Authors note: Me and my friends had a competition to see who could write the saddest story. This is mine. I hope you enjoy it! And I'm terribly sorry for the feels!
Info: Sherlock and John are 12 years old
Sherlock was always afraid of his father, Victor. He abused him at first, but that lead to sexual assault. One night was worse than any other Sherlock could remember in his young life. It had earned him a trip to the hospital.
Victor was trudging up the stairs after coming home from the pub. Needing to take out his frustrations, he slammed his son's door open. "Sherlock, I need my play thing." He smiled as he moved over to his son's bed. Sherlock started crying as his dad forced him down and ripped his jeans off.
Sherlock waited for the pain to strike him. He knew it was coming. And he was right. Victor pushed inside him. It hurt every time. He could feel he was bleeding from the sudden force. His vision blurred from the tears pooling in his eyes. It was painful from the start. His father never took it slow. It was always rough and fast. Every... single... time... Sherlock tried to stop him, but he realised he had to suffer through it. Victor was scratching at his back, surely causing angry red welts to form, a stark contrast to his pale skin.
Five minutes later his father finally pulled out. Sherlock pulled himself under his covers to hide his face. That was when a beep filled the room. Oh no. He scrambled out and saw John's name faintly on the lit up screen. Unfortunately, Victor got to the mobile first.
"Hey Sherlock! Do you want to meet up?"
Victor scowled at the text before turning to Sherlock. "Who is this?" He grabbed his son's arm in a vice-like grip. Sherlock winced and tried pulling his arm back, but Victor was too strong.
"He's just a friend at school." It came out a whisper.
"You are mine, Sherlock. No one else can have you. You are my play toy." Victor punched him square in the face, leaving a small cut on his cheekbone. Sherlock fell onto the floor and brought his legs up to his chest. He waited for the kicking to commence. And it did. Sherlock could feel his ribs break when Victor's foot made contact. At least it was better than his father fucking him. His vision of the room faded to black and the bursts of pain began to dull. His body shut down and he fell unconscious.
He hoped he wouldn't wake up.
Sherlock sighed when he realized he had woken up. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw a white ceiling. His peripheral vision revealed blank white walls on either side of him and he grimaced.
He hated hospitals.
A nurse came in and saw he was awake. She smiled at him and completed a quick check up. Before the nurse left she placed a paper cup filled with water on a side table, along with a handful of pills. Once she left, he took the assortment of pills and shoved them under the mattress. There was no need for him to take them, he was fine. Sherlock pulled himself up and rested his head back, hoping he could fall asleep. But a sudden knock caused him to sit up, fully awake.
John came in with a small smile on his face. Sherlock was so glad he grinned from ear to ear.
"Sherlock, what happened?" He strolled over and pulled a chair up to the bed. Sherlock could see the bags under his eyes. Did he stay in the hospital all night? How did he know I was here? It didn't matter, as long as John was there. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly when Victor walked into the room.
Sherlock could see the anger behind his father's fake smile when he spotted John. "Hello, you must be John."
The sandy-haired boy stood with military posture and shook Victor's hand. "Yes, it's nice to meet you sir."
He sat down and took Sherlock's hand in his own. Sherlock could feel heat rise up his neck to his cheeks. John had never done that before. There was a sudden spark in Victor's eyes. The man turned and rushed out of the room. John shrugged and sat down in the chair. He began telling Sherlock about his night spent persuading his parents to let him stay at the hospital, and other such things to take his mind off of the situation. Sherlock decided against telling John what had happened to him. He didn't need to know. It was half an hour later when John received a text from his parents and he was forced to leave the room.
A nurse came in and brought more medication, which Sherlock shoved under his bed with the others. A few minutes later, his father and John came in together. John took his spot again in the chair and Victor stood behind him. Sherlock noticed a strange look on his father's face. When John went to grab Sherlock's hand, it quickly fell with a slap from a much larger palm. Victor put his hands on John's head and twisted it with skill. He slumped to the floor, dead. Sherlock was so shocked he didn't notice his dad climb onto the bed.
Victor grabbed his son's hand and shoved it into the slit in his jeans. He forced him to grab his cock. He grabbed Sherlock's wrist and started pumping. At first Sherlock struggled to pull away, but he gave in quickly to evade his father's wrath. He hated the feeling of his father in his hand. He wanted to run away. It didn't take long for his father to ejaculate, and he left the room with a satisfied smirk on his face.
Sherlock wiped his hand on the sheets whilst fighting back the urge to break down in tears. Instead, he reached under his mattress and pulled out the two handfuls of medication. Without a moment of hesitation he crushed them up and mixed the powder into the cup of water.
"I will join you soon, John. Wait for me." Sherlock chugged down the toxic mixture and laid back.
The darkness soon encompassed his mind. A single tear fell down his cheek. He would finally be happy. "I love you, John."
A muffled voice came, "I love you too, Sherlock."
Thanks for reading!