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Summary
When John Watson makes an impulsive decision to take a shortcut home through the slave Den, he never imagines what he's going to find.
"Chin up." Two fingers beneath the warm, pointed chin, and he finds himself being scrutinized by the palest set of blue-grey-green eyes he's ever seen. The slave isn't conventionally beautiful, especially like this, but John can see how, with some feeding up, he could be. He's got long lashes and nice cheekbones and full lips, all of which has likely pleased more than one owner in the past.
"You're a doctor," says the slave.
"I am." John palpitates the area around his collarbone gently, noting the wince the slave can't hide. Definitely broken. "And I'm guessing you're a handful."
The smile is quick, infectious. "So they tell me."
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