The rest of the day seemed to crawl on, and soon John's stomach started to growl. Greg had said they brought food, but soon the townspeople started to fade, and eventually the sun sunk under the horizon and darkness fell across the land. And still no food. John sighed heavily, stretching out his legs and repositioning his wrists so that a different part of his arm took all the weight. These things were really painful, he wished there would be some sort of cushioning, at least where the head had to go. His neck was getting sore from holing himself up for so long, and he was sure that he wouldn't sleep at all. Finally after what felt like ages the castle doors opened, and from the cobblestone walk ways he saw a familiar silhouette coming through the darkness.
"Hello servant." Sherlock's voice said tauntingly, the backlight making his shadow seem as if his head were massive. Of course he did have a really big head metaphorically, but literally he really didn't.
"Oh it's you, the bringer of my torment." John groaned. Sherlock just laughed, obviously pleased that John was having such an awful time.
"I brought you some food; I thought that might cheer you up." Sherlock said happily, as if this were going to cheer him up a lot more. Sherlock held up the plate to John's face, and even in the darkness John could see the mold clinging to it.
"Are you trying to poison me?" John wondered.
"Oh well that would just be a plus. No servant, I'm not trying to poison you, I'm trying to feed you. It must be hard, sitting out here in the cold with no company." Sherlock said dramatically.
"You're talking to me, you're company." John pointed out.
"I'm your bringer of torment." Sherlock corrected. John just laughed, shaking his head in agreement.
"Alright then, I'll go with that." he agreed, remembering Greg's advice to flatter his way to freedom.
"Alright then, eat up." Sherlock said with a laugh, holding something suspiciously fuzzy to John's mouth. It kind of looked like bread, but with so much mold on it John could hardly call it edible.
"Suddenly I'm not so..." John's words were cut off my Sherlock shoving the bread in his mouth. John gagged, the worst taste of dirt and fungus polluting his taste buds. He wiggled his head around, finally ripping the bread away from Sherlock's hands and spitting it onto the ground.
"Why would you ever do that to someone?" John asked angrily, feeling the urge to spit on Sherlock's shoes. He felt anger bubbling up in his chest yet he felt so helpless. If he had been free, if he had been able to get to the knife, Sherlock would be dead, his royal blood dripping down the cobblestone. But John was trapped like an animal, and suddenly he felt the urge to cry.
"I can do whatever I want to criminals." Sherlock insisted. John growled, but sank his head so that he didn't have to look at any part of that disgusting boy.
"I'm not a criminal." He muttered. Sherlock was silent, probably having expected anger or resentment. He didn't seem to know what to do when John looked like he were about to cry.
"Maybe not yet, and this will assure your future obedience." Sherlock decided. "You may serve the Adlers but while you are on Lauriston property you are under my control, you understand?" John was silent, and Sherlock didn't seem satisfied with that. Obviously he wanted to be super intimidating or something like that, but couldn't find the words to use.
"Well then, nice talk." Sherlock decided, turning on his heel and marching proudly back up to the castle doors. John stayed there, hanging limply and spitting on the ground to where his moldy meal lie. He almost felt the urge to shed a few tears, but then he remembered that this anger, this resentment, he should just build it up. Save it for when it might be useful, process it and use it when he needed it the most. Sherlock didn't know it now, but John was going to have his revenge. Sherlock didn't know it now, but he should be counting his days. Living his life to the fullest before John was going to be able to snatch it from him, and maybe he should learn some more respect, that way it's not as painful as John had the potential to make it be. He had come to this kingdom worrying about the guilt he might face when killing the world's most loved prince, but now he realized it didn't matter. Now he realized that the Golden Prince was made out of no more than rusted tin. It was a while after dark when he first heard footsteps approaching. The lights in the castle had gone out and all that was left to illuminate the world was the light of the moon and stars, glowing through the night sky as a natural beacon. John couldn't turn his head but he knew someone was there, creeping along the shadows out of his sight.
"Who's there?" John wondered nervously, twisting as much as he could to see who was coming. No one answered and John started to feel an impending sense of fear, his fingers tingling and his stomach feeling empty when he realized there was nothing he could do about it.
"Don't talk too loudly, they might hear." whispered a female voice close by. John breathed a sigh of relief, he knew that voice, it was Mary.
"Mary what are you doing here? Breaking me out?" John asked hopefully.
"Of course not, that would lead to suspicion." Mary whispered, saying this as if he should've known that.
"Alright, then what do you want?" John wondered.
"I want to share my plan with you, and advise you on your own." Mary insisted. John just laughed, shaking his head doubtfully.
"Isn't there a better time for this?" John wondered.
"You need to enter the tournament. It's already planned out, the King is going to enter you and that's when you kill Sherlock. Make it to the final round, or at least make it to where you fight him. We'll poison your blade, all you need is one cut and he's dead." Mary whispered.
"I can't kill him with anything except the knife, Moriarty specified that." John pointed out. Mary cursed silently, thinking a little bit about how to possibly get around that.
"Well then we'll think, you've got plenty of time to think." Mary decided.
"What's your plan?" John wondered.
"Less you know the better, just expect a death sooner or later. In the meantime, enjoy your stay in the stocks." Mary said with a laugh, and with that she crept off into the darkness.
"Mary, Mary!" John called in a harsh whisper, struggling in the stocks to see her better. But alas she was gone, and he was left scowling alone.

It seemed that those two days in the stocks weren't enough to get John more loyal to this bully of a prince. In fact when finally the wood was unlocked and he was finally able to collapse onto the ground, he was only angrier than ever. It didn't make him want to follow the rules it made him want to break Sherlock's neck, and he knew that the only way he could do that legally was in the tournament. Of course he would have to make the whole thing look like an accident, but like it or not he knew that he needed to enter himself in. If John could only kill Sherlock with Moriarty's knife than that would be the way it would have to be, but then again he didn't need to kill Sherlock in the tournament. If John got to one of the final rounds he could kill Sherlock while he was off, in his tent somewhere where his screams would just mix in with the merriment of the crowd. John could blame it on one of his competitor's supporters, it was a very likely story and very easy to act. So as John pulled himself to his feet, collecting whatever dignity he had and cracking his neck, he knew that in order to enter that tournament he had to beat Greg. Of course, Greg might not be as good as he claimed to be; in fact he might be one of the worst swordsmen with one of the biggest egos. So John would just have to scrape up on his fighting skills and the servants would pay for him to enter and win the glory of defeating the prince. If what the servants were saying was true, that Sherlock paid off his competitors to let himself win, then obviously John wouldn't except that money. The humiliation of this so called prince was worth all the gold in the world.
"Aha!" Greg said triumphantly, rushing over to where John was stumbling up the stone steps to the castle. His muscles were weak and tight, and every movement he felt his bones cracking, as he had not walked for two days. All because he back talked prince Sherlock.
"Greg I need food." John muttered weakly, leaning heavily on the boy's shoulder for support.
"Ya, of course. I know how much those stocks drain a person." Greg assured, putting his arm around John and leading to the kitchens. John collapsed as soon as he got into the door, sitting on the damp floor surrounded by steam, the warmest he's been in a while. John was shaking, pulling his knees to his chest and shivering dispute the heat, as if he had the flu.
"God, you look awful." Greg decided, grabbing a cup of water and some bread from the tables. John nodded in thanks, grabbing the bread and downing half the loaf without taking a breath.
"I'm starving." He admitted, thankful that this bread didn't have any mold clinging to it.
"Ya, I heard Sherlock boasting the other day to his father that he put an insulant servant in the stocks to suffer, seemed pretty happy about it." Greg pointed out.
"Do you ever just want to..." John sighed, taking a sip of water to end his sentence.
"Kill him?" Greg guessed, looking as if he still thought this were a joke.
"Ya." John agreed meekly, eating another bite of bread and letting his head fall onto the wall.
"All of the time mate, but you just have to deal with it. He's a prince, there's nothing we can do." Greg shrugged. John sighed heavily, feeling a bit more peaceful now that his muscles were free to move.
"We can beat him in the tournament." John insisted. Greg just laughed, nodding in agreement.
"Oh yes we are, he's not going to know what hit him." Greg agreed.
"I'm going to try out for the servant's entry." John admitted, his words still sort of slurred. He took another sip of water to try to take care of his dry, cracked throat. A soldier had brought him water when he was in the stocks but it was warm and miserable, so he hadn't had a proper drink in two days either.
"Awesome John, that's great." Greg agreed, but John could sense the nervousness in his voice, as if worried that John would be good enough to beat him.
"We need to destroy him, humiliate him in that arena. I want his father, his mother, his brother, and Irene all to see what a big fake he is." John decided. Greg laughed harshly, slicing himself a piece of cheese and munching on it like a mouse.
"You're pretty vengeful aren't you John?" he wondered.
"He's not going to know what's coming." John agreed, and Greg laughed proudly.
"They grow up so fast." He decided, watching John like a parent. John finished off his bread and water, finally pulling himself to his feet and leaning against the wall.
"You think you can make it to the room?" Greg wondered.
"What, you're going to leave me?" John asked defensively, suddenly feeling a bit betrayed.
"No way, I was just wondering if you needed assistance." Greg assured. John smiled in relief, shaking his head and starting to stumble out the door.
"I'm uh...I think I've got it." John admitted, although he was limping against the wall the whole way there.  True to his word, Greg marched alongside like some sort of body guard, glaring at anyone who passed as if daring them to make any sort of comment.  Together they made it to the servant's quarters without too much of an issue. It was a dark place, down in the basement with only a tiny window to provide any light. The servants slept on old mattresses on wooden boards, about four to each little room, all connected by multiple wooden doors. Each bed had a scratchy woolen blankets and a lumpy pillow, but compared to his conditions back at Baskervilles this was luxury. John collapsed in his bunk, Greg helping pull the blanket up to his chin.
"I'm just going to sleep for a while I think." John decided.
"That sounds like a very good idea John, that sounds smart." Greg agreed, stepping away and waiting to see if John had anymore commands.
"Do that Adlers know where I am?" John wondered hopefully. He knew that even though he wasn't a real servant he still might get fired if he disappeared for two days.
"They know, I told them the other day, you'll be fine." Greg assured. "Now sleep, I'll see you in the morning." he insisted. John didn't need to be told twice, and as if a switch had flipped his eyes shut and he fell into the deepest most overdue sleep of his life.

                Sherlock POV: Sherlock felt like acomplete idiot when he wore armor. It was a hot, uncomfortable metal trap that was supposed to do more good than harm, but at the moment he would rather get clubbed to death than wear this tin can.
"I feel stupid." Sherlock decided, shifting the chainmail around his chest so he could breathe better.
"You look like a soldier." Molly assured with a laugh, sitting on the bed while Billy ran around trying to get Sherlock dressed for stupid. He was to have chainmail, a helmet, shoulder and arm cuffs as well as shin guards, in case someone wanted to chop off his ankles during training.
"I don't want to be a solider; I want to...OUCH BILLY!" Sherlock yelled, hitting his servant over the head with one of his leather gloves. The poor kid had tightened his metal shin guard too tight, and Sherlock didn't like to feel constricted.
"Go easy on him Sherlock; he just got out of the physician's office!" Molly exclaimed. Molly was too nice to Billy, he always insisted that Sherlock was cruel and unforgiving, but violence ensures corrections.
"Sir I'm doing the best I can." Billy mumbled fearfully, strapping on the last shin guard and handing Sherlock his sword. "Had it sharpened this morning." he said proudly.
"Brilliant, now I can decapitate someone." Sherlock said in excitement.
"No Sherlock, no decapitation!" Molly instructed, as if this were a regularly occurring thing. Billy cowered away, thinking that if Sherlock would decapitate anyone it would be him. But no, he was wrong; Sherlock didn't hate his lousy servant the most in the world, although he was up on the list. The first person Sherlock would strike down would be Mycroft; the absence of his annoying older brother would be a gift to the entire world, not just to Sherlock. He was about to say something mean about something or other when there was a knock on the door, and Sherlock gripped his sword threateningly. He knew that bloody servant had just been released to the stocks the previous night, and he was still expectinga harsh visit. He was looking forward to it, actually, so he could give that boy two more days in the stocks. It really was fun seeing your enemies suffer.
"Come in!" Molly called.
"You can't just invite people into my room; it's not your job." Sherlock hissed, but it was too late, the door was opened and not John but Irene entered the room. She was wearing a long black dress with her hair knotted in some sort of elaborate braid, standing tall and proud. Her smile faded just a little bit when she saw Molly on the bed, obviously a little bit jealous to see Sherlock hanging around with another girl.
"Hello Sherlock." She said with a smile, her eyes sweeping over his armor." Doing some fighting today?"
"Only with my self-loathing." Sherlock assured, knocking himself on the head with the flat of his blade before throwing it at Billy, who caught it just in time. Irene looked over at Molly curiously, who shook her head in reassurance. Irene was probably thinking Sherlock was a complete psychopath, and of course she'd be right.
"He's training for the tournament today." Molly pointed out, and Irene nodded.
"Going to win again?" she wondered. Sherlock sighed heavily, shrugging in annoyance.
"Oh, who knows?" he muttered. He honestly had no idea, maybe not all the competitors would accept the gold, maybe they won't all give up. Either way Sherlock didn't care, it was just another thing to push out of his to do list.
"I've heard you have quite a track record, I like a man who can fight." Irene admitted, as if this should make Sherlock very happy. It actually did satisfy him, because God knows he can't fight and therefore Irene might like him a little bit less.
"Well there are plenty of men out there who can fight." Sherlock pointed out.
"Not all of them are princes though, not handsome ones at least." Irene insisted. Sherlock couldn't help but frown, as if he had just smelled something extremely foul.
"I'm sure there are still plenty of handsome fighting princes out there." He decided.
"You sound as if you don't want me for your bride." Irene pointed out, sounding a bit insulted. Billy started to sharpen the already sharpened sword, just for something to do other than eavesdrop on royal conversations.
"Oh I um...I really must be going." Sherlock decided, grabbing the sword from Billy's hands and sliding it into is sheath. Irene frowned, stepping out of the way for the trio to march out the door, leaving Irene's question unanswered. Mycroft had told Sherlock never to lie, and even though he was one of the worst liars in the kingdom he followed that rule when it was convenient. Right now, it was convenient, so instead of lying to Irene by answering her question with what she wanted to hear, Sherlock didn't say anything at all. He thought that was satisfactory.