Sherlock was just about to turn the page of his book when there was a rustling in the underbrush, not ten feet away. Sherlock stared at it, hoping that it was just a bird or chipmunk or something harmless like that, but he heard it again, and that was no bird. It was loud, obviously some sort of big animal moving around in the dirt. Sherlock edged over to his bow and arrows, hoping that maybe he could manage one good shot. But before he could even grab the weapon something burst out of the underbrush, a small fat animal, charging at him with large tusks. Sherlock screamed, diving for his sword but missing, lying on the ground in a fetal position and waiting for death to come... But there was another scream, not of fright but something of a war cry, and then there was a high pitched squeal, as if his attacker had just been attacked. Sherlock looked up in shock, seeing a boy standing above the dead animal, cleaning off what looked to be a silver knife with emeralds shining on the hilt. He looked familiar but Sherlock couldn't tell who he was, he had sandy blonde hair and he was kind of short but he held himself proudly, as if he were small but mighty. Sherlock got to his feet fearfully, grabbing his sword from the leaves and brandishing it at the boy.
"Who are you?" he asked fearfully. The boy turned, tucking the knife back into his belt and smiling reassuringly.
"I'm the one who just saved your life." He insisted with a proud smile, his eyes sweeping over Sherlock as if he were just seeing him for the first time. Sherlock waved the sword threateningly at him but the boy seemed unimpressed, as if he were daring Sherlock to try to use the weapon.
"Are you going to hurt me too?" Sherlock wondered. The boy just laughed, holding his hands up defensively. Sherlock frowned, throwing the sword towards the tree and glaring at the boy.
"Who are you?" he wondered.
"John Watson." The boy said proudly, holding out a rather bloody hand to shake.
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Sherlock wondered, scowling at the hand and not shaking.
"Well, no, I guess not. I'm a servant from the Adler family, just out for a walk in the woods." John shrugged.
"And you just happened upon me getting attacked, at the right moment?" Sherlock wondered.
"Well, I heard what I thought to be a damsel in distress, or the cry of a newborn kitten. So I came running." John admitted with a guilty smile. Sherlock stared at him, looking him over for a moment and suddenly realizing why he recognized that smug face.
"You're the servant from dinner last night, the idiot who asked about the wine!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"And you're Sherlock, the Golden Prince." John agreed. "Ya, I'm new to this whole servant thing."
"Well don't talk to us, don't acknowledge us or look at us, do as your told and you won't get in trouble." Sherlock advised. John nodded, looking as if he was prepared to disobey all of those rules.
"Got it. Well, here I am acknowledging you, looking at you, and talking to you, so I might as well be hanged." He said jokingly.
"Treat me with disrespect one more time and you very well might be." Sherlock agreed, narrowing his eyes that the boy. He looked to be examining Sherlock as well, with something as a smile on his face.
"Come on mate, I just saved your life, a little bit of gratitude would be nice." John pointed out.
"Nice, yes, but as I am apparently very rude you will not receive any. You saved me from a mere pig, which I will now be claiming as my prize." Sherlock decided.
"Prize? I killed it, I should get the pig!" John insisted. Sherlock just laughed, walking up to the beast and poking it with his foot. He winced when he saw the jagged tusks sticking out of his skull, tusks that would've definitely killed him if dug into the right place.
"Well if I hadn't lured it out you wouldn't be able to kill it, so it's mine." He decided.
"No way, that's not fair at all!" John insisted, sounding as if he were genuinely surprised that Sherlock was being so selfish.
"Life's not always fair servant, and considering my last name has much more power than yours, this pig is mine." Sherlock decided, grabbing the pig around the middle and trying to heave it into his arms. Of course it was too heavy for his little noodle arms, and he ended up kicking his feet against the leaves and not even budging the heavy animal off of the ground.
"Alright then, have fun with your pig. I have to admit though; I expected more from the Golden Prince." John admitted, starting off down the path once more.
"Wait!" Sherlock called almost too desperately. He knew there was a smile on John's face even though he wasn't facing him, turning on his heel and giving Sherlock a look made purely of 'I told you so'.
"Oh I'm sorry, does the prince require assistance? But no, surely not from a servant, surely not someone with an unknown last name?" John said tauntingly.
"Oh you're pushing your limits servant, you really are!" Sherlock warned, taking a step forward. Joh just raised his eyebrows, as if inviting him to do his worst. Sherlock just scowled, turning away moodily and turning back to the pig.
"How do I even get it home?" Sherlock wondered with a groan. This hunting thing was a big scam.
"I could help you put it onto your horse." John offered. Sherlock looked at him in suspicion, wondering what he could possibly want in return.
"Why would you help me voluntarily? What do you want?" Sherlock wondered.
"Because you need help." John said, as if that were obvious. He looked at Sherlock like he was crazy, and Sherlock just blinked, shaking his head and going back over to the pig.
"Alright then, help a prince in need, that is your job, is it not?" he wondered, taking the head of the pig so that John would have to deal with the disgusting rear. John just sighed, shaking his head as if Sherlock's attitude was just too much, but together they were able to heave the pig onto the back of Redbeard's saddle. The horse watched them curiously, obviously this was the first time he was actually carrying a dead animal.
"Sherlock your horse probably can't hold too much weight; you'll have to walk him home." John decided.
"Do you doubt the strength of my horse or the weight of me?" Sherlock wondered, immediately insulted whichever way you looked at it. John sighed heavily, as if he wanted no more than to stick that fancy silver blade into Sherlock's heart as well.
"I'll help you walk your horse back to the castle." John offered, as if that were enough to pay for his insult. Sherlock glared at him, trying to stand proud and tall to show him who's in charge.
"Very well. But the pig is mine and you won't say a word otherwise, or I shall throw you in the stocks for a month." Sherlock threatened. John just laughed, shrugging and walking over to retrieve Sherlock's bow and arrow from underneath the tree.
"You were out here hunting?" John guessed, looking at the untouched arrows and flicking specs of dust from the bow. Sherlock grabbed the weapons furiously, stashing them onto the horse and nodding.
"Yes, hunting. Mycroft made me go...I mean I fancied a nice relaxing hunt, just me, the woods, and hopefully some dead animals." Sherlock decided, casting a sideways glance at the pig who lay dead on his horse. Poor thing.
"You like hunting then?" John wondered, not looking very convinced.
"Yes of course. I am a man, that is what men enjoy." Sherlock insisted.
"Then why is there a book lying next to that tree?" John wondered, tilting his over to where Sherlock had dropped his book and ran for his life. Sherlock ran over to the tree, snatching the novel from the leaves and brushing it off, worried that his favorite book would be ruined.
"I was tracking; it's a book of prints." Sherlock lied, shoving the book into his game back with all the others, hoping John wouldn't see. "Now get moving, you said you'd walk my horse back to the palace I expect you to do so." he insisted, throwing the bag back onto Redbeard's back and throwing John the reins. John looked at Sherlock in shock, as if his idiocy truly surprised him.
"I said I would help you, not do it myself. I think a royal can do at least something by himself." John insisted. Sherlock just laughed for a moment, shaking his head and taking a step closer to the boy. John stood his ground and looked more annoyed than scared, as Sherlock's presence didn't frighten him the least bit.
"Alright Mr...What's on, I'll give you a little bit of a break since you're new." Sherlock decided.
"Watson." John snapped, clenching his jaw in anger.
"Yes, yes not the point. But obviously since you can't figure out how to do your job I'll run you through it one more time." Sherlock decided. "You," he poked John's chest, hoping to at least make him stumble a little bit. To his annoyance Sherlock just stubbed his finger a little bit, drawing it back and resisting the temptation to cradle it. "You are a servant." Sherlock pointed out.
"So I'm aware." John agreed, staring at Sherlock as if everything he had to say was rubbish.
"I am a prince, the Golden prince, the most important man to be born in centuries." Sherlock said proudly.
"Well you act like a child." John muttered under his breath. Sherlock drew back in shock, gasping and probably looking like a scandalized maid when she had just heard of a royal affair.
"A child?" Sherlock said loudly. "A child!" he stepped up so close to John that he could smell the dirt clinging to his face, the hay on his clothing from sleeping in the servant's quarters. "Don't you call me a child." He growled, trying to bring himself to full height so he could truly look down on John.
"Alright then, fine." John muttered, taking a step away to get some personal space. "A tween."
"THE STOCKS!" Sherlock yelled triumphantly to an audience of no one but his horse. "Two days in the stocks ought to teach you some manners." John just laughed, shaking his head and looking at Sherlock as if trying to see if he were serious or not.
"Sherlock are you serious?" he wondered, still seeming to think that this was all some big joke.
"Don't call me Sherlock as if we're friends. Don't call me anything in fact, now walk my horse back through town and immediately after it's to the stocks." Sherlock snapped, raising his eyebrows at John as if to see if he would actually walk or not. John seemed speechless, so without a word he started to walk Redbeard down the path, all of his humor long gone. Sherlock followed close behind, proud with himself for making the boy so upset. It was his royal duty to be a royal pain, and Mycroft would be proud to know that Sherlock was doing his job. It was a long, boring walk back to the palace, but when Sherlock arrived there was a great cheer from the townspeople. Sherlock waved and smiled, displaying his pig proudly so that they all knew he had killed it. John kept his head down, looking furious as all the townspeople cheered for their phony prince. Little children ran up to give Sherlock flowers which he graciously accepted, tucking them into his pocket and patting the children on the head. He made a mental note to sanitize his hand later, those children might have lice. He didn't necessarily care about the townspeople but he did love their gratitude, their praise. Even though he knew he deserved none of it, it was good to get a little bit of attention now and then. When finally John led the horse to the stables he dropped the reins, looking at Sherlock in awe.
"Are you really such a fake?" he wondered, looking far past scandalized, more disappointed actually. Even though this boy had caused him a lot of trouble for some reason it made Sherlock sad to see such a look on his face. Sherlock didn't want him to look so upset, even if he was annoying.
"What makes that such a big deal?" Sherlock snapped, grabbing the reins and leading Redbeard to his stall. John followed obediently, scuffing his shoes against the dirt floor.
"Well I knew about you before I knew you. Even in the Adler kingdom we knew the legend of the Golden Prince. That the sky was gold when you were born, that you were some great warrior and brave leader. Is that really not true?" John wondered in a small voice. Sherlock sighed heavily, stroking Redbeard's nose lovingly and avoiding eye contact with this emotional servant.
"I don't know." Sherlock admitted.
"What don't you know?" John asked, sounding almost hopeful.
"How could I know if the sky was really gold? I was just a baby." Sherlock said with a sort of smile.
"So you are a fake. The rumors are all wrong." John groaned.
"It doesn't mean I won't grow to be a leader, but right now I'm, well, I'm me." Sherlock admitted.
"Trying to be someone else." John pointed out.
"Trying to be an example, trying to live up to everyone's expectations. That disappointment you feel now how would you like the whole kingdom to feel that? No one loves a prince they know is useless. No one wants to be under a ruler who can't even..." Sherlock took a deep breath, shaking his head and not finishing his sentence, realizing he was about to pour his heart and soul out to a meager servant.
"Help me with this pig." Sherlock decided, walking over to the back of the horse.
"Where are we taking it?" John wondered, following right behind.
"Oh, over on the floor I suppose, the servants will take care of it." Sherlock decided.
"I am a servant." John pointed out, as if that wasn't obvious.
"Then tell all your little friends to take care of it. I imagine my brother will be proud." Sherlock decided. Together they lifted the pig off of Redbeard and walked it out of the stall, placing it on the dirt floor for someone to take care of. Sherlock sighed, stretching out his arms and unloaded Redbeard's load, taking his bow, sword, and books onto his own back and placing the saddle where someone would see it and put it away. Finally he fed the horse one last carrot before looking over at John, who was lingering over by the feed and staring at the ground thoughtfully.
"Alright then, follow me." Sherlock decided, starting off towards the castle.
"To where?" John wondered, scampering behind excitedly.
"To your new home." Sherlock said with a little laugh. 

 John POV: Whoever it was that invented stocks, John would like to have a word with them. Maybe more than one word, actually, and some very angry ones as well. Sherlock wasn't kidding when he had said two days in these wooden shackles, and it's only been about two hours and John already wanted to cry. At first when passersby noticed him he would smile, roll his eyes as if this was some sort of misunderstanding, and they would be on their way. But as time went on the people got more and more daring. Some children came up and poked his nose, wrinkled his eyebrows the wrong way and stuck their tongues out at him. John thought this was kind of cute, but then the adults started to come, laughing at him and going so far as to kick his feet out from under him, making John fall down and bang his neck painfully against the head hole. 

"Hey come on, come on that hurts!" John insisted. They didn't respond and obviously didn't care, because someone had just kicked the back of his knee out and made his legs collapse from underneath him once more. "That bloody prince, when I get my hands on him..." John muttered.
"Won't be doing that too soon will you? Two days in the stocks will do you some good." One of the women decided with a laugh, bustling along to the market as if this were totally normal. Public humiliation, it was just excellent.
"One day in Lauriston and you end up in the stocks. Oh this is just great!" said a familiar voice to the side. John tried to look but every time he did his neck got jammed painfully against the wood so he was left wincing, shaking his head in defeat.
"Ya whoever that is I can't see you, so if you want to be antagonizing at least let me know who you are." John snapped. And of course, it was Greg, stepping out where John could see him with the biggest smile on his face.
"Oh I really wished I had a tomato right now." Greg decided.
"Oh shut up." John snapped. Greg just sighed, poking John's forehead just to prove that he could.
"Who put you in here?" he wondered.
"Take a guess." John said bitterly.
"Irene?" Greg wondered. John sighed, shaking his head the most he could without decapitating himself.
"Sherlock." John corrected.
"The Golden Prince himself! Sounds like Sherlock ya, what did you do?" Greg wondered.
"Nothing, well, I don't know really. He got attacked by a pig and I...he killed it. He was hunting or whatever. Anyway I called him a child and then he put me in the stocks, no idea why." John admitted. Greg just laughed, laughed as if this were the best thing in the world.
"Never ever insult the prince; he had no tolerance to attitude, especially from servants." Greg advised.
"Ya, I've noticed. You sound like you have some experience though." John pointed out. Greg just sighed, shrugging and looking around; making sure no one saw him talking to the prisoner.
"Ya, I've done my time now and then." He agreed. "Not for, how long are you in here, two days?"
"Yes. Do they feed me?" John wondered.
"Ya, the moldy bread." Greg agreed. John groaned, kicking his feet around on the cobblestone moodily.
"This is miserable, my back hurts and my soul is crying." John insisted.
"Yes well, it'll teach you a lesson. Always pretend that Sherlock is awesome and he'll tolerate you. His ego is bigger than his kingdom, it's best you stay away." Greg suggested.
"Well next time I will, but not until that lying cockroach learns his lesson." John insisted, thinking to the knife he still had concealed in his belt. He sort of felt a lot better about killing Sherlock now that he had proved to be a massive jerk. Maybe John could kill him before his story was out, maybe he could kill him so that he could die a hero's death and still not disappoint all of those who looked to him for guidance.
"Sherlock's just moody; he might even let you out early if you praise him." Greg assured.
"He'll come down here just to see me?" John wondered.
"His prize in the stocks, of course. It makes him feel dominant, he likes that." Greg pointed out.
"And why are you out here then?" John wondered.
"Just got done practicing." Greg said with a proud smile, gesturing to the sword at his hip.
"Practicing for the tournament?" John wondered. Greg nodded, looking like an excited child wiling to tell anyone about what he had done today. "You think I'm good enough to enter?"
"You could always try as a servant, a lot of people like you around here; I'm already hearing your name in the daily gossip." Greg suggested. John just laughed, shaking his head.
"That's impossible, I could never beat you." He insisted. This seemed to boost Greg's self esteem just a little bit more, and he held his head a bit higher.
"Well you could always try if you'd like, worth a shot right?" Greg pointed out. John smiled rather timidly, but couldn't help thinking he had a bit of a shot. He used to sword fight his father with sticks all of the time, just a little bit of sparring to clear their head on a long farm day. Over the years John had actually gotten pretty good, though probably not nearly as good as Greg.
"Alright then John, I'll see you later, got to check up on those royals. I'll stop in by the Adlers, make sure they know where you are." Greg assured.
"Thanks so much, I owe you one." John said with the biggest smile he could muster right now, which was really more of a weak little grin. He was feeling miserable, inside and out. These stocks would drain the life from him if he had to stay more than two days.
"No problem buddy, see you later I guess." Greg shrugged, starting his way back to the castle.
"I'm not going anywhere." John mumbled bitterly, mostly to himself.