When breakfast was over and they were finished doing the dishes, all of the men that were going to try out for the tournament headed down to the arena, some with armor, some without. Some didn't even have swords, but obviously they were going to have to share. John had been provided some very nice armor from the Adler family, it didn't fit quite like it should but it was still pretty attractive. He also carried a nice sword, they had given it to him in case he needed to kill guards on his way to the princes, but right now he was going to use it for more useful things, like getting into a tournament. John hated to admit it, but he felt confident, confident that he could take even Greg down. They broke it down tournament style, scratching the names in dirt with their blades and making a roster. John was to fight someone named Glen in his first round, and then go from then. He hoped Glen was a mediocre fighter, because he wanted nothing more than to fight Greg. Greg was on the other side of the roster, so if John were to make it to the final it would obviously be Greg he would be fighting. Everyone went to separate places in the arena, practicing their strokes and defensive moves, stretching their arms out and swinging their swords experimentally. Finally the first match started, and all of the servants sat up on the wooden wall, watching it go down and cheering for who they thought would win. It got a bit violent, swords swinging, helmets crashing; the two servants seemed to really be going at it. But eventually one of them knocked the other to the ground, and the match was won. John got the idea that you basically had to pin your opponent to where they could do nothing to defeat you, that or you knock them unconscious. There were cheers from the wings, and everyone went to congratulate the winner and take care of the loser. It was all very exciting, but when John finally got up to fight it was silent, everyone was waiting in silent anticipation. Just like Greg, they haven't seen John fight, and they were very keen on seeing if he were worthy enough to win this mini tournament. This Glen dude was pretty buff, but to be honest he held his sword very awkwardly, as if he had no idea what to do with it. John swung his sword around intimidatingly, and finally the match began. John started with a stroke to the chest, which his opponent block, pushing the sword out of the way with muscle John simply didn't have. But that was good; it gave John the opportunity to use his speed and agility to his advantage. They fought for a little while, swords clashing and strikes getting deflected, until finally Glen raised his sword over his head, ready to swing down on John. While he prepared the swing John got ready, and as soon as his sword started to fall John ran right for him, diving at his legs and swinging the man overtop of his shoulder, doing a compete 360 before landing hard on his back with a groan. There was an eruption of cheers, all of the servants thought this was simply the best thing they've ever seen and John was lifted onto their shoulders in admiration.
"What did I do? I didn't do anything!" John defended, laughing along with them. They were acting like he had already won their mini tournament when in reality he had just flipped some guy. While on their shoulders John noticed Greg off to the side, practicing strokes by himself and looking kind of bitter. Maybe he was getting into the spirit of the fight, maybe he was feeling left out, either way John had to pity him. John wasn't even from this kingdom and he was stealing all of his glory, it seemed as if everything happened to John around here. But then again, that wasn't necessarily John's fault, and he decided to ignore Greg's immaturity. The tournament continued on, fight after fight it went, all of these untrained, unexperienced servants battling together with rusted swords and armor. It was one of the purest forms of entertainment, a time where these overworked, underpaid, glorified slaves could really relax, enjoy themselves, and let loose. Despite the constant fights between every servant, it was clear who was going to be the winners, the ones who would fight in the final. Greg had proved himself with a sword, and he was actually doing a very good job and disarming, pinning, or knocking his opponent to the ground. He wasn't just being cocky when he had claimed he was going to win this mini tournament, John was really starting to think he was right. But the other servants, they disagreed. After many rounds with men John didn't even recognize, they insisted that he was going to come out on top, no matter how intimidating Greg was. John's makeshift training with his father had proven to be useful as he managed to defeat anyone that came his way, and it was all rather simple. John barely broke a sweat as he took down man after man. Finally it was the final round; all of the servants lining up on either side of the arena based on the man they guessed would win. As expected, John was on one side, and Greg was on the other. Both of them were drinking water, stretching out their arms and swinging their swords around, trying to get loose and ready to talk eon the other. They were best friends in the real world, but right now they had to be opponents. And so John was going to pretend that under the rusty helmet it wasn't Greg, but Sherlock. He was going to pretend that the conceited, rude, arrogant and phony prince was hiding behind that metal, and so John could get a much better advantage. It was a lot easier to smack someone with a sword when you believed your least favorite person was getting the abuse. Of course Sherlock may be trying to redeem himself, but until he could prove that he really wasn't rotten to the core, well, John was just going to have to take advantage of their little feud.
"Are you ready John?" one of the men asked, messaging John's shoulders as he looked over to where Greg was standing, surrounded by a bit of a smaller crowd.
"He's going to beat me." John insisted. "I don't know why you are all over here."
"Don't be humble John, you can beat him, you've beaten everyone who's come your way." They assured. John just laughed, shaking his head in annoyance.
"Yes well, so has he. That's kind of why we're in the finals." He pointed out.
"Good point, but still, you're not going to get defeated now, I know it." the servant assured. John sighed, nodding his head and pushing his helmet overtop of his face, pushing the visor up and walking over to the middle of the arena. There were loud cheers from his side of the stands, and that alerted Greg. He also put on his helmet and walked out to the middle of the arena, swinging his sword a couple of times just to be dramatic. His side of fans cheered as well and for a moment John could swear he was in the actual tournament, getting cheered and booed and watched by so many expectant, judging eyes. It was Sherlock that was coming for him, not Greg. It was Sherlock swinging that sword, not Greg. John took a deep breath, nodding at Greg politely and pushing down his visor, swinging his sword up to ready position.
"Ready?" Greg wondered. It was Sherlock. John gritted his teeth, channeling all of that inner hate he had for that pathetic prince, and nodded once more. Let's do this.
"FIGHT!" called one of the men, and they were off. Greg took the first swing, going for John's head, which he deflected and pushed away, counter attacking at Greg's chest. This went on for a while, clashing and sparring and dodging and jumping, but it was all just for show. John knew that all of these swings were just to get the other nervous, to get the crowd excited, he knew that the final swing would come soon, and when it did the match would be over. Greg stabbed at John's chest and John stuck his sword out, smacking Greg's sword out of the way and elbowing the poor guy in the face. It was kind of a cheap shot, but John heard something crack under the helmet and Greg feel backwards into the dirt. There was an eruption of cheers from John's side of the stand, but at the moment he really didn't care about that, the victory or his fans. The match was over and now they were friends again, and John just now realized that it wasn't Sherlock but Greg laying on the ground and moaning. John threw aside his sword in shock; falling to his knees and helping Greg pull his helmet off. Greg gave a howl of pain, clutching his nose in his hands, blood seeping through the cracks in his fingers.
"What happened?" someone asked, the first one to arrive to the scene.
"My nose, I think he broke my nose!" Greg exclaimed, stull not letting anyone see the injury. John immediately felt bad, taking off his own helmet and throwing it aside carelessly.
"Someone get him a towel or something, start soaking this up. Greg just keep your head back, try not to lose so much blood." John suggested.
"I'm not going to die John." Greg insisted, his voice sounding very nasally. I might've been funny if John hadn't felt so guilty.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry Greg, honestly I am!" John exclaimed.
"It's fine John, it's fine." Greg assured, although he didn't sound so sure. Then again, he probably didn't sound like he intended anyway.
"Help him up; I'll take him to the physician." One of them men insisted, walking over and trying to help Greg to his feet. With John's help they were able to pull Greg up, let him lean against the man, and together they started up to the castle. John fell back, sighing heavily as he watched the disfigured shape of two men walking up the cobblestone path. Well that was just great; he might have lost his only good friend here to something as pathetic as a sword fight.
"You did it John!" someone said as soon as Greg had disappeared, clapping John on the back in congratulations.
"Ya well I don't feel really victorious. More...dirty." John decided. And that had nothing to do with the dirt now staining his armor.
"That was a fair shot John, happens all the time in these things. You won, don't be worried about it, he'll be fine." Another assured. John sighed heavily, walking slowly over to where his helmet and sword lay, right next to a small puddle of Greg's blood.
"I think I'm just going to go up to the castle." John decided, staring slowly out of the arena, leaving the now quiet crowd behind.
"Congratulations!" one called, but John really didn't care. John walked lazily through the armory, just about to pull off his chest plate when he heard a chilling laugh from in the shadows. John jumped in fright, holding his sword out in front of him threateningly. But of course it wasn't a goblin or a thief, instead it was something worse. It was Sherlock.
"Aren't you the little champion?" Sherlock wondered with a laugh, stepping out from the shadows with his long purple cape billowing around his ankles.
"Oh my god, don't scare me like that." John insisted, dropping his sword and sighing heavily. Sherlock just laughed again, walking closer to John from around the sword displays, clutching in his hand a wicker basket.
"I brought lunch." He explained, seeing John's eyes flicker towards the basket.
"Is this going to be a picnic type thing?" John wondered suspiciously, not really keen on spending yet another meal with this prince.
"It can be whatever you want it to be, but there's swords and food involved." Sherlock assured with a smile. John frowned, looking at Sherlock suspiciously and wondering just what this prince might want from him? Was he trying to be all friendly to get John to help him, or was he just genuinely nice and friendly? This prince was an impossible puzzle, and to be honest John was sure he would never solve it.                                                                                                                                   

                  Sherlock's POV: Sherlock didn't like the confused look on John's face as they stood there in the armory. He looked a bit helpless, standing with his sagging chest plate and sweat coated brow, staring at Sherlock like he had just done something inconceivable.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock wondered with a guilty smile, hoping he hadn't fried the simpleton's mind.
"Just...processing." John admitted. Sherlock nodded, still not able to wipe the smile off of his face for some reason. Maybe it was just the absolutely perplexed look on John's face that was worth his smile, but either way Sherlock's own happiness nauseated him.
"I'm sorry, are you being nice to me?" John wondered. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but immediately scowled. Of course John had to bring that up; of course he had to bring up the fact that Sherlock was supposed to be the jerkiest prince to ever live. That was the only title Sherlock was sincerely proud of, and here John was, demanding he defend it.
"No, I'm not. I'm using you again, remember? I'm selfish; now let's get to the stables before anyone sees us." Sherlock insisted, staring for the door and realizing at once that John wasn't following. Sherlock turned on his heel, trying to be patient with the servant the best he could. It wasn't like he was intentionally being nice, but now this idiot was really getting on his nerves.
"Why are we going to the stable? We're fighting, this is the arena. Unless you plan on fighting your horses I recommend..." John started, but Sherlock raised an arm, silencing him.
"John, once again you fail to wait for the whole story. We can't practice in the arena, not where anyone can just happen across us. This is to be a secret, of course, and for secret training we need a secret place to train." Sherlock said, as if this were all terribly obvious. John blinked, but obviously he was about done being confused, so he just nodded.
"Ya, sure, train in the stables, that's fine." He muttered, obviously not having a clue what was going on.
"Grab a shield for yourself, or for me. Either way, one of us is going to need it." Sherlock decided, walking to the door and poking his head cautiously out. He looked around at the arena where there were still some servants mingling around, talking and stalling from their usual duties. Sherlock sighed heavily but obviously there was nothing he could do now, he couldn't yell at servants if they weren't supposed to even know he was here. Sherlock beckoned John to follow him, starting along the paths to the stables. Thankfully the way was deserted; everyone was already at lunch so John and Sherlock had a clear escape from the armory to the stables. When they crept into the barn there were no human life forms, but that didn't stop the horses from looking up from their feed bowls in surprise. Sherlock smiled, he really did like horses better than people because they didn't say anything, they didn't judge or ask questions, they simply went back to their feed, acting as if Sherlock were no different from anyone else in this entire pathetic kingdom. Sherlock walked over to Redbeard, grabbing a carrot from one of the food bags and feeding it to the horse gently, so that he didn't lose any fingers. Redbeard looked very happy,letting Sherlock stroke his nose and ears. John lingered near the door, as if not expecting they would be here long. He was right of course, but probably not in the way he expected.
"Have you ever ridden a horse John?" Sherlock wondered. John walked cautiously over; as if he got too close the horses would spit fire.
"No, not really. Never had the need, or the money." John admitted. Sherlock smiled at him, moving over to that he could appreciate Redbeard as well.
"This is my horse, Redbeard. You can come stroke him, he won't mind." Sherlock assured. John gave both the prince and the horse a very weird look, but cautiously he walked over and pet the horse ever so gently, looking as though he were afraid Redbeard would bite off his hand.
"He's a beautiful horse." John decided, seemingly not knowing what else to say.
"Yes, I got him when he was a foal; I was just a child myself. Look how much we've grown." Sherlock said proudly, opening the stall door and grabbing the saddle from the hook and bringing over to where Redbeard stood. The horse shivered a little bit, but Sherlock just stroked his mane, carefully slinging the saddle over the animal's back and strapping the numerous buckles.
"Wait, you're not actually going to ride him, are you? It's not really a good time." John pointed out. Sherlock just laughed, patting Redbeard's side and watching John in amusement. It was fun to confuse this boy, it made Sherlock feel even more superior than he already was.
"Of course I'm not going to ride him." Sherlock said with a laugh, as if John were being crazy. "We're both going to." He finished. John stepped back in shock, the shield wobbling nervously in his hands.
"Sherlock I told you I can't ride a horse." He pointed out.
"Yes, but I'll be here, all you have to do is hold on." Sherlock assured. John shook his head, suddenly his brave complexion wavered, he looked genuinely scared.
"Why can't we just fight here? Where are you planning on taking me?" John wondered.
"The forest." Sherlock shrugged, as if that were obvious.
"Yes well, the forest is too far away, that's pathetic. There's no one around here, just fight me here." John decided. Sherlock gave John a bewildered look, wondering if John dare question his judgement.
"I'm sorry, but who here is in control?" Sherlock wondered.
"Me! I'm teaching you, you asked for my help, and I'm saying that you're not going anywhere." John decided, putting his foot down quite literally. Sherlock tried not to lose his temper, but once again this bloody servant was pushing him very close to the line. He had prepared lunch, made a special visit, he was even nice to the kid and this was what he got in return. Attitude and ungratefulness.