John POV: John was met in the servant's quarters with a wave of relief, everyone rushing to say hello or to make sure that he had made it back in one piece. The soldier had been whisked away by the crowd, leaving without a goodbye as the door closed and John was pulled into the servant's quarters by many familiar faces.
"John we thought you were going to be in the dungeons, how'd you get out?" Greg asked first, letting John sit down on his bed in defeat. John wasn't in a talking mood at the moment; he had just gone through a near death experience, only to get pulled out of it by the man he thought had no heart. Sherlock Holmes of all people had saved him from the dungeons, all after convincing that assassin hunter that John would never kill anyone.
"Sherlock, he convinced them not to take me." John said with a shrug, as if this weren't a big deal. In reality it was, it really was a big deal, but of course they couldn't know that.
"Sherlock, the prince? Why would he save you?" asked someone John didn't recognize. John just shook his head, messaging his face with his hands, feeling miserable. Sherlock had just stood up for him when John had spent the entire night staring at the sleeping prince, trying to decide if he should cut his throat right there or not. He had been awake the entire night, wondering if Sherlock should wake up or not.
"I don't know why he would care about me, but he did, so I don't care. I'm exhausted, god, I got no sleep last night." John insisted with a groan, laying down on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, knowing that all eyes were still on him.
"You were with Sherlock last night, where did you go?" someone asked.
"The stables." John said simply, wanting to answer all their questions as quickly as possible, so that maybe he could get a quick nap in.
"Why would you ever do that?" someone wondered.
"I don't know." John sighed.
"Let him be people, let him be." Greg insisted, pushing everyone away. John sighed in relief, wanting to knight Greg at the moment.
"Thanks." He muttered as everyone slouched back over to their beds. Obviously the servants were under house arrest, it was very unlike them all to be sitting around while there was breakfast to be served or beds to be made.
"How'd the ball go, with Molly?" John wondered. Greg just laughed, laying down on his own bed and looking over at John with a smile.
"All of this just happened, and you want to know about my date?" he wondered.
"Ya, I do, how'd it go? Mine blew up, of course." John shrugged. Of course it blew up, his date ended up murdering the king. She had said she was going to make her move, John only wished that he could've been there to stop all of this from happening. If he had known the entire castle would go crazy maybe he should've stopped her. Then again, this was part of the job, and it ended up that he was doing his job splendidly. An assassin who was vouched for by the man he was supposed to kill, it was a wonderful cover.
"Oh it was great, really great. She liked me, I liked her, she's beautiful, she thinks I'm charming, funny. Then of course, the king got killed." Greg shrugged, as if it were no big deal.
"That's great Greg, I'm happy for you." John decided.
"And how about you? I knew that Mary left but sinking as low as Sherlock Holmes? I was shocked." Greg said with a laugh. John groaned loudly, shaking his head at the mention of Sherlock. For the moment he didn't even want to think of the prince right now, he wanted to live without that constant guilt for at least one second.
"It wasn't like that, Mary left because I couldn't dance, Sherlock wanted to teach me." John said simply.
"He seemed pretty into it, with the gaze he was giving you it seemed as if he had been the one to ask you to the ball himself." Greg decided.
"We're not lovers." John said simply. Greg just laughed in agreement.
"No you're not." He agreed with a sigh. "Do you ever wonder just what goes on in his head? He gets all of these beautiful women thrown at him and he sends them all away? Do you ever wonder just what's wrong with him?"
"He's got high standards I guess. I mean, look at Irene. She's really pretty, but she's a devil, obviously Sherlock doesn't want to spend his life with a horrible person." John pointed out.
"But she's pretty; he'd at least make an attempt to get some affection from her." Greg insisted.
"Maybe he just doesn't want to get married; there are some men like that." John decided with a shrug.
"No there's not. I think he's hiding something. Maybe he has a secret wife, buried away somewhere." Greg decided.
"That's a good theory Greg." John said sarcastically. Greg sighed heavily, but obviously he had to know that his theory was trash, at best.
"Alright then, what do you think about it? What do you think he's hiding?" Greg wondered.
"I don't think he's hiding anything, I think he just doesn't want to bother with romance. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to sleep." John snapped, rolling over in his bed and closing his eyes. Even though the room was fully illuminated and even though all of the men were still chatting loudly, after the day and night John had he fell asleep almost too easily, cradled in his sleep and engulfed in his dreams.

               "John Watson, where's John Watson?" asked a crude voice by the door. John groaned loudly, rolling over in his bed, he really didn't have time for this. John opened one eye in boredom, seeing a soldier standing next to the door, armed with a long spear that was just about touching the ceiling.
"What do they want now?" John groaned, closing his eye once more and trying to snuggle back into his bed.
"Interrogations, Victor Trevor has requested your presence." The soldier said, as if this were supposed to mean something to John. Of course, it did, it very much did, but as long as John played his part, as long as he made sure to stay in character, he'll be fine. Victor can't know that he was sent to kill Sherlock, if he made any sort of wrong move, well, he'd most certainly be hanged.
"Can't you just give me like, five more minutes?" John wondered with a groan.
"Mr. Trevor wants you now." The soldier insisted, grabbing John by the back of his shirt and pulling him to his feet. John groaned heavily, stumbling for a moment and blinking at the man in front of him in annoyance.
"Who's Victor Trevor?" Greg wondered from his bed, a book propped open on his lap although he wasn't doing much reading right now.
"The assassin hunter, or whatever he goes by." John groaned, not really in the mood for interrogations.
"Oh...him." Greg muttered simply, obviously not knowing who in the world this man was. John let himself be carried away, walking slowly down the hallway all the way to a wooden door near the back of the castle. John felt a bit more awake now, running his story through his head, he was a servant of the Adler family, a champion of the tournament, and a friend of Sherlock Holmes. Nothing more.
"Go ahead inside." The soldier insisted, waving his head carelessly towards the door. John nodded, turning the knob and walking quietly inside. It wasn't much, but obviously it was meant to be Victor's place of residence while he stayed in the castle. The curtains were drawn for some reason, but the fireplace was roaring, providing an eerie flickering light in the whole room. There was a bed in the corner, a smallish bed, with the hangings pulled around it, and in the middle of the room there was a desk, covered in papers and quills, with two chairs sitting on either side. Victor was seated in one of them, looking as alert and tedious as before, draped in all black as if that was going to scare anyone. John was happy to see there were no torture devices lingering around, thankfully there were no devilish instruments, only papers scattered carelessly about.
"John Watson, the man of the hour." Victor said with a smile, gesturing for John to sit. John stood there suspiciously, staring at Victor with tired eyes. "Please sit John, this might take a while. I have a lot of questions for you, some I'm sure you can't answer."
"So why are you interrogating me?" John wondered, sitting very stiffly in his chair and looking over at Victor in annoyance. Victor just smiled; he had a very snakelike smile that John really didn't appreciate.
"Well Mr. Watson, I want to know everything about you, right down to the core. And most of all, I want to know about your relationship with our Sherlock Holmes." Victor decided.
"Sounds like something that could wait until I finished my nap." John muttered carelessly. Victor just laughed, shaking his head as though this were good old John. He dipped his quill in ink, a fresh piece of parchment set up before him.
"Well then, let's begin." Victor decided with a smile. John stared at him in annoyance, not bothering trying to hide his anger. Victor had been personally responsible for ruining all of his sleep in the last twenty four hours, and he had only been here for like, ten. This little rat came and wormed his way into every little situation this castle had, trying to be a good little solider in honor of his father's memory. But evidently being a good man, in Victor's mind at least, required being one of the worst men imaginable, anyone who messed with nap time ought to learn their lesson the first time.
"So, tell me John, how did you find yourself at Lauriston kingdom?" Victor wondered.
"I could ask you the same thing." John muttered; repositioning himself in his chair and taking a quick look at Victor, who was looking very intent, his quill hovering above the parchment, ready to write.
"Well, I came here through the Adlers I suppose, I was a farmer, decided to become a servant, and I guess they decided to throw their newly appointed servant into a whole new world of royalty, and here I am." John decided with a shrug. Victor nodded as he wrote, his quill scratching feverishly against the parchment as he tried to get every word.
"And how did you find yourself first in the company of Sherlock Holmes?" Victor wondered.
"Why Sherlock, why not all the rest of them?" John asked, and Victor didn't even look the least bit fazed. He was very monotone; he had that one look to him, that look of superiority that John had only ever seen royals wearing. He had never thought that someone so insignificant as an assassin hunter would bother wearing such a look of pride. But that wasn't even the worst part; the worst part about Victor's personality was his patronization, he talked to John as if he were a child, pronouncing every word as if he doubted John's education.
"Well you're in contact more with Sherlock, considering the predicament I found the two of you in when we first met." Victor said with a smile, his eyes dissecting every part of John, from his complexion to his facial expression to his hand movements as he tapped his fingers against the arms of the chair.
"We weren't in a predicament." John muttered, the only thing he could really think to say at a time like this. Victor leaned forward in his chair, looking at John with a sort of expression of hate, an expression of suspicious loathing.
"Why were you alone with him when you knew that there was an assassin on the loose?" Victor wondered. John tried not to look too guilty, of course Victor suspected him, but John had to give him every reason in the world to doubt his guilt.
"Well I wasn't really scared that Sherlock would be the assassin." John admitted with a small laugh.
"Did you think you could protect him?" Victor hissed.
"Yes, well, I hope so. I did win the tournament." John pointed out. Victor just sat back in his chair in annoyance, twirling his quill madly between his slender fingers, looking at John with a silhouette of flickering flames.
"Please Mr. Watson; don't pretend like that's a big deal. You win one tournament and you think you're king of the world, you need to be put in your place, you're a servant, no more. In a week they'll forget your name." Victor muttered.
"Don't be so quick to underestimate me Victor, just because you strut in here under your father's name doesn't give you seniority." John snapped. Victor stared at John with venomous eyes, but soon his lips curled into a small smile and he scratched a note down on his parchment. John twisted his hands against the armrests, worried that Victor had put something down that might arouse suspicion.
"Tell me everything that happened the night the king was killed." Victor demanded, his quill perched in his hands, ready to write.
"Well, I heard the scream..." John started, but Victor raised a hand, silencing him.
"From the beginning John, the very beginning." Victor corrected. John sighed heavily, not wanting to be bothered trying to relive the moments that now seemed so irrelevant.
"Alright, well...I was with Irene getting ready, she insisted on picking out my outfit for me. So first Sherlock arrived, since he was going with her to the dance, and then Mary, my date, showed up." John muttered, trying to skit away from Mary's name as much as possible, since she was the one that actually did kill the king. If Victor called her in for a visit John could only hope she would be convincing enough to mark her off of his list.
"And how did Sherlock treat Irene when he was there, was he...affectionate?" Victor wondered, his eyes flicking up at John and then back again at his paper, as if he was hoping for a specific answer to this question. John thought for a moment, wondering what the damage would be if he told the truth.
"No, not really. She was trying to talk to him; he kind of just ignored her. She left him before they could even share one dance; I guess her father didn't want her fraternizing with a fake." John decided.
"And instead of Irene, who did Sherlock talk to? Before you went down?" Victor wondered.
"We shared a few words, I guess. But he was probably only talking to me to avoid talking to Irene. He hasn't seemed to like her very much." John admitted.
"And why would that be?" Victor wondered.
"Well, she's not the nicest girl I guess." John decided with a shrug. Victor made a note, nodding to himself and muttering something under his breath.
"Might she have any motivation to kill the prince herself?" Victor wondered. John swallowed quickly, shaking his head and trying not to look nervous.
"No, no of course not. She wants to marry him not murder him." John assured. Victor nodded once more, writing and dripping his quill in the ink once more.
"So, what happened then, you met your dates, then what?" Victor wondered. John sighed heavily, thinking back to when everything seemed like it was going to turn out fine.
"Well, we met our dates, walked down to the ballroom, met my friend Greg and his date, and then Mary and I stood outside the door, we had to wait for a ceremonial entrance." John explained.
"And who was Greg's date?" Victor wondered.
"Molly Hooper." John said quickly, an easy answer.
"Sherlock's only friend?" Victor asked, and John laughed kind of hastily.
"Well, I wouldn't say his only friend." John shrugged.
"Name another." Victor challenged, looking defense about his knowledge of Sherlock for some reason.
"Well, Billy maybe, me." John shrugged.
"So quick to defend your friendship, why is that?" Victor wondered. John looked at him in confusion, shaking his head to say that he didn't understand the question.
"Well, I don't know, just...I don't know. I didn't think I was being too defensive." He decided with a shrug.
"Tell me John, in detail, what exactly are your feelings for Sherlock Holmes?" Victor wondered, leaning forward once more and setting his quill aside, as if this question didn't have any importance to his interview at all.
"My feelings? Well, I mean, he's alright I guess, kind of rude, but once you get to know him I think he's kind of a good guy. He wants to meet everyone's expectations, you know just not the right way. He'd rather cheat his way through life and get the glory than actually work for it." John shrugged.
"I didn't ask for your description of him John, you feelings." Victor insisted, his eyes rather venomous. There was a silence, John stared at Victor with a glare of confusion and Victor just sat there looking very intense, very anticipative.
"He's my friend, and I like him at times. Other times I want to snap his neck, but of course I wouldn't, I would never actually do that." John assured quickly, realizing what he was saying to someone that was out to catch a killer. Victor nodded, looking rather proud of himself as he sat back and made a note.
"I'm not going to kill him Victor, I swear, that was just an analogy I suppose, we all get like that at times." John assured.
"Mr. Watson if we all killed someone when we felt like killing there would be no one left on this earth." Victor assured, and John breathed a sigh of relief.
"Alright, yes, thank you." John agreed.
"What do you think Sherlock feels for you? After defending you so quickly down at the barn I'm sure there's some affection there, buried deep down." Victor decided.
"I have no idea why Sherlock would do that, from all of the times I've interacted with him he always seemed rather cold. I never knew that he cared enough for me to actually defend me like that." John admitted. Victor nodded once more, as if this were very interesting.
"I think our prince has taken a liking to you Mr. Watson, and I can't tell you why." Victor decided.
"Well, have you interrogated him yet?" John wondered.
"Interviewed." Victor corrected at once. "And no, I have not. Our prince is still resting from the night he's had; he had some family matters to attend to."