"All of this noble stuff, it's so tedious." Molly groaned, pulling her hair out of the tight bun it had been trapped in all day.
"Oh, you're telling me." Sherlock growled. "I need a bath." He decided.
"Yes well Billy's going to be very occupied getting all of that armor up to the castle; maybe if you would've helped him he would be here to get you some water." Molly teased.
"Then go get someone to help him." Sherlock snapped. "Or better yet, do it yourself!"
"I'm a lady Sherlock; ladies can't do any heavy lifting." Molly pointed out.
"Armor's not heavy, you're making excuses." Sherlock insisted. But even as he said it, the door opened and Billy stood in the doorway, looking like he had seen the Devil with his own two eyes, holding all of Sherlock's armor, using even his pinky to try to clutch onto one of the shin guards.
"Your majesty, your armor." Billy said in a breath, letting it all fall to the floor as soon as he stepped inside. Sherlock just covered his ears in exasperation, wincing as he was sure they would all be dented now.
"Well you'll need to polish it before tomorrow, but you need to draw me a bath first. Molly, scram." Sherlock decided.
"Sherlock there's a screen for a reason!" Molly exclaimed, but she knew this was a losing argument. Sherlock wasn't usually so modest, but having a bath was a great excuse to get everyone to leave him alone.
"Just go away, Billy, water!" Sherlock demanded, thrusting a finger at the door. Molly groaned loudly, but slowly she collected her high heels and walked barefoot out the door. Sherlock didn't bother saying goodbye. Billy grabbed the bucket next to the bath, rushing out the door and leaving the big mess of armor for Sherlock to deal with himself. He tediously picked it all up, throwing it onto his bed instead of actually putting it into his closet. Billy would take it away before Sherlock went to bed anyway. He groaned heavily, running his fingers through his sweaty curls, not wanting to even think about the day he's had, or the days ahead. So while he waited for Billy to come with the water, Sherlock changed into a simple robe, tying it tightly around himself so that when Billy came around he could just shoo him away and get right into his warm bath. All he wanted to do was relax right now; he didn't want any social interactions or conversations about his future responsibilities. He didn't want to think about the tournament or the bribery or actual skill. He just wanted to sit in a puddle of hot water and let his aching muscles be still. Sherlock threw all of his clothes into his laundry pile and walked around his room lamely, making sure the curtains were over the windows in case any creepy people wanted to watch him bathe through the window. Finally the door opened and Billy stumbled in, carrying two large buckets of water. Sherlock had to admit, he was more strong than anyone ever gave him credit for, and soon Sherlock's little bathtub was filled to the brim with nice hot water. Billy made sure to add extra soap suds, knowing that Sherlock enjoyed the smell, and finally bowed his way out of the room, grabbing all of the armor once more and juggling it to wherever he slept at night. Sherlock closed the door and finally sunk into the bath, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the way the hot water burned his skin. Sometimes this was all he needed, just to forget about everything for a little while. Sherlock closed his eyes breathing heavily and letting his head fall onto the rim of the bath, settling himself in as if he were going to fall asleep. This was one of the few advantages of being a prince, the sweet scent of rose soap, the nice hot water with zero effort, the privacy and the luxury. It almost made him pity Billy and John and the rest of the servants. Almost. 

 John POV: John sat on his bed with the biggest smile on his face, the sun having long since set over the horizon but no one felt like sleeping. The servant's quarters were alive with action, people talking loudly, polishing armor for John's next day in the tournament, and eating food that they had managed to sneak in from the kitchens. Someone was playing their flute in the back corner, people were dancing and singing and drinking, it was a servant's celebration, all in John's honor. 

"That was amazing, did I tell you that was amazing?" Greg asked in a drunken voice, reminding John of his feelings for the hundredth time that night.
"Yes Greg, you actually did." John agreed with a laugh. Even though he was having a great time he refused to drink anything, he didn't need to be hung over for the next day. He was hoping that everyone would just quiet down, he wanted to have a good night sleep again, hopefully better than the one he had gotten last night. Of course John knew that these festivities would stop if he simply said the word, but at the moment he didn't want to dull the happiness that was flowing from the servant's quarters. This was one of the first times in a while that they were all carelessly happy, that they all had some hope. John felt honored to be their first light in a while, the man who was going to bring honor to the men who had none, but he still felt a little bit guilty. Surely they needed to remember that he wasn't even from their kingdom, he was a servant of the Adler family, and he needed to leave eventually. He just hoped they didn't get all attached to him just in time to send him away forever. Then again, John wasn't just a servant, and these days he was having a little bit of trouble remembering that. He was sent here not to bring the servants glory; he was here to kill the prince. But as these days went on he started to realize that there was more to that stupid prince then he had previously thought. And it was getting harder and harder to realize that he was going to be the one to slit his throat.
"How'd Sherlock's match end up?" John asked Greg, who was sipping even more beer and swaying on his bunk.
"Oh who cares?" Greg wondered. John nodded in agreement, but he couldn't help but wonder. Obviously Sherlock had bribed his competitor, that's why John didn't want to stick around and watch it. But maybe it had gone wrong? It was worth a shot, and besides, John wanted a bit of silence as well. So he got to his feet, slipping out the door before anyone could notice his absence, and started his way up the stairs. He was in his pajamas, his feet were bare over the cold tile floors, but it was a calming experience just walking throughout the deserted castle. It was late, of course, later than John would've liked, but the castle was empty, and for some reason the flickering torches over the stone walls made him feel at peace. John slipped up to Sherlock's room, knocking lightly on the door and hearing a sort of growl from inside.
"Molly, I told you that I didn't want you around!" Sherlock yelled from inside. There was the sound of splashing from inside, as if he were trying to carry around a large bucket of water but was failing miserably. "Give me a second, if you're Mycroft then I'm never going to open the door!" he added. John didn't answer but he couldn't help but smile, good old Sherlock, cursing whoever was at the door without even knowing who it was. What if it ended up being the king, or Irene? How would Sherlock feel if he were to open the door to a royal? He was lucky, then, that it was only John. Finally the door opened, and Sherlock stood there, dripping wet, with a silk red robe tied around himself hastily. It seemed as though he had been taking a bath or something, his hair was dropping wet and there was evidence of soap studs still stuck in his curls. But as soon as he saw John, for some reason, he froze in fear, his face glowing as red as his robe.
"John!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking as though John's presence was worse than the king's.
"Sherlock, you look...well." John muttered, his eyes flicking up to Sherlock's soapy hair.
"You caught me at a rather awkward moment." Sherlock admitted, pulling his robe tighter around himself and looking very embarrassed.
"Don't worry, you look fine. I can just go, if you want." John assured, deciding that maybe this wasn't the best time to pay Sherlock a visit.
"No, please, come in." Sherlock insisted, holding the door open wider desperately, as if worried John would actually leave him. John looked at him suspiciously but nodded, walking inside the room where there were wet footprints all around, as if Sherlock had been in a panic during bath time.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting...visitors." Sherlock said quickly, shutting the door and trying to run his fingers through his curls to get most of the soap out. John noticed that there was indeed a bathtub in the corner, filled with soapy water. John never understood why the royals insisted on bathing in their rooms, I mean obviously there's the whole privacy component, but still there were plenty of other private places to take a bath. If Sherlock had his own bathroom this awkward visit would not be as much of a problem. Sherlock stood very awkwardly next to the door, John could feel his eyes watching him as he looked around the room.
"I don't think I've ever been up here before." John decided, looking around the room at all of the luxury things Sherlock had.
"How did you find your way?" Sherlock wondered. John shrugged, running his fingers over the silken curtains on the window, drawn shut.
"Irene mentioned it I think, or someone did." John shrugged. It had been Irene, of course, filling John in on where Sherlock would most likely be in his free time. This way John could come up while the castle was dark, just like this, and slay him. John had no intentions of doing that, at least not now, even though the knife in its sheath was beginning to feel a lot heavier. It would be the perfect time, it really would be, no one would suspect John in the killing of Sherlock Holmes.
"Why have you come? Not that I'm not flattered by your visit." Sherlock said quickly, still lingering by the door and watching as John explored his bedroom.
"Ah, the flattery again, you can be mean to me you know? No matter what you say, I'm not taking any bribes." John assured. Sherlock looked rather confused, if not a bit hurt. But John ignored whatever facial expression he was trying to pull off, he decided that it really wasn't his problem.
"I'm not trying to bribe you." Sherlock muttered softly, as if he were ashamed that John would jump to such a conclusion.
"Well I actually came to ask how your match went, even though I can probably guess." John admitted, looking over at Sherlock who was still looking kind of sulky, like a little kid who had just been teased.
"My match, yes, it was fine. I made the man very happy." Sherlock admitted. There was a silence, and John gazed over at the shelf full of books, all very good titles that he recognized.
"Why didn't you stay to watch, if you were that worried?" Sherlock wondered. John just looked back at him with a smile, hoping that answer would be obvious.
"I'm not worried about you Sherlock, I was just wondering if you had finally grown up. I didn't watch because I knew the outcome, I knew that you bribed the man and I didn't want to stay to watch a scene from a poorly written play." John insisted, his bare feet stepping through small puddles of warm water as he paced around the room.
"I'm not being selfish John, when I bribe them. I have never wanted this glory for myself." Sherlock insisted, as if he actually felt that he had to defend himself.
"Then for who? I recall you looking very happy when the crowd cheered for you." John pointed out.
"I do it for them; I think it's good for the townspeople to respect their royalty, to admire them." Sherlock insisted.
"I feel the same way of course, but I think that the royalty should deserve the respect." John decided, giving Sherlock a rather nasty glare.
"I'm not a bad person John, I'm not." Sherlock said very quickly, as if he were just dying to get the truth out somehow. But John didn't believe him, of course. After the history the two of them had, as little as there was, John knew that just because Sherlock claimed he was good didn't make him so.
"You put me in the stocks for two days and made me eat moldy bread because I talked to you." John pointed out.
"I didn't know you back then." Sherlock admitted in a small voice. He sounded genuinely sorry, but John didn't want to acknowledge that just yet.
"That wouldn't change anything, would it? You'd do that to anyone, because that's who you are. You like the power, you like to see people lesser than you suffer." John snapped. Sherlock was quiet, obviously he couldn't think of something to say back, even if he did try to prove himself, however, John wouldn't believe a word of it. He was just selfish, and right now he wanted John's respect, and he would say anything to get it. That alone was pathetic enough. Or maybe he was just trying to get John to pity him so that he would let him win the tournament, which wasn't going to happen either.
"I'm sorry." Sherlock muttered, leaning against the bedroom wall as if his legs wouldn't support him anymore. His eyes looked glassy, his face pale, as if he had never said those words together before.
"An apology doesn't mean anything Sherlock, it means that you're guilty, or you're just playing me." John decided.
"Did you come up here just to torment me? Because I can do that just fine myself." Sherlock insisted.
"No I didn't come here to torment you, but we just happen to get on the subject." John admitted, sighing heavily and turning back towards the prince, who was looking a little bit crestfallen.
"I can be a good person, I can." Sherlock insisted. John sighed heavily, not wanting to take only Sherlock's word. There was going to have to be more.
"Somehow you're going to have to prove that to me Sherlock." John decided.
"You've come at the worst week possible for something like that." Sherlock admitted. "The tournament is filled with cheaters and liars and bad men, and I'm at the center of it all, but for good reasons."
"You sound sad." John decided, the only thing that he could think to say. It was true, of course, Sherlock's voice was very low, very slow, as if he were forcing his words out and trying to keep back the tears.
"Even the best of us get sad sometimes." Sherlock admitted, not denying it.
"Do you consider yourself the best of us?" John wondered. Sherlock looked up at John with brilliantly blue and green eyes, the color from his irises piercing John even from across the room.
"No of course not." He admitted sadly. John walked over slowly, as if he weren't exactly sure what he was supposed to be doing at this point in the conversation. His feet seemed to be on autopilot, but he wasn't sure if he was heading to comfort Sherlock or if he was just heading out the door. But he stopped about two feet away from the prince, feeling as though he should be comforting him in some way, but how?
"You um..." Sherlock said, clearing his throat at once and standing up a bit taller. "You fought well today." He said rather forcefully. John blinked in confusion, wondering why Sherlock decided to change the subject when they were just about to talk about the deep internal feelings they were hiding.
"Yes well, some of it was luck." John said quickly, talking an awkward step back so as Sherlock didn't figure out he was trying to be helpful.
"It wasn't luck, of course not. You're a talented man John, and I admire you for that. I knew you would do well, I watched you try out." Sherlock admitted.
"That's kind of...creepy." John decided, trying to find the right word to describe Sherlock's stalking.
"It was hard to resist, I had to make sure I knew who I was competing against." Sherlock admitted.
"Were you surprised when it was me?" John wondered.
"I was, of course. I thought you were just some no good rebel rouser." Sherlock decided with a guilty little laugh.
"I kind of am, I've got the whole of the servants prepared to follow me into battle." John admitted with a laugh.
"That's good; it's good that you're appreciated." Sherlock decided.
"I feel guilty though, considering I'm not even from here. I'm from the Adler kingdom; I'm going to have to leave soon." John admitted. Sherlock frowned a little bit, as if he hadn't even considered that.
"You're not going to stay?" he asked in a small voice. John shook his head guiltily, not liking to see Sherlock looking genuinely upset.
"I don't think I can." He admitted.
"How much do you cost?" Sherlock asked very quickly, and John looked up at him in confusion.
"I'm a servant, not a slave." He pointed out, feeling a bit offended.
"No, not like that." Sherlock groaned.
"I'm not a prostitute either." John added, and Sherlock just laughed, finally a smile on those cupid bow lips.
"Not like that either." He assured. "How much are they paying you, if you're a free man then I could probably promise double the amount." John just shook his head, trying to play it off like he wasn't interested. But it wasn't that, of course, it was just that the only time he would be allowed to leave this kingdom is when the entire Holmes family was dead. And of course, that meant Sherlock. Once again John began to notice the knife on his belt, as if it were just dying to be thrust into Sherlock's chest.
"I'm sorry Sherlock, but I don't think that's my choice." John shrugged.
"We could use you John, not just for servant's work, for our army. You could train, you could be a knight." Sherlock said quickly, taking a step forward in excitement. John just laughed; he couldn't even imagine himself as a knight.
"No Sherlock, that's just crazy talk." He insisted. Sherlock sighed heavily, but obviously he brain was still churning, trying to think of any sort of solution.
"I can think of something else, I can talk to my father." He decided.
"Why are you so determined to keep me in your kingdom?" John wondered, looking at Sherlock accusingly.
"Because I want you." Sherlock said quietly. John blinked, and Sherlock shook his head. "To be a servant here, I want you to stay." He added very quickly, his cheeks glowing once more.
"Ya, alright then. I would think you wouldn't want me around, I would think that I'm too much of a nuisance." John decided.
"Never John, never." Sherlock assured, his eyes looking sincere.
"Alright then." John agreed, wanting to do something other than just stand here awkwardly. Maybe he wanted to leave, get some rest. As soon as he thought about that though, Sherlock breathed heavily, looking at him apologetically.
"Here I am keeping you, you need rest John, you've got a big day ahead." Sherlock insisted, opening the door frantically.
"And you do as well, three matches tomorrow." John said with a nod.
"I don't really have to try. You, however, you need your beauty sleep." Sherlock said with a laugh.
"I think you've had a bit too much of that." John muttered almost unconsciously, and Sherlock looked at him in confusion.
"You think I'm beautiful?" he wondered, stopping dead in his tracks as if that was the nicest thing anyone could ever say to him. John forced a laugh; shaking his head and seeing Sherlock's face soften, if not into a bit of a disappointed look.
"I mean that you sleep too much, being a prince, all of that luxury." John said quickly, even though that was definitely not what he meant. Sherlock nodded, stepping out into the hallway with John as to properly wish him farewell.
"If I don't see you tomorrow, I wish you luck." Sherlock said.
"Good luck to you too, I guess." John agreed, knowing that Sherlock didn't need luck, he only needed more gold. Suddenly Sherlock let go of the door, grabbing John's shoulder with a warm hand and stepping closer, water droplets falling from his curls onto John's pajamas. John felt shivers go down his spine, radiating through his arm like Sherlock had some sort of electric current.
"You're going to win John." Sherlock insisted, his voice dropping to a whisper even though they were completely alone.
"I don't see how I could." John said back in a fairly normal tone.
"You're going to win, mark my words." Sherlock insisted, and with that he dropped his hand, letting it slide all the way down John's arm as if trying to play that off as an accident.
"Have a nice night." Sherlock added, walking back to his bedroom door and closing it without waiting for John to say goodnight as well. John just stood there in the hallway, extremely confused and a little bit flustered, although he had no idea why. Sherlock thought that he was going to win, that was flattering of course, but completely impossible. But he seemed certain, if not a little bit scared to admit it. Nevertheless John just walked away, his bare feet padding along the stone as he made his way back to the servant's quarters, his conversation with Sherlock still swimming in his mind. But the prince had been right about one thing, John needed to sleep. And that was one order that John would follow without protest.