Authors Note: This chapter contains mention of verbal and physical abuse.
"Freak! Get out here now, what do you think you're doing laying around when there is work to be done!" bellowed Vernon Dursley as he entered Number 4 Privet Drive. A small boy with an appearance of a 5 or 6 year old poked his head out of the cupboard and slowly approached his uncle keeping his head down. The boy stood still and silent praying that for once his chores were completely up to standard.
"Boy, look at this! Do you see the state of the backyard? What did you do all day, lay around? What do you think we're doing here, letting you live here for free? You gotta make your earning boy! Now get out there and fix that lawn to perfection and I don't want to see you back inside until that lawn is perfect!" Vernon's face had turned a dark purple by the end of his speech and the little boy quickly scurried out the back door.
The little boy barely reached the handlebar of the mower having to stand on his tip toes and stretch his hands straight above his head but he made do as he re worked his way around the lawn that he had previously mowed that afternoon. Twenty minutes later Petunia, the boy's aunt, poked her head out into the yard to see how the boy was coming along and immediately shrieked.
"What do you think you're doing! You've reduced our lawn to nothing but dirt back here, you think this is up to our standards, boy? We're going to be the laughing stock of the neighborhood!" Petunia shrieked, "Vernon! Vernon, dear look what the freak has done to my gorgeous yard! It's ruined dear, just ruined."
The boy stood frozen in the yard trembling as Vernon appeared beside his wife and stormed over to the small boy grabbing him by the ear and pulling him inside the house. He was pulled into the living room where he was thrown to the floor. "Dudley, can you go to your room to watch telly. I need to have a talk with the boy." Vernon said sickly sweetly to his son who was lounging on the couch with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. Dudley nodded smiling at the boy on the ground, swiftly standing and kicking him in the stomach before proceeding up the stairs to his bedroom.
Vernon took no time in delivering a second kick to the boy's stomach, his grin growing as he delivered more kicks to the small boy's body. The boy curled into himself blocking his head and stomach with his arms and legs to try to protect himself. Vernon laughed loudly as he undid his belt and the whistle of leather flying through the air could be heard before it landed squarely on his back.
"You deserve this you little freak, ruining my wife's gorgeous yard! You've been nothing but trouble since you were dropped on our doorstep seven years ago and now you're going to give back all the trouble you've caused us!"
The boy held in his cries as his mind shut down and the world faded in and out around him. The belt reigned down on the boy's back weakening slowly as Vernon wore himself out. Finally the whipping stopped and Vernon delivered one hard kick to the boys head causing him to lose consciousness as his uncle and aunt proceeded upstairs to bed.
Sometime later the boy came to with a small groan, he assessed the damage to his body and sighed as he pushed himself up with a wince. He looked towards the stairs and shook his head, he couldn't stay here, he was compliant but he couldn't live like this. So with shaking legs he stood and braced himself against the couch making his way to the still unlocked back door. He closed it softly and made his way out the fence and down the sidewalk.
He wandered for a long time stopping to catch his breath and brace himself against the pain he was in. He came to stop near a bench looking around lost and weak he laid down and curled into a ball before he gave in to the pain as the darkness surrounded him.
When he next woke it was still dark out and he heard murmured voices near him. There was a hand on his forehead and another around his wrist, he immediately bolted upright and scampered backwards falling off the bench and trying to stand up to run but he whimpered upon putting weight on his leg.
The two men before him shared a glance before each holding up their hands before him and watching him carefully. The boy saw their mouths move but no words were comprehended there was a ringing in his ears and he shook his head trying to make it stop.
One man, the shorter of the two, wearing jeans and an off white sweater with short sandy brown hair approached him slowly keeping his hands out the whole time. He knelt before the boy and reached out a tentative hand to him. The boy looked from the hand to the mans face and slowly took the hand, they hadn't hurt him yet and that was more than he could say about where he had come from.
The man carefully pulled him to his feet slowly causing the boy to wince and let a small whimper of pain. The man reached down to pick up the boy slowly and upon being picked up the boy wrapped his arms around the mans neck clinging on for dear life as the man moved back to his moved away from the bench and the boy's eyes slowly closed again falling back into the darkness.
When he woke again his first thoughts were that he must be dreaming because he was on a soft mattress and he didn't feel any pain. He smiled softly opening his eyes slowly and immediately closed them at the onslaught of bright light. He felt someone tap him on the shoulder and he shook his head before the fingers softly covered his eyes and the boy slowly opened his eyes to a hand blocking the light that slowly moved away to reveal subdued light and the sandy haired man from earlier.
He looked around slowly seeing the man with sandy hair from earlier on his right smiling softly at him and the curly black haired man over in the corner watching the two with observing eyes. The boy stared back his eyebrow raising at the man. He felt a hand around his wrist and his eyes flew to his wrist jerking it backwards.
The hand raised with the other showing the boy slowly as he lowered his hand back to the wrist deliberately showing what he was doing. The boy tensed as his wrist was gripped and he stared at the hand around his wrist. The man nodded softly after a minute and took a step back to a pole near his bed with a bag of liquid hanging from it. The boy noticed it was attached to his arm and his eyes widened in fear and confusion.
"Wha-" the boy said but stopped upon not hearing any words. He looked alarmed at the man in front of him trying again, "wha-" but not hearing anything he cut himself off. The man looked at him sadly and pointed at his ears shaking his head slowly. The boy's eyebrows creased in confusion, why couldn't he hear anything? He could hear earlier and now he couldn't, what had happened?
The man grabbed the boys hand slowly and squeezed it. The boy looked up at the man who pointed to the boy then his ear and shook his head saying "you can't hear." The boy yanked his hand away as if burned and curled into a ball on his bed. He couldn't hear? How was he going to live if he couldn't hear the people around him? What did that mean that he couldn't hear, would he get it back ever?
He felt a hand on his shoulder and shrugged the hand off but the hand was persistent he looked over his shoulder to see that it was the dark haired man. His shoulder was squeezed softly by the man and he slowly pulled the boy back against his chest as the man crawled into the bed behind him. He ran his hand over the boy's head, smoothing down the wild hair on top. The boy turned his head into the man's chest and closed his eyes feeling tears escape and sobs that he couldn't hear. Eventually the boy dozed off into the darkness having exhausted himself in his already weakened state. As the boy dozed the two men shared a look over the boy's head.
"What happened to him? How did he end up like this?" asked John looking at the child sleeping in Sherlock's arms, "any idea even who he is?" Sherlock shook his head softly, "Not enough data. All I know is that he's been injured, most likely by being kicked repeatedly followed by a whipping, by the length and width of the welts I'd say by a belt most likely. Due to his size I'd say he's no older than five or six, severely underweight so probably not fed. Most likely an abuse case John." Sherlock sighed looking down at the child he held. He didn't know why he was feeling something for this kid, normally his emotions were turned off and he didn't feel anything for anyone, especially for kids.
John ran his hand over his face, "God Sherlock. How could someone do this to a kid? He's got four broken ribs, three broken fingers, a broken leg in seven different places and he may never be able to walk on due to the damage done to it, and he's deaf so we can't easily communicate." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, "You might not be able to but I happen to know some BSL and will teach him so that we may communicate, in the mean time we will simply write things down and over-enunciate our words." John nodded softly before sitting in a chair nearby. Even though John was a doctor he was off-hours at the moment except for this one child who he had brought into the hospital.
The hours passed slowly with each hitch of breath bringing John to fluster around the child. Sherlock had long since laid the child back down and was now furiously typing on his phone with his brother Mycroft trying to get more information on the mysterious child.
At 9 a.m. the child started to stir bringing John quickly to the bed where he checked the IV providing pain medicine and nutrients to the child's body. The boy's eyes blinked open slowly and he stared up at the sandy haired man as John took the boy's wrist in his hand and checked his pulse, which only brought a slight tensing of the hand from the little boy.
John nodded satisfied for the moment before turning to look at Sherlock. "Anything?" Sherlock sighed softly, "Mycroft's doing his best but we have so little data just where he appeared and his appearance and he's not in any of Mycroft's databases, it's as if he just appeared in the world from nowhere." John shook his head turning back to the child to try and get anything out of him.
John made sure to over-enunciate so the child could try to read his lips. "What's - your - name?" The child's eyebrows knitted together for a few minutes before recognition hit and he shook his head slowly shrugging. "Don't have oneā¦" the boy mumbled unsure if what he said was comprehensible. From the look on the man's face he assumed it was. The man turned toward the dark haired one for a few seconds before turning back and smiling softly at the child running his hand through the kid's hair he sat down in the chair.
Sherlock approached the bed and sat criss crossed before the child who was looking down at the breakfast plate John had placed before him earlier. It was obvious he was full and had eaten enough and based on his size he would have to build up to more food. He smiled at the kid and took the plate handing it to John to put aside.
The kid regarded the man before him curiously. He reached out to him grabbing his hand to get his attention, Sherlock jumped and turned to the child. "Hi," was said while Sherlock made the sign at the same time in an attempt to start teaching the child. "My name is Sherlock, you don't have a name, do you have a name you'd like to be called?" The words were said slowly and deliberately while being signed at the same time. The child nodded in acknowledgement of Sherlock's words, struggling only a small bit to understand while his eyes darted. "Hi Sherlock, can I use the name Evan?"
Sherlock smiled with a nod at Evan. The next few days passed in similar fashion with Evan healing with the constant presence of John and Sherlock. Conversations were made slowly between the three with Evan often writing. It was on the second day that Sherlock and John learned that Evan was actually eight years old and was severely malnourished resulting in his small size. He wouldn't say anything about how he came to be on the park bench or his injured state, in fact when the topic was brought up Evan would tense and curl into a ball pulling the covers up to his chin where he would rock back and forth in an effort to calm himself. It was during these moments that Sherlock would find himself in the bed with the child in his arms smoothing the child's hair and rubbing his back softly.
Mycroft had gotten the paperwork squared away and had granted guardianship of Evan, now Evan Holmes, to Sherlock and John in the past week to allow the two to take him home and not send him to foster care. So it was with this knowledge that a week after finding Evan the three were slowly ascending the stairs of 221B Baker Street, with Evan being held in Sherlock's arms as John carried the medical supplies he insisted on bringing home with him.
Sherlock took Evan into the flat and sat him down on the couch before John fiddled with pillows propping up Evan's leg and placing two behind him to support his ribs. Evan yawned softly the trip having exhausted him and he slowly drifted off to sleep shortly after he was settled on the couch.
"Tea, John?" Sherlock asked as he made his way to their kitchen and filled the kettle with tea.
"Yes please, could you also get a wet washcloth for me. Evan's a little warm, maybe we shouldn't have taken him home so soon Sherlock."
Sherlock grabbed a washcloth and wet it before taking it into John and handing it to him. He could see the small beads of sweat forming on Evan's forehead indicating a fever. "John, he's been in hospital a week. You're a doctor and can care for him just as well here as you could in hospital. You have any medicine you could possibly need for him and anything else we have here. Don't worry, he'll be fine he's in great hands John." John nodded softly wiping Evan's forehead softly with the washcloth as Sherlock went to grab the tea as the kettle started to hiss.
He placed a cup of tea next to John and sipped his slowly as he sat in his chair looking at Evan every once in a while as he logged into his computer to try and find any information he could on Evan.
