This is inspired by some speculations I saw on tumblr about Mrs. Hudson being abused by her husband. This is obviously before the Fall, but there's no specific episode it's supposed to take place in. Mentions of Bulgravia. Trigger warning for domestic abuse. Not really Johnlock, but close John/Sherlock conversations. Word was being lame when I was writing this, so if there's anything funny with the formatting… Ignore it.
Sherlock cares about Mrs. Hudson. John knows people think he only cares about himself, but Sherlock cares about her and he cares about John, even if he doesn't show it.
The first time John met the land lady, he heard about how Sherlock insured her husband's execution in the United States. His first thought was, why would she want that? The pieces clicked together later.
He's also seen the two be affectionate. Sherlock's hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, and was furious when CIA agents tied her up and hurt her. When she takes his skull or removes body parts from the fridge, he acts frustrated. In reality, John thinks she's a sort of mother figure to him.
So one day when Sherlock's in a particularly foul mood, John's speculations on their land lady's past is confirmed.
Bent over the microscope, Sherlock is scrutinizing a piece of evidence. Behind him, Mrs. Hudson is tidying up the kitchen table, making small talk with no one in particular. Finally, Sherlock's had enough and slams his hands on the table, hard enough that the plates shake and papers slide off the towering piles and onto the floor.
"MRS. HUDSON, WOULD YOU JUST BE QUIET?" Sherlock shouts.
The little old lady jumps nearly out of her body, hands fluttering. She looks…frightened. After a moment she recovers herself, and goes to leave. Sherlock glances up at her.
"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson." He murmurs as she walks out the door.
The two men get Chinese takeout for a late dinner. Sherlock's laying on the couch eating his straight out of the box, and John suspects the man must be starving. He's been working a case for two days, and Sherlock doesn't like to eat when he's working. The binging and purging sessions don't seem to affect him though; he's the tallest man John's ever met, and also the skinniest. John is still thinking about the events of that afternoon and decides to ask Sherlock about them.
"Sherlock." Sherlock doesn't respond but something changes in his eyes, and John knows he's listening.
"What was that this afternoon, with Mrs. Hudson? You shouted—You never shout at her, and she, well, she looked frightened. And then you apologized when she left and we all know that apologizing isn't your forte, either…" He trails off but gets no response.
"Feel free to jump in anytime, Sherlock." The other man rolls his eyes.
"She's an old lady, we pay her our rent, I shouted and I apologized. There's nothing more to it." John knows Sherlock is lying. He's known from the beginning what probably happened to Mrs. Hudson, and this was probably the best time to bring it up.
"It was nothing? Alright. But I'm a doctor. I work in a clinic currently—" He doesn't get to finish because Sherlock cuts him off.
"You work in a clinic? Really? Because you never seem to be anywhere but here."
"Sherlock, I leave this flat frequently. You just don't notice because you keep talking regardless of if anyone is actually here or not." Sherlock shrugs his shoulders, and John continues. "Anyway, when I first got my medical license I was working in an ER. One night this young girl, she looked barely legal, comes in. She's covered in bruises, head to toe. Her eyes are black and she's clearly been choked. I'm attending to her, stitching up a cut on her head, and the police come in. I asked another doctor who was working there why the police were involved. She said the girl came in every few weeks. Every time she looked like this. They all urged her to tell the police who did it to her, but she never pressed charges. Always said he had promised to never do it again. It was sad, really. A few weeks after that, someone from the morgue comes and tells us she's there. In the morgue. He, he being her husband, had beaten her to death."
John glances at Sherlock. His fists are clenched.
"I know perfectly well the horrors of domestic abuse, John. So does Mrs. Hudson. Yes, her husband beat her. He also beat the 27 other women he raped, murdered, and dismembered on his various trips to the US. That's why she has no regrets about his death. He deserved it." Sherlock's lips are pursed so tightly they're turning white. An idea is forming in John's mind, pieced together from the little he knows about Sherlock and Mycroft's childhood. He asks, hoping the answer won't be what he thinks it is.
"Did… Your father…?"
"Yes. My father beat my mother." Sherlock says tersely, swinging his long legs over the edge of the couch. John hears him walk down to his bedroom, and close the door.
When he was in the army, John heard stories from women he worked with about the horrors they, or their friends had experienced. Some women in the unit even experienced abuse when they were on deployment. He heard these stories from Harry about her friends and girlfriends. He sees the wounds this violence leaves on the faces and backs and chests of shaking women in the emergency room. He hates that this is the world he lives in—A world where men beat women. He hates that nearly every women he knows has one of these stories. From his land lady to his best friend's mother, it appears every woman has been a victim at some point in their life.
The next morning, Sherlock was dressed and already back at the microscope when John entered the kitchen. He grabbed his laptop from the desk and poured himself a mug of hot coffee, still half asleep.
"It wasn't just my mother."
"Sorry?" John said, startled.
"My father. He beat Mycroft and I, too. Well, I wouldn't say he beat me, exactly. But he'd hit me. I think Mycroft got the worst of it because he was older. Anyway, there's some explanation for our family dynamic that I know you were craving."
The way Sherlock says it, so calmly and emotionless, makes it hard for John to respond.
"I…I'm sorry, Sherlock."
"Why? It's not your fault." There was a few minutes of silence.
"Men who hurt women are cowards. They deserve to burn in hell." The hatred was clear in Sherlock's voice.
"I agree."
Later in the afternoon, John was updating his blog. Sherlock was in a fairly good mood from solving his case a few hours earlier, and was toying around on his violin. Feeling a bit confident because Sherlock had opened up to him (at least a little bit), John gathered the nerve to ask his next question.
"Where are they now?"
"Who?"
"Your parents."
"Nice try, John."
I hope you enjoyed this! I have no idea if I portrayed John and Sherlock correctly. Reviews are appreciated. Until next time my loves~