Of Masters and Men

Chapter 1

John bowed his head and knelt on the floor. He still couldn't quite believe that his parents had sold him. Apparently he was supposed to be a birthday gift, A coming of age present. He'd always known it was possible, of course. Kids stopped showing up in class, and months later you heard that they'd been sent off who-knows-where to live with middle aged businessmen. Maybe whoever he was given to would get bored of him and let him go. Or have a girlfriend or wife who didn't approve. He couldn't stop hoping.

"Now you listen to me," the old man coughed and forcing John to focus on him as he paced, "when you meet Master Holmes you are not to look him in the eye and do not speak unless spoken to, understand? After you meet him, we will get you dressed and cleaned for Master Sherlock, so keep your sniveling to a minimum."

"Yes, sir," John said meekly, looking around for a second pair of feet to signal the other man's arrival. He didn't want to be surprised by another person, and did resent the accusation of sniveling, but he had spent the last three nights crying himself to sleep, so maybe it had some basis in truth.

"Excell- he approaches now," the old butler of feathery white hair stepped back and bowed when the door was opened, "Good sir, It has arrived as you asked."

"Good..." the man adjusted his vest and rolled up his sleeves. Walking to John, he found a small young man, blonde, slender. Then using his walking stick, forced John's chin up so he could look at him properly, "Hmmm..."

John shivered, terrified, as the rather imposing man studied him. Eyes carefully averted, he waited for either some kind of instruction or for the man to ask him a question. Neither seemed forthcoming, so John concentrated on keeping his breathing steady even as his heart leapt into his throat and doubled its pace.

"You know who you are working for so I feel no need to introduce myself," Master Holmes walked away and sat in his chair by the fireplace, peering down at him through his glasses, "And because of my name standards and rules must be adhered to and accepted. You are to stay at my son's side and serve him, follow any order he gives you. If not I will surely find out and be sure to have it sorted out."

The man leaned back and took the prepared drink that was on the small table next to him. Sighing and musing, he ran a hand through the slicked back hair and continued once more.

"Remember you have no rights in this household. I own you and you are to do all that is told. You mean nothing to me so you are easily replaceable."

Keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, John silently fumed. In the back of his mind he knew all that, but the clinical way in which the information had been relayed had been unnecessarily hurtful. Another jab into him and John did not like it one bit. "Yes, sir," He repeated, twisting his fingers together. Maybe Sherlock wouldn't be as bad as his father. Then again, maybe he'd be worse and John should be treasuring these moments while he had them. There was the rather unfortunate circumstance that he had no way to find out until it was too late. There was a little part of him that wanted to ask exactly how replaceable he was, whether he'd just be sent away at the first sign of a mistake, but that would be going against what the old butler had told him, so he held his tongue.

"Indeed, Alex, take him away," waving his hand as if suddenly bored.

"Yes my lord, come, come you," the old man picked him up roughly by the arm and lead him outside, "Well at least you kept his interest. Master was pleased."

In the small seconds Alex dragged him to the door, John dared the small moment to peek at his new guardian and may have been a mistake. Their eyes met. The veins ran cold and John's stomach twisted to the point of feeling sick. His curiousity showed him the figure that sat in the stuffed, red armchair and despite the shadows that ran over him with the fireplace behind him, John saw it all.

A pair of eyes made of ice stared back, the blackened hair combed back, taller and thin man. Still, what frightened him the most was this man's expression because it was not anger for a lowly person such as himself to look directly to one of higher status, no, instead he found a smile. And so much was said in that smile, without needing to open his lips, John could hear him and his voice of control, "Mine. Ownership. Slave." What seemed an endless trek throughout this massive home of an estate John was lead down the hallways and then lead up a tower as Alex explained some of the regulations and where a servant's place should be.

"And finally this is the servant's tower, so all the other Master's and guests are in the North tower."

If that was pleased, what on earth was the alternative? John supposed he did not want to know the answer to that. There were a lot of rules, some of them silly (like having to stand and turn away when you were cleaning something and a member of the household walked by), and some of them just common sense (treating guests with the same courtesy as the people who lived in the house). With any luck at all, he'd be good at them within a week.

"Will I be staying here, sir?" John asked, looking up the staircase. He'd heard of slaves literally living with their masters, but he didn't know what this house was like.

"That depends what Master Sherlock wants..." Alex merely answered and when upstairs drew a cold bath, helping John out of the somewhat raggedy clothes, "Generally we live here, bath here, sleep here. But as a personal manservant, you, Master Sherlock might have you do something else."

John nodded and let Alex pull his clothes off and a small feeling told him he should be feeling somewhat awkward about it, but he found himself too numb to care. Slowly as he could until Alex barked at him to hurry John slipped into the cool water and grimaced for a moment before beginning to scrub vigorously with a bar of soap and a coarse flannel. It was unpleasant, yet he realized it was another norm he would have to adapt to.

Not too long later, Alex had John in the standard dress that they all wore especially those who worked close with the Holmes. Black slacks and matching jacket, white button down with vest over it. Topping it all off with a black tie and white gloves.

"There now you look fit," Alex could not help but smile slightly and gruffed at John for him to follow. Back down and into the labyrinth of halls, John was escorted to the north side of the estate, an area more for his masters and climbed a grander stair case that lead up to the Holmes living quarters.

"Listen here boy... you should at least know that Master Sherlock is...is a bit different than most boys. Queer perhaps and I never said that! Also he is to be treated like a Holmes, same as his father. Keep on your feet," Alex nodded and lightly patted John's back.

Wondering what that could possibly mean, John nodded again before entering the living quarters and standing unobtrusively off to the side of the room. The size of it could have fit a small cottage, complete with its own fireplace, another small room off to the side for bathing, and bed complete with canopy. Near the window, built into the window sill was a cushioned couch, and near it a desk and chair for what John assumed was his schooling. Other than that was a large bookcase filled and a mahogany wardrobe with the most intricate carvings John could not see very well in the dim lighting. There were voices in the hallway and he presumed that was the family coming to show Sherlock his gift, as unsavory as that idea was. John shut his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to watch the door.