Finally John came to stand next to Sherlock and the crowd died down, John bowed to the royalty and looked at his competitor with a smile.
"Hey Sherlock, ready for this?" John wondered.
"Please don't kill me." Sherlock whispered, and John just laughed, smiling apologetically.
"I'll do my best." He decided. "I know you've got a lot on your shoulders."
"Finalists!" the king said, getting to his feet and acknowledging the two with a proud smile. "You have come all this way, through these past three days of combat, to prove yourselves worthy of this honor. You have defeated the greatest knights in our realm, and now it is time to prove to everyone that you deserve to be here, that you are the most superior warrior in the land. I expect a clean fight, and I know that I can expect fairness and respect from both of you. Now, let the games begin!" the king finished, and the crowd erupted once more. A servant came to retrieve Sherlock's cape, plucking it off of his shoulders easily and scampering away. The two of them put on their helmets, staring at each other through the slits as they walked to the center of the arena, swords drawn. They shook hands with gloved hands, and Sherlock was almost sure he saw a smile on John's face, even through the metal.
"May the best man win." John said almost tauntingly. Sherlock growled, not thinking of anything snappy to say in return.
"Champions are you ready?" the announcer called. John gave a very obnoxious thumbs up while Sherlock just nodded, raising his sword in defense, taking slow deep breaths. This was it; this was going to be the time where everyone saw what he was and what he wasn't. He was most certainly going to lose, but all that mattered was how long it took him to lose. If he could defend himself from John's blade for just a little while then he would be alright, he would look trained enough to defend against common warfare. He stared at John's beautiful eyes behind the visor; John looked determined, venomous really, as if he were channeling all the emotions he could think of to try to get through this fight. It seemed as though emotions were something that would be a factor on both of their sides. Sherlock's blade shook in the air, his hands trembling in nervousness as he waited for the bell to ring. He just wanted this to be over he just wanted...ding. The bell rung and Sherlock's ears rung with adrenaline, his muscles tensing up but ready for action. He took one very weak swing at John's chest, to which the servant easily deflected, pushing Sherlock's arm completely out of the way. As soon as Sherlock was vulnerable John reached his foot up and kicked Sherlock as hard as he could, right in the chest. And just like that it was over. Sherlock went flying, landing on his back, sprawled out in the dirt. His sword fell from his hands; his lungs felt like they had been deflated, he could only cough and sputter in the dirt, wheezing for his next breath as he watched John step over him, standing victoriously over the defenseless prince. The bell rung not thirty seconds after it had begun, and the crowd exploded into cheers, louder than ever this time. Sherlock could only lay on the ground and cough, not worried about the humiliation so much as his own life at the moment. But soon the arena was flooded; all of these people dressed in shabby brown clothing with multiple patches ran into the dirt, all chanting John's name and cheering. They stepped over Sherlock, they stepped on Sherlock, they kicked his sword out of the way and crunched his fingers with their toes as they lifted John onto their shoulders, parading him around the stadium with cheers. Sherlock could only lift up his head, pulling off his helmet and taking a quick look at his father, who had sat back down in his throne with a defeated look on his face, holding his face in his hands as he watched John's victory tour. He looked absolutely humiliated, not to mention betrayed. The whole royal family looked as though they wanted to run from the crowd, they looked embarrassed to even call Sherlock their son. Sherlock felt a bubble of self-pity explode in his chest, he had been beaten by a servant, he had been defeated by the one man who he had thought he had control over. He let his head fall into the dirt, his shiny black curls getting befouled with the footprints stamped into the mud. Sherlock just lay in the arena and stared at the sky, the blue sky with only one cloud hanging in the air. One dark cloud hovering just over where Sherlock lay, as if Mother Nature was trying to tell him herself how much of a failure he was, how much of a disappointment. John had done it, he had won. He had taken the Golden Prince and made him rust.

                John POV: As soon as Sherlock went down, John's vision was a blur. It had been so quick, so painless and so easy, well he expected Sherlock to at least get up. But no, the prince coughed and spluttered in his helmet, staying down for good. If he was so obsessed about his reputation John didn't know why he didn't at least make an effort, but whatever, he wasn't going to complain. As soon as the bell rang John was flooded with people, everyone rushing into the arena to congratulate him, hugging him, patting him on the back in excitement. John was once more pushed onto the crowd's shoulders, laughing and cheering and screaming in delight. He had actually won, he did it! It seemed almost impossible to fathom that he could be so successful, a meager servant coming and winning the biggest tournament in the land. It was amazing. The parades led John all the way back to his tent, seemingly the whole crowd of people following him around in an attempt to congratulate him. Thankfully the rest of the tents had been taken down, the losers had packed up their things and headed home, some with a little more gold than others, thanks to a certain prince. John tried to scan the crowd to see if Sherlock was following as well, but as suspected he was nowhere to be seen, probably sulking or crying or something. John told himself that this was a good thing, that this was exactly what he had wanted. Sherlock might be able to keep up the whole act; he might be able to claim that he wasn't ready or that John was just too spastic of a fighter for him to keep an eye on. But reputation or no reputation, John was very sure that Sherlock was now moping around, crying to himself and whining that this whole thing wasn't fair to whoever would listen. But John didn't care, not now. He needed to stop thinking about Sherlock and just enjoy himself, he had won! He got gold, praise, glory, everyone wanted to see him, talk to him, get his autograph on rough sheets of parchment. Finally the crowd dropped him, and John was pushed into his tent by the crowd, thanking them but closing the flaps, not in the mood to get swamped right now. There was still screaming from outside, everyone wanted to see him but was much too polite to intrude. John pulled off his armor, wanting to jump for joy, having all of this pent up emotion but having nothing to do with it. Finally the flap of the tent opened, and John was just about to tell whoever it was to go away when Greg came rushing in, trapping John in the biggest bear hug known to man.
"YOU'RE AMAZING JOHN!" he exclaimed, jumping around all while holding John in his grasp. John's head flapped on his neck as he tried to steady himself, nodding agressivley to try to tell Greg to stop.
"Alright, thanks Greg, thanks." John agreed, pushing Greg away a little bit to get some personal space.
"He went down like a paper doll, you should've seen it John, from my point of view it literally looked like Sherlock sat there and waited to get beat." Greg insisted with a laugh. John forced a smile but in reality he was somewhat disappointed, so maybe it wasn't all that action packed from a spectator's point of view.
"But good news John, you're rich! Richer than me at least, you don't have to bea servant anymore, you can get your own house, raise some kids, I don't know, settle down." Greg decided.
"I'm not going to settle down, what am I, stupid? And miss all of this fun stuff?" John wondered. Greg's smile faded, as if he were trying to tell if John was being serious or not.
"You actually want to keep being a servant?" he wondered curiously. John nodded in agreement, a crooked smile on his face. Greg just laughed, patting John on his head in doubt.
"Maybe you got hit in the head too. You'll come to your senses John, at least you will when you see all of that gold." He decided. John shrugged, but he knew he wasn't going to use all that money for himself. He was going to use it to rebuild his town, the one the Adlers destroyed while looking for assassins. John wasn't going to quit a life of service if he wasn't a servant to begin with, he was going to do his job, get his family back, and hopefully get his life back in the process. Then again, that meant he was going to have to do more than just humiliate the prince, he was going to have to execute him. John sighed heavily, he wasn't going to think like that, this was a happy time, this was a time for listening to his adoring fans outside the tent, for enjoying the fact that he was the best fighter in this entire realm, he couldn't dwell on the fact that Sherlock's life was nearing a close.
"So, got a date for the ball tonight?" Greg wondered as he tried to pack up some stuff that had been lying around the tent, spare swords and food and clothes. John shrugged, putting his armor neatly on his chair and trying to fix his hair in the standup mirror.
"No, but I don't need one, do I?" John wondered. He was far too busy with his own life to try to think of someone else's; he couldn't bother with a relationship of any kind right now.
"Well of course you do silly, you're the winner! Don't worry; I'm sure any girl you ask will say yes." Greg assured simply.
"Do you have a date?" John wondered. Greg just shrugged innocently, as if he had his eye on a few eligible bachelorettes.
"I don't know yet, but I'll get one. Shouldn't be difficult, I'm quite the bachelor myself." Greg boasted, running his fingers through his hairdramatically. John just laughed, shaking his head in doubt.
"You and your crooked nose." John teased.
"May I remind you of who gave me this nose in the first place? That's right, you did John." Greg insisted.
"Don't take it personally, I did a lot worse to some of those guys. Physically and mentally." John decided.
"When we left Sherlock was still lying in the dirt. You broke that kid, BROKE HIM!" Greg exclaimed proudly, and John tried not to look too upset. He Understood that there had been consequences to this whole plan, and now more than ever he was wishing that he hadn't even gotten tangled up in this prince in the first place. He wouldn't feel half as bad about crushing him in the tournament if he only knew him as the idiot who threw him into the stocks. But after seeing Sherlock in tears, after seeing him so weak and emotional, it was almost impossible not to pity him just a little. There was some commotion outside, something that sounded a bit like booing, as if someone a bit disliked was passing through the crowd of John supporters. John sighed heavily; he could only guess who that could be. When the flap opened, however, a girl with brown hair stumbled inside, wearing a nice yellow dress and high heels.
"Barbarians." She scowled, pushing the flap closed and growling a little bit. Then of course, she realized she was being watched, and turned with an apologetic smile, flattening her dress and fixing her hair to the best of her abilities. Greg blinked a little bit, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Molly Hooper?" Greg wondered, seeming to be the only thing he could ask. John smiled, he had seen that look before, Greg was wonderstruck. Molly nodded, looking a bit nervous to be in this tent, she kept casting glances over at John as if she were in the presence of a big celebrity. John felt rather awkward, he was only wearing his simple cotton servant's clothes, he probably didn't look nearly as impressive as she had expected.
"Yes, that's me. And you're John Watson of course." She agreed, looking at John with a lovely smile. She really was pretty, but not really John's type. He knew that she was Sherlock's one and only friend, so he was wondering just what she was doing in the tent of the boy who had just beat the prince.
"And I'm Greg Lestrade, John's best friend, nice to meet you." Greg said with a smile, stepping forward and holding out a hand to shake. Molly smiled at him, looking rather relived that he didn't want to kiss her hand or anything like that, and shook hands rather roughly. Maybe she wasn't as much as a lady as she made herself out to be, not unlike her very two faced friend.
"John I've heard a lot about you, from many people." Molly started, turning back to John as if she wasn't all that interested in talking to Greg.
"Oh, well, thank you. I guess." John muttered. "Sherlock talks about me?" headded in confusion, wondering just why he was on the prince's mind.
"Of course he does, all of the time. I guess you're on his mind a lot." She admitted.
"That's flattering, I guess. If not a bit weird." John admitted, the awkwardness in the room rising much higher. Greg was smiling at Molly still, as if he didn't realize he was staring.
"Yes well, Sherlock would like to see you in his tent." Molly said finally, glancing rather suspiciously at Greg, who was still smiling. John sighed, but nodded. He didn't really want to visit Sherlock in the height of all his self-pity, but then again it was necessary. Maybe there was something he could say that could maybe boost the poor prince's self-confidence, at least just a little bit.

            "Ya alright." John agreed, starting towards the door.
"Ms. Hooper?" Greg asked, stepping closer as if afraid she might leave.
"Yes?" Molly wondered with a pleasant enough smile. Greg straightened up a little bit, trying to look impressive and masculine.
"I was wondering if you had anyone escorting you to the dance this evening?" Greg wondered. Molly laughed a little bit, covering her face in her hands in embarrassment. Greg's smile dropped; obviously worried that he had done something wrong.
"No, no I don't. Do you have someone in mind?" she wondered, looking back up at Greg with her cheeks flushed completely red.
"Yes of course, me." Greg said, his obnoxious smile returning. "Servants are all the rage these days." He added. Molly just laughed again, but nodded.
"Yes, why not? I was planning on going by myself anyways." She agreed.
"Yes!" Greg said excitedly, shaking his head quickly. "I mean, that's wonderful." he corrected elegantly. John just groaned, wondering how on earth that idiot could possibly get a noble to go to the ball with him.
"Well, now that that's over, you should get off to see your girlfriend." Greg decided, nodding at john with a teasing smile.
"My what?" John wondered, sincerely concerned that he had acquired a girlfriend unknowingly.
"Sherlock, go see Sherlock." Greg corrected. John just stared at him in confusion, shaking his head and deciding he was never going to decode Greg's peculiar mind.
"Ya, alright. He's not my...girlfriend. Or whatever." John added, walking out of the tent with Molly close on his heels. The crowd had somewhat died off, only the diehard John fans were waiting for him when he walked out, and immediately they started screaming in joy. John was able to catch glimpses of them, mostly women, all clawing and fighting to get closer. He managed to fight them off, making them stay as he ran out of sight to Sherlock's tent. He really hoped that his fan base didn't follow; he had a feeling that the conversation that followed would be a bit private. John and Molly walked all the way to the purple silk tent, once a very impressive structure with people milling all about, all to support their prince. But now it was desolate, the fabric rippled eerily in the cold wind and not a soul moved. John walked closer to the opening, hoping that Sherlock wasn't in there crying, when he heard a conversation. He ducked out of the way, trying not to listen but staying in earshot just the same.