John Watson the slave, Sherlock Holmes the master.

Chapter 13

(Author's note -  sorry it's been so long since I last updated. I do try not to let this fic go without being updated for longer than a year though. Things have just been mad. I apologise that you have been waiting so long and now all you get is a short chapter. But, it's better than nothing. I'm sorry if it feels a little rushed. I just want to finish this fic now but there is still one thing I want to get to before this is over. I predict another 2 chapters maybe give or take one. Hopefully, it won't be another year before my next update. The next chapter should be easier to write. I have a bit more free time on my hands. My aim is to finish this so I can finish the other one I've got half published, then I can work on some of my unpublished stuff. I leant my lesson. I'm now waiting until I finish a fic before publishing. Okay, enjoy!)

It was a quick walk, like Sherlock said, no one even glanced at me. I had to restrain my chuckle, a slave, given the right frame of mind and master, could bring the whole economy down. I saw the card on the desk, I just had time to pick it up and slip it into my pocket when someone glanced my way. Damn, damn, damn! What did I do wrong? Oh well, no point dwelling. The woman headed in my direction, stopping in front of me, red hair in curls over her shoulders, hands on her hips. I kept my head down, peaking up at her through my eyelashes. Hopefully, she wouldn't be able to point me out later. Without the need for prisons as much, the state of them had fallen, I really did not want to end up there once this was all over. 

"To whom do you belong?" The woman asked. I didn't have long to ponder my response, a slave must reply with little to no hesitation.

"Mycroft ma'am," I said, it wasn't exactly a lie. There was a point where I belonged to Mycroft, kind of. She looked over me one more time before nodding.

"Remind him of our meeting. Now leave, slave." She said harshly, I could see her smirk as I walked away. A chill went down my spine, she was still watching. As quickly as I could I made my way out of sight and breathed a sigh of relief when I was standing in the elevator alone. I wrapped the scarf around my neck again and by the time the doors opened, I look like a normal person. I hurried to Mycroft's office and saw Sherlock sitting behind the desk typing away. The minutes felt like hours. The longer it took, the more agitated I got. Then Sherlock paused. 

"John, you're incessant pacing won't make me do this any faster. Go home." Sherlock said quickly standing up and walking around the table to stand in front of me.

"No Sherlock! What if you get caught? You need someone to help. I need to be..." Sherlock cut me off with a kiss. I was so startled, I didn't have time to respond by the time he pulled away. 

"If I get caught, I'll get a slap on the wrist. If you get caught, you go to jail. John, please don't make me order you, we don't have time for this." Sherlock said, his head dropped forward onto my shoulder, mine was on his. I felt my hands come up to his waist and shook my head.

"No..." Sherlock stepped away and his face took on a hard look.

"Activate control, John - go home, do nothing to arouse suspicion, do not leave the house until I say." Sherlock turned and walked back to the laptop. He was already typing as my legs lead me out the door.

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The wait was the worst. I had the TV on with the news playing. Every minute or so, I changed news channels. It would be the first way I found out. I waited and waited. It seemed like years had passed, but in reality I only had to wait about 2 hours. 

"Breaking news! What is this new opinion on slavery? Slavers acting repulsed by the idea of slavery. What has caused this change? Who is it effecting? Why this sudden change? We will be trying to find the answers and more. Stay tuned to find out." This did little to improve my anxiety. Okay, so we managed it, but where was Sherlock? What if he got caught? What if he got punished far worse than we expected? What if they took me away from him? What if he didn't do a good enough job, slavery comes back, and I get a new master or mistress? What if... what if? I was on the point of a panic attack when Sherlock walked in. 

I had expected my first reaction, after breathing my sigh of relief, would be to hug him, kiss him, it's all I had thought about. Holding him in my arms again. Which is why, even looking back later, there is no way I could explain why my first reaction was to walk up to him, punch him in the nose, and send him head over heels over the chair. Okay, maybe I was a little angry.

I stalked up to him, sprawled on the floor, picked him up by his coat, and dragged him to his feet, pushing him to the wall. I felt my cheeks getting wet but I didn't care, I didn't care I was crying. My only focus was on Sherlock. There was one thought, one single thought in my head.

"Why did you send me away?" I asked. My voice broke. I slammed him into the wall when he didn't reply. Of course, I knew why, but my actions weren't being lead by the rational part of my brain. "Why did you used that control? Why did you have to remind me that NOTHING has changed? That I am still your fucking slave! Literally!" I yelled before pushing him away, turning around, and bringing my hand up to my face. I wiped away the tears and scrubbed my face, as if that would help me think better, get back that rational brain that was hidden under my anger, sadness, and self-depreciation.  "Is that all I am to you? I'm just your furniture, your toy." I turned back to face him. His mouth was open slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. I nodded once, took a step back, before kneeling next to his favourite chair. 

Sherlock never meant any of it, he was just pretending because he is a 'high-functioning sociopath' and I am his slave. A slave he'll probably get rid of. That's what you do with broken toys isn't it, throw them away? That's what you do when the toy is all used up, when you're bored of it. You give it to someone else to play with. I wonder if my next master will be nice. Will I even get a next master, with everything going on, they could just send me to a work camp or prison. It didn't matter anyway, I should have learnt my lesson ages ago. I am nothing. 

I felt a hand on my cheek and flinched away. I kept my eyes downcast, what was he going to do now? But nothing happened. He just kept his hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing away my silent tears. I said nothing as he picked me up, I was limp in his arms, my head resting on his chest. I had no clue where we were going. That was, until I felt the soft mattress give way underneath my body as I was laid on Sherlock's bed. So this was it. He wanted to play with me a bit more before giving me away. I sighed, resigning myself to trying to bring Sherlock off, to finish this quickly. The sooner we were finished, the sooner I'd be gone, the sooner Sherlock would send me away again, the sooner I wouldn't have to be reminded of what I thought we had. I was surprised when I felt the covers being drawn over me, when a warm body lay next to me. When Sherlock pulled me so my head was resting against his chest. I hesitantly brought my arms around him. Why was he...? Oh. I didn't quite understand what feelings went through me, or what I thought, but it was like a dam burst inside me. I sobbed into Sherlocks chest, the whole time thinking he would push me away when, in actual fact, he pulled me closer. I felt one hand on my back, the other on my head stroking my hair. 

I cried and cried, until I sobbed myself into oblivion. Darkness took me, and I felt myself drift off to sleep with my head on Sherlock's chest, listening to the steady 'thrum' 'thrum' of his heart beat.