the families would eat separately, or if everyone would just show up on their own time. His question was answered, of course, when Mycroft, the oldest prince of the Holmes family, walked into the hall.
"Why isn't it set up yet?" he wondered, watching as the servants scrambled around with bowls of scrambled eggs and bacon.
"Our apologies my lord, but you are a bit earlier than usual." Said a mousy looking girl in a bonnet.
"Yes well, I expect nothing but the best from our servants, chop chop." Mycroft insisted, clapping his hands carelessly. John helped run a bowl of fruit to the middle of the table, and he noticed Mycroft watching him, as if he knew something about John that the rest didn't. Then again, princes always had that sort of knowingness to them, it probably meant nothing. When the table was finally set up Mycroft sat, scooping food onto his plate and beginning to eat alone. John was responsible for the orange juice pitcher, so whenever Mycroft's chalice got less than half full, he had to run in and refill it. This happened two times, and on the second time as John was walking away, Mycroft's hand caught his arm, making the orange juice lap dangerously around the edges of the pitcher.
"John Watson, is it?" Mycroft wondered. John felt a bit terrified, but nodded.
"Yes sir." He agreed, his voice getting a bit caught in his throat.
"A servant from the Adler kingdom, yes." Mycroft muttered, scanning over John curiously. "I'm aware that my little brother threw you in the stocks the other day, I'm here to make sure you're alright. He got quite an earful from our father."
"Why, um...why did he get yelled at?" John wondered, suddenly worried that he had somehow gotten Sherlock in trouble.
"He is not allowed to punish subjects that are not under his control, and King Adler was very upset to hear that his servant was suffering in the cold." Mycroft said lazily, peeling apart an orange with dainty fingers. John nodded, happy to know his tyrant was looking after him.
"It was no trouble, I mean, I'm alive." John said lamely. Mycroft smiled, humming in agreement and peeling apart the orange halves.
"That you are Mr. Watson." He agreed, turning back to his food and leaving John to scurry away fearfully. He went to the servant's room where, as usual, the servants all had their ears pressed to the wood, listening to everything exchanged between Mycroft and John.
"Why is it always you they talk to?" Greg wondered, looking genuinely confused.
"Wow, Sherlock got in trouble, that's enough to make my morning." one of the ladies admitted, and there was a chorus of laughter.
"Your royals actually care about you, that's so sweet! I'm sure if I went missing they wouldn't even notice, they'd only complain that their beds hadn't been changed." Another one piped in from the back.
"So what, Mycroft talked to me, it's not some big honor. He's a weirdo." John pointed out.
"It is an honor; he knew your name and everything." Greg insisted.
"You should stay here John, you shouldn't go back with Irene!" some woman said, and there was a chatter of agreement. John couldn't' help but blush in honor.
"What makes you think Irene's leaving?" he wondered.
"Well we all know that her relationship with Sherlock can't last." One insisted.
"Why not?" John wondered, knowing full well that it was already over.
"Because he's weird, and she's sane. She'll see who he is and run for her life." Greg pointed out. John just laughed in agreement, but honestly he doubted any of them knew Sherlock for who he really was.
"We've already got bets placed on how long it's going to last. I say until right after the tournament." One woman decided.
"Why after the tournament?" John wondered.
"Because he's going to lose!" a man piped up proudly. There was a loud agreement from the rest of the crowd.
"First time in forever, and you know what John; it's going to be a servant that brings him down." Greg decided, pounding his fist in the air and getting a bit triumphant yell from the servants around him. John just laughed, nodding in agreement.
"You should probably do some orange juice runs John; they get cranky when their goblets run dry." A woman insisted. John nodded, opening the door and rushing out into the dining room once more. Both kings were present, as well as Sherlock. Mycroft must've left, because his plate was left with orange peels all over it. As soon as John entered the room Sherlock went rigid, his eyes snapping up to meet John's before quickly looking down at his breakfast plate.
"Finally, I was just about to go see what all that yelling was about." King Holmes said with a smile, sitting at the head of the table in a throne like wooden chair.
"Sorry sir, just trying to wake up the best we can." John said with anapologetic smile. He poured both men orange juice before walking around the table to where Sherlock sat.
"Well then, fill mine up as well." Sherlock snapped, obviously trying to redeem himself from his kindness last night. But John knew that was just an act, he knew who Sherlock really was.
"Sorry your majesty." John muttered, pouring orange juice into Sherlock's goblet. He felt Sherlock's eyes on him the whole time, and finally he was able to walk away from the table and back into the servant's room, all of who were chattier than ever.
"Molly Hooper, definitely." said a girl confidently, and there was a chorus of agreement from those around her.
"No way, absolutely not!" insisted another group, and the servants went into arguing.
"What's going on?" John muttered to Greg, who was sitting on a crate looking very bored.
"Oh, they're arguing about who Sherlock is going to marry. Again." Greg sighed.
"This is an annual thing?" John wondered with a laugh.
"Only every other day. They're very passionate." Greg assured. John just laughed, sitting next to Greg on the crate and listening to the servants bickering. He heard a lot of names thrown about, most of them Molly Hooper, some were insisting that it would be Irene, and others were talking about suitors John must have missed from past years.
"Who do you reckon?" John wondered, setting the pitcher on the ground and looking at Greg curiously.
"No idea, I don't think any of them really. I think he's going to be single for the rest of his life. I mean, what girl would want to marry him?" Greg wondered.
"More like what girl would he marry. He seems like a very hard man to please." John admitted.
"Yes well, I've had my doubts about him for a while now. I mean, who turns down some of the prettiest girls in the land? Some of those suitors, wow, I would've married them the minute they walked through the door." Greg admitted.
"And he didn't like then?" John wondered.
"Left a couple of days later, Sherlock never seemed too interested." Greg admitted.
"Maybe he just doesn't want to get married." John suggested.
"Or he's completely nuts." Greg pointed out, and John laughed in agreement.
"That's the most likely option." he agreed.