John Watson the slave, Sherlock Holmes the master.

Chapter 8

Sherlock entered the room followed by a doctor, who looked in his late twenties with short blond hair and an angular shaped face so he almost resembled an elf out of lord of the rings, who immediately walked over to me and pulled me into a position to examine my back. "Too close Sherlock, too close. If you had given your slave a few more lashes or left him hanging from that door much longer he wouldn't be much use to you. Due to his shoulder wound if you had left him hanging any longer it would have damaged it enough for him to be useless for months while it recovered. Next time be more careful or at the very least work him up to longer punishments so it doesn't hurt his shoulder as much. Okay, now please leave while I stitch and bandage your slave," The man said to Sherlock with a smile, he didn't at all seem affected by what Sherlock had done to me. He must be a doctor who specialises in treating slaves such as myself.

Per the doctor's request, Sherlock left leaving me alone with the doctor who turned to face me kindly. "I hear you're a doctor as well," He said, "Well then at least you will know what I'll be doing without too much explanation. First, we need to get you in the shower to get rid of the blood so I can see what I'm doing then I will dry you off, stitch up your back, then put a clean bandage on you." He said then took a closer look at my nose which I was still holding a tissue to and gestured for me to move it away so I complied. "Nice job on your nose, I assume it was broken?" The doctor asked so I nodded not trusting myself to speak.

The doctor then helped me up and out of my clothes so I was naked. I was too tired to feel awkward and exposed, the doctor had a calming air around him so I was just as comfortable naked in front of him as when I was when clothed. He helped me into the shower and washed the blood off me. My wounds were still bleeding so to stop it from going everywhere he got an old towel and wrapped it around my waist to catch the blood and gave me a tissue to hold to my nose again. He helped me out the shower and sat me down again.

"I'm afraid I can't give you any painkillers for this, you are just a slave so bite on this instead," The doctor told me putting a strip of leather between my teeth which I was thankful for. I could have used it earlier because it took everything for me not to bite my tongue but better late than never. The doctor started to sort out my back but once again we reached a problem because I was a slave. "I almost forgot, I'm afraid that, because you are a slave, I can't use any of the normal antiseptics. They have to be saved for normal people with rights because it's easier to get and has a low cost I have to use hydrogen peroxide." The doctor said to me looking grim.

"Bleach?" I asked rhetorically through the leather, knowing the answer already.

"Yes. So, as I'm sure you know, it will defiantly cause your skin to scar, it destroys skin cells, and it will whiten your skin. Now bite the leather tightly because this will hurt... A lot." The doctor said grimly. I nodded glad I had a truthful doctor. His attitude surprised me. He seemed nice, as if he actually cared, and acted sorry for me. Well, at least that meant he wouldn't hurt me on purpose. I bit the leather hard and shut my eyes tightly.

"Okay, three, two, one.." The doctor said and a second later I felt the liquid touch my skin. Without the leather I would have screamed, as it was I cried out into the leather, I shut my eyes tighter but other than that I lost sense of my surroundings. The pain could have gone on for hours or only second but I didn't know because time meant nothing in my mind; only the pain existed in my head.

Eventually, the pain dulled enough to understand what was going on. I looked around at the doctor but he stopped me. "Don't move. I'm stitching up your back so keep biting that leather."

I did as the doctor said even though the pain had reached a manageable level but kept my eyes open so I knew what was happening. About an hour and a half later I was all stitched and bandaged up. I no longer needed the tissue for my nose as it had stopped bleeding although I still kept some with me just in case it started again.

Getting dressed I walked into the living room and saw Sherlock lying on the sofa in his thinking position as usual but I ignored him. I wasn't in the mood for his condescending attitude. I walked into the kitchen and made some soup, after everything we had done today I was hungry so about twenty minutes later there was a pot of soup on the hob in case Sherlock was hungry, as my master I had to make sure his needs came above my own and sat down with a bowl full. Within a few seconds, I had eaten it and was feeling bloated. Still ignoring Sherlock I went and sat on the floor next to the sofa and he, in turn, left me alone.

Over the next few days, we barely spoke other for him to give me orders or for me to ask permission to do so. Conversation was kept to a minimal, as it should be between a master and his slave, I was Sherlock's property and not his friend. What ever relationship we may have had before had vanished. He no longer took me to crime scenes so through out the day my only company was Mrs Hudson who was still nice to me. Sherlock and I settled into a comfortable routine where we knew what we were doing so as to avoid conversation. In the morning my alarm would wake me up. I would walk downstairs and cook breakfast according to the menu we had worked out, I would wait for him to eat before I indulged myself then washed up. At that point, Sherlock would either leave for the police station or Bart's hospital or stay in the living room and wait for clients. I would clean up the house, cook dinner for us both then go to bed. The routine bored me but at least I had something to keep my mind busy. If I had nothing to do my mind would be filled with depressing thoughts of hopelessness. I couldn't escape. I would never be able to get the collar out my head. I would be tracked where ever I went, caught, then probably tortured for running away. I couldn't go to anyone for fear they would get arrested and even if I did manage to run away and stay free I would never be able to settle down and have a family. I was broken in spirit. There was no going back. Sherlock and I would never be able to repair the relationship that we had and in all honesty, I didn't want to. He was my master, not my friend, and I didn't want to make that mistake again.

A few days after Sherlock had punished me, Mycroft decided to visit much to Sherlock displeasure.

"I see you broke the gift I gave you. He may be physically able to do what he should but now he is as boring as ever; you have broken his spirit. I did think it would take a little longer to break him but oh well." Mycroft had said condescendingly to Sherlock who kicked him out.

Other then that and the clients who came in from time to time and Mrs Hudson no one visited and I was getting lonely. I felt as if I was all alone in the world; not that it mattered because I was a slave.

After a few weeks, my back recovered enough for the cheap stitches to come out and for me to remove the bandages. They were only cheap useless things, weren't much use anyway, so it didn't make much of a difference other than allowing me to see the damage. A constant reminder that I wasn't equal to everyone else and it still hurt if I moved too quickly or in a way that pulled my back. I barely noticed the weeks passing us by and in no time at all a whole year had gone turning the cuts on my back into scars.

Sherlock and I still weren't how we used to be but our relationship had improved. I was going to crime scenes with Sherlock, much to the police's disproval, and helping him with cases but we never forgot who we were. I was his slave and he was my master, so we could never be friends.