"All of this noble stuff, it's so tedious." Molly groaned, pulling her hair out of the tight bun it had been trapped in all day.
"Oh, you're telling me." Sherlock growled. "I need a bath." He decided.
"Yes well Billy's going to be very occupied getting all of that armor up to the castle; maybe if you would've helped him he would be here to get you some water." Molly teased.
"Then go get someone to help him." Sherlock snapped. "Or better yet, do it yourself!"
"I'm a lady Sherlock; ladies can't do any heavy lifting." Molly pointed out.
"Armor's not heavy, you're making excuses." Sherlock insisted. But even as he said it, the door opened and Billy stood in the doorway, looking like he had seen the Devil with his own two eyes, holding all of Sherlock's armor, using even his pinky to try to clutch onto one of the shin guards.
"Your majesty, your armor." Billy said in a breath, letting it all fall to the floor as soon as he stepped inside. Sherlock just covered his ears in exasperation, wincing as he was sure they would all be dented now.
"Well you'll need to polish it before tomorrow, but you need to draw me a bath first. Molly, scram." Sherlock decided.
"Sherlock there's a screen for a reason!" Molly exclaimed, but she knew this was a losing argument. Sherlock wasn't usually so modest, but having a bath was a great excuse to get everyone to leave him alone.
"Just go away, Billy, water!" Sherlock demanded, thrusting a finger at the door. Molly groaned loudly, but slowly she collected her high heels and walked barefoot out the door. Sherlock didn't bother saying goodbye. Billy grabbed the bucket next to the bath, rushing out the door and leaving the big mess of armor for Sherlock to deal with himself. He tediously picked it all up, throwing it onto his bed instead of actually putting it into his closet. Billy would take it away before Sherlock went to bed anyway. He groaned heavily, running his fingers through his sweaty curls, not wanting to even think about the day he's had, or the days ahead. So while he waited for Billy to come with the water, Sherlock changed into a simple robe, tying it tightly around himself so that when Billy came around he could just shoo him away and get right into his warm bath. All he wanted to do was relax right now; he didn't want any social interactions or conversations about his future responsibilities. He didn't want to think about the tournament or the bribery or actual skill. He just wanted to sit in a puddle of hot water and let his aching muscles be still. Sherlock threw all of his clothes into his laundry pile and walked around his room lamely, making sure the curtains were over the windows in case any creepy people wanted to watch him bathe through the window. Finally the door opened and Billy stumbled in, carrying two large buckets of water. Sherlock had to admit, he was more strong than anyone ever gave him credit for, and soon Sherlock's little bathtub was filled to the brim with nice hot water. Billy made sure to add extra soap suds, knowing that Sherlock enjoyed the smell, and finally bowed his way out of the room, grabbing all of the armor once more and juggling it to wherever he slept at night. Sherlock closed the door and finally sunk into the bath, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the way the hot water burned his skin. Sometimes this was all he needed, just to forget about everything for a little while. Sherlock closed his eyes breathing heavily and letting his head fall onto the rim of the bath, settling himself in as if he were going to fall asleep. This was one of the few advantages of being a prince, the sweet scent of rose soap, the nice hot water with zero effort, the privacy and the luxury. It almost made him pity Billy and John and the rest of the servants. Almost.
John POV: John sat on his bed with the biggest smile on his face, the sun having long since set over the horizon but no one felt like sleeping. The servant's quarters were alive with action, people talking loudly, polishing armor for John's next day in the tournament, and eating food that they had managed to sneak in from the kitchens. Someone was playing their flute in the back corner, people were dancing and singing and drinking, it was a servant's celebration, all in John's honor.
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...