A new case came up Sherlock was acting on it nonstop. It started from last week and Sherlock had not let him in on any detail and it was starting to get on Watson's nerves. The blaring light from the man's desk at this hour at night. The constant clicks from pushing his pen. Watson had had enough. "Don't you ever sleep?" Watson nagged.

"Of course." Sherlock answered, knowing the true intention of John's inquiry and choosing to ignore it.

Watson rolls his eyes. "I meant aren't you sleepy right now?"

"I'm studying a case." Sherlock said. "Sleep would be nothing but a nuisance at the moment. You know the way I work Watson. Why are you asking?"

"Can't you turn off the bloody light for those of us who are not nocturnal?" Watson asked annoyed.

"Very well." Sherlock turned off the main light. Watson sighed, about to settle down for slumber when he heard a click and a bright light shun through his eyes. He opened his eyes to see a lamp just as bright shining on the taller man's desk.

"Sherlock!" Watson growled.

"What?" Sherlock acted as if he was taken aback. "I turned off the main light."

"Yeah well I need that light of that lamp off to sleep—" Watson was interrupted abruptly.

"Funny, I need it on to read."

There was a moment of silence between the two until Watson finally spoke up. "You know you've been working on that case for a long time Sherlock. Take a break." He tried the reasoning route.

"I can't," Sherlock replied. "That's not an option for this one at least."

"Yeah but you probably would have been done by now if you'd let me assist," which was a statement that fell on deaf ears. Watson realized that the way the taller man usually solved cases had changed. What was so special about this one that Watson couldn't be made aware of? "Sherlock," Watson pressed on, "You do realize—."

"Spare me," Sherlock inputted. "Everything you're about to say has already been stated before."

"I didn't even finish what I was saying yet."

"You're going to tell me about all the bad effect to sleep deprivation. Perhaps, maybe expand on my inner psyche and how this will impair my judgment on the case, defeating the purpose of staying up."

"I was going to say…" Watson said trying to not show his annoyance at Sherlock's matter-of-fact tone at a situation that Watson was now starting to take seriously—especially knowing that Sherlock was going to take this as far as it could go. "That you do realize that staying awake this long isn't going to make the nightmares you're trying to face go away."

Sherlock looked up at him with a puzzled expression. Puzzled but intrigued. He didn't say anything back to the shorter man. He just stared.

"Your dreams will become a lot more vivid when you finally do go to bed." Watson paused to examine the Sherlock's face but found nothing out of the ordinary even when being called out on his own emotions—a topic which he never discussed with anyone but with the ghosts in his mind. This was something he was all too familiar with feeling himself. "I…had tried to do the same thing after I came back from the army. I'm only saying this because you've never done this before. This case may have reminded you of something that—."

"You're embarrassing yourself, John." Sherlock laughed bluntly.

"I understand how it feels Sherlock. When you're awake you try to avoid those thoughts by working constantly on a case. However, when you're asleep, there is no way for you to escape. You probably already know this…I'm just wondering why you're still trying. It has something to do with this new case doesn't it?" Watson finally got out

"Excellent observation." Sherlock commended, immediately going back to his work.

"Th…that's it?" Watson asked confused.

"Yes. Unless you wish to continue. I cannot guarantee that I will be listening, however."

"That is all you have to say? At least tell me if anything I said was true."

"Why do I have to do that?" Sherlock inquired.

"You're avoiding something."

"Yes John, and according to that logic, you are stretching out this conversation longer than necessary just so that you yourself can avoid sleep as well."

"You mean longer than you want it to be."Watson said. Sherlock didn't acknowledge his last statement. Watson sighed. "I just want to know…What it is you're hiding from."

"The answer is simple. There's nothing to know."

John groaned. "We've worked on several cases together Sherlock."

"Yes, but dissimilar to this one."

"How?"

"It deals with something that I hardly think you 'd be able to understand."

"Because I'm not smart enough?" Watson didn't ask, he was just confirming what was on Sherlock's mind.

"Because you're not me nor could there be any chances of you turning out to be me."

"Now you're just being cocky." John exasperated with a slight chuckle.

"Not at all Watson even though I have many reasons to be…" Sherlock paused then continued. "Take what I said in its literal meaning."

"You mean—?"

"Yes it is a personal case—something that has to deal with me. And the reason why you cannot help was highlighted in your analysis of the situation. There were two major errors in your deduction Watson."

"Them being?"

"The first is that I'm not hiding from anything." Sherlock's eyes never left the papers he was looking through.

"O come on—." Watson was about to say.

He couldn't say anything because Sherlock had beaten him to it. A little too quickly he replied "I'm not hiding from anything because I am already fully aware that trying to escape such is a thought only created by a mind that is unrealistically optimistic," to Watson's unasked question.

Silence.

"The second being that you wouldn't be able to understand if I were to tell you what it was for the mere fact that you wouldn't even believe a single word that I would say."

Watson looked at him confused. Sherlock noticed this.

"It is not like I blame you however. There are some things so wicked in this world that people tend not to believe and deny the possibility of the chances of ever happening. They turn the other cheek, unwilling to except it. Though you have witnessed many things at war, you still do not hold the mental capacity to fathom what it is I am talking about and not necessarily because it's worse, just know that it is something that you wouldn't expect to happen and so therefore you'll deny the possibility of such without giving it a second thought."

"Sherlock stop stalling," Watson asked. "Don't you trust me?"

"No," Sherlock retorted. "I don't. You're as brainless as the rest of them."

"Brainless how?"

"You will not be of any help to me." Sherlock said this with a voice that made his annoyance apparent.

"Tell me Sherlock…" Watson said, knowing that any moment he'll crack. "You know I'm not going to let up."

Sherlock sighed as he looked at his face. He knew that John would just keep asking. "If I tell you about the case, would you leave it be?"

"I can't guarantee that." Watson smirked jokingly but Sherlock didn't acknowledge it as a joke. His blue eyes bored into Watson and his smile faded.

"I attended an all men's boarding school throughout my high school and university years. It was the mixture of both. Very prestigious private school. My parents sought it as a place Mycroft and I could be at because of our financial problems. We had both received scholarships to attend there, a place where we were to study law and nothing else unless it was related to it. We didn't mind. It was not like we picked the career we wanted beforehand. He had left first before it became time for me to do such. My parents were probably glad I moved out of the house anyway—I was a troublemaker and I often told lies." Sherlock spoke extremely fast. It was hard for John to keep up.

"At first my brother was so protective of me…he would never let me out of his sight when it was my age to attend. I figured out the way the place worked quickly: the rich and were on top while people like who got scholarships and actually used their intellect was pushed to the bottom If they hadn't had the money, they would have never made it. It didn't take long for me to advance—I was four grades ahead in the time that it took someone to finish one of them. Then I advanced a few years up again when I was in his grade—my older brother's. I had stayed in his dorm room for when I had reached his level. I thought he'd be so proud of me…" Sherlock lips curled up slightly before diminishing into a deep scowl.

"He stopped being protective then. He then moved out of the dorm room we both resided in and left me alone. I didn't know why. I think I may have upset him. I became—," Sherlock paused as if he didn't know the word for it. Scared. Really scared." The fact that Sherlock used a word like scared startled John. "Everyone there was a lot older than I. Everyone there was a lot more wealthy than I. And everyone there despised the fact that I skipped many grades solely on intellect. They did not feel like I deserved to be there just because I hadn't paid my way to the top as they. I studied like mad because that was the only way I could get my mind off of it but they still nagged the back of my mind.

"But it wasn't this alone that frightened me. It was also their actual character." Sherlock said, eyes looking distant as if he was remembering every single detail. His clenched teeth showed a hint of anger.

"What did they act like?" John asked. This conversation had peaked his curiosity. He had never heard anything about Sherlock's past before.

"They were complete sociopaths. I had asked what one of them wanted to be when they grew up…he said God. They wanted to take down anyone that would get in their way no matter what."

"What does this—." Watson had thought of this as an opportunity to ask Sherlock another question.

"I'm talking try to keep up." Sherlock said quickly before returning to the story. "I couldn't relate to any of them. I wasn't their age and the few friends of that school I had began to avoid me. I hadn't known the slightest reason why until…"

"What? What happened?" Watson asked, trying to hide his anticipation.

"It was a guy named Moriarty. He started threatening me when I rose up in the ranks. He was there because he got in trouble with his parents and the only way that he could be expected to not go poor after they were done feeding him with a silver spoon was if he was one of the top 10 percent. He was peculiar; always exaggerating his words and his insults were weird. He hadn't frightened me like the others did because of that exact same reason. And he had the money. Lots of it." Sherlock took a long pause now.

"He, for some reason, had always commented on my thinness. He said that I was so thin, that if I wore a skirt and a wig that I would look just like a woman—one girl he knew to be exact. And he… also called me Shirley." Sherlock had coughed out the last statement. "However I never told my brother. I didn't want him to know what they called me. When my friends found out that he was also after me, they left me be so that they would not also be targets. It was weird—at the time I hadn't the slightest clue why people were so threatened by him."

"Sherlock?" Watson asked when the taller man hadn't spoken for a few minutes. "What did Moriarty do?"

"It was the day that they had put up the score sheet for everyone to examine and my scores had surpassed his, pushing him lower down in the rankings. He was angry…very angry. I remember him storming down the hallway, punching random lockers. The next day he and some of his crew walked up to me and asked—threatened—that I should fail the next test on purpose otherwise I would get what's coming to me. I said no." Sherlock breathed in when he was done saying it. It was as if he was holding his breath throughout his entire explanation. "That night, all eight of them broke into my dorm room. They removed my clothes and he put a wig on me. He forced a skirt on me. They called me Shirley." Sherlock choked. "And they took turns and raped me."

The atmosphere became extremely heavy for John and his muscles stiffened at Sherlock's last sentence. He had been raped? And Watson had been pressuring him to tell him all this time. "Sherlock…I'm so sorry–."

"Say that," Sherlock had snapped quietly. "And you're moving out."

"How come you hadn't worked on the case until now? Why now after all these years Sherlock?" Watson asked, his voice filled with sympathy.

"I got a lead on him last week." Sherlock said, regaining his seemingly apathetic composure.

"Last week?" Watson asked.

"Yes." Sherlock snapped. "Last week I found out that he was near this street and I wish you'd stop with that look of despair you're giving me."

Watson hadn't realized it but he was making a face that of sympathy, making Sherlock felt like he needed to be felt sorry for. He knew that he hated that feeling. "I'm sorry." He said. Then he asked "Are you trying to find him for revenge?" He asked the question low and slow, not knowing the reaction.

Sherlock stared. He said nothing.

"Or…is revenge too easy of a justification?" Watson asked.

"He's here…in this city. In this town." Sherlock said. "I have to find him."

"You're going to make yourself mad." John knew that he in no way could know what Sherlock was feeling, but he wanted to help. Seeing him slave away like this was painful to watch and now that he knew the reason, it only made matters worse. He didn't want Sherlock to end up driving himself insane over a scum like Moriarty.

"I'm perfectly fine." Sherlock knew his tone betrayed him but he still attempted to hid his true feelings by standing up and pacing as if his body had nothing else to do.

"Sherlock," Watson said, heat rising behind his eyes. He didn't want to cry but he was so close to doing so. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Don't ask me stupid questions. Vengeance is not the main objective here," Sherlock snapped.

"Then what is it?" John pressed on…but when he saw Sherlock's expression shift, he immediately regretted such.

"I…" Sherlock gulped, eyes darting around the room as he struggled to hold back his quickening breath. "I have to do this John. I have to prove to my family once and for all…they" Sherlock looked up, his eyes looking moister as he attempted to blink his feeling away. "They have to know that I wasn't making it up…I have to be taken seriously…that I was telling the truth."

"Oh Sherlock…" John's eyebrows creased with concern. "They didn't believe you? Is that why you thought that I wouldn't believe you?"

Sherlock tried to shrug it off to make his reaction seem indifferent. "I don't really blame them. No one believes a man that has lied and played tricks on many at times before. That is normal adaptive behavior of the human psyche—"

"Shut up you miserable bastard." Watson demanded from the taller gentleman, who surprisingly obeyed him. Then in one swift motion that contrasted with his words, Watson hugged Sherlock.

His whimpering soon became audible to Sherlock. "Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked in a shaky panicked voice. His body was stiff against Watson's. "It doesn't logically make sense to cry when no harm has happened to you."

"S'okay to hurt," John said, voice becoming unmuffled as he quickly stopped and let go of the tensed slim figure. He was surprised that John hadn't pushed him away. Sherlock nodded once, still breathing abnormally quickly. However, his eyes were John's main concern. Sherlock didn't cry. But they were wide with alarm. Was it because of the hug or because of what he had told Watson? Both? Was Sherlock used to such affection? Had no one comforted him about what had happened until now?

"I want to help you with this case Sherlock." Sherlock was about to open his mouth to protest but Watson interrupted him. "You can't go through this alone."

Sherlock nodded. Once

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