"Hello John." Sherlock said, walking into the tent with his cape sweeping behind him.
"Should I maybe get some more water?" Greg wondered, looking at Sherlock with a terrified expression. Sherlock looked back at him in confusion, and Greg scampered away, the apple falling from his hands and landing in the soft grass at Sherlock's feet. All of the servants seemed to disappear to the back of the tent, all watching the two intently, as if wondering what was going to become of their conversation.
"You seem to have scared my friends away." John decided.
"That only gives us more privacy." Sherlock agreed, glancing to where the servants were huddled. As soon as he looked at them some of them slid out of the tent, worming their way under the flaps of the tent to freedom.
"What do we need privacy for?" John wondered. Sherlock shrugged, walking over and grabbing a chair from the table, carrying it over so that he could sit across from John, seating himself impressively as if his presence mattered anything.
"We don't; not really, I just wanted to talk I suppose. Share a moment before we go to battle." Sherlock shrugged.
"We're not friends Sherlock, why would you want to talk to me?" John wondered, squinting his eyes suspiciously. Sherlock just looked at him with those vibrant kaleidoscope eyes, eyes that John felt could see right into his soul.
"It's not that I hate you John, don't think that at all, I'm impressed by you." Sherlock assured. John frowned, looking at the prince without amusement.
"Alright, what do you want?" John wondered, crossing his arms and seeing where this was going. Sherlock tried his best to look surprised, maybe scandalized, John didn't know. He ended up looking like a surprised cow, and his intake of breath sounded very scripted.
"I don't want anything from you John; I only want to be friendly." He insisted, as if John's accusation was downright rude.
"Sherlock you're never nice to me, you never bother talking to me unless you want something." John pointed out. Sherlock frowned, dropping the act and looking at John without amusement.
"Alright, fine. I want you to let me win if we compete. Most all of the competitors that I'm facing have taken the bribes, but you haven't." Sherlock insisted.
"When are we facing each other?" John wondered.
"We're on opposite sides of the tournament roster, so that means we'll only see each other in the final, if we both make it." Sherlock admitted. John just laughed, shaking his head in disagreement.
"Then why on earth do you need me to accept your bribe? We won't even get to fight?" John wondered.
"I've watched you fight John, you're very capable of getting to the final. In fact, I think with your fighting style and brutality, I think you're very capable of taking down all of those pathetic knights." Sherlock decided. John frowned again, noticing that Sherlock was trying to flatter him once more.
"I'm not falling for this Sherlock, your being nice to me won't help you at all." John warned. Sherlock sighed heavily again, but went back to slouching in his chair so that his chainmail scrunched up against his chest.
"When do you fight then?" he wondered, looking at John passively, as if he knew this was a lost cause.
"About an hour. You?" John asked.
"Last match of the day, I guess my father just wants people sticking around for the whole thing. They've all come out to see me of course." Sherlock admitted.
"And are you going to win?" John wondered teasingly.
"Yes of course, the man I'm fighting already has a pack of gold and a promise of being considered for knight training. Of course he has no noble blood so he will never get in, but we'll consider him all the less." Sherlock shrugged. He didn't seem to care that he was messing with not only the tournament but other people's emotions, with broken promises that meant nothing. John wondered just what Sherlock would offer him to try to convince him to let him win.
"Something makes me think that's cheating." John decided.
"Oh wow, really John?" Sherlock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. John just laughed, shaking his head and sitting up in his chair, taking another sip of water to give his hands something to do.
"You're determined, I'll give you that." John decided.
"Thank you John, that's maybe the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Sherlock decided. John just rolled his eyes, the idea that Sherlock thought he was being the bad guy here was just pathetic.
"You're the mean one Sherlock, not me." he insisted.
"I try to be nice, to be accepting." Sherlock defended, trying to look smile. John just groaned, a gentle look on Sherlock's face just looked wrong. But before he could answers someone else walked into the tent, someone John definitely didn't want to see right now. Irene.
"Sherlock, could I talk to you please?" she asked, batting her eyelashes as if that would somehow persuade him. Sherlock didn't look impressed, obviously not trying to make it seem like he was in anyway interested. John didn't pretend to be sad that Sherlock was leaving; in fact it was the best case scenario right now. He was about done listening to Sherlock whine.
"Yes, of course." He agreed, getting to his feet and casting another look down on John, a soft sort of look, as if wondering when he would see him again.
"I guess I'll see you when it's over." he decided, and with that he swept out of the tent, leaving John before he had a chance to say goodbye.

                Sherlock POV: Under no circumstances did Sherlock ever want to leave John, not to talk to anyone much less the princess of all pain. Irene was wearing her usual flowing gown and sparkly jewelry. She was all dressed up for this tournament, as if it were also a fashion show for some reason. Sherlock frowned, standing outside of John's tent and waiting for her to say the first word. These grounds were covered with tents and people, all bustling around and preparing for the tournament, and the roar of the crowd as the men competed was overwhelming to say the least. Sherlock tried to tell himself that they would cheer that loudly for him when he fought.
"You're getting pretty close with my servant aren't you?" Irene wondered with a triumphant little smile. Sherlock scowled, looking at her with upmost hate.
"I'm sorry, I thought we weren't going to pretend we liked each other, I thought we had come to mutual terms?" Sherlock wondered.
"I never said I didn't like you." Irene admitted in an almost hopeful voice; as if somehow her words would make Sherlock suddenly change his feelings.
"Yes well, I'm known to be irresistible." He admitted, starting off towards his tent and hoping she didn't follow. But alas, she followed, if not a bit slowly as her heels were sinking into the trampled mud below.
"So why were you talking to my servant?" she wondered. Sherlock sighed heavily, not thinking this was some big deal, he was just being social, what's the problem with that?
"He's competing, I was wishing him luck." Sherlock insisted, as if this were some sort of argument he had to win. Irene couldn't know that he needed to try to bribe John into letting him win, she may know he disliked her but she could never know of his uselessness. Irene just watched Sherlock curiously as they walked, miraculously not stumbling or running into something.
"You're a very confusing man Sherlock." She decided.
"I'm not confusing at all; I like to consider myself a very straightforward kind of man." Sherlock decided, even though that was such a lie. Everything from his posture to his smiles was pretend when he was out in public. He tried to ignore Irene's eye contact; he tried to pretend that he didn't notice her looking at him. Something about her eyes made him very uncomfortable, as if she knew exactly what was going on in his brain when he didn't know himself.
"No, not you yourself, I find your heart very confusing." Irene decided. Sherlock laughed a little bit nervously, twiddling once more with his sword hilt.
"My heart has nothing to do with this conversation." He decided, thinking back to what they were even talking about. John, they were talking about Sherlock going to visit John, what did that have to do with his heart?
"I think it might." Irene decided with a determined look. Sherlock just shook his head, not wanting to even try to piece together this peculiar puzzle.
"What is that even supposed to..."
"Sherlock! There you are my god!" Molly exclaimed, running out of Sherlock's silk purple tent as soon as he was visible. She didn't seem relieved, it wasn't the you're alive oh thank the lord type of panic; it was more get your butt in here before I stab you sort of panic. Then again, Sherlock always got the latter when it came to panic.
"What Molly, what?" Sherlock wondered, looking at her in confusion.
"Your father is here, come to wish you luck." Molly said innocently, patting down her hair and making sure her dress hadn't been ruined in this little run. Sherlock groaned, but immediately he went to puff out his curls, making sure his armor gleamed.
"I'll just go then." Irene decided, obviously not wanting an audience with the king right now.
"Oh no, he'd love to see us together." Sherlock insisted, pulling Irene towards the tent.
"No but I don't want to be see your father right now!" Irene groaned, shaking Sherlock's hand off easily. Molly watched in amusement, as if Irene's distress pleased her. But never the less Irene made herself look presentable, checking her reflection in a small pocket mirror before nodding.
"Let's just get it over with then." She decided. Molly looked a bit upset to see her come in, but nevertheless she pulled open the entrance to the tent where, as promised, King Holmes stood, talking idly to one of his noblemen. The tent was decorated much nicer than the servant's tent, there were bear skin rugs on the floor, large mahogany tables overflowing with delicacies, and racks of swords and armor just in case something got broken. All sorts of noble people were walking aimlessly around, talking to one another and eating the food that should've been exclusively for the champion. For some reason Sherlock preferred the servant's tent a bit more, maybe it was because he didn't have to be a polite prince in there, he could just be himself. And now he had to stand straight, bow to his father, smile, and link arms with Irene. It was miserable.
"Hello father." Sherlock said with a smile.
"Sherlock, my son, I have come to wish you good luck." King Holmes said, beaming down at Sherlock as if he were so proud of him.
"Yes, but isn't the tournament still going on?" Sherlock wondered, wondering why his father wasn't overseeing the battles.
"The fighting can wait for now, you cannot." The king insisted, as if seeing his makeshift son was such an honor. Nevertheless Sherlock bowed, pretending to be pleased that his own father noticed him.
"I hope to do my best, that is all I can ask." Sherlock decided. And his best was like; swing the sword without dropping it.
"Sherlock I know this is going to be a breeze for you, the competition is no worse than last year, or the year before even. You've defeated some of the best knights in the realm; you are most certainly going to defeat these children with weaponry." The king assured with a laugh. Sherlock pretended to laugh along, but he didn't find this funny at all. His father legitimately thought he was able bodied, willing to take on any challenge and guaranteed to win. It was kind of sad that the king was so oblivious to his own son's life.
"Where have you been? Ms. Hooper has been talking to me for more than ten minutes." King Holmes wondered, giving a thankful smile to Molly, who bowed quickly in respect.
"Yes, sorry father, I was talking to another competitor." Sherlock admitted, hoping that didn't sound threatening to his father.
"Who was it you were talking to?" he wondered. Irene laughed very lightly next to him; in fact if she didn't have her arm linked through his Sherlock doubted he would've even noticed. But what did she find so funny, what was it about John that she thought was so important?
"John Watson, the servant's competitor." Sherlock admitted. An amused smile played off of King Holmes' face, as if this were some sort of joke.
"You were talking with a servant? I can only hope he was polishing your armor through the conversation?" the king guessed. Something that felt a bit like rage swept through Sherlock, if only for a moment, but he was sure Irene noticed because his hands twitched a little bit. He didn't like his father making fun of John like that, for some reason he felt the need to protect the boy, even if he wanted nothing to do with the prince himself.
"No, I have decided he is a worthy competitor, and being the man I am, I wished him luck." Sherlock admitted. It wasn't all together a lie, Sherlock really did see John as a threat to his winning.
"A good man indeed Sherlock, a worthy heir to my crown." King Holmes said with a proud smile. Sherlock nodded back, something inside of him wishing that his father could see the true ugliness that hid under his mask of pride. No one had ever seen that, however, without his consent. Well, no one except John, who could see straight through him as though he were made of glass. There was amassive cheer from the crowd outside, obviously someone had won their duel, and the king sighed a little bit.
"I best be going, the crowd awaits." He decided.
"Yes of course, thank you for your blessing." Sherlock said, deciding that his words sounded really cheesy, but nevertheless his father smiled.
"I know you won't need it Sherlock. I know that you'll make me proud." He said with a confident smile, and with that he swept away, leaving the tent to reclaim his throne. As soon as his father was gone, Sherlock pulled away from Irene in disgust, slouching a little bit and fiddling some more with his sword, a nervous little habit he had picked up from the little times he actually had to use a weapon.
"I always love it when he stops by." Sherlock lied, plucking a piece of bread off of the table and picking off pieces. Even though he knew he was going to win his match his stomach was still churning with nervousness, he knew there was no reason to worry but still, he couldn't help but to be a little bit apprehensive. But even though he was nervous it didn't mean he shouldn't eat, and he did his best to choke down as much as this bread as possible.
"You were talking to John Watson? The boy you put in the stocks?" Molly wondered. Sherlock growled, wanting to throw whatever was left of his bread ather unworthy head.
"YES!" Sherlock said relatively loudly, making some of the people in the tent stop and look at him. Sherlock smiled apologetically, but as soon as they turned their gaze he went back to frowning.
"Why does everyone think this is such a big deal, I was talking, I do that sometimes alright?" Sherlock insisted. Molly didn't look impressed, but maybe it was just that look all women had, the 'I know what going on here' look. Most always however, Molly had no idea what was really going on.
"You never talk Sherlock, at least not voluntarily." Molly pointed out.
"Well maybe I fancied a chat with someone who didn't judge my every move." Sherlock growled.
"I'm not mad at you Sherlock, I'm proud, it's not like you to talk, it's a very good thing to get more social." Molly assured.
"And yet you still talk to me like it's the end of the world." Sherlock pointed out.
"I never said it was the end of the world, I just find it curious that you would choose to talk with a servant without being forced to." Molly admitted.
"Yes well, as big of a pain as he is, I thought it was fitting to wish him luck. He goes off to fight in less than a half hour." Sherlock added.
"Are you going to want to watch him?" Irene wondered, the first word she's spoken since they got into the tent. Sherlock sighed heavily, not knowing how these women wanted him to answer.
"Well, what would you two maniacs do if I said yes?" Sherlock wondered. Neither of them answered, as if they knew he knew exactly what he was going to say. "I'm going; I want to see his fighting style, see what kind of competition he is." Sherlock decided. Irene muttered something very quietly to Molly, who just laughed rather apologetically, as if she felt guilty for finding whatever it was amusing.
"What, what is just so funny that you can't tell me?" Sherlock wondered bitterly. Molly shook her head, trying to make it seem like it was no big deal.
"Nothing Sherlock, nothing at all. We're happy you're taking reasonable precautions." She admitted, and Sherlock just scowled at the both of them, not liking not knowing.
"What do you two know that I don't?" he wondered. The women shrugged, but both looked rather guilty, as if they knew exactly what he didn't know but just didn't want to share. Sherlock growled but decided that it would be better to just ignore it. Women would be women after all.