#slave!john

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You both like teenlock.

Stranger: John glowered at the wall with annoyance. Seems his father had given up on letting his younger son get an education and go to work, no, he decided to take the easy way out and sold his son away. Now John was seventeen years old and still for sale, waiting for to be sold to some sod for whatever reason. He didn't look forward to it none the less. He was dressed down to his skivvies, sitting on a sofa in a display room with the other slaves, the number 221 was printed on his left arm . He was on the short side and built stocky and thick, clearly an athletic boy, but he wasn't willowy and gorgeous like the others either which is why he hadn't sold…he would probably be sent to a factory or a mine to work if no one bought him.

(looking for age gap)

You: Sherlock was walking imperiously across the halls and hallways, shadowed by his insufferable older brother. He really wished he could be back at home, with his science equipment and his violin, not in this place, especially not with /him/. But Mummy had been very clear - he needed to have someone at his side, someone who would keep him company when the boredom became too dangerous, and someone who could also somewhat look after him (because Mummy herself didn't want anything to do with that, Sherlock snarled in his own mind, but dared not say it). So as they finally reached room 200 with the younger "specimens" sat on a sofa, looking barely more than catatonic, Sherlock narrowed his eyes and mentally rejected each one for one reason or another, reading each of their stories with extraordinary ability from their skins, their haircuts and the like - until, his gaze paused on a particular young man, who looked for every reason in the world as the most unremarkable one of them all, and yet..

Stranger: John saw the two men enter, glancing up only for a moment to take in their details, posh, so rich. Great, some spoiled men who wanted a new toy, why couldn't they ever do with a dog or a bird? John went back to ignoring them, remembering the lecture about how promising this client was and that they were in no way to mess it up, they had requested males only and John wasn't sure if it was a sexual preference or maybe a choice to avoid bastard children of any sort. The guard at the door handed Sherlock a pair of surgical gloves, "Feel free to inspect, we promise only top quality in our trade." John would be interested to see the stranger attempt to inspect him, one man likely had scars on his fingers, and as if on queue the guard murmured, "Except 221, his teeth are dangerous, we can gag him if you need."

You: The icy-grey stare was sharp and unforgiving as it swept over the smaller, yet sturdier form of the young man, lasting long enough to make the person receiving such a thorough once-over embarrassed to say the least. With a look of haughty contempt, Sherlock's gaze then swept to the gloves that were being offered, then to the man holding them. "There will be no need for them. Nor for your empty promises, I happen to appreciate 'quality' in inanimate products." The curly haired teen retorted sharply, before taking a step closer to the boy, enough to feel his brother tense behind him and the guard mutter a few words of warning. "I'd like to see him try, though." The young genius added, smirking knowingly.

Stranger: John looked up at the challenge and stood when approached, "Might want to take his advice twiggy, you couldn't go toe to toe with me." He said, he may be shorter, but he was bulky, years of sports being kind to his body. There was a beat before he reared his fist back and reached out to strike him, the guard moving to try and stop him but he wouldn't make it, Sherlock was either going to be punched or do something about it, but John was eager to draw some blood from the pompous prick.

You: Sherlock could see empty aggressiveness in a person miles away, and it was almost too easy to read John's reaction to his words and to his proximity in the way his shoulders tensed and stretched moments before he charged his arm backwards. In the split second before the other teen's fingers curled into a fist, the young genius debated whether to allow the punch to reach his face unhindered, but then realised he'd be giving his potential future 'playmate' too great an advantage. So instead, with the most simple movements learnt early on in his martial arts training, he pushed the arm to the side at the last moment by making it slide against the outside of his own forearm, then grabbed his hand and added his own other one to twist the wrist - painfully, but not strongly enough to break anything. "'Twiggy' here takes advice from no one, least of all from you." He murmured amusedly, close enough to John's ear, before abruptly taking a step back and releasing him. "Mycroft, I'll take him." He said to his brother, before turning around and starting to walk away without a single look back.

You: [[I'm kind of going canon here - with Sherlock knowing Bartitsu and all that martial arts jazz. (: ]]

Stranger: (S'all good!)

Stranger: Both the guard, and John were surprised by this, neither having expected Sherlock to respond in such a way, and John grimaced when he was released, stumbling free and turning to lunge again, going for the throat but the larger guard caught hold of him and grappled him to the floor. "If you hit the call button on the wall, it will inform the madame and she'll come give you the paper work...I would do it, but I am occupied." He said with a grunt as he pinned John down, pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt to bind John down. "Seems you have a new home Watson, be grateful it's a nice one." He answered, indicating to John that whoever was purchasing him, they were influential, but John didn't give a rats ass about that. "Get off! Fuck you, you pissant little twig!" He shouted, trying to out himself from the deal by being petulant and annoying, not wanting to let on how terrified he really was.

You: As he walked away from Room 200, Sherlock only barely heard the shouts and loud sounds coming from behind him, but he didn't care. He knew his brother would be pestering him with questions as to why he'd chosen /him/, out of all the other possible choices. Had it been just to spite him? Watson clearly wasn't the typical submissive type - and there was so much to be gathered from that. His skin was practically untouched, and the only marks he had came from his own house, not previous owners. The teen had lashed out exactly like a scared animal, someone who attacked first so as to not receive the brunt of an attack before he could do anything about it - but Sherlock had no interest in treating him like an animal at all. He had no desire to have someone at his side - he'd never had anyone, so why bother with it now? But if he had to be honest, there was something /interesting/ about John, and if he had to abide to Mummy's wishes that didn't stop him from wanting to make the best of it, on his own terms. Sherlock had no idea whether the 'servant' would reach their home only sometime later, when all the boring bureaucracy had been taken care of, but he didn't care. He could wait.

Stranger: The madame came when called and approached Mycroft with a stack of papers and glanced at Watson struggling on the floor. "...I must warn you, we offer no refunds if you decide this one isn't for you, Watson is difficult and we will not be taking him back, if you want to get rid of him, you'll have to sell him yourself." She reasoned, handing Mycroft a pen. "Package Watson for our guest." Was the order and the guard hauled John up and pulled a gag from his belt as well, fastening it between the boys teeth. He was carried from the room after that, likely to wait down in the lobby or...no...no they were going outside now. The guard asked the valet which vehicle was the Holmes' and took John out to the car, tossing him into the back and asked the driver to activate the child locks so he wouldn't escape. "Enjoy your new home Watson, maybe they'll beat some sense into you."

You: As soon as they were outside again and close to the car, Sherlock's voice came from the other side of it, where he was leaning against the door with a cigarette dangling from his lips and fingers typing madly over the keys of his mobile phone. "Give him my coat, Mycroft, he'll freeze to death. And take off the gag, he's not a rabid animal. The cuffs I'll have fun unlocking myself when we get to the Manor." He commanded drily, earning a weary sigh from his older brother, who then did as the younger Holmes instructed. He eased the coat on John's shoulders then opened up the back door for him, before waiting for him to sit down. "We have no intention of treating you like they did, Mister Watson. As long as you act like they human being you were born as, you'll be considered my brother's equal. But one wrong move and you lose all of that." Mycroft warned, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, but the unspoken threat was perhaps even more terrifying because of it. Then, he buckled the seatbelt around John's body and closed the door, heading for the front seat and gesturing for the driver to go as soon as Sherlock had taken his seat in the back.

Stranger: John was...genuinely surprised when he was given the others coat, it smelled wretched, like smoke and chemicals, but at least he wouldn't freeze. He was surprisingly quiet while settled into the car, he was trapped after all, and knew how to stay quiet in order to preserve himself. He took small glances at Sherlock and Mycroft, not entirely sure what he was for. "...Am I for labor?" He asked finally, maybe they wanted him to be a body guard? But Sherlock could obviously handle himself, so maybe he was just getting a personal servant to follow him around and take care of him? Rich folks never liked doing things for themselves anyway.

You: When John spoke again, Sherlock barely even turned around, and gave a brief huff of irritation. "Of course not. Don't be an idiot." He replied drily, bony fingers tracing formulas and chemical structures on the condensation coating the window. He earned a brief glare from his brother, which made him sigh heavily and muster what could be considered as a decent-enough reply. "I get bored very easily. I get.. 'destructive'. Mummy wanted me to have someone. A 'friend', she said." His lips curled strangely around the word, as if it were foreign to him - which was true. He'd never had a friend in his life. "Friends are supposed to like each other. But you won't like me. No one ever does." Sherlock muttered under his breath with disarming, crystalline sincerity, sharp verdigris eyes following his finger as it danced on the window.

Stranger: "I don't like being an object." He answered, "I don't even know you except that you're rich, and you smoke and you're doing something with chemicals but you need to wash this coat before they make you ill." He said, shifting in the seat, unable to pull the coat around himself fully with his hands cuffed. "Your mother is a bit bizarre if her solution was to buy you a friend, and you're bizarre for picking one that tried to punch you." John didn't get it, but the rich seemed to do strange and eccentric things all the time, they were bored after all.

You: This time Sherlock turned around, fixing his icy stare onto John, pinning him with sharp blue orbs. "You say 'bizarre' like it's bad." He said, tilting his head to one side, before narrowing his eyes a little. "And you're not an object. I don't care how they treated you there, and I don't see why you would care about me getting ill because of the chemicals." The dark-haired teen added, going silent for a while, eyes trailing back to the lights and colours swirling outside of the window as they sped down the street. 'You'll learn not to like me.' - Sherlock thought, as if it were a reality, a fact, and not something that could possibly happen, or not.

Stranger: "I say bizarre like it means...that usually, almost always drives off possibly buyers, how on earth did it seal the deal with you?...I'm not into that BDSM business if you're looking for that from me." he said firmly, leaning on the window and watching everything roll by. He'd just have to wait for a chance to run away is all, once he was uncuffed and unmonitored, he would leave and try to start over somewhere, finish school or maybe join the army. He wasn't sure yet.

You: Sherlock sighed dramatically then practically glared at John. "You're even more idiotic than I thought if you think I want to take advantage of you." He snapped back, his voice cutting and irritated. But then his eyes picked up a faint twitching of John's fingers behind his back, the way his eyes were fixed on the world outside with a precise gaze rather than an absent one. "And stop thinking about escaping. You wouldn't make it past the front door." But truth be told, the thought of John already ignoring the way Mycroft had promised to treat him so that he could escape made Sherlock somewhat angry. It wasn't like John would get very far - he didn't have any papers on him, any documents, and if he thought he could steal money from their household he was very, very wrong. He had no idea what the Holmes brothers were capable of, did he?

Stranger: John looked up at the threat, "...you're guessing that." He answered, a little frightened at that. What was wrong with wanting to be free? "You wouldn't get it." He said softly, almost in defeat, Sherlock had a mother who cared enough about him to buy him someone to keep him safe and keep him company, John's parents saw him as an easy money maker, never mind that he had dreams and ambitions. He sank down in the seat and closed his eyes, he was exhausted, sleep deprivation and starvation were the easiest punishments to be given to disobedient slaves, and the car ride was surprisingly soothing him into a sleepy state.

You: "I never guess." Sherlock replied angrily, but then decided that he had no interest in showing off for John. He didn't deserve it - and yet.. "I know that the same way I know you're barely a few years older than me, recently introduced to slavery. The same way I know you've never been sold before, never been in a household that wasn't yours, and yet you've been in that slavehouse for about six months. One of your parents - your father, statistically more probable, - wanted to sell you, yet the other was was either absent when it happened, or she wasn't of the same opinion. You still have to finish high school, and dream of going to the army because you feel it's both a safe place with a meal and a roof on top of your head, and because it feeds your budding adrenaline addiction." Sherlock's voice was incredibly fast as it formed each single word, buzzing with energy and yet building up to a momentum. "So don't ever. Accuse. Me. Of. Guessing." He snarled, sharp eyes pointed at John, before he turned his whole body away from the older teen and opted for absolute silence and immobility.

You: [[be right back, sorry]]

Stranger: (Okay)

You: [[You did get my reply, right?]]

Stranger: (Yep, sorry, struggling to beef up my reply)

Stranger: John looked at the other at that, eyes wide with a mix of horror and wonder and he let out a breath. "How could you possibly know that?" He asked, honestly interested now, "None of that was in my file at the institute...How did you learn all of it?" Sherlock was facing away though and had gone quiet so perhaps he wouldn't answer. John glanced up at Mycroft in the front seat and back at Sherlock. What odd people. John wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen to him in this new place.

Stranger: (brb, fetching the laundry)

Stranger: (back)

You: The terse silence in the car grew after Mycroft gave a soft, defeated sigh. He knew Sherlock couldn't resist the chance of showing off, so to speak, even though the other kid was being deliberately pig-headed, with his little plans of escaping and of generally being contrary in every way. Oh well - he would either slowly realise that they meant him nothing but good, or he would only fall headfirst into worse situations. When the car finally pulled over in front of the Manor, Sherlock instantly opened up the door and strode towards the entrance. The elder Holmes then thanked the driver and got out himself, then helped John to get out as well, adjusting the coat on his shoulders before guiding him towards the Manor. "My brother," He started, his voice mellow and yet somewhat weary, "has an extraordinary mind. He can.. 'read' people. He can deduce everything he wishes to from a person's gait, haircut, clothes, mobile phone.. Anything at all. All through one simple glance." Once they were inside, Mycroft didn't spare a glance towards the plain elegance of the inside halls and hallways, but called for an old butler. "George will show you your room upstairs. I took the liberty of taking your measurements and had someone pick up some clothes for you. If they are to your taste, we will provide you with more. There's an en-suite bathroom, and feel free to come downstairs if you're hungry, or to stay in your room and have a rest. I shall see you at supper at six."

Stranger: John was lead inside by the elder Holmes and glanced up at him as he spoke, eyebrows furrowed as though he didn't quite believe him but there were no other explanations for what had happened. He was relieved to be inside the warm house, and he was surprised by being told about his room and everything else. "Wait wait!" He said, feeling a little overwhelmed, "What's the catch? Wouldn't I be living with your brother or something? I don't understand." He didn't want a bait and switch, to feel safe, and comfortable and warm only to have that all yanked out from under him by the Holmes as a cruel joke.

You: "There is no catch, John." Came the dulcet, mellow voice again, as the tall man walked away towards unknown parts of the Manor, the click of his shoes echoing across the hallway. "You're a human being as much as the next person, and as such are entitled to have your own liberties. On top of that, my brother often treats us to days of complete silence and days of incessant violin-playing. He won't want you to be with him at all times as much as you won't want to be with him at all times. Another reason is that your educator will differ from Sherlock's, so your own space for studying will be optimal, as opposed to sharing one with my little brother. I'll see you later, John." And with that, he was gone.

Stranger: John watched the man go and an old, weathered hand was placed on his shoulder to direct him upstairs to his own room. No one seemed to be bothered by the short boy in the young masters coat and that was a relief of it's own to not be ogled at. He was left to his room and the butler took a moment to pick the lock on the cuffs. "You need a few 'special' skills when catering to the Holmes'." He teased with a wink when John looked surprised but he was relieved to be freed and handed over Sherlock's coat before he was left alone. His own room, and it was nice! He was expecting bare bones since he was a slave but the bed was soft and comfy and the clothes were a bit stuffier than he'd like but they felt wonderful after a long luxurious shower. He was dressed in a button up shirt, slacks and a jumper and he decided to explore the manor, caution evident in every part of his being but curiosity being much stronger.

You: Just as chemical-stained, bony fingers were squeezing the pipette to let out two drops of hydrofluoric acid, Sherlock lifted his gaze from the petri dish to listen to the sounds coming from down the hall. He quickly deduced it had to be John - he'd probably taken a shower, judging by the sound and time it had taken him to leave his room, and he'd certainly been freed from the cuffs. Oh, well - so much for practicing on lock-picking. John would probably be attracted to the kitchen first, where lunch was being served - not that Sherlock cared. He didn't want to eat anyway - eating slowed his thinking processes. So instead he resumed his work, wondering if John would end up looking for his room, even if only with the excuse of returning his coat, and/or getting back at him for what had happened at the slavehouse.

Stranger: John did as predicted and wandered down to the kitchen, but when someone asked if he needed help, he politely declined. Seems he wasn't as savage as he made himself out to be, but he certainly stayed clear of the Holmes'. He insisted on something light, he didn't eat much when he was being sold, and he knew eating too much now would just make him horribly sick and he took to wandering again, an apple in hand and very careful not to drop anything. Not out of respect for the Holmes, but for the servants who would have to clean after him. With a few questions, he figured out where Sherlock's room was and he knocked on the door, not sure why he wanted to do this.

You: When the liquid in the petri dish started reacting with a satisfying hiss, Sherlock smirked to himself and put down the pipette, rolling his sleeves up, yet still keeping the crooks of his arms covered. He overheard a few voices, sporadically coming closer, until he identified John's, muttering something in the distance, then silence, then the sound of footsteps padding closer. The young genius picked up a drop of the sample from the petri dish and eased it on a small glass slide, just as there was a soft knock at the door. "Come in, John." He said, surprising himself - he wasn't sure why he wanted the kid in his room, but he supposed he at least wanted to have his coat back.

Stranger: John followed in, the butler from before having seen him and handed him the coat to return to Sherlock, so it was on his arm when he entered. "There's lunch, no one seemed to tell you." He said civilly as he hung up the coat and leaned against the wall, watching Sherlock work. That explained the chemical smell on the coat it seemed. John watched Sherlock though, curiosity burning in his mind. "So how did you read me earlier? What told you all those things? I guess the scars are obvious, but what about the rest?"

You: "They know I have no interest in eating. Digestion slows me down." Sherlock dismissed drily, still somewhat absently, eyes still glued to the bright blue substance on the slide, which he then covered with another slide and pushed underneath the microscope lens. He didn't turn around as John entered his room, continuing his work. "Did Mycroft tell you I 'read' people? How quaint of him." He said with a false huff of laughter, his lips curling into a false, small smile. There were a few beats of silence before he resumed talking, still never turning around to face John. "I observed your haircut to be the standard one they give all slaves, but yours is at least five to six months old, which, along with your aggressiveness, told me you'd arrived there six months ago, and haven't been sold since. You come from an abusive family, your father is more likely, given your bulk and the marks on your skin - but the pendant at your neck is a lady's, and it's at least thirty years old. Its worth very little, which is why they let you keep it, and it's the only thing your mother gifted you with that you still have. She didn't want you to be sold, then. Your age - you're what, seventeen? - tells me you haven't finished high school, and your penchant for fights and self-defense, along with the kind of family you come from, told me that the army is probably the best shot you have at getting an education and at being ensured basic needs."

Stranger: John's hand came up to his chest and placed over where the pendant was under his clothes. "...That's....amazing." He said in a breath, not able to deny how impressive that really was. He imagined from the way Sherlock was ignoring him and facing away meant that he was bothering the other boy and he shrugged, "That was what I wanted to know, I'll leave you to it, but that was pretty fantastic, I'll admit." He said before turning to go, likely they'd be forced to interact come dinner time considering the mother would want to know about her purchase, so he'd likely see Sherlock then if he didn't stop him leaving now.

You: The word 'amazing' rang in Sherlock's mind over and over, until he turned around in his chair just as John was blabbering something about leaving. His expression, usually so blank and carefully controlled, was now a mask of confusion, painted in the elegant eyebrows drawn together and at the slight purse of chiseled lips. "You really think so?" He asked, ignoring the words that had followed the other teen's statement.

Stranger: John stopped and turned, hand on the door but looking at Sherlock. "Of course, it was extraordinary. I've never seen anything like it, it's a bit...strange to be laid bare like that but, impressive none the less. Do people not think so?" With skills like that, he could be doing great investigative work, even if he was young, he certainly had the arrogance for a hard boiled detective, but not quite the jaw line.

You: "No, people don't usually react that way." Sherlock said after a moment of thought, looking somewhat vexed at John's words of praise, so very far away from what he usually received (anger, hate, screams, bullying and sometimes even a beating). "That's not what they normally say, no." He added absently, as if he weren't even paying attention to his own words anymore.

Stranger: "....What do they normally say?" He was even more curious now and he took his hand off the door and leaned back against it, wondering why Sherlock decided to waste away in his room when he could be putting his brain to better work, maybe it was because he acted like a prat most of the time. John had to admit though, he had a better life here already as long as things stayed the way he was shown.

You: Sherlock looked at John as if he were still trying to pick him apart, to understand the strange phenomenon that was John Watson, and what had triggered him to say what he had said, to praise his genius rather than get mat at him for what he'd laid bare of his personal life. But then, all of a sudden, he spoke again, frowning a little. "Piss off."

Stranger: John actually chuckled a little, "I uh...I guess so." He said and he glanced at Sherlock, "It's a shame, you have a gift." He was still a bit of a dick though and John wondered how long until Sherlock forced him out, he didn't seem to like this arrangement anymore than John did.

You: Sherlock looked at John in bewilderment, then smiled along with him, more genuinely this time, and chuckled along with him. "Mycroft and Mummy didn't allow me to be a pirate when I was growing up. So I opted for chemistry." He said, a bit of a non-sequitur, but then didn't follow up on it. "Sometimes I don't talk for days and I like to play the violin. .. Friends should know the worst about each other." He announced after a few moments, then long legs were lifting and being cradled close to his chest, making the lanky boy look not unlike a gargoyle.

Stranger: "Friends?" he asked, not with distaste, but surprise. "You'd have a slave for a friend?" It wasn't conventional, and could end up being a scandal really, if the Holmes were high society like he thought from how people at the slavehouse danced around Mycroft, then their younger son befriending a slave would be quite a scandal...it'd be fun. John stepped closer and away from the door, but his posture was still a bit cautious out of habit.

You: "I happen to dislike the term 'companion', or whatever they happen to call you. And I also don't care whether or not you're a slave. To me, you're John Watson - potential friend. Nothing more and nothing less." Sherlock explained casually, eyes following John closely, as if to study his reactions, his movements. "People can think what they like."

Stranger: John smiled at that, this he could get used to, treated like he was human and not an object to be passed about and sold. "I think I'd like that." He answered simply, tossing his apple core into Sherlock's waste bin and cautiously approaching closer yet. "What are you working on with the chemicals?"

You: Suppressing a small smile and twirling around in his chair until he faced his desk again, Sherlock showed John a test tube with a centrifuged, green-looking substance. "I'm extracting chlorophyll from spinach." He said, dismissively. "Sometimes there are no useful experiments to be done because I lack the proper equipment or the materials, so George gives me something from the kitchen that no one else will one because it's gone bad or something of the sort. So I just decide what to do with it." Sherlock then turned his head towards John, studying him for a moment, tilting his head a little. "You wanted to be a doctor." He stated simply, without any preamble.

Stranger: John nodded, not able to deny that. "Yes, I like helping others, and I studied a bit before I was sold." He'd had plans and dreams and while he intended to finish school with Mycroft's assistance, he doubted he'd go off to med school, just enough education to finish his basics. John was by no means, stupid. He leaned against the desk to take a look over the equipment and watching Sherlock work.

You: Sherlock nodded at John's words, as if he were mentally ticking off all of his deductions about the teen, and then he went back to work. He enjoyed the silence that John was clearly capable of offering him, and added the small detail to his Mind Palace, where he'd started a small drawer of its own with the nametag 'John Watson' on it. After a while, he rubbed his hands over his face and decided to call it a day with his experiments. He had at least another five hours to wait to have some interesting results, so he pushed himself away from the desk and yawned. "So. Want to go and explore a little bit outside?" Sherlock offered with a blank mask of casualness, although his eyes twinkled with curiosity and mischief.

You: [[I have to help out my mother a little bit *eyeroll* I'll be back hopefully in about twenty minutes.. Would you mind waiting a little bit?]]

Stranger: (Okay! I'll be here!)

You: [[Thank you ^^ Oh and by the way, if you ever want to go with a timeskip, I'm up for it. (:]]

Stranger: John looked at him at that and stepped back to let him stand. "As long as it's not on a leash, I'd love to." He answered with a smile, walking out with the taller boy. The next few weeks went off pretty well, the pair of them acting normally as any two boys would. A lot of it had to do with that fact that Sherlock's expectations weren't for a slave, but rather for a friend, and that he could do. He had put in a request for more casual clothes and that had been heeded, though he was expected to have a suit or two for special events, whatever those ended up being, he didn't look forward to them, that was for sure. He was lounging in Sherlock's room while he played violin, a book settled on his lap and sitting on his bed, enjoying a comfortable silence between them.

You: [[I'm back (: thanks for waiting]]

Stranger: (No prob!)

You: Sometimes, Sherlock played the violin because he wanted some reprieve from his mind, a way to escape the constant overload of data and analysis that his brilliant brain made him undergo every minute and every second of his life. Other times, he played because it actually helped him think, helped him channel the thousands trains of thought into more linear processes that could be dealt with more easily. This was one of those times. John Watson had turned out to be nothing of the 'rabid animal' the people at the slavehouse had made him to be. He hadn't tried to escape, not once, and had so far seemed to be enjoying life at the Holmes' Manor. But Sherlock often wondered if John's interest in him was genuine, or if it was dictated by something else, namely his official status as a slave.

Stranger: John was tempted to ask what was in Sherlock's mind, considering his face showed it was something that bothered him, but Sherlock didn't seem to hear him if he said anything so he merely watched, his attention taken from the book to observe Sherlock instead, leaning his elbows onto his knees. He had a feeling it was something about him that bothered Sherlock, there had been plenty of questions about his past, his family, his schooling, his life at the slave house, Sherlock had a lot of thoughts and questions about him.

You: Without even having to look at him, Sherlock felt John's gaze on him. The soft, ethereal melody sung by his violin drew to a close as deft fingers danced over the fretboard to pin down two final notes of closure, while his eyes were closed in thought, as if he were somewhere else entirely, transported elsewhere, and so very far away. "I don't imagine that book must be very interesting, John." The genius suddenly said, his voice a little bit husky from disuse. "You've been reading the same page for approximately thirteen minutes."

Stranger: John wasn't surprised that Sherlock had noticed his staring. "Your thoughts are loud and the burning in my ears makes me feel you've been thinking about me...what's actually on your mind?" He asked curiously, wondering if he had done something wrong perhaps. Maybe Sherlock was reconsidering their friendship?

You: John's words made Sherlock smile just a little. "You seem to be picking up a few tricks from me. Good." He said with just a touch of pride as he placed his violin back into its case. "You're relying on sensations rather than logic and evidence, but still.." The curly-haired teen added as he sat down at the foot of the bed, one leg propped up on the mattress and facing John. "Do you actually care about me as a friend, or are you only doing it because it's your.. 'job', so to speak?" He asked unabashedly, not caring for any prelude or long way around the question, as he was wont to do.

Stranger: "Sherlock, you treat me like I wasn't bought to be here. That means everything to me." he said honestly, closing the book and setting it aside. "As long as you're here, and you treat me like a friend and not a slave, why should I be unhappy or unfaithful." He wondered if this really bothered Sherlock, "It's not my job, it's my choice, I would have tried to leave a dozen times over if things were different."

You: 'I was hoping you'd say that.' Sherlock thought, but didn't give words to that particular feeling, as lips curled slightly into a shy, lopsided smile. John was his only friend, and the thought of having bought his friendship made him feel somewhat ill - the odd feeling was then filed for later inspection. "I suppose that answers my question." The young genius said, curling up on the bad, his back and head resting against the wall as he closed his eyes. A few beats of silence went by before he spoke again. "There's a ball night for Mummy's birthday this evening. I should have told you some time ago, I suppose. It doesn't seem so relevant after all."

Stranger: "...That explains all the fuss going on today." John noted, having seen it all at breakfast, though Mycroft hadn't said anything about it to him either. "Do you want me to go with you, if no one told me, maybe it means I'm not supposed to go unless you allow it." He knew he'd have to dress up, and wondered if he was expected to act in a certain manner because of his station, he almost forgot about that until someone reminded him.

You: Sherlock shrugged, eyes still closed while his bare toes drummed an imaginary beat on the duvet. "You can do whatever you like. I must go anyway and suffer the pains of the soporific, irritating company of my relatives. Our family is small enough, fortunately, but I won't be able to leave before a couple of hours at least." Sighing dramatically, Sherlock dropped his whole body sideways on the mattress, pouting as he craned his neck upwards to look at John. "You don't have any obligations. If you wish to make my evening a little bit more bearable then you can come with me."

Stranger: "Well, I suppose I can't say no to a chance to mingle with the elite, it'd be fun to watch them wrinkle their noses at the urchin." He teased, toeing at Sherlock's side, indicating he would go. "So is this like...full out gala? Dancing, music and amazing food and wine?" He knew none of those things were for Sherlock, but he wouldn't mind indulging for himself.

You: "I suppose, yes." Sherlock sighed again, draping an arm over his eyes. "My relatives happen not to know about you, so they'll assume something absurd - like you're my betrothed, or something of the sort." He huffed a laugh at the idea, then turned on his side and pressed his face against John's calves. "But there will be chances of having fun at their expense, I can guarantee that."

Stranger: "Oh? Is that a thing you do in your family?.........Are they going to ask you to do that?" His tone had started teasing and then became concerned, "I'd be...disappointed if they tried to marry you off to someone else. I've become a bit possessive of your time." He said simply, reaching a hand down to pet a gentle hand through Sherlock's hair.

You: Sherlock's only response was a grumpy, irritated grumble, muffled by the fabric of John's trousers. "I haven't the faintest and I honestly don't want to know. Mummy would like to see us married to someone rich an influential someday, but she'll come to the conclusion that her illusion that we live in the Renaissance is withering away along with her sanity." Sherlock mumbled, then made a soft, purring-like sound when John's fingers carded gently through his hair, his scalp being an extremely sensitive area. "That won't happen, John. Not if I can help it." He murmured absently, as if he weren't really thinking about his words.

You: [[Please don't kill me, but would you mind waiting twenty minutes or so? I have to run an errand for my mother..]]

Stranger: (Sure! I can wait! just in case, my email is xxx)

Stranger: John nodded and continued petting Sherlock, shifting his legs to draw the others head into his lap to continue at a more comfortable angle for the both of them. "Well...whoever your wife may be, she'll have to get used to being second fiddle to me." He said with an affirming nod, not wanting to actually think on it too much considering he would likely be released from service or sold to someone else.

You: [[I'm back :D Thank you very, very much for waiting]]

Stranger: (Yep!)

You: Sherlock's head lolled to one side as soon as he found a more comfortable position, burying his nose into John's jumper, eyes closed as one bony, long-fingered hand fisted loosely into the fabric. ".. Wife? Hmm.. Not really my area.." He muttered absently, his whole body relaxing under John's soothing touch. No wonder Mycroft still couldn't believe how close the two of them had grown - no one, not even him when Sherlock had been a kid, had been allowed this much closeness and this much contact with Sherlock.

Stranger: ".......Oh." John actually flushed a bit at that and suddenly he wondered if maybe he had been bought to be Sherlock's means of physical release and that was equally confusing and...something else. "So....would your mother let you marry a man in the future?" There was always Mycroft to carry on the Holmes name but still, he would be surprised to see an open minded highborn family. He continued to pet through Sherlock's hair, watching him.

You: "She'd probably complain and dramatise everything in meaningless, useless histrionics, but she would eventually just let it go. She has given up on me ever since my true nature as a maladjusted, sociopathic kid flourished." Sherlock replied simply, head subconsciously pushing a little against John's hand as if to make him understand how much he enjoyed the gentle ministrations. "But I have no interest for sexual nor romantic attachments to anyone. I probably never will."

Stranger: He hummed at that, smiling at the hint and continuing to pet through Sherlock's hair reassuringly. He wouldn't say anything like "You'll change your mind" or "Maybe someday", he let it be. Sherlock had proven he'd act as he wanted and John found that to be part of what made him so fun, even if he did wish the other boy would eat more regularly. "Do you know how to dance?"

You: An annoyed humming noise vibrated in Sherlock's chest. "Unfortunately, I do. It was.. required of me when I was younger. My brother and I have mastered every one of the traditional dances that we are expected to know in anticipation of such events." Contempt and displeasure dripped from each and every word that the tall, lanky teen uttered. Then, suddenly, one icy-grey iris peeked from beneath a half-open eyelid. "Do you want me to teach you?" He asked, jumping to the conclusion (deduction, thank you very much) that there was an excellent probability that John did not know how to dance, and given that they were to be seen together at the party, they were required at least one waltz together.

Stranger: John looked down at Sherlock, "I don't know how, and something tells me that I will need to, but I might be a bit clumsy with it." He warned, he did keep petting Sherlock, even if he had a feeling that they would be getting up in a moment to teach him to dance. "Will it be expected of me? I know you don't care about my station, but there are others who do, and I don't want you to get screwed over on something over me."

You: Shrugging, Sherlock closed his eyes again. "You don't /need/ to, but people may start making questions, and this might help shut the lot of them up. They don't expect much from me, and 'being on my best behavior' will already be enough to baffle them." Then, after a few moments, Sherlock rolled his head in John's lap to face him from beneath, silently hoping John wouldn't stop because of it. "As I said, I can teach you, if you'd like me to. I don't expect you to master it, but if we concentrate on one dance only, we may make a decent job of it."

Stranger: John did continue, if only because he imagined Sherlock would physically drag his hand back into place for it. "I think I can manage a waltz for a bit, for appearances sake." he reassured with a smile, leaning back and closing his eyes as he continued to pet Sherlock. Likely there would be a few highborns who would take offense at a slave acting as an equal among them.

You: As much as he hated to leave the cocoon he'd found in John's lap, but most of all the incredibly relaxing and enjoyable touches across his scalp, Sherlock decided that he would teach John - if it had to be even just one dance, he would at least prove everyone else that John was no less then them. Bouncing up to a seating position from where he lay, Sherlock then slid of the bed with cat-like grace and extended a hand towards John. "Come on, then. Show me what you can do." He said, a challenging smile pulling at his Cupid's Bow.

Stranger: John took the hand and stood up with Sherlock's assistance. "Uh...I don't know anything besides what any teenager does with other teenagers...hardly appropriate for a gala, unless you want me to rub hips with you." he murmured with a teasing smile, indicating he was joking. He toed off his socks, and unbuttoned his collar to make sure he didn't overheat from the excercise.

You: Sherlock merely raised an elegant eyebrow at the proposition, but then ignored it when John made it known that he was joking. "Which is why I'm trying to teach you." He said, before giving John indications of how the waltz worked as a whole, of how many parts it was divided into and all that, commenting on every part with the opportune 'boring' or 'tedious'. When that was finished, he showed John the appropriate posture of his back, not hesitating to pull and push him around until he'd reached a satisfying result. Once he'd placed the other teen's hands on his own body in the right places, Sherlock started moving, showing the steps one by one and repeating the motions more fluidly the more John got the hang of it.

Stranger: John was clumsy at first, staring down between them to make sure he didn't step on Sherlock's feet at all and following his movements, but the more he did it, the more he seemed to remember it. "I guess if we dance at the gala, I have to do the girls part since I'm shorter than you." He mused, smiling as he managed to managed to do the dance relatively well for not having any music to go off of. He also tried to imagine a young Sherlock distastefully trying to learn all this for the first time, it was a bit amusing to imagine.

You: "Obviously." Sherlock commented with a small smile on his face. "That's what I'm teaching you, in case you hadn't realised." His eyes then trailed over John's face, tilting his head a little bit as they kept on waltzing around the room. "Am I amusing you?" Sherlock asked, perhaps a little too defensively, but hoping John would just ignore it. The other teen was indeed managing quite decently, given the absence of music - Sherlock could hear it perfectly in his head, but had refused to sing it for the two of them to have it as a reference.

Stranger: "Hm? Oh! No it's...I'm just imagining you having to learn it yourself, how old were you when you learned?" Likely when he was a child, but John couldn't imagine it, even though he had seen the pictures. John's eyes moved back to their feet to make sure he was doing it right for now, he had the feeling Sherlock was watching him and his gaze was so intense it was hard to meet sometimes.

You: Humming softly as he thought about all those years ago, Sherlock licked his lips absently. "No more than ten years old. Even eight, perhaps." Sherlock said absently, his eyes still keeping track of John's movements and correcting him less and less as they went on. "I don't know for certain. I deleted it." He dismissed, just before he smiled along with John. "An old, prosperous lady from France came to teach Mycroft and I. She was.. very physical in her demonstrations. And she appeared to like me." Sherlock added with a soft chuckle, blushing a little at the memory.

Stranger: "....Well, you are pretty, but with how young you were, that's kind of gross." He said, grimacing a bit as he smiled wider, no longer stumbling and Sherlock wasn't correcting him further. While some may think he had stopped instructing, John knew that he would not let such imperfections pass, so he must be doing it right. "Do you speak any other languages? I only know English and French...and some gaelic swears."

You: Eyebrows furrowing a little, Sherlock wasn't sure he'd understood what John meant by that single word. "Pretty?" He asked, before he then pushed the matter aside for a later analysis. "I wasn't aware you knew French. Are you fluent? I consider it my second language. Apart from that, I'd say.. Italian, Chinese, German and Spanish. I do not consider myself fluent in Russian, although I can read and understand it. If I decided to, I could certainly master it."

Stranger: "Not fluent exactly, I know enough that going to france means I won't look like a total ass." he said with a smile and his eyes widened at the variety of languages he knew. "Is there anything you don't know?" he asked, it seemed Sherlock's mind was endless with data, facts and interesting things.

Stranger: (I need to take a shower, willing to wait for me this time?)\

You: [[Of course, no problem at all (:]]

You: Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment, before replying. "How many years either of us will live, anything concerning astronomy, the maximum amount of tea a person could ingest and how to build a car." He replied quickly, without blinking or slowing down once. "And other things not even worth mentioning. I only store data worth keeping, John. My mind is like a hard-drive, you see? Using the space on it for useless things is equal to making your brain go to waste." The tall teen explained, before he finally stopped and pulled back, bowing a little to John as if to thank him, then heading over to his wardrobe. "We should start getting ready. Mycroft will have left a tuxedo on your bed along with other necessary items, no doubt."

Stranger: (baaack)

You: [[Yayyyy]]

Stranger: John gave a curtsy in response since that was the part he played until he did a proper bow in return and watched Sherlock go to the wardrobe. "Alright...I'll look silly but I best go get it on and make sure it fits. Thank you, Sherlock." He kept the thanks vague, it meant a lot of things for him but he wanted to say it anyway. With that, he parted from Sherlock to return to his own room to get ready, his tuxedo was a dove gray, and there was a bit he didn't like sitting on top. Sherlock would see once John was ready, he had to wear a red collar, it didn't look...unfashionable, but it had to be a reminder of what John was, Sherlock may treat him as an equal, but no one else should apparently.

You: With a vague nod of dismissal in John's direction, Sherlock took out his own, a midnight blue one with velvet lapels and cuffs to the suit jacket, and had to admit that for all the hate and contempt he constantly directed towards his brother, he knew his taste well - although he'd never admit it. A long shower and an hour later, Sherlock was adding golden cufflinks to his shirt, not wanting to look at himself in the mirror in order not to see his hair, and how odd it looked on his alien face - inky brown curls slicked back and impeccable except for a single, rebellious curl which decided that it did not wish to obey like the rest. The young genius wondered if John would come to him for help with his bow tie or something similar, but dismissed the thought.

Stranger: John did come to Sherlock's room, but he couldn't help but smile at the thought of him. "You look nice." He said, leaning in the door frame. Try as he might, he couldn't get the collar to be hidden, and he knew Sherlock would hate it, but he'd tolerate it just for tonight. "Couldn't tame your curl though huh?" It was said with good humor as he approached, not even bothering to push it back and risk mussing up his hair further.

You: "It has decided to disobey the rules of a basic colloid for hair and let the devil take the hindmost." Sherlock grumbled, vexed and irritated, as he adjusted his cufflinks until he was satisfied. As he then finally turned around to face John, his eyes instantly narrowed at a blatantly coloured item around John's neck. His eyes flashed a livid fury, though his whole posture went steely. "Take it off at once." The teen demanded, voice like ice.

Stranger: "...You know I can't." He said softly, clearly not pleased either, "Your mother wants it...and I don't want to risk her wrath, or that she may separate us if she finds I am a bad influence." He reasoned, brushing hands over Sherlock's shoulders to smooth down the fabric. "I'm sorry, but it's just tonight."

You: Sherlock's shoulders were set as if they were made of granite instead of flesh, unyielding to John's touch as Sherlock fought to keep his rage in check. "I don't care." He hissed furiously, his head spinning with thoughts about how he could get Mummy to pay for this, about how he could make John hide it, about how they could simply tell everyone to piss off and not go at all.. They eventually eased under John's proximity, but Sherlock didn't back off. He instead took a step forward, invading John's personal space but not even caring nor realising, and then nimble, elegant fingers were at his neck, smoothing over the collar, hinging the tip underneath the fabric, lowering his head closer so as to inspect it more closely, but also to hide his expression from John as his mask cracked slowly. "Take it off." He repeated, a bit more weakly this time.