Shout out to fangirl- For some reason, nearly all of my best reviews come from guests... anyways. Don't worry, it won't break your heart. Just tug at it a little. Maybe. If I'm feeling merciful...

Keep reading, things are about to get much more fantastic.

A/N

Sorry, it's been awhile. I hit a bit of a block. Then I realized I had to cut a part out and I Really didn't want to so I put it off.

Of course John Watson did find him. He tried not to, really he did. He tried to settle back into a normal life and just forget about the war and the traveling and the excitement and the promise of more in that man's eyes. He tried to be the good veteran and enjoy being a hero, even though he knows all he's done to earn that title is murder. He tried not to see every young boy he's ever killed in awestruck children's eyes and pretend it's alright.

He tried so hard not to go searching. But every night as he went through his routine of washing out and rewrapping his shoulder wound and massaging the phantom ache from his leg, he couldn't help but think that somehow he could help. John didn't even know his name. But somewhere in the back of his head he couldn't shake the feeling that that man Heard him. Heheard things John could never have spoken and maybe, just maybe he could fix the things everyone refuses to acknowledge as broken.

Then, one morning just as he was waking up, John heard him.

'Come find me.'

John's been having odd thoughts lately. Just silly ideas borne from an idle mind and lingering dreams. His mind would wander to things he'd never considered possible or important. But this was something different. This was distinctly someone else. A very distinct someone else. All at once, he gave up trying.

He charged into the palace like a bull on fire. Brushing off the guards with a stern stare and his obvious limp. It was a good half hour till he realized that he had no idea where he was, what he was looking for or how to find it. Yet, by dumb luck, He had been found by what he was looking for.

John felt a firm tug on his arm and himself being dragged through a doorway he must've missed. Before he could react to what he wasn't sure was going on, he found himself in a darkened room. He couldn't see much more than heavy curtains of smoke, sparkling in the scattered candle flames. They wrapped around him, brushing his skin and creeping under his clothes. He gasped at the touch of the frigid air, which outright defied any definition of cold he had ever known, drawing it into his lungs and allowing it to invade his heart, infecting his bloodstream.

"You're late." The darkness seemed to growl behind him. The smoke shifted. A candle flicked into darkness and back to light.

"I-I... didn't realize I had anything to be late for." He muttered, still sucking in the sweet scent of the smoke. He jolted from his confused trance and turned to the door he was pulled through. "Look, I don't know what I'm even doing here. I'll just-"

A hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him deeper into the room. The faded candlelight illuminated just enough marble skin for John to recognize. "I've been calling you for weeks now. You've been resisting. Why?" As he spoke, smoke poured from his lips. Filling John's nostrils and making a swirling mess of his mind.

"I-uh... I'm sure you're very... Good. But I-I'm really not-" John stuttered and stumbled, intoxicated by the smoke and close proximity.

"Yes of course. Neither are Lestrade or the king." The concubine rolled his eyes. The candlelight glinted off them, as if off the tip of a sword. And they pierced John. His cold, long fingers wrapped around John's jaw, causing the war-hardened veteran's eyes to flutter and his muscles weaken. "You've been hearing whispers for the past few weeks. You might've mistaken it for daydreams or a wandering mind. But it wasn't. You know that now. It's the reason you're here and it was all me. I've been calling you for two weeks. Tell me you were listening to something I was saying?"

"Y-you... How?" John's thoughts still swam lazily in his mind. "You said... something about fixing me. About all the blood on my hands and all the people I've killed. They weren't just enemies they were people. You said I had a chance to... save someone for once."

"Yes yes, that's it." His 'S's hissed, Slithering past his lips on another stream of smoke.

"H-how?" John shook some of the haze out of his mind. Just enough to be aware of how thoroughly it had invaded him. "Wait, no. What are you doing to me?"

"Relax, John." His fingers unlaced from around John's neck and fell to his shoulders, lightly pushing him back into the sofa behind him. "I won't eat you, you're too useful."

The slave lounged back on the opposite side of the sofa, his form constantly shifting in the candlelight. "No doubt, you've heard his majesty bragging about how all his slaves are imported." John nodded, a twinge of disgust making it's way past the numbing haze. He had seen the slaves taken from cities he helped raid. Confused, depressed and angry, only a strong few made it back. Then the out of the few, the damaged goods and the fighters had to be weeded out. But ever the loyal soldier, he kept his opinions to himself.

"They stole me from my home, your kind. They decided I am foreign enough to kidnap and use, but it never once occured to them that, because I'm practically a different species I might function differently. Your kind shoved poisons down my throat, thinking that if I have a mouth and teeth I must eat the same as them. They shoved me out into the sun to burn, because they thought 'a little sunshine would do me good'. They deprived me of my dignity, privacy, health and every simple pleasure I've ever took comfort in, because it was fun. Then, they had me... service them." His voice remained cool and level, even as John trembled with guilt and the suddenly bitter cold. "Because I'm a slave. And that's what slaves were born for, right? Born to be captured and tamed. Traine to serve."

"Who are you?" John's voice was barely a whisper, shaking in the thick air.

"Call me Sherlock."

"Sherlock. Why am I- What do you want from me? Revenge?" It occured to him that he may not make it out of the room alive. Sherlock's bitter smirk only confirmed it. John's back straightened and he raised his gaze to meet the concubine's, drawing on hidden strength to steady himself. "I've seen what they do to... your kind. I stood by and watched and said nothing. Just as I watched children and pregnant women slaughtered in their houses and did nothing but follow orders. I can't bring myself to beg for my life or forgiveness or mercy. All I can say is that killing me will solve nothing. You'll only be locked away and left to d-"

Sherlock had stretched across the gap between them and traced John's lips with the pad of his fingertip, causing his words to catch in his throat. The slave's smirk faded to a light smile. His fingers drifted from lip to cheek, brushing near-imperceptibly against the lines worn into his skin by rough desert days and sleepless nights. "Captain John Hamish Watson. Are you really that dull? I'm offering you the chance to make up for the blood you've shed. How could that possibly translate to your murder?"

John gaped, his mouth forming useless, disconnected syllables. Sherlock drew closer, silencing him with a solid kiss. Quickly forgetting himself and his previous claims of what he wasn't, he eagerly stole the kiss from Sherlock's lips.

"Sherlock." John breathed, not daring to open his eyes lest the sight of him distract from the feel of his fingers dancing across his skin. Sherlock hummed beautiful nonsense into the space behind his ear, tugging at his clothes and pulling him ever closer, weaving a spell around John like a web around a spider's prey. Soon, John could hardly tell the difference between Sherlock's body and voice.

"Sher..." The door flew open, flooding the room with light. John jolted back to full conciousness at the intrusion. He fumbled to pull himself upwards, only to find himself pinned under the feather-light body of Sherlock. The veteran tried to push him off, but he had already lifted himself from the sofa and was pulling a thick cloak over his shoulders.

"Damn. I'll have to start all over again. Lestrade, you better have a good reason for interrupting me."

"We found another one."