John Watson the slave, Sherlock Holmes the master.

Chapter 3

The cab pulled up in front of a brick house surrounded by bustling police. Red and blue flashing lights from cars dominated my vision causing me to blink. You would of thought that someone had been murdered with all this attention around a random house.

"Put this on." Sherlock ordered handing me a long blue scarf that appeared seemingly out of no where and, not wanting to cause a scene, I obliged. As soon as the cab came to a stop Sherlock got out and I followed intrigued.

"NO! No, no, no. I will not let you contaminate my crime scene!" A man, with strait dark brown/black hair slightly longer than Sherlock's and face red with rage, said walking up to us with a defiant tone.

"Oh shut up Anderson, I was invited." Sherlock replied smugly pushing him aside as he headed to the house leaving the man looking after us in fury.

Before we got to there another man came striding out. "Glad you made it Sherlock, he's right inside." The new man said gesturing to the house but then paused looking at me and pointing, "One sec, who's he?"

I kept my head down and didn't reply not knowing whether I should or not seeing as the question was directed to Sherlock and not myself.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, this is my assistant Doctor John Watson. He served in the army so I thought he might be helpful," Sherlock said confusing me but I tried to hide it; obviously he didn't want the police to know I was his slave, not that I knew why but that still doesn't explain how he knew I'm a doctor? I never told him I was an army doctor, where did he get that... It must have been from Mycroft, he would have know for sure.

"Oh, pleased to meet you," The Inspector said only half interested, "Sherlock, you have 5 minuets," then he walked off.

"Follow me John and put on the gloves on your way in," Sherlock said entering the house putting gloves on himself.

I snapped the gloves over my hands and walked into the room. It took a few moments before what I saw registered in my mind. A dead man was laid on the floor, from what I could see he seemed to be mid-thirty's with black hair. He had a knife stuck in his chest with a piece of paper attached to it. Both the man's arms where laid out above him almost as if the man where trying to mime that is was 12 o'clock but it looked so unnatural that he must have been put in that position after death; the question was why would the killer do that?

I noticed Sherlock crouching over the body with a little magnifying glass, I stayed away but within earshot in case Sherlock wanted something. About a minuet later Sherlock stood and came over to me, "Your turn Doctor what can you deduce from looking at this body,"

I gave him a quizzical look, why is he treating me like a friend?

Sherlock sighed, "Just do it, I will explain in the car."

I nodded once and moved to crouch next to the body it was only then I could read the note, 'CNDHSTODMOTOMFELICEIMMCKANREK.' What the hell did that mean?

After performing a few checks on the body I turned to Sherlock and said, "Well I would say he was mid-thirty's judging by his hair colour and how he looks, um... it looks as if his killer was a professional one strike to the heart and the man died then once he was dead the killer put him like this." I looked to Sherlock expectantly then to the other police officers on the scene, Lestrade was standing at the back watching over everything.

"Well done, of course you missed everything of significance but aside from that good," Sherlock said smugly, "You were right, his killer was a professional and he didn't kill him here, there isn't enough blood, so he was dragged to this location. That would explain why his arms are like they are but they have been placed completely straight if the killer had just dragged him here and nothing more then the arms would be slightly bent from when he dropped them but no he placed them the way they are, probably as a message. We don't need to find out anything about him, his killer didn't even know him. But I can see everyone wants to know who he is so, he is a pianist who performs at restaurants and things like that, you can tell be his hands, he has long fingers and the starting of arthritis in his thumbs also in his pockets are several leaflets with his name on directing people to restaurants around here and that's not even mentioning the suit. He is single but really wants a girlfriend, going by his phone, watch and shoes all aimed to impress people, mainly girls. Oh and his name is Jeffrey Carmichael, it says on the leaflets."

"Amazing," I said under my breath but Sherlock seemed not to hear.

"Okay but what about the note?" Lestrade said walking over.

"Its addressed to me, it says, 'Come and find me Mr Holmes. Tick tock.' So evidently he will kill again." Sherlock said looking jubilant. "This is fantastic, its like its Christmas!"

"How could you possibly know that about the note?" I said before I could help myself.

If looks could kill I would be lying on the floor next to the dead body with the look Sherlock gave me but for some reason he replied, "There are 29 letters, if you make a five by five grid but with four spaces to the side going down for the spare letters and then place these letters going across then read it going down the columns it makes a sentence." Then he looked to Lestrade, "Are you saying no one saw that?"

"No, I don't even know how you saw that Sherlock," He replied looking annoyed.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." Sherlock said looking around at us befuddled.

"Hmm anyway Sherlock your five minuets is up, thank you for your input," The Inspector said then walked away to talk to Anderson who was standing in a corner probably making sure we don't contaminate the evidence.

"Follow me John," Sherlock ordered and walked out the room.

We headed to the main road but got stopped by a woman with long curly brown hair who was looking at Sherlock in contempt.

"Well, well, if it isn't the freak. Who's this, are you paying someone to follow you around so you don't seem like such a supercilious jerk?" The woman said looking mildly amused by her own comment.

"Hello, Sergeant Donovan, that's a big word are you sure you know how to use it? Anyway, no this is my colleague Doctor John Watson now if you don't mind I have a case to solve," He replied walking past her to the main road.

We hailed a cab and left for home.

"Give me the scarf," Sherlock ordered, I had almost forgotten I was wearing it.

I gave it back to him then feeling brave I decided to ask, "Why did you call me your assistant?"

"You seem to have forgotten the rules already, speak only when spoken to, but I will answer your question. I didn't want the police to know I had a slave. If they found out they could order you to do stuff and you would have no choice because the police have ultimate control over slaves purely for the reason that if I ordered you to break the law they could stop you. Anyway, they would be able to use you and I don't want that because you are mine," Sherlock said then threw gritted teeth added, "I own you,"

After Sherlock finished I remained silent. I didn't want any trouble, I had to be good for Harry's sake.