"...a servant, just a servant!" cried a voice from inside, someone that definitely wasn't Sherlock. Molly ducked closer as well, both of them dying to hear whatever heated conversation was going on inside.
"What could I have done father, what could I have..." Sherlock's voice broke off, cracking as if he wasn't able to talk anymore. "He's a good fighter." Sherlock muttered.
"He's nothing more than a child! And now that I know you're nothing more than that as well. You're a disgrace Sherlock, a liar. You dare call yourself a prince when you cheat your entire kingdom, when you lead us all to believe you're actually worth something!" the king exclaimed. John heard something of a whimper, and he couldn't tell if Sherlock just got hit with something or if he were crying. This was awful to hear, Sherlock's biggest fear, letting his kingdom and his father down, obviously the truth came out, and these consequences were much worse than John could ever imagine. He felt so guilty for putting Sherlock through all of this, he hated himself for it.
"I'm sorry, I had expectations, I had to do what I thought was right!" Sherlock insisted, his voice shaking.
"This isn't right! You're a fake! After all those years of believing you were really a prince, a good man. I can hardly believe I ever wanted to call you my son." The king sounded finished, and as soon as the conversation cut off John and Molly scampered away, just in time for the king to come storming out, his crown crooked on his head and a frown stamped permanently on his aging face.
"Well then...you go ahead, I'll just stay out here." Molly decided with an innocent little shrug, obviously not in the mood to get whined to.
"Are you sure, I think I could really use you." John muttered, not wanting to go into the tent either, trapped with an emotional Sherlock. Who knows how violent he could become? Not that it mattered, it was now known to the entire kingdom that John could take him down without batting an eyelash.
"No, no, he wanted to see you. Don't keep him waiting." Molly insisted, pushing John eagerly to the opening in the tent. John sighed heavily, straightening his shirt and fixing his hair before pushing aside the flap, stepping silently into the tent. Sherlock was sitting in a chair, hunched over the empty table with his head buried in his hands, trembling so badly that the entire table shook. The tent was empty, obviously they were all alone, but suddenly John didn't want to be alone with Sherlock, they hadn't even exchanged words and Sherlock was already in tears.
"Sherlock...?" John whispered, not wanting to interrupt this sob session. Nevertheless even the slightest of whispers had Sherlock jumping to his feet, knocking the chair aside and trying desperately to wipe the tears from his red face.
"John, yes, John..." Sherlock muttered, sniffling and trying to make himself look presentable. He looked terrible, he wasn't wearing his armor, just a simple while shirt and pants, but there was a sort of paleness in his tear streaked cheeks, something that made him look almost ghostly. The tent was warm enough but John still shivered, the sight of seeing a boy so broken was terrifying.
"You don't have to hide your tears Sherlock, it's alright." John assured, feeling a bit bad that he had overheard Sherlock's seemingly private conversation with his father.
"Well this is what you wanted, wasn't it? This was your final goal? Take me down a notch, reveal me?" Sherlock wondered, his voice shaking with an insane sort of smile on his lips. John shook his head desperately, not knowing what he could say other than a lie.
"Sherlock I didn't want this, I didn't want you to suffer as much as you have." John insisted. Sherlock just smiled once more, an expression that looked very wrong on the boy's face right now.
"Well you've got me." Sherlock muttered, taking a step closer. John was tempted to take a step back; he was beginning to feel a bit threatened. "Now everyone knows what you do John, that I'm a fake, that I'm a horrible, useless, talentless person." Sherlock's voice was starting to soften as he spoke the truth, his anger seeping out as his eyes leaked more tears.
"Sherlock no, you're..." John started, but he was cut off.
"This is who I am John! This is who I've always been, this was always meant to happen. I'm exactly what you think John, I'm a failure. And now...now everyone knows, my father..." Sherlock clutched his hand to his mouth, as if to avoid a sob.
"Sherlock I didn't want you to go through this, I know that you're more than just a failure, you're a good person." John insisted.
"I'm not!" Sherlock insisted, his exclamation coming out as merely a squeak as his emotions were beginning to take hold once more. "I'm nothing that you want to pretend I am, you're wrong John, or more accurately, you're right. You've been right about me this whole time. And this I suppose was your way of proving it to the whole kingdom. Prince Sherlock...the Golden Prince..." Sherlock whispered.
"I don't want you to suffer Sherlock; I didn't want any of this." John insisted. Sherlock just shook his head, opening his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He started to wipe his eyes more agressivley now, his mouth sinking into a low frown no matter how hard he tried to fight it, John saw tears glinting in the sunlight. And suddenly Sherlock ran at him, halfway across the tent in a matter of seconds, so quick that John barely had time to react, he couldn't draw a weapon, defend himself, he couldn't do anything to prevent whatever attack Sherlock had in mind. Thankfully, it wasn't an attack at all. Instead of wrapping his hands around John's throat Sherlock wrapped his arms around his neck, holding John closer and bursting into tears. John didn't have any idea what to do; he was still in shock that Sherlock had chosen to hug him instead of kill him. But nevertheless he slowly wrapped his arms around Sherlock as well, not knowing what else to do and figuring that this was the least he could do after all he's already done. Try to start to heal the wounds that he's inflicted. Sherlock trembled against his chest, he felt so thin and fragile, his tears spilling onto John's shoulder in a serious of loud sobs. John just sighed, holding Sherlock ever closer so that he could feel his heart beating through his chest, so that he could feel his lungs inflate with every panicked breath. John was slowly starting to enjoy this hug, he was beginning to appreciate Sherlock's trust, his emotions. But just as soon as John started to truly enjoy this hug, Sherlock pulled away, laughing a bit guiltily and wiping his tears away once more.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that was wrong." He muttered quickly, as if that was what he had been programed to say.
"You're not...it's alright. It's fine." John assured just as quickly, blinking a little bit as if coming back to reality. Sherlock smiled weakly at him before turning away, walking back over to the table as if to give himself something to do.
"You can go." He decided.
"That's all you wanted?" John wondered. There was a silence, and Sherlock paused, standing still next to the table as if choosing his words carefully.
"No, I suspect not. But nevertheless, none of my words are worth our champion's time. I will see you tonight at the ball, if I'm allowed to attend." Sherlock muttered.
"Sherlock you're still the prince, you're still a finalist!" John insisted, having enough of this idiot's self-pity.
"Go John, just go!" Sherlock exclaimed, not in the mood to argue right now. John just rolled his eyes, dashing out of the tent quickly, as to avoid having to watch Sherlock break down in more silent tears.

            John stood in front of the mirror, straightening his shirt for the millionth time that night, staring at his reflection and doubting everything that he saw staring back. He had to look perfect, he had to look like a champion, and that required more than just the servant's quarters. So now he was stuck with the rich folks, the Adlers, getting ready for this pathetic ball, all in his honor.
"I saw that Sherlock wanted to talk to you today, what did he have to say?" Irene wondered, walking up next to John in the mirror and flattening her green ball gown, making sure all of her jewelry glistened in the candle light, as if to insure everyone knew it was real diamonds encrusted on her necklace. John thought back to the hug rather guiltily, but shrugged. He didn't really want to confide all of that information to Irene, especially since she might suspect his doubts.
"Oh you know, just congratulating me in his moody way." John admitted. Irene just sighed happily, trying to make her hair look more voluminous even though it was pulled back in the tightest of buns.
"Well I think it's perfect irony that you were the one to steal his attention. Of course I was sent here to spend all of my time with him, but he couldn't have taken interest in anyone better than you, the man sent here to kill him." Irene said with a joyful laugh.
"You really don't like him?" John wondered, and Irene gave him a suspicious look in the mirror.
"Of course I don't like him John, you know who he is, or rather, what he is." Irene insisted, as if this were some sort of joke. "This whole royal scandal thing is spreading faster than ever, I've already sent letters to Moriarty, I hope he received them."
"It's not really that bad." John muttered.
"You're a servant John, what would you know? I've heard all of the nobles talking, all of the royalty. Even my parents didn't know that Sherlock was a fraud, they were shocked to see him go down like a child." Irene insisted with a laugh. John felt a pang of guilt hit him right in the stomach, knowing that all of this was because of him. Sherlock's biggest secret was getting leaked to the entire realm.
"Well, I wasn't really surprised." John muttered, not a lie of course. He knew that Sherlock would go down, but he wasn't prepared for how little effort he would have to put forth.
"I understand you've got the servants invited to the ball?" Irene wondered with a sort of judgmental laugh. John nodded, making sure he looked very nice. He had been forced into some sort of ceremonial outfit from the Adler family, complete with a green shirt with the Adler family crest as well as a long flowing green cape. He looked like a royal, he really did, with a cape of his own he gave even Sherlock a run for his money. It was very odd, being pestered and pampered as if he was more than just a famer, more than a servant.
"Do you have any plans tonight?" Irene wondered. John raised an eyebrow suspiciously, not quite sure what she was getting at. "You know, with Sherlock? There will be so many people around, get him by himself; it would be the perfect time to do it." Irene insisted. John stepped back, a bit horrorstruck, many possible suggestions running through his head.
"What exactly do you want me to do?" John wondered.
"Kill him!" Irene exclaimed, her shiny earrings jingling from her ear lobes. John sighed with relief, nodding and patting his sheath, hidden under his pants for the time being.
"Yes, um...no. Not tonight at least." John decided.
"You better start moving; you've already got that trust built up." Irene insisted.
"Not after today I don't think. Now I doubt he can hardly stand to see my face." John defended, which he knew wasn't true. In fact, it seemed like after John had dethroned Sherlock the prince had taken even more of a liking to him.
"Oh no John, I still think Sherlock would very much like to be alone with you." Irene said with a wink. John stared at her in confusion, his brain struggling to decipher whatever that was even supposed to mean. But thankfully before John could spew out any sort of response there was a knock on the door, and they both smiled.
"That would be my date." John said with a proud smile, turning towards the door.
"You got a date?" Irene wondered, sounding impressed.
"I'm the most desired man in the kingdom; of course I got a date." John insisted with a laugh, fixing his hair one more time before opening the door. But standing outside wasn't his date, and John nearly jumped when he saw Sherlock standing at the door, wearing his own purple get up. He still looked kind of miserable, his face was pale and streaked with very faint tear marks, and his eyes lacked that confident sparkle they once shined with.
"John!" Sherlock exclaimed, sounding both surprised and confused. John noticed Sherlock's eyes scan him for the quickest of moments before snapping back up to John's eyes, looking a bit apologetic.
"Sherlock, what are you doing here?" John wondered.
"I should ask you the same thing." Sherlock muttered, his eyes transfixed on john, as if nothing else that was in that room mattered anymore.
"Well, I am her servant; we were getting ready for the ball together." John admitted with a shrug. And plotting your murder, but enough about that.
"You look, um, you look very nice." Sherlock decided, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Don't I? I've got the cape and everything, I feel like a royal." John admitted, playing with his cape a little bit so that Sherlock could see.
"Yes, very nice John." Sherlock agreed in a bit of a hoarse voice.
"Are you alright?" John wondered, hoping that Sherlock didn't cry himself to sickness.
"Yes of course, just...it's been a long day." he admitted with a sort of laugh. "I feel like seeing you should depress me even more, but in some ways your presence cheers me up." Sherlock admitted, a small smile on his cupid bow lips. John didn't spend anytime noticing how those beautiful pink lips curled, never.
"Aha, it's not your date John, it's mine." Irene said with a laugh, pushing John out of the doorway and smiling up at Sherlock. Immediately his smile dropped into a frown, that good old Sherlock frown that told everyone how miserable he was feeling. Although now John doubted the frown gave his eternal suffering any justice.
"Don't flatter yourself Irene; you know full well I would rather go with my horse than you. This is our families pressuring us, and I think after my display in the arena, well hopefully it will be our last. I guess good things do spawn from tragedy." Sherlock decided with a snap, walking uninvited into the room. Irene just scowled, slamming the door rather agressivley and making John jump.
"Am I allowed to say that you look nice?" Irene wondered.
"No." Sherlock said simply, not even bothering to glance at her dress. Irene crossed her arms, eyeing John with a look that made John feel like she expected him to know exactly why this was happening. John just shrugged; he honestly didn't know why Sherlock was being such a jerk. Oh wait, yes he did, he was Sherlock! "This should be fun, should it not?" Sherlock wondered, playing with the hangings overtop of Irene's bed as if they interested him.

"Well I suppose it will be, unless my date ruins the whole thing for me." Irene snapped. Sherlock paused, glancing at her for the first time.
"I was talking to John." he said flatly, and went back to fiddling with the fabric.
"Ya should be alright." John agreed quickly. He felt like this whole mood swing of Sherlock's was all his fault, but at least he was getting the good end of it. Sometimes it was nice to see Irene not get what she wanted.
"Your first ball, your first royal ball at least. I'm excited to see what you think of it. I for one think they're especially tedious, but with all the servants coming, well they should liven things up a bit shouldn't they?" Sherlock said with a bit of a smile. John heard Irene sigh heavily, as if offended that she hadn't gotten a smile yet.
"Well I'm happy they can come, and they're all coming. It'll be a real party." John assured with a smile. Sherlock smiled right back, looking at John with a soft glance, as if he felt like John needed protecting somehow.
"Well John's going to be really busy tonight, aren't you? Making your rounds with all the royalty, you won't have time to party too much." Irene pointed out, and Sherlock just laughed.
"What's so funny?" Irene wondered defensively, crossing her arms as if his humor somehow offended her.
"You're funny, you're jealous!" Sherlock exclaimed, walking closer to John and shaking his head, looking genuinely amused.
"I am not jealous of you Sherlock; you've just become the most hated man in the realm!" Irene exclaimed. Sherlock just kept laughing, shaking his head as if this were some excellent joke that only he understood.
"Not of me Irene, no, of John." he insisted. John stepped back a step in surprise, seeing that Sherlock was getting progressively closer.
"I'm sorry, but why would she ever be jealous of me?" John wondered. Sherlock paused, looking down at John as if he had forgotten Irene was even in the room, with a gaze John had never seen on a man before.
"I'm not jealous of a servant." Irene said flatly, not looking impressed. John looked over at her in panic, but for once Irene wasn't looking his way, she was eyeing Sherlock with a very annoyed look, as if wondering why he would ever dare accuse her of being jealous.
"He's not just a servant anymore Irene, no, he's the champion. And you're jealous because he intrigues me while you do nothing more than disgust me." Sherlock said obviously, looking at Irene with a smug smile on his face. Irene just laughed, as if he were being preposterous.
"If you love John so much why don't you just go to the ball with him?" Irene snapped back, obviously she wanted to have the last laugh.

"There are many reasons why I can't attend the ball with Mr. Watson, and hate most certainly isn't one of them." Sherlock decided. John looked at Sherlock peculiarly, trying decide what that meant. Thankfully it wasn't a love confession, but it definitely ruled out hatred. Sherlock really was a mystery wasn't he? He did love to be dramatic.