Keep Me, Kept Me
(Warnings for whole story; Slavery, non-con [not between Sherlock and John], child abuse references, child rape references, suicide attempt)
Chapter 1 Sunshine and Simple Times
July the eighteenth, the weather seemed to be giving Johnny H. Watson a special birthday present of it's own with the most gorgeous cloudless skies, radiant sunshine and air that smelt of summer. Johnny could taste the summer at the back of his mouth; like lemon hard candy and dewdrops. All the colours around him appeared pleasantly saturated, tinted with yellow sunlight.
It was easily the loveliest day the Watson family had seen all year, and it was all Johnny's.
Little Johnny didn't even mind so much that papa was busy at the office for a good part of his fifth birthday, or that Harriet kept stealing his birthday balloon and parading it around the house too high for Johnny to reach, for he was content.
Of course, content, and excited. Why, because birthdays are only good two things feeling too young or too old, and presents. And as a five year old, presents are generally all he cared about.
He was mildly disappointed though, when his birthday supper rolled around and papa was still gone. Mummy said he was just busy, and would definitely be here before it was present time. "Don't worry Love." She said. So Johnny didn't worry, and allowed himself to enjoy his pizza and fuzzy, poppy soda, and be happy.
Johnny felt free.
-o0o-
To say the least, the little boy in the doorway was strange. Johnny didn't know what to think about him, honestly, except that he reminded him of their neighbor's cat. Sharp feline eyes and pale snowy skin contrasted with his charcoal colored hair. He was a bit taller than Johnny, despite his mum saying the new boy was a little younger than he. The cat-looking boy held an air of fear, one that made Johnny somewhat uneasy. What was he so scared of? Should Johnny be scared too?
"You're birthday present, Johnny!" His papa's voice was too loud, Johnny knew. He was scaring the scared boy.
But wait… his birthday present? This boy was his? Johnny never owned something quite as special and important as a little boy. His excitement perked up again.
"It's about four years old Johnny, and it now belongs to you. Like a pet."
Like a pet? Like his neighbor's cat? Johnny felt a buzz of happiness in his gut. He'd always wanted a pet. He didn't like mummy calling his pet an 'it' though. Pet's shouldn't be called 'it'. Pet's had feelings too, especially person-pet's, he assumed.
"What will you name it Johnny?"
Didn't this little boy already have a name? Johnny had a name; he was born with a name!
He's a pet; pets don't always come with names, he realized.
"I don't know." Johnny replied to his mummy, he looked over to his pet. "Hi pet!"
His pet flinched, eyes bright with terror. Had Johnny scared him? He hoped not! He wanted his pet to be his bestest friend, which means he wanted his pet to also trust him. You don't trust things you fear, Johnny knew that much.
Papa swatted his pet with the palm of his hand. "Respond when spoken to! You belong to him, slave!"
"Don't hurt him papa! He's just nervous." Johnny begged, reaching out to grasp his pet's hand. Slave? What was slave? Was that another word for pet?
"He needs discipline, like any pet Johnny." Mummy said softly, but ruffled the pet's hair kindly. "Now, why don't you take it to your room and think of a name."
Johnny nodded and pulled on his pet's hand, "C'mon! Let's go!" Johnny was so pleased! He and his pet would become bestest friends, he just knew it!
Once in his room, Johnny studied his new pet carefully, trying to think of a name.
The boy seemed to be trembling slightly, eyes to the floor. He was skinnier than Johnny, his bones pushing at his skin like it was too tight, reminding Johnny of the time he stretched a plastic bag over his hand. Was his pet not eating enough? Johnny's friend Jimmy fed his goldfish too much once and it died. Maybe the same could be the opposite for all pets.
"Well pet, what do you want to be called?" Johnny asked, pulling him to his bed. His pet seemed to shake even more, eyes becoming wide and frightened. "What's wrong?"
His pet shook his head, and sat on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself.
"Pet, I won't hurt you. We're gonna be friends!" Johnny frowned. How did he make his pet stop being scared? When Johnny got scared of the dark, his mummy always came over and gave him a big hug and told him a bedtime story.
Johnny reached over and embraced his new friend, being careful not to spook him.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's ok. Whatever you're scared of, you don't need to be." His pet cringed in his arms, but soon relaxed a bit. "Are you ok now, pet?
"Don't call me that." His pet whispered, then flinched. "Please." He added, as if in afterthought.
"Than help me think of a name for you! Than I can call you it!" Johnny pouted, and sat down beside him. Though secretly, he was please his pet was finally talking to him.
Suddenly a thought hit him. "Where's your mummy and papa?" His pet was a little boy just like Johnny, even though he was a pet and Johnny was not. Pets have parents too. His grand-pappy had a cat who had a litter of kittens, even though he gave all the babies away.
His pet shook his head as though that was an answer.
"What did they call you?"
Another head shake.
Johnny sighed in frustration. "What did they call you at the pound?"
"…Whore." Came the quiet reply.
Johnny frowned. He didn't know if that was a name or not, it didn't sound like any name he'd ever heard of. And even if it was a name, he didn't like it. "Well, I'll call you Sherlock. 'Cuz you remind me of Mrs. Lucy's cat, and his name is Sherlock."
Sherlock perked up, glancing at Johnny. But he didn't say anything, just quirked his lips a bit, and that was good enough for Johnny.
-o0o-
It was months and months before Sherlock said anything more, much to Johnny's papa's anger.
Whenever papa lashed out at Sherlock, Johnny would cry and whine until papa stopped. Johnny hated it when other hurt his pet, Sherlock was his! He had developed a sort of possessiveness over his pet like he had over many of his toys.
He and Sherlock had been playing outside by the creek when his pet spoke again, soft voice quiet and shaky from disuse.
"Do you like me, master?" Sherlock had whispered, sitting next to Johnny while they inspected the mud for buggies.
Johnny glanced over at Sherlock, surprised at his voice. "Of course I do Sherlock! I love you!"
Sherlock smiled a little, and helped his master collect a tin of worms to scare Harriet with. He was happy.
-o0o-
When Johnny went to school, Sherlock would hug him at the door and beg him to come home soon. Johnny always promised he would, and made his papa swear to be nice to Sherlock while he was gone. He still saw bruises on his pet's face sometimes though, but knew that all pets need disciplining, so he didn't put up as much of a fuss anymore.
Sherlock would wait for Johnny at the door every afternoon when he got home, and would smile broadly and hug him. Johnny loved that his pet cared about him so much, and would hug him back every time.
The two would have wondrous adventures together, solving crimes about missing dollies and tramping about in the woods outside looking for clues. Harry would sometimes play too, pretending to be the villain they had to chase down.
They'd explore the creek, and wade in with rolled up pant legs. Frog catching and tad pole collecting, rock finding and splash fights.
The only thing he hated was when Jimmy, his school best friend, came over to play and would make fun of his pet.
Jimmy knew a lot more about slaves than Johnny did, because Jimmy's papa worked at an office that dealt with slave transactions. Johnny hated when Jimmy flaunted his knowledge and said things about Sherlock that Johnny didn't understand, and didn't want to, but knew weren't nice.
Johnny realized one day that there was a lot about Sherlock that he didn't know, and about slaves in general.
-o0o-
When he was ten, John gave his first order to Sherlock.
His pet had been whining all afternoon. Sherlock complained that John didn't spend any time with him anymore, and that he was always out playing with his school friends.
But John had other friends too, and surely it was more important to play with real children than pets?
"Sherlock, go away. Jim's coming over and we're going to the park!" John snapped, pushing his pet away a little more roughly than he usually would.
"But can't I come with? It's so boring here, and your father's in a bad mood…" Sherlock begged, and John felt a little guilty. Sherlock did spent so much time alone, and his father could be cruel to his pet when the mood struck…
But the doorbell rang, and John's resolve strengthened.
"No, leave me alone. Jim's at the door and I don't have time."
"John…" Sherlock whined, small hand latched on John's sleeve.
"That's master to you, Sherlock." John finally snapped. "And I order you to go away!"
Surprisingly, Sherlock immediately backed down and bowed his head a bit, looking to the floor. "Sorry." He whispered, voice quiet and hoarse. And then just… walked away.
John gazed after him in surprise. Sherlock rarely gave up that easily, and was always quick to voice his opinion (much to his papa's dislike). But John didn't have enough time to worry, because Jim was still at the door.
-o0o-
From then on Sherlock was much quicker to take orders, and John found himself giving them out more often. Sherlock stopped talking so much, and gave John more space. Admittedly John found himself missing his friends presence, missed the adventures, missed the afternoons where he felt free and loved…
But it was for the best. John had so much homework to do, and now had a lot of other friends, and just didn't have time to pay attention to his pet.
When John was twelve, he got into a fight with a couple seventh graders and lost quite badly. His jaw was quite bruised and his eye was swollen shut, but he was proud that he'd stood up for himself and walked home with a spring in his step, despite his sore ankle.
When he opened the door though, Sherlock jumped up in surprise and rushed towards him.
"Master! What happened? Are you ok? Did someone hurt you?" Sherlock grasped John's sleeve and pulled him to the kitchen. The fear and panic in his pet's eyes made John frown.
"Sherlock I'm fine. Just got in a tussle with some guys at school. Stop worrying!" But he let Sherlock wipe at his bruised cheek with a damp cloth nonetheless, slightly pleased at the fussing.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Sherlock asked, pressing a plaster to the cut on John's nose.
"Naw, just a few bruises. I'll be fine Sherlock." John was reminded of all the times John had done this same thing with Sherlock when his papa disciplined his pet. He found himself smiling at the reversal of roles.
"I don't want you to be hurt Master." His pet whispered, wringing out the cloth.
"Sherlock, stop calling me Master. You can call me John." John finally choked out, hating the sadness radiating off of his pet. He had been neglecting Sherlock, hadn't he. He read somewhere that dogs need to be played with and exercised to be kept happy, and John had been drifting away from his pet for years.
"You seemed adamant about it before." Sherlock muttered under his breath.
"We were younger and you were really disobedient." John replied, ignoring the flinch at the word 'disobedient'.
"I'm sorry." Sherlock replied honestly, turning to face his master, his friend.
"How about we go to the park, Sherlock?" John smiled, grasping his hand. "We can go feed the ducks."
His pet smiled. "Sure, John."
-o0o-
John brought his first girlfriend home when he was sixteen, to say the least it didn't go over well.
Mary was a lovely girl, soft green eyes and curly brunette hair she preferred to pull up in a bun. John loved the cute little dresses she wore, and the way she giggled when John's hands slipped a little farther than they should've.
John didn't love her though, he knew he was too young and they'd been dating for too short a time to be in love with her, but he really liked her and hoped things would work out.
Sherlock didn't like her.
It was a Friday afternoon when John drove Mary from school to his house, hoping Sherlock would be too busy cleaning up to notice them. Of course, his prayers were not heeded and the second they walked in, Sherlock perked up from where he'd been dusting the tv.
"Joh- er, master. Good afternoon." Sherlock said quietly. It was a deal between them that while he could address John by whatever he wanted in private, social conventions had to be upheld around others.
"Afternoon. Sherlock, this is Mary." John nodded towards his girlfriend.
"Oh, John I didn't know you had a slave." Mary frowned. "Do you really need to introduce me?"
"Ah, er, I guess not. It's just…" John didn't know what to say. It felt wrong to treat Sherlock the way Mary seemed to want him to treat him. Like he didn't matter.
"I'll leave you to it Master. I'll just clean up around here a bit, if that's ok with you and the lady." Sherlock bowed a bit, stiffly.
"It's fine." John waved him off, feeling a strange hollowness inside. He hated this acting. Was this how most slaves were to be treated? Like… slaves?
The realization was a great pang to his gut, but he forced himself to turn his attention to Mary. "Would you like a drink?"
"Yes please, thank you." Mary smiled.
John turned to the kitchen, but Mary stopped him. "Um… isn't that a job for your slave?"
"Oh, well he's busy with the dusting so…" John blushed. "Ahem. Sherlock? Could you get Mary and I a drink?"
"…of course Master." Sherlock used just enough sarcasm that only John could detect it. "And what would the miss like?"
"A water would be fine." Mary replied, smiling back to John. "How about you show me your bedroom?"
Sherlock bristled, and under his breath muttered, "How about you tell him about you're good friend Mike?"
Mary jumped in surprise, and glared over at Sherlock. "How dare you speak to me like that?"
"How dare you be unfaithful to your boyfriend?" Sherlock countered, sneering. "I can tell by your necklace, new, but pricey. From the rest of your wardrobe I'd say you're not that well of money-wise, and John would never spend that much on jewelry for a girl. So a present, but not from John. You've got the sent of men's body spray on you, John doesn't wear that particular sent so obviously you've been close to another. That," He paused, "and when I was at Tesco's the other day buying groceries I saw you, ma'am, and Mike Anderson pawing at each other in the parking lot so either you most very fast, or are currently cheating on my Master here."
The sound of the slap seemed to echo throughout the living room, and Sherlock shrunk back, the force of Mary's hit leaving blood dribbling from his split lip.
"How dare you, you filthy slave! John, I hope you don't believe this garbage." Mary turned to John with hopeful eyes. "He's just lying, you know how slaves are."
"Please leave Mary." John whispered, shaking his head.
"Why? Please John, I'd never cheat on you, I swear! Me and Mike are just friends."
"You slapped Sherlock. Please leave."
Mary stared at him in shock a moment, before nodding and quietly taking her leave.
Sherlock was gazing out the window, ignoring him.
"Why'd you have to do that, Sherl." John sighed, brushing his thumb over the red mark on his cheek.
"She was being unfaithful to you." Sherlock replied, moving away from his touch. "It's my duty to keep you safe."
"Sherlock…"
"Do you still want a drink?" his pet stood up and walked over to the kitchen. "Water or juice?"
"Water, thanks. Sherlock, you have to stop doing this." John followed him, trying to grasp his hand.
"Doing what." He replied flatly, pulling a cup from the cupboard.
"Deducing the fuck out of everyone? It'll get you hurt someday. Slaves aren't supposed to act like this…" John leaned against the counter, accepting the drink from Sherlock's hand.
"What, you want me to shut up and keep my opinions to myself like a good little slave? I think we've gotten to the point where we know that'll never happen." Sherlock scoffed.
John frowned. "I know, and I don't want you to change. It's just that everyone's not as lenient as to slave behavior as I am."
"So?"
"Sherlock, you could be badly hurt!"
Sherlock spun to glare at John. "Listen, I can take care of myself. I'm not a fragile little flower, believe it or not."
"I know, Sherlock, I know. I'm just saying… I just don't want you to… be…" John struggled to find the right thing to say, failing greatly.
"John, I can take care of myself. You're father's discipline and the time I spent at the-" Sherlock's throat seemed to close off, choking on his words. The word 'pound' seemed to drift through the air silently between them. "… taught me how to take care of myself. So stop worrying."
"Sherlock…" John bit his lip. Sherlock always refused to talk about his short life before the Watson household, refused to talk about the pound. John knew enough about slavery facilities though, about the torturous abuse many young slaves endured. Many pounds were corrupt, some children being beaten and raped from ages as young as one.
"Let's go watch some tv. Mary wont be coming back." Sherlock grabbed John's hand and together they retired to the couch, all thoughts abandoned for a little while as they leaned against each other and just… enjoyed each others company.
-o0o-
"Oi! Slave boy!" Harry threw the door open, and stumbled in.
Sherlock groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the kitchen clock; it was about 2 in the morning. Uncurling from his blanketed spot on the floor, he turned to face John's drunken sister.
"What is it Harry?" Sherlock asked politely. "Can I get you anything?"
"Where's John? I needa talk ta John. Where's he Slave boy?" Harry glared at Sherlock, a violent glint to her eye. He knew from early on Harry was not a nice drunk, and it was best to keep his thoughts to himself and keep up behavioral expectations.
"I'm afraid he' s out, ma'am." Sherlock replied. "You could ring him if you like."
"Naw, naw. No matter. Get me a couple beers, slave boy. I'm thirsty."
"Ma'am, you know Mrs. Watson dislikes you drinking in the house." Sherlock said, struggling to remain respectful.
"Oi, you'll do what I tell you to slave boy, or you'll get a beatin' coming t'ya." Harry snapped, raising her fist.
"Yes ma'am." Sherlock nodded, keeping his back to the wall. "Right away ma'am."
"Good. Get on it." She took a heavy seat at the kitchen table and watched Sherlock get a beer from the fridge. "Ya know, if I weren't a dyke I'd totally tap that ass."
Sherlock ignored her, knowing she got like this every time she was drunk. Still, it made him uneasy. She wasn't the only one who made comments like this, some of John's friends (and Harry's friends) said things that made him less than comfortable.
All Sherlock could think of was that he was lucky he wasn't one of those kinds of slaves. A 'bedroom slave'.
At that thought, memories of his childhood smashed at the back of his head, and he forced himself to concentrate on Harry and the beer he was giving her. You'd think after almost twelve years he'd have forgotten about the pound, but with a mind like his, he knew he never would.
"Here you go ma'am."
"Good boy. Do you want a doggie treat?" Harry sneered, taking a swig.
"No thank you ma'am." He said through clenched teeth, battling not to say anything sharp back.
"Well I think you're just a swell li'l slave, I do. Nice and obedient." Her barbed tongue seemed to lick Sherlock's heart, that word 'obedient' burnt into him. Obedience, disobedience, that was his life.
No… no shut up. John was his life. His life belonged to John. He belonged to John. That thought was more comforting than it should've been.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when Harry left, and stumbled over to the phone.
Usually he could handle it, handle everyone's words and sneers, handle the memories, handle the all the things that seemed to build up inside him, weighing down his heart, but tonight… tonight wasn't one of those nights.
He fumbled with the phone and dialed carefully, holding it up to his ear.
After a few rings, the other end picked up. "'ello?"
"Hi… how are you? I take it you're having fun if you're still up." Sherlock smiled, feeling John's voice take it's effect.
"Sherlock! What're you doing up?" The frown was evident in John's voice. "Anyway, yeah. We're having fun."
"You and you're little sleepovers. Painting each others nails?" Sherlock joked, leaning against the wall.
"Oh shut up. Anyway, anything wrong?"
"No…"
"Sherlock. You're seriously gong to play this game now? Just tell me what's up. You're calling at 2am."
"Just… nothing. Harry dropped by. She says hi." Sherlock sighed, gazing out the window into the night.
"Drunk?"
"Yep."
"She didn't… hurt you, did she?"
"No of course not." Sherlock muttered, sliding down to sit on the floor, shivering from the chill.
"Did she say anything to you?"
"Nothing a slave doesn't deserve to hear."
"…Sherlock…"
"I'm fine John. I just wanted to… I just was having trouble… I don't know. With everything. It's no big deal." He growled at his own in articulation. "Have fun at your sleep over."
"No wait- Sherlock, if you ever want to talk about anything… anything, don't hesitate. It's fine. It's all fine." The sound of John's friends in the background, 'Is that your girlfriend John?', made Sherlock bristle.
"It's my- it's just my friend." Sherlock heard John reply. "Anyway, I got to go Sherlock, if there' s nothing else you wanted to say. Try and get some sleep, ok? I'll be back in the morning."
Sherlock nodded, even though he knew John couldn't see him. "Have fun."
As John hung up, Sherlock sighed. It hurt, that he missed John. Even when he was away for a little while, he missed his master like the separation was that of his heart, like something was being pulled from him. Every day when John was at school, Sherlock felt like something was missing. He was all alone, left to be looked down upon by John's family and their visitors. When John was gone, Sherlock was just a slave. When John was here, Sherlock was a friend. Sherlock was a person.
He walked over and lay down on his blanket, missing the warmth of John's bedroom, where when he was younger he could curl up on the carpet in a sleeping bag and pretend he was one of John's school friends at a sleepover, not his pet. Alas, Mr. Watson had long since banned Sherlock from sleeping where "respectable folk" were to sleep. He was a dog; he would sleep in the kitchen.
Only too right, of course, but still. He missed it.
He remembered that afternoon, with the drama with Mary. He felt bad, admittedly, for ruining John's relationship. But still, he wouldn't stand to let someone take advantage of his Master. It was his duty to keep him safe, in body and in spirit. No bitch with a loose concept of faithfulness was going to hurt his John.
-o0o-
Jeanette was a nice girl, a bit shy, but very pretty. She reminded John a bit of Sherlock actually, appearance wise. She was very tall, and had very dark hair.
Sherlock hated her.
"Sorry ma'am. I'm sure your diet will work out eventually. You only gained three pounds after all." Sherlock smiled cheerfully as he handed her a sandwich.
"…two pounds." Jeanette whispered, looking away.
"Nope. It's three." Sherlock glanced at John. "Oh, and John. I was cleaning your bedroom, but accidentally spilt some window washing fluid on your porn magazines. Only one was ruined though, the rest were salvageable."
John blushed, and Jeanette bit her lip.
That relationship lasted about four days.
After two more lost girlfriends, John couldn't deny the fact Sherlock was sabotaging his love life any longer.
"Sherlock! What, what, what, what, WHAT is you're problem? Can I not have a girlfriend? Is that what you're saying?" John snapped one day, pushing Sherlock onto the couch.
"They weren't good enough for you anyways, John." Sherlock mumbled, eyes averted.
"Sherlock…"
John's third girlfriend, Sarah, was not as pretty as Mary, Jeanette, or the other two girlfriends, but in every other was she was far more beautiful. Her personality shone like the sun and her smile was to die for.
John made sure to spend quite a bit of time with her before taking her home, to be sure she was right. Hopefully things would work out this time, because Jesus Sarah was lovely. He was very reluctant to introduce her to his girlfriend-hating slave though… but god Sarah was wonderful…
"John! Are you paying attention to me?" Sarah giggled from across the picnic bench.
"Only too much, apparently. No clue what you said, but I can now paint your face from memory." John flirted, smiling.
Sarah leaned forward and pecked him on the lips.
"How about we head on over to my house for lunch?" John suggested. "I should warn you though, I've got a, um, a slave. His name is Sherlock." He wasn't going to make the same mistake as last time. Better warn her beforehand.
"Oh… well, that's nice. What's he like?"
"ah… Slave-ish?" John shrugged. "No, actually, he's really different. He's… um… he's actually a really good friend of mine. But he can be kind of… well, emotional isn't quite the right word, but he doesn't exactly keep his thoughts to himself when it comes to other people."
"Well that's not a very good slave attitude, now is it." Sarah joked. "'Oi, slave, pick that up.' 'Do it yourself, lazy ass!'"
"It's mostly my fault actually, haha. We grew up together, and I never really treated him like most people treat slaves. But he tries, he really does. When people come over he does his best to maintain the slave attitude, he's just not really good at it." John shrugged. "Though I should tell you, he er, he doesn't like it when I date. He has a tendency to try and sabotage my relationships, so don't take anything he says to heart. I think he's just worried I'll abandon him."
"He sounds like a good person, nonetheless. It's sad he was born into slavery." Sarah held his hand as they walked to the car.
"I don't even know if he was born into slavery or not. We bought him when he was four, but I don't know how long he spent at the… at the pound." John bit his lip.
Sarah glanced at him. "God can only hope it wasn't too long. Pounds are not… the best places."
"When I first met him, I remember asking him what they called him at the pound. I was trying to come up with a name for him. Do you know what he said?" John glanced at Sarah. "…he said they called him a whore. He refuses to tell me what happened at the pound, or how long he was there, but…"
"Yeah." She whispered. "Poor darling."
"Oh you won't call him a darling when you meet him, trust me. But yeah… though if he knew I felt sorry for him, he'd probably try and strangle me." John laughed, and together they drove down the road.
Sherlock was outside tending the garden when the arrived, he was in a soiled t-shirt with dirt up to his elbows as he fought with a bunch of dead weeds.
"Hey Sherlock!" John smiled, stepping out of the car.
"John, these fucking weeds are trying to kill me! Do you have any…" Sherlock noticed Sarah walk over to stand beside John. "…sorry Master. How are you this afternoon. Who's your lovely madam?"
"It's fine Sherlock. This is Sarah, you don't have to put the act. Sarah, this is Sherlock." John grinned.
Sarah walked over and offered her hand. "Hi! My name's Sarah Sawyer."
Sherlock stared at the hand a moment, shocked. No one shook hands with a slave, it just wasn't done. Especially not a slave with dirt up to his elbows.
"I'm… I'm Sherlock." Sherlock nodded slightly, not taking the hand. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance."
"By the way, John warned me of your anti-girlfriend tendencies, so I'll tell you that wont work with me. I'm sticking with John for the time being, so no funny stuff." She winked, and turned to John. "Shall we go in?"
"Sure. C'mon Sherlock, let' s get you cleaned up. It's far too cold to be working outside. Let alone in a t-shirt."
Together the three walked to the house, and Sarah watched while John pulled his slave to the kitchen.
"So, how are you? Boring day?" John asked while he helped Sherlock clean the filth off his arms.
"As always John. Maybe if you hadn't run off on a Saturday it would've been less boring." Sherlock hinted, but John only chuckled.
"Sherlock, I cant base my entire life around you." John immediately felt a pang of guilt in his gut, But he bases his entire life around me.
Sherlock could either read his thoughts or was thinking the same thing, because he looked away with a frown.
It was only proper for a slave to do so, but it still made John feel like shit.
TBC