John disliked water. No, he hated it. Wouldn't go near it to save his life, which didn't help his claims that he could actually swim and Arthur was lying. Anyways, at some point, you need a bath, especially when rolling around in the mud and sweating from running from the law. John just needed a firmer hand then most.

John stumbled into your hotel, cursing the other man behind him who had practically shoved him in there and told him that he wouldn't be leaving until he bathed. He cleared his throat, turning his attention to you, the person behind the counter. "Um... I'd like a hot bath... please." he asked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. His demeanor now was a stark contrast to the one he had when he was practically thrown into your establishment.