Day #12: Dragon/Reptile Boy
These Dying Embers
(Rated T)
No one was entirely sure why dragons kept humans around after they won the war. Human's, though edible, were not a dragon's ideal choice in meat. Humans were slower than dragons, and hardly strong enough to be a means of free labour, even though that's what they were normally used for. Each dragon was given a human as a slave at a young age. Most dragons kept the same slave over the course of the human's lifetimes; the more slaves they employed, the more prosperous they were. Though dragons lived longer than humans, a majority of them didn't go through more than three or four main slaves. Sherlock Holmes was not one of those dragons.
He had received his first human at the age of ten years old. The slave, a human name Greg, was promptly declared a complete bore, then given to his elder brother, Mycroft. Mycroft already had a slave, of course. A pretty girl that Mycroft had named Anthea had been serving him for seven years already, and Mycroft had stated on several occasions that Anthea could do the work of twenty slaves, and that he would never need a second one. Sherlock could tell Anthea was pleased when Greg came to work for Mycroft, however, though she never would have admitted it.
Sherlock's second slave, gifted to him at the age of thirteen, served him for about two weeks before he grew bored of him. Victor followed Sherlock around insentiently, even when he had demanded that the human should leave him alone. The breaking point had been when Victor hid in his master's room to see his human form. Sherlock had gotten so angry that he nearly scorched the terrified boy. Not that it was uncommon for slaves to see the human form of dragons, as both Anthea and Greg had seen his as well as Mycroft's, but Sherlock didn't trust this human to view his yet.
Several more slaves came and went, not a single one to Sherlock's liking. Most were deemed too stupid for the genius, others too disagreeable. It was on Sherlock's twenty-first birthday that the Holmes family decided that Sherlock should pick out a slave for himself.
"Really, Mycroft?" Sherlock scoffed, his red tail swinging in agitation. "If you're forcing me to choose a slave, why can't I be in my dragon form?"
"You don't want to terrify the poor humans the first day, do you?" Mycroft drawled, not bothering to look at Sherlock's smirking face. Clearly that was exactly what Sherlock wanted to do. It had been difficult enough to get Sherlock into half-dragon form, proud as he was of his sharp claws, red horns, and powerful tail. Sherlock's ultimate test would be which human was the least scared of him.
"Let's go, then." Sherlock huffed. "I don't want to be here all day."
The dragons strolled along the corridors, glancing through each door they passed. Most of the humans drew away in fear, causing Sherlock to scoff in disgust. It wasn't until they had reached the last corridor that they found anyone remotely interesting.
"A ward for dangerous humans?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at the markings above the door to the corridor. "How on earth could humans be dangerous?"
"A caged animal, no matter how small, can be very dangerous." Mycroft replied sombrely. "Do not take them lightly."
Sherlock snorted, a wisp of smoke curling from his nose dramatically. "I do believe I'll be fine. I've had plenty of dragons angry at me, and never have I come to harm." He said, pushing open the doors and walking inside, his brother trailing after him.
The humans in the dangerous ward were far less skittish than the rest of the facility. Even though the dangerous humans didn't show fear, they still reeked of it, causing Sherlock's nose to wrinkle in disgust. Just when he was about to give up, he saw the perfect specimen. The human didn't appear to be much at first glance. He was short and understated, blending into his surroundings as though camouflaged, even his blond hair fading into the drab walls. Upon second inspection, Sherlock realised that he was a former soldier in the human-dragon war, the way he held himself suggested that a dragon had wounded his shoulder, most likely a bite wound. Sherlock stopped in front of the cage, peering down at the odd little human, and the human did the most extraordinary thing: he stared back.
Sherlock's eyes widened when the dark blue gaze met his, looking distinctly unimpressed. Sherlock gave a little growl, and while he could see the humans in the nearby cages flinch, the soldier didn't move a muscle, just crossed his arms, his gaze asking 'is that the best you can do?'
"This one." Sherlock said aloud, continuing to stare at the human whose brow was now furrowing in confusion. "I want this one."
"That one?" A handler asked, looking at Sherlock if he was insane. Perhaps he was. "That's Captain John Watson."
"Is that supposed to mean something?" Sherlock asked, causing a grunt of indignation to come from the little human.
"Fascinating." Mycroft said, walking closer. "If you paid any attention to current events, you would realise that Captain John Watson was a lead instigator in the war. Why isn't he in a higher security prison?"
"He used to be." The handler sighed. "Escaped. We're the only facility that has any capabilities of holding him. He's not for sale."
"But I want him." Sherlock repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.
"He's a terrorist." Mycroft said. "The most dangerous human in the country, quite possibly the world."
"He's perfect." Sherlock grinned, turning back to the human who was currently watching the scene with bafflement. "I could use an assistant, John. What do you say?"
"Piss off." John replied, his voice rough from disuse. Sherlock's grin brightened, and he turned back to the handler, his blood red tail curling happily at the thought of John as his slave.
"Where do I sign?"
A/N: Debating on continuing this fic. What say you?
EDIT 10/14: Bless all of you! I will be continuing this fic for sure! It will be under a new story called "These Dying Embers", and it should be posted after all these ficlets are done. I cannot tell you how much your comments and such mean to me.