The day went on just like the last, and the next day went just like the previous. John fought the battles he needed to fight; he made his competitors look like tragic idiots and humiliated them to the best of his abilities. Some actually came very close to straight up shish kabobing him on their swords, but thankfully John was too quick for that. He didn't actually make any strikes with his sword; in fact John didn't even think he needed a weapon out there to beat these men. All he needed was his speed, agility, and laughter. John was quickly becoming the fan favorite; his tent that had once been deserted was now swimming with fans, all waiting around after his fights for autographs and stuff like that. John just smiled at them, signed what they wanted signed, talked a little bit, and thanked them for their support, but it was still mind-blowing that they would actually care. He tried to be as nice as possible when he pushed them away, because as much as he loved his fans he really needed some privacy. Another great thing about winning these matches was that Sherlock was winning his, and soon it became apparent that they were both going to end up going to the final round. There were no competitors that were quick enough or humble enough to get kicked around by John or bribed by Sherlock, and as soon as the bell rang in John's final match on the third day, he knew he was going to the finals. His day had finally come where he was going to make that poor prince cry. But John couldn't help but feel guilty. As he felt with this whole assassination thing, he felt as though he wasn't going to be able to do it, he kind of wanted to spare the prince the pain. He had a good point, of course; he was doing all of this for his kingdom, and Sherlock showed up to every single one of John's matches to support him. He looked so happy to see John successful; John doubted his entire plan of action every time he saw Sherlock beaming over the crowd. But he had to think back to when they first met, to when Sherlock treated him like dirt, to when he forced him in the stocks, and suddenly that anger became clear again, suddenly John hungered for revenge once more. John also learned that the champion of this tournament would not only get money, but a celebration. There was to be a royal ball held in the winner's honor, and the winner, whether that be Sherlock or John, was going to have to bring a woman and dance and all of that stuff. John didn't really like the sound of that, not only did he not have formal attire but he didn't want to have to pick a woman to dance with. Not that he wasn't interested in a beautiful woman of course, just that he didn't really, well, he didn't really feel like it. He'd much rather have a servant's celebration in the servant's quarters than drink fancy wine and talk to boring people about nothing. When John's final battle became his latest victory the stands erupted din massive cheers, everyone rose to their feet, clapping and screaming in admiration. John did a victory lap around the arena, clapping as many hands as he could reach and prancing around like an idiot. He then ran to the middle of the arena and jumped for joy, making sure that everyone knew he was completely psyched to go to the final. No one ever believed he would actually make it, John never believed he would actually make it, it was some sort of insane miracle that now he was a finalist. And then, not thirty minutes later, it was made official that Sherlock would be reaching the finals as well, but there was a lot less clapping. It was very obvious who the fans were cheering for this year, and John knew that he had now won the tournament. Unless Sherlock somehow made himself into a sword fighting master overnight, John was going to win in the finals the next year because he would never take any gold, nor any bribe that prince had to offer. That night the servant's celebrations were louder and more intoxicated than any night previous, everyone was already certain that John would be victorious; they knew how much of a sham Sherlock Holmes was. John didn't drink, as usual, but he certainly wasn't going to ignore all of the festivities that the people were having. There was music, dancing, and John was being treated as though he were some sort of hero. The servants draped him in one of the woolen blankets like a cape, and he spent the night talking and singing and having a grand old time. Greg was leading the songs, swaying on his feet and chortling out some twisted, drunken version of an old folk song. The rest of the men joined in, as did John, and they were all having a grand old time. But as soon as the song was getting loud, there was a knock on the door, and everyone hushed.
"EVERYONE PRETEND WE'RE NOT HERE! BE REALLY QUIET!" screamed a man from the back, louder than John could even fathom.
"Who is it?" Greg wondered quietly. Everyone that should be here was here, so everyone was confused as to who wanted to come in. John, of course, knew that there was only one person who would want to see any of the servants, probably come with a little deal.
"Come in!" John called. The door swung open and, of course, Sherlock walked in. He was dressed formally, with his cape swaying behind his feet. He looked very impressive, walking into the servants quarters as if he owned the place, which technically he kind of did. All the men immediately sat down on their beds, trying to kick their mugs of beer out of eye sight, trying to act like they were doing nothing but chatting aimlessly. They all gave Sherlock rather nasty looks, knowing that he was the only thing in the way of John winning tomorrow, as small of an obstacle he was, he was still considered a threat. Soon John, Greg, and a couple of other servants were the only ones standing. The ones that wanted to oppose Sherlock as much as possible and the ones who were too drunk to notice they were in the presence of royalty.
"Hello Sherlock." John said, breaking the tangible silence that hung over the servant's quarters like a fog.
"John, I came to have a word." Sherlock said rather obviously, casting disapproving looks to where the men wobbled on their beds, laughing to themselves like mad men.
"You can have two words from me!" One of the men said, and proceeded to say something to Sherlock that you should never say to a prince. He chuckled absentmindedly, cackling on his bed while the rest of the servants howled with laughter. Sherlock, however, didn't seem to notice, which was very unlike him. Usually he would lock up anyone who dare disgrace his royal name.
"Would you like to take a walk?" Sherlock wondered, walking closer to where John stood. The servants were now grabbing at his cape, trying to play with the fabric as it billowed behind him. Sherlock paid them no attention.
"Yes, well, um...not really." John admitted, looking around at all the fun he had been having previously.
"It's alright if you don't, I just, well we haven't seen each other in a while that's all." Sherlock admitted. It was true, ever since their awkward nighttime conversation the two hadn't talked to each other and that was very odd considering somehow Sherlock managed to run into John all over the castle.
"You go ahead John, it's alright." Greg assured, his way of saying you better go with him so that he doesn't behead us all. John sighed heavily, but stepped closer to Sherlock, who looked down on him proudly.
"Thank you." Sherlock said with a smile, staring out the door with long strides, his cape looking much more impressive than the woolen blanket tied around John's shoulders.                       

Sherlock POV: Sherlock waited outside of the servant's quarters for longer than he would've liked, obviously John had to make himself look a bit more presentable. Sherlock despised servants, and after the display those filthy men had put on in there, well he was fully prepared to fire them all. Drinking in the castle, where did they even get the beer? Surely they couldn't buy it? Insulant thieves, no wonder they were the lowest of the low. Sherlock scowled once more, but took the solitude as an opportunity to try to see his reflection on the glass window, trying to fix his curls as much as possible. He knew that there really wasn't any need to look good; it was only a walk with John Watson, a moonlit stroll, all alone...Sherlock tried to make his hair look as best as possible, now he was a bit desperate. He didn't know what it was about John that made him so anxious, the solitude spent in the servant's presence was something of a torture to be honest, a torture Sherlock just couldn't get enough of. He felt like there was a spotlight on him at all times, and for some reason he was forced to look, act, and be his absolutely best. It was worse than any royal expectations, it was the expectations of someone who's opinion didn't matter at all, and for some reason Sherlock found that so much worse.
"Are you fixing your hair?" John wondered from behind him. Sherlock dropped his hands immediately, turning to face John with an apologetic smile.
"No, of course not, I thought there was something in my hair that's all." He said quickly. He didn't know why he thought fixing his hair was bad, but as soon as John questioned him he felt like he needed to protect his masculinity, at least a little bit.
"Sure." John nodded, not looking convinced at all. Sherlock gave him a rather confused look, but decided to just ignore it, fixing his cape around his shoulders and looking down at John with a smile.
"Alright then, a walk?" John wondered, giving Sherlock a very accusing look, as if he had done something wrong. Sherlock blinked for a moment, but nodded, turning on his heel and starting down the hallway. John scampered to catch up, his little strides struggling to match Sherlock's long ones.
"I saw you fight today." Sherlock said, starting a very awkward conversation.
"Ya, I saw you watching. Did you like it?" John wondered. Sherlock laughed a little bit guiltily, thinking back to all of the men that seemed like absolute fools.
"Loved it, of course. You're no more of a fighter than you are an entertainer, even my father was impressed." Sherlock admitted.
"Ya well, I guess the fans really like me." John agreed proudly. Sherlock nodded, knowing that the fans never really cheered for him when he won. It was expected, not exciting. After eight years of winning, Sherlock knew there was no more question to it, expect for this year. This year the fans were probably wondering just who was going to be the new champion, they were probably ever so anxious to know if the new John Watson could take on the eight time consecutive cheater.
"I told you the first night John; I said that you were going to win. I was right." Sherlock decided, looking a bit meek as he said that, as if expecting John to start to go on about how Sherlock had a chance as well. But John was silence, and Sherlock just sighed. That was expected. John knew that Sherlock had no chance, and now Sherlock was starting to doubt his motives of taking John out here in the first place. Obviously there was no chance of him ever taking the bets, and that was why Sherlock took him for this walk. But now he doubted how much he even wanted to win in the first place, who cared about humiliations, who cared about this false honor he had? John deserved the victory, the gold, the celebrations. Maybe John's happiness was going to be worth it all in the end.
"So, you wanted to talk to me about something I'm sure?" John wondered as they passed out the doors of the castle, making their way down the paths. Sherlock was leading the way, but he honestly didn't know where he was supposed to be going.
"Yes, well, it was the same offer, of course. But I know that you're not going to be persuaded, so I'm fairly certain that I'm just wasting your time." Sherlock decided.
"Well, um...kind of." John agreed, looking longingly back to the castle as they walked farther and farther away. The streets were quiet and dark, all of the townspeople having gone into their houses, settling down in bed with hope in their hearts; hope that this servant would be able to take on the prince. Sherlock knew that this would be the last day that these people respected him, even though he may not be their favorite they still admired him as a prince, this was the last day that they would think he was special. After tomorrow's match everyone would know who and what he truly was, what he was doing.
"John, do you respect me?" Sherlock asked quickly. John looked at him in confusion, as if wondering what kind of question that was.
"Do you want me to be honest?" John wondered. Sherlock nodded, thinking that was rather obvious.
"Yes of course." Sherlock agreed. John sighed heavily, looking down at the path they were walking on and not meeting Sherlock's eyes.
"No, not really." John admitted. Sherlock sighed heavily, nodding in agreement. He didn't respect himself either.
"What do you think of me?" Sherlock wondered, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.
"I think you're greedy, and selfish, and a royal pain." John decided with an apologetic smile.
"Do you think everyone will think that of me after I lose?" Sherlock wondered. John shrugged, but Sherlock couldn't tell what was going through his mind.
"I don't know, I guess it depends on how badly you lose." He decided. There was a silence, and Sherlock couldn't bear to look at John, he didn't want to see the disappointed face on that boy's face. Slowly they made their way to the gardens, the moonlight lighting their way and making the flower petals glow in a silver aura.
"What do you think of me?" John wondered, looking up at Sherlock suddenly. Sherlock looked back awkwardly, seeing John's eyes on him and immediately dropping his gaze. Something about John's eyes made him feel guilty for even trying to look back.
"Well, um, I think you're a good person. I think you're brave, and comical, and responsible. You're basically everything a prince should be, and yet I wear the crown." Sherlock admitted.
"It's not your fault that you're a prince Sherlock, you were born like that. I was born a servant." John shrugged.
"But obviously it's wrong; you must see that this is all wrong. I have no talents, I should be a servant, I should be making beds and cleaning the floors and serving the food. You, with your sword skills and your respectability, you should be the prince. The mask that I put on every time I go out in public, I need to pretend to be someone just like you." Sherlock admitted.
"What do you suggest Sherlock, we switch parents? Should I possibly put on a hat and pretend to be you for the rest of my life?" John wondered, not sounding amused, more inconvenienced. Sherlock felt a bit bad for taking him from his little servant's gala, but still, he loved John's company and he wanted more of it. Sherlock stopped walking, he didn't want to go anywhere for some reason, his legs just wouldn't permit it. John stopped as well, looking at Sherlock in confusion, wondering what the problem could possibly be.
"You deserve so much more than what you are, John." Sherlock whispered, his lips trembling to spit the words out. John still didn't look impressed, more bored.
"I'm happy with my life Sherlock, but I can see you're not happy with yours." John decided.
"I want..." Sherlock took a deep breath, shaking his head in defeat. What did he really want, what did he want that he didn't already have? Respect, power? Love?
"Sherlock I'm sorry, but I don't even know what you're talking about, I don't know how I can help." John admitted. Sherlock felt like he were going to cry but he had no idea why, he felt like his heart was shattering but he didn't know what was breaking it. Was it John's glare; was it the reality setting in that he was one of the biggest failures ever born? Was it the pressure of knowing that tomorrow his name would mean nothing to the people of his kingdom?
"I want someone to see me, John, someone to know what I'm going through, what I'm doing." Sherlock admitted, looking at John with broken eyes.
"I know what you're going through Sherlock, I know." John assured. Sherlock shook his head, closing his eyes and hiding his face from John, suddenly embarrassed to even be saying anything like this. What could John do, why should John care? This was just Sherlock spewing more and more nonsense at a boy who would do nothing about it.
"I don't even think I know what I'm going through." Sherlock admitted. "How could you possibly know?"
"Then why are you asking me?" John wondered.
"Because I think you're going to be the one to finally figure it out. I think you'll be the one to either destroy me or raise me higher than ever. We were destined John, destined to meet, to hate each other, I think that for some reason, our paths will be intertwined for the rest of our lives." Sherlock said, not knowing what he was saying until it was already out of his mouth. John just looked at him with soft eyes, confused eyes, but something in them was more than confusion, something that sort of seemed like care.
"If you say that we're connected then I'm not going to argue. I just can't see how, a prince and a servant, anything other than hatred will just feel wrong." He admitted. Sherlock shook his head, feeling a tear slide down his cheek, he wanted to brush it away, he was humiliated to have John see him cry, but his hands wouldn't move. His hands felt so empty, he wanted to be closer to John but he knew he wouldn't be able to step forward, he wanted to hold John's hand, to touch his skin and burry his face in his shoulder, he wanted to feel like someone actually cared.
"Do you hate me John?" Sherlock whispered fearfully, looking up into those hazel eyes and seeing so many emotions swirling inside of them.
"I don't know." John admitted, and that seemed like an honest answer. He had no idea what to say or to think, and Sherlock felt the exact same way. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel about the man standing before him. There was a long silence, and John had long since dropped his gaze, looking at the roses over Sherlock's shoulder or examining his shoes. Sherlock, however, stared right at him, staring at him as if he were absorbing every little detail in his beautiful face, trying to remember it for the rest of his life when John was long gone.
"John just..." Sherlock took a deep breath, one of his trembling hands starting to reach for John's hand, swinging innocently at his side. John looked down at Sherlock's hand and immediately the prince stopped, not knowing what he was doing or what he was planning on doing. Sherlock shook his head, stepping away in embarrassment. What was he thinking?
"You can go." He muttered. "I don't think I have anything more to say." John stood there for a while, and for a hopeful moment Sherlock thought that he was going to stay, comfort Sherlock while he broke down, tell him how good of a person he was dispute all of his faults.
"Alright then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." John muttered, obviously very anxious to get out of there as fast as he could. And just like that, he disappeared, walking until he was out of Sherlock's sight, and after that Sherlock was sure he broke into a run. This left Sherlock standing alone in the gardens, his skin cold and his hands empty, wishing that John was still standing in front of him to wipe away the tears that now fell down his cheeks.