The rest of the day seemed to crawl on, and soon John's stomach started to growl. Greg had said they brought food, but soon the townspeople started to fade, and eventually the sun sunk under the horizon and darkness fell across the land. And still no food. John sighed heavily, stretching out his legs and repositioning his wrists so that a different part of his arm took all the weight. These things were really painful, he wished there would be some sort of cushioning, at least where the head had to go. His neck was getting sore from holing himself up for so long, and he was sure that he wouldn't sleep at all. Finally after what felt like ages the castle doors opened, and from the cobblestone walk ways he saw a familiar silhouette coming through the darkness.
"Hello servant." Sherlock's voice said tauntingly, the backlight making his shadow seem as if his head were massive. Of course he did have a really big head metaphorically, but literally he really didn't.
"Oh it's you, the bringer of my torment." John groaned. Sherlock just laughed, obviously pleased that John was having such an awful time.
"I brought you some food; I thought that might cheer you up." Sherlock said happily, as if this were going to cheer him up a lot more. Sherlock held up the plate to John's face, and even in the darkness John could see the mold clinging to it.
"Are you trying to poison me?" John wondered.
"Oh well that would just be a plus. No servant, I'm not trying to poison you, I'm trying to feed you. It must be hard, sitting out here in the cold with no company." Sherlock said dramatically.
"You're talking to me, you're company." John pointed out.
"I'm your bringer of torment." Sherlock corrected. John just laughed, shaking his head in agreement.
"Alright then, I'll go with that." he agreed, remembering Greg's advice to flatter his way to freedom.
"Alright then, eat up." Sherlock said with a laugh, holding something suspiciously fuzzy to John's mouth. It kind of looked like bread, but with so much mold on it John could hardly call it edible.
"Suddenly I'm not so..." John's words were cut off my Sherlock shoving the bread in his mouth. John gagged, the worst taste of dirt and fungus polluting his taste buds. He wiggled his head around, finally ripping the bread away from Sherlock's hands and spitting it onto the ground.
"Why would you ever do that to someone?" John asked angrily, feeling the urge to spit on Sherlock's shoes. He felt anger bubbling up in his chest yet he felt so helpless. If he had been free, if he had been able to get to the knife, Sherlock would be dead, his royal blood dripping down the cobblestone. But John was trapped like an animal, and suddenly he felt the urge to cry.
"I can do whatever I want to criminals." Sherlock insisted. John growled, but sank his head so that he didn't have to look at any part of that disgusting boy.
"I'm not a criminal." He muttered. Sherlock was silent, probably having expected anger or resentment. He didn't seem to know what to do when John looked like he were about to cry.
"Maybe not yet, and this will assure your future obedience." Sherlock decided. "You may serve the Adlers but while you are on Lauriston property you are under my control, you understand?" John was silent, and Sherlock didn't seem satisfied with that. Obviously he wanted to be super intimidating or something like that, but couldn't find the words to use.
"Well then, nice talk." Sherlock decided, turning on his heel and marching proudly back up to the castle doors. John stayed there, hanging limply and spitting on the ground to where his moldy meal lie. He almost felt the urge to shed a few tears, but then he remembered that this anger, this resentment, he should just build it up. Save it for when it might be useful, process it and use it when he needed it the most. Sherlock didn't know it now, but John was going to have his revenge. Sherlock didn't know it now, but he should be counting his days. Living his life to the fullest before John was going to be able to snatch it from him, and maybe he should learn some more respect, that way it's not as painful as John had the potential to make it be. He had come to this kingdom worrying about the guilt he might face when killing the world's most loved prince, but now he realized it didn't matter. Now he realized that the Golden Prince was made out of no more than rusted tin. It was a while after dark when he first heard footsteps approaching. The lights in the castle had gone out and all that was left to illuminate the world was the light of the moon and stars, glowing through the night sky as a natural beacon. John couldn't turn his head but he knew someone was there, creeping along the shadows out of his sight.
"Who's there?" John wondered nervously, twisting as much as he could to see who was coming. No one answered and John started to feel an impending sense of fear, his fingers tingling and his stomach feeling empty when he realized there was nothing he could do about it.
"Don't talk too loudly, they might hear." whispered a female voice close by. John breathed a sigh of relief, he knew that voice, it was Mary.
"Mary what are you doing here? Breaking me out?" John asked hopefully.
"Of course not, that would lead to suspicion." Mary whispered, saying this as if he should've known that.
"Alright, then what do you want?" John wondered.
"I want to share my plan with you, and advise you on your own." Mary insisted. John just laughed, shaking his head doubtfully.
"Isn't there a better time for this?" John wondered.
"You need to enter the tournament. It's already planned out, the King is going to enter you and that's when you kill Sherlock. Make it to the final round, or at least make it to where you fight him. We'll poison your blade, all you need is one cut and he's dead." Mary whispered.
"I can't kill him with anything except the knife, Moriarty specified that." John pointed out. Mary cursed silently, thinking a little bit about how to possibly get around that.
"Well then we'll think, you've got plenty of time to think." Mary decided.
"What's your plan?" John wondered.
"Less you know the better, just expect a death sooner or later. In the meantime, enjoy your stay in the stocks." Mary said with a laugh, and with that she crept off into the darkness.
"Mary, Mary!" John called in a harsh whisper, struggling in the stocks to see her better. But alas she was gone, and he was left scowling alone.
YOU ARE READING
Sherlock is the youngest son of a powerful family dynasty, with all the pressure of being the perfect prince sitting on his shoulders. However, he builds his good reputation on lies and tricks, and he dreads the day when his failures will come into...