Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock. Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are the creators.
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Chapter 1: Helpless
Running through the streets of London; moon bright in the sky, rain lashing at your face and wind clawing at your body is a normal occurrence for the world's only Consulting Detective and Doctor John Watson.
"John, go down Marylebone Street. I'll go down Wigmore. We should trap him."
John separates from his friend, running down the adjoining street to intercept the criminal like told as a gunshot echoes.
Sherlock? John immediately panics, the solider and medic in him raging with each other whether which who is a bigger priority, the criminal or Sherlock? A male silhouette emerges running towards him but the threat of Sherlock being hurt still makes him dither. Just as the man realises he's ran into a trap and slows John runs towards him. The felon uppercuts John's jaw and goes for a blow on his ribs, missing by millimetres as John leans back, the blow to his jaw leaving him standing unsteadily. John sweeps his foot anti-clockwise, swiping the man's legs from under him resulting in him whacking his head back on a lamppost. As he lies dazed on the ground, John punches him across the temple knocking him unconscious. He cuffs him to the lamppost and stands back panting, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth and waiting for his dizziness to ease. Remembering Sherlock, he rushes to Marylebone Street.
Sherlock immediately crouches and presses himself against a wall when he hears the gunfire. He looks up at a flat above him where the shot rang from, the room illuminating as the bullet was fired. Silence restores and he moves back to get a clearer view of the room, when he hears whimpering next to him. A stray dog? He lifts up garbage bags, his nose wrinkling from the stench of decomposing food and finds a toddler underneath. Child is about 12 months old. A boy. Sherlock looks over the child; fear is etched onto his face, his bright blue eyes wide and watery, his brown, curly hair is tangled and dirty, his clothes are torn and filthy from rarely if ever being washed. The boy moves further against the dumpster; pulling himself by his arms. He tries to push himself back with his legs but cries loudly in pain. One of his legs is fractured and the other has a deep cut, about 2 inches. Sherlock looks about and sees a bloodied shard of glass from a beer bottle. Bruises cover most of his face and body suggesting abuse. Sherlock bends down and goes to carefully pick him up but the boy flinches when Sherlock moves his hands towards him. He's not very vocal. Told to be quiet often.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Sherlock says softly.
He slowly removes his coat and smiles faintly at the boy, attempting to reassure him. He wraps his coat around him, his hands brushing against the boy's skin. It is as cold as ice. He can see his body shivering and that his lips are blue although he's not at danger from hypothermia. He picks the child up making sure the Belstaff is enclosed around him and holds him in one arm against his chest, making sure not to move him too much given his injuries. He walks slowly up the stairs to the flat, the corridor covered in clues. Nail indents in the wall. Tuft of short hairs on the stairs. Signs of a struggle. Sherlock sees drops of red up rotting stairs until he reaches the door of a flat, its door partly open. Empty bottles of vodka and whisky litter the floor making Sherlock tread carefully over the broken glass as he walks into the living room. One of the cushions on the sofa has a spring extruding from it, a chipped mug half filled with coffee sits on a table along with bags containing a white substance. Cocaine. He turns to the left and walks into the kitchen; unwashed dishes spill out of the sink, a few baby food jars growing mould lay scattered on a work top and a variety of drugs and money cover the table. He walks into the only bedroom; male clothes occupy the wardrobe and bed. A small pile of female clothes are neatly folded in a corner along with two child onesies and a bag of nappies. He walks back into the living room and turns his head to his right. A woman is sprawled face down on the carpet, bruises covering her body also and distinct hand marks surround her throat. Supposed mother, also abused frequently. Strangled to death. Next to her is a man. Sherlock bends down and looks over him. Fingers stained yellow by nicotine. Clothes unchanged for at least 3 days. No personal hygiene. He has been a drug dealer 10 years and an alcoholic for 12 years.
He looks over the evidence and pieces the event together; The wife attempts to leave the flat. She knows she will not get far as she is too weak and fearing for the child's safety she tries to hide him behind the bins. The husband reaches her first and pulls her back causing the child to be flung, hitting the bins and glass as he falls. The boy drags himself to safety. Pain must have been great but fear drove him on. The husband tows her upstairs by her hair and in a drunken rage strangles her. Most likely fearing prison rather than regret he shoots himself.
John reaches the alley and calls out for Sherlock. Sherlock looks to the window, John's voice pulling him out of his thoughts and joins him outside. John sighs when he sees Sherlock is unharmed but looks puzzled as to why he is holding a child and why he was in that building.
"Care to explain?"
"I'll tell you later."
John looks over the child and frowns.
"He needs medical attention immediately."
"Call Lestrade and an ambulance."
"Already on it."
Sherlock looks over the boy whose grimy face is not joyous like my toddlers, he is scarred.
"What have they done to you?" He says more to himself than to the boy. Seeing this helpless being recoil from human touch makes his heart drop but it also makes him feel somewhat protective of him, not wanting anyone to hurt his innocence again.
He thinks of ways to get him feeling safe, bringing up memories of what calmed him as a child. He cradles the child against his chest and holds him loosely as to not hurt him. He strokes his hair gently and the child slowly relaxes into his touch. Soon after, he is asleep in his arms from exhaustion and pain his hands entangled on Sherlock's collar and hair. John ends the call, his face solemn.
"There's been an explosion on the underground, the guy we caught, there were two of them. Manholes have been leaking gas, meaning fires are starting in populated areas, mainly people smoking outside nightclubs so diversions delay them and the ambulance for at least 50 minutes. I…er I should probably realign his leg."
"He's not under any anaesthetic; the pain will be too much."
"Sherlock, it's almost penetrating his flesh! The bones would have already started healing and if I don't he may not be able to walk for the rest of his life."
"Wait a minute." Sherlock hands the boy to John cautiously before running into the flat and grabbing the nearest bottle he can find, a half-empty flagon of scotch, surprisingly intact, sits next to the couch. He grabs a plastic cup, rinses it and runs back outside, pouring the amber liquid into the cup. He wakes the boy in John's arms and puts the cup to his lips. He drinks from it thirstily. Deprived of food and water.
Sherlock pulls the bottle away and almost immediately the toddler's grip loosens on him and his body becomes more tranquil. John stares at Sherlock.
"You care for him."
"Just do it." Sherlock replies ignoring John's statement and takes back the drowsy, if not slightly drunk child from John.
"I'm so, so sorry." John whispers to the child, unwrapping him from Sherlock's coat so he can get to his leg. He re-breaks the tibia and realigns it. The toddler inhales sharply and whimpers, gripping Sherlock's coat tightly before loosening his grip and almost falling unconscious. Sherlock shudders and his brow furrows in worry. He must have been use to quite a substantial amount of pain to not have screamed or have gone unconscious. After that piece of information registers with his conscious he hands the child to John, walking away from them and growls loudly, throwing the scotch bottle against the wall. He walks back to the child and holds his hand as John holds him against his body soothingly. The child looks up at Sherlock and then at John. He rests his head back on John's shoulder and holds onto one of Sherlock's fingers until the ambulance arrives.
Sirens sound, the loud noise alarming the boy. John gives his statement and directs as to where he cuffed the criminal whereas Sherlock sits against a dumpster staring vacantly at the wall. John excuses himself from the police and approaches Sherlock.
"Hey," Sherlock looks up at John, his eyes deprived of everything, "You ok?"
"Humanity."
"Huh?"
"That child has done nothing to deserve the way he's been treated. He's defenceless. I've seen murders, serial killings, rapists yet this…my own childhood was full of torment and I'm still mocked although it doesn't bother me as much now. I had Mycroft to help but he has no-one and suffering alone is something no-one should have to go through."
Sherlock's eyes are teary and he runs his hands through his hair then over his face. He stands up and starts walking down the alley away from the noise of voices and sirens. John walks behind him. When they are around a corner Sherlock turns around and hugs John. He doesn't cry. He just wants to be held. To know he's not alone anymore. John hugs him back tightly. He's not alone anymore either.
After a while they separate and join the police again. Sherlock holds onto John's jacket until there's a chance they'll be seen. He gives his statement first on where he found the criminal and what he was doing and then of the gunshot and finding the boy. Ignoring their protests of wanting more information he turns to John.
"I want to go home." He says, his voice weary.
"Ok."
...
A/N – Next chapter will be uploaded on Friday 18th, a week's time. Check out my other Sherlock/Johnlock stories meanwhile xox