A/N: So, I have wanted to write a John centric fic for several years now but have never had the gumption to do it. The final episode gave me an idea and it has been ruminating in my head for weeks now.
You know how that very last episode, TFP, got mixed reviews from fans. Some people really loved the backstory and the angstyness and the drama of it all while some thought it was over the top, had timeline issues and seemed to come out of nowhere? Well, this story is kind of like that. I figure this will be like a fifty-fifty, some people will hate it others might enjoy it.
So, I have taken artistic liberties and done a thing. Since we get little to no background of John's youth we can only go off his personality and habits. ACD offers just as little in his original works.
I lightly followed the outline of TFP in regards to the magnitude of John's past traumas but instead of a crazy sister it's a crazy parent. The resolution is quick as this is only a one shot and not a chapter fic. Stuff happens and then gets resolved all within two hours.
Lightly edited but please enjoy!
WARNINGS: Mentions of child abuse, non-con and pedophilia. Alcoholism, swearing and very mild JOHNLOCK at the end.
Don't Look Back
The rays of fading sun beam through the slats of the broken shutters like headlights, while a thick shimmer of dust invades the burning amber light and defies gravity with a gentle swirling dance.
The house, small but relatively clean, is dead silent save for the small sniffles of the teenage boy curled up in the center of the room. His body is thrown over a lesser more prone form of a young girl.
They aren't breathing heavy anymore, but both sniffle and whimper as the silence continues to sink in.
After much time has passed, when the amber light has turned cool and soft, the young girl finally shifts, sitting up as her brother moves away, "I-is he gone?" and her hand comes up to touch her brothers swollen eye and he gently looks away.
"Yeah, yeah I think….I think so." his voice cracks, his throat unbearably sore and he swallows as he tries to answer his sister's quarry, pulling his head away gingerly as her feather light touch is painful.
Suddenly, Harry breaks down into tears, she buries her face in shaking hands and John instantly latches on to her.
"Hey, shh, it's fine….it's okay….calm down, we have to keep our wits about us...can't be falling to pieces."
"I am so sorry….for not...for not being able to….I couldn't do it….I was scared."
"I understand, it's okay….it's...f-fine…" but his voices cracks again as tears come to his own eyes, he coughs as his throat seizes and mental flashes of only an hour ago play like a horror movie in his head.
"Thank you, oh my god thank you so much… if you hadn't….I can't believe you d-did that for me."
"I'd do it again, to keep his slimy hands off you….but….do me a favor….never...ever...EVER tell anyone I did that. Not even your future therapist."
"I'll take it to my grave, swear to god." she says softly with a laugh, though her eyes speak volumes of trauma and horror.
It takes her a few minutes more to calm down, but finally she takes a deep soothing breath and looks up at him with worry, "Johnny, Johnny what are we going to do?" she asks as her knees find their way to her chest and thin arms wrap around them, the litter of bruises along her arms reminiscent of fingerprints.
John looks at his sister, sees the fear lingering in her eyes and after several seconds feels his resolve grow firm.
"We are going to leave, Harry." he says with certainty, his hand coming to her shoulder.
"L-leave, we can't leave. We're just kids, if they find us they will bring us back... besides….he will find us, he always does."
"No, no not this time. We aren't staying in town….we are getting out of this god forsaken….we will go to London….somewhere….anywhere is better than here." and he stands, pulling Harry up to her feet and taking her hand, "J-john….what about mum?" she asks with worry.
Her brother's face darkens and he swallows as he thinks about it, "She is on her own."
"Wait, what?" Harry asks in shock, "How could you say that, how could you, she is our mother-"
"I can't protect you both, Harry!" he yells suddenly and she flinches at his outburst.
He looks away with shame before he takes a deep calming breath and turns back to her, taking her face in his hands and looking her in the eyes, "She made this bed, she will have to lay in it. She can get out any time she wants, you and I….we have to go...now….he...he tried to get you tonight, if I hadn't come home he would have….he would have….we are going. Pack whatever you want to take, but remember we are on foot, so….try to keep it light."
Harry nods and leaves his side, aiming to go to her room and pack what she can. John turns to the fireplace, trying to decide what he needs to grab. His eyes scan up and he sees the picture of his mother and father, his real father.
"Fucking useless….go and get yourself shot….leave us to him….waste of an excuse for a father….bloody rubbish." he tosses the picture into the fireplace, hears the glass shatter but doesn't even bother to look back.
The taste in his mouth is rancid and he spits onto the carpet before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "Sick, twisted….sonofabitch….sonofabitch….SONOFABITCH!" He suddenly yells and he grabs a vase and chucks it against a wall.
"John?" she hears his sister call down the hall and he feels anger bubbling in his gut, he forces himself to suck it up, to press that anger down and he takes a deep breath.
"Fine! I am fine! Keep packing!"
He enters the hallway and stops at the door of his sisters room, she is crying softly as she packs the bare minimum.
"We will come back if we can, Harry, if mum ever comes to her bloody senses."
"Don't say that, she can't help it...she needs help! It isn't her fault." Harry says sharply though John can tell she is speaking out of fear and hurt more than anger.
"Mum WILL be fine, you won't be if you stay….I have to protect you...I have to….have to keep you safe from that monster...do you understand?" John says moving to sit next to her on the bed.
Harry nods and he wraps his arm around her, "We will leave, make our own way….maybe I can get a job somewhere, we can get a flat….no more yelling….no more abuse….no worries...no being scared at night….yeah? Wouldn't you like that Harry?"
She gives a small smile and nods, "We could join the military...like papa did." she teases.
"Hell no, bloody moron got himself shot…"
"Yeah. But, I hear they pay well..and you know...if you want to be a special soldier they send you to school…"
"Ah what?" he asks in confusion.
"Mum told me about it, say like… a doctor…that's what dad was…. they send you to school….teach you how to be an army doctor."
"A doctor, huh? That'd be nice….never worry about you getting all busted up… I could take care of you any time."
She smiles at him for a moment but then it fades, talk of any future falling short as their surroundings once again invade their few seconds of relief.
"Shite, come on, hurry, we have to go before he gets back. Meet me out back in ten minutes, not a second longer, yeah?"
She nods and continues on with her packing, John leaving the room in a hurry to grab his few things. His mind is buzzing with a half formed plan, get packed, get out, don't look back, get to London, get to anywhere, far away, far far away….just don't look back….get away and don't look back.
He shoves some clothes violently into his bag, "Don't look back John, never ever look back."
Present Day
John looks at Sherlock as Sherlock looks at the dead body on the ground. The blonde waits patiently for his friend to come up with his theories.
"What do you think?" Sherlock asks him softly and John glances to him and then back to the body, waiting a moment before he takes a breath, clears his throat and moves forward.
He kneels on the ground next to the body and starts his own form of deductions, "Well, she's been dead minimum tweeeelve hours?" he estimates, "Bruises around the neck indicate strangulation but…."
But?" Sherlock asks softly, the approval in his voice evident.
"The bruising on her throat is older than approximate time of death….she didn't die from strangulation….her wrist is broken…. She has defense wounds on both palms...her forearms….bit of a scrapper judging by the angle of the knife wounds…"
Sherlock moves around the body and kneels down next to John, leaning in and asking softly as he looks, "Scrapper?"
"Uh, she knew how to fight, her build aside, the knife wounds are downward, she purposefully blocked the blows….knew where to let her attacker cut her to avoid major veins, also gave her an opportunity to try and get the blade away from him."
"Excellent, John. What else?" Sherlock presses as he looks at his friend, John's head hangs a moment as he lets out a frustrated sigh, "Sherlock...I'd really like a break." he says.
Sherlock rolls his eyes and groans out in annoyance, "Come on, John. Think! I am doing this for you! You wanted to get better at deductive reasoning and observation….so….observe!"
He stands sharply and moves back to the far side of the body and John shakes his head before he looks back at the woman on the ground before him.
Eyes scan over the half naked body and he notices something odd about her back, leaning closer and placing a gloved hand on her skin, fingers feeling a strange grouping of scars.
He looks closer and he sees a name carved into the skin, surrounded by scared up slices from around the same time, "Sean." he reads under his breath before he feels his brain instantly try and jump to a conclusion, "Sean…." he says loudly as his eyes scan up to Sherlock and the man's head cocks to the side knowingly, his eyes narrowing in warning, already seeing John make that sudden jump and forcing him to stop.
"Think John, don't let your mind seek the obvious because it is easy….can we instantly assume this Sean, while obviously disturbed, has anything to do with THIS attack."
"I...I don't know." he admits with fatigue and Sherlock quickly walks over and kneels back down beside him, "Think, how old is the scar." Sherlock offers, giving him just the barest of clues.
John's eyes look back to the scar and he shifts his fingers around it to get a better view, his eyes narrowing as he gets closer, "At least four….maybe more but I can't be certain."
"Good, keep going."
"Keep going? Keep going with what? It's a scar that is old….why can't I at least keep this Sean person in the back of my mind...what makes you so certain he is unimportant?"
"Look at the scar, John. The answer is there."
John stares at Sherlock a moment before closing his eyes and thinking about it, his mind grasping at straws as he tries to find within himself the ability to peel away the bullshite like his friend is so good at doing.
"Uhm….damnit….I… I don't know, Sherlock."
"You're giving up to easily." Sherlock admonishes and John starts to get angry, "Look, we both agreed that if I was going to try and learn to do this you wouldn't push me...I am not you… I can't see or observe everything like you can… somethings I will miss no matter how hard I try to see it…. So, just bloody tell me."
"You can see this, you will see it if you just try….now look at the scar and observe."
John swallows his frustration and cages his anger which is starting to bubble lightly.
"Okay, okay just look and observe, just see the obvious….see the answer….what is the bloody answer." he opens his eyes and looks down at the scars, stares for several moments before he shakes his head, "No, no I am sorry Sherlock but I don't see anything else."
Sherlock sighs and hangs his head before he glances up at his friend and rolls his lips together, "Alright, let's take this from a different angle, logically. Now, look at the scars….you have determined what it is, what it says and approximated the age…. But you aren't done...there IS more….so think about it, John. What ELSE can you look at, what other questions can you ask...what is important….I can't explain it to you better than that. Somethings are more than what they seem to be….look at the angle….look at the pattern of the strokes that made these marks."
John clenches his teeth and reluctantly leans forward, he thinks it's a waste of time and knows he won't be able to do it when suddenly something strikes him.
"Oh my god." he says and Sherlock grows slightly giddy, "Yes? What is it?"
"The scars! The scars, look at 'em!" John says looking up at his friend with excitement, "Yes, what about them?" Sherlock asks trying to keep a smile from pulling across his face.
"The angle….the angle of the scars….they are down and to the left…." John instantly releases his hold on her back and grabs her arm looking at the woman's wounds, "These are down and to the right….Sean was left handed and her attacker was right handed."
"So?" Sherlock asks.
"So, Sean can be ruled out as having anything to do with this."
"Unless?"
John nods and rubs a hand down his face, "Unless we have questions specifically about her, as a person, he is saved for information gathering, not as a suspect."
"Excellent!" Sherlock says proudly and he stands, "Would you think to assume he could have hired someone?" John asks as Sherlock helps him up.
"Not likely, I would dismiss it. There is the barest of chances this is some act of passion, the scar is so old they will have been done with each other for ages….you might find me inferring that her classes in self defense were, in fact, in response to her brief time with Sean."
"Brief?" John asks.
"Ah, yes, very good, why would I assume brief, John?" Sherlock asks looking at him.
John glances back at the woman before looking to his feet and he feels a headache coming on but presses the question through his mind anyway, "Brief because…..only….one….set of scars?"
"Yes." Sherlock says and John, who had been waiting for the man to shoot his answer down in dismay, jerked his head up at him in shock, "Wait, what? Really?"
Sherlock smirks and nods, "Yes. He was disturbed enough to write his name in her skin and cut around it in a sort of sudo frame. Those extra scars were purposeful, even if she was tied down she would have twisted about at the pain as he did it and there would have been more damage, some extra unintentional cuts. Unless she let him do it…an act of commitment. These were all the same depth, all purposefully placed marks. Needless to say she eventually decided not to continue with him as there are no other marks on her body….inevitably there would have been more. She wised up, I should think."
"Jesus, I missed all of that." John said with exhaustion.
"Yes, but you got the main bit, and remember John...it is all extrapolation. I am not always right, I have to allow myself to make certain inferences so I can continue. If I fixate on one thing I won't find any answer, wrong or right. You have to allow all imaginings….all the scenarios your mind can come up with to be heard and then remove the ones that don't play out to a viable end."
"God, and you do this every time?" John asks looking to him in shock.
"Yes. Honestly, where have you been the last seven years? Have you ever actually watched me work? You should know better than anyone how it goes."
"Not likely, I had no clue how it worked, how your mind actually sorted it all...it's…a mess up there isn't it." He teases.
Sherlock smirks, "You've seen me when I am bored, what do you think?"
"Definitely messed up." John smirks and Sherlock frowns as they continue to stare at the body a moment before the soft clearing of a throat grabs their attention and they both glance over to see Molly standing there with a clipboard, her eyes jumping between them, "All done then? I need to put Jane Doe back in the freezer."
"Of course. John, grab a leg." the two men hoist the body back onto the slab and then John exchanges pleasantries with her for a moment before he asks, "You still going to be able to take Rosie tonight? Sherlock wants to poke around some dingy pub off the Themes for some nasty bloke or another and Mrs. Hudson has a date. Not my prefered night out, but you know Sherlock."
"Sounds lovely." She nods as a smile comes to her face, "I should be available after seven, just drop her off."
"Right. Much appreciated. You have a good rest of the night. See you soon."
She nods again and wheels the body away, John looks around to see Sherlock has wandered over to his favored microscope and was looking at some slides.
He approaches the man and stands next to him for a moment with his hands behind his back as he studies his friend carefully. After a lengthy pause he opts to take a chance and speaks gently, "Yah know, she isn't mad at you anymore...she understands why you did what you did."
Sherlock doesn't look up but says in a half aware voice, "Yes, and?"
"It might be good for you to, you know, start talking to her again….maybe….invite her out….fish and chips….try to….sort it out."
Sherlock's hands still and his eyes glance up from the scope though his head remains stationary as he looks at Molly while she finishes her notes and closes the freezer door.
"No need." his eyes dart back down again and he continues to study his slide.
"Stubborn." John sighs out but he drops it for now, determined to bring it up later when there is a better opportunity to yell his friend into submission.
PAGEBREAK
They exit the cab laughing, John's head aching still though it is fading.
"So, what was I doing when you solved that case?" John was referring to the woman they had just been looking at and Sherlock tucks his hands into his coat pockets, "That case occurred during the great chicken pox war of last week." he mused.
"Ah, right. Well, you solved that case and I won the war...sounds like winning to me." and Sherlock chuckles as John smirks.
Their joviality fades though as the door to 221 B is thrown open and Mrs. Hudson steps out with a look of utter worry on her face, "John-" she starts as she points over her shoulder and hesitates.
"Mrs. Hudson? What is it?" He asks, both he and Sherlock looking at her with concern and curiosity.
"It's….up in the flat...you have a….visitor...it's….she's been having a right fit." The boy's rush forward as Sherlock asks, "Who is it? A client?"
"No, it's….for John." The two stop and look at her, the anxiety in her eyes evident and John gives a disbelieving smirk as he waits, "Mrs. Hudson, who is it?" he asks and suddenly there is a crash from upstairs and a loud yell, "Johnny!"
"Oh, no." he sighs, hanging his head, "Not tonight, please god, is she...is she drunk?" He asks, his eyes looking at his landlady with a reluctance she hates to encourage, yet, she nods and her hands drop to her sides in surrender.
"Christ. Rosie?" he asks quickly.
"Oh! Napping on my bed. I thought it best to move her when the screaming started."
John sighes and walks to the woman, giving her a hug, "I know you have a date, but could you drop her at Molly's around seven?"
"Of course." she says with a sad smile, "You are amazing." he says giving a kiss to her cheek.
John seems to steel himself and then turns towards Sherlock, "Alright." Sherlock following behind, "Who is it?" he asks.
"It's Harry." John says angrily.
"Harry? Harry, who?" and John stops, looking back at his friend with a dumbstruck look, "Harry." he says again and at the look of Sherlock's confusion he snaps out quickly, "My sister you idiot."
"Sister? She's never come here before." and John seems to have a clairvoyant moment, "Oh God-" and he leans against the wall, his face looking to the ceiling as his eyes close, "You've never met her. I forgot...you've never met...shite. Alright, Sherlock, I need you to trust me on this….let me do the talking. Take your cues from me, can you do that for me?"
"Please, John. I am more than capable of handling a drunk sibling. Or don't you remember what my sister is like." he says sarcastically.
John stares a moment and then sniffs, "Right. Keep your head down, she….she likes to throw things."
Sherlock nods and follows John up the rest of the stairs to the door, John raises a hand and slowly pushes it open to reveal a rather messed up flat and his sister laying in the middle of the floor with a bottle of half drank wine in her hand.
"Harry." John says with disappointment and he instantly crosses to her and kneels down, helping her to sit up and the highly intoxicated woman seems to come around for a moment before she looks up and sees her brother, "Johnny boy. Hey." she says with a smile and John looks at her with anger, "Oh, look at you, you're angry with me."
"Yeah, a bit." John says in a clipped tone. He yanks the girl to her feet with the aid of Sherlock and they deposit her in John's chair.
John hunkers down in front of her and pulls back an eye to see the red that rings her iris, he notices the paller of her skin and he grunts as he shakes his head, "You are absolutely lit. You stupid….you selfish...God damnit Harry...one week...I asked you to try for one week….you can't even do that."
"Oh, no Johnny, don't be mad. I had a really good reason this time, I swear." she says with a hiccup.
"You always have a really good reason." John says with venom.
"Who the fuck is that?" Harry asks as she turns her head to gaze at Sherlock who has been watching the two converse silently, "Is that….is that the hat detective?" she slurs in confusion.
"That is my friend. And the man who is about to help you get sober."
"What?" Both Sherlock and Harry ask at the same time.
"You may be able to escape any rehab center but she can't. I want you to phone Mycroft, you owe me this, get her in, the best one, which ever one can make her better and keep her that way."
Sherlock swallows and then gives a nod as he pulls his phone from his coat and sends a text to his brother.
"R-rehab?" Harry asks as she sits up.
"Yes. And this time, you are going to stay on the bloody wagon or so help me I am going to-"
"Whatcha gunna do Johnny….hit me?" John stills at this and he sees Sherlock's arm slowly drop as he also looks at the girl who is smiling cruelty up at them.
"Don't tempt me, Harry, I just might."
She stares at him a moment before she brings the bottle to her lips and takes a deep pull, John instantly reaching forward and yanks it away, the wine spilling down her chin and running in little lines across her throat.
"Asshole!" She screams as she jerks to her feet but she stumbles and John catches her, though she instantly yanks away and moves towards the door, "Gunna hit me, you won't hit me. You aren't dad. You aren't him!"
John feels the blood drain from his face and he glances at Sherlock whose staring at her with surprised yet curious eyes, "Shut up now, Harry." John chides softly.
"You got his temper but you don't have his balls!" and she gives a nasty laugh before she coughs and leans against the doorframe. Her forehead rests on her arm as she moans and then starts to cry.
John crosses to her and with little difficulty picks the thin woman up in his arms and her head rolls back and forth across his chest, "Why did he do it John, why did he have to hurt us."
"Leave it." he whispers into her hair as he gives a gentle kiss, "Just sleep now. Sherlock is going to get you sorted in the morning." his eyes glance up to Sherlock who nods once and John looks back at his sister, "And then we what? What do we do Harry."
"We do? We…"
"Yes, what do we do?" and he rubs his cheek over the top of her head, "We don't look back." she says softly.
"No we don't. We never look back." he agrees and then he walks her to the couch and lays her down.
"Why did he...why did he…" but she passes out, her questions dying on pale lips as sleep claims her.
John tosses a blanket over her and then stands, hands on his hips as he gazes down at the destroyed woman who he used to be so close to.
"Don't look back, John. Keep moving forward." he murmurs to himself and then he brings a hand to his eye to rub at a twitch.
"Why? After all these years, why did you look back…" finally he seems to remember he isn't alone and he looks at Sherlock and gives a quick smile that instantly falls, "So, Mycroft said he would-"
"Yes." Sherlock says suddenly, his eyes studying his friend intently but John swallows and turns away, "Tea?"
"Ta." Sherlock says, suddenly turning his face back to his phone and jumping into a google search. Every once and awhile his eyes jump up to look at his friend in the kitchen, making sure he is paying no attention to Sherlock's busy fingers.
Sherlock had never met anyone from John's family. He had known the man had a sister, but as she never came round he assumed they weren't close.
John never mentioned his mother or father, never had any communication with them and never had any holidays so Sherlock had also assumed they were either dead or didn't get on with their son.
He had never cared to look in to it as it seemed unimportant, after all, John had spent every major holiday and all his time with Sherlock since the day they met.
Sherlock had no desire to change that. Given that John had only met his parents in the last year, he figured it would only be a matter of time before John returned the favor if in fact it mattered to him at all.
Going by what he was seeing now, though, he thinks he probably should have asked. Or at the very least tried to deduce something upon first meeting the man.
He shoots off another text to Mycroft to inquire if the man had ever dug into John's family history. The text he gets in return is brief.
I am afraid there is not much to tell. A few police reports of him and his sister running away, an arrest of a man named Wayne Harvey, his birth father was killed overseas, an army doctor, so it seems, mother deceased, twelve years ago. MH
Why was Harvey arrested? SH
No information. The police records were destroyed in a fire. MH
Sherlock heaves a sigh at this and mentally gives a curse at the news, of course there was a fire, bloody stupid idiots.
He stops his search on the fire in Aldershot, were John was raised, and glances up through the bright light of his phone's screen as John talks to himself, "You were doing so good, why did you look back. We don't look back….we don't think about it...but you're drinking. You drink when you are unhappy….or when you panic. But you were so happy with that woman, her name….iiiiissss…..Stacy….right, happy with Stacy….so panic then...why did you start panicking?"
Sherlock gives a small smile of pride at his friend who is essentially using his recently honed deduction skills without even realizing it. His eyes dart back to his google search but have yet to drag up anything useful.
He pockets his phone quickly when John emerges from the kitchen with the tea tray ten minutes later and they sit in their perspective chairs.
"So-" Sherlock starts, the tea cup raising to his lips as those sharp blue eyes continue to read his friend, "You're dad sounds nice."
John holds the tea cup before his lip but has yet to drink from it, his eyes staring off as flashes of youth try to press into his mind.
"John?" Sherlock presses.
"What? Oh, yeah, real prick. He'd smack us up a bit. Whenever we misbehaved or...you know got into trouble. With Harry around it wasn't that hard." John says with a smirk and he finally takes a sip of his tea.
"She made it sound far worse than just a few smacks." Sherlock offers lightly, really hoping he can get this stubborn man to open up to him.
John's eyes once again become unfocused for a few seconds until Sherlock's words seem to register and he looks back, "Huh? Yeah, no, well she is drunk isn't she. Things always seem worse when you're drunk."
"Of course." Sherlock agrees and he leans back, the tea now resting on the arm of his chair as he continues to observe his friend, John's eyes met his and then look away. He looks back again and then once more away before he stands stiffly and rubs his hands together, "Peckish?"
"No, not really." Sherlock says, his eyes narrowing as he watches John put on his coat.
The man stops and looks at him a moment before his eyes jerk to his sister's still form, "Well, I am. And Harry will be too once she wakes up from her recurrent bad life choice. Keep an eye on her would you? Call me if she wakes up."
"Is he alive?" Sherlock asks suddenly and John looks at him in confusion.
"Who?"
"Your father." John stares off again, his mouth slowly parting as eyes regress but he pulls himself back and a dark look washes across his face as he glances to his friend, "Yeah, just do me a favor will you?"
"Alright." Sherlock says curiously.
"Just forget about it. For once in your life, delete something worth deleting….just...gone….don't look back." he murmurs the very last part to himself before he pulls his coat closer and walks to his sister to check on her, moving hair away from her face and studying it, "Just don't bloody look back, Harry." he whispers and then he makes to leave and Sherlock says nothing as he goes.
His eyes dart to the woman still sleeping on the couch before he watches the back of his friend disappear down the stairs.
PAGEBREAK
Mycroft has arrived by the time John returns with take away and the two brothers sit across from each other, looking up as he enters.
John walks into the kitchen and sets the food on the table, he then proceeds to grabs a glass and fill it with water.
Mycroft speaks first, "Ah yes, the dubious task of the older brother, to take care of the younger sibling when they make poor life choices."
Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes as John snorts in sudo agreement. He sits down on the couch next to his sister and tries to wake her, "Hey, Harry, love, Harriot, wake up."
The girl moans but remains unmoving and John sets the water on the coffee table before he places a tense hand on her hip, "Bloody idiot." he whispers.
Eventually John looks to Mycroft and talks stiffly, "So, can you get her in? The best, if you have the means, please." he adds.
"Of course. She will be well taken care of. There are a few papers you will have to fill out, just some medical history, any past abuses or traumas…"
"Right." John says as he looks back to his sister and suddenly decides to try the water again.
Once again she is unresponsive and he sighs before standing and heads back for the food.
The silence is thick but eventually Mycroft speaks again, John's mind busy at the task of unwrapping the take away, "So, how long has your sister been subject to the unforgiving hands of the bottle?"
"Hm? Uh, years….I don't know. Awhile." is his vague yet casual answer.
"Never tried rehab before?" He asks.
John walks into the room with a styrofoam box in his hand, opening it and starting to eat rapidly, "Ha, rehab, no one does rehab anymore...not in with the cool kids." but he doesn't even seem to be talking to them, more so to himself and he crosses back to his sister and sits next to her.
He doesn't notice the look Mycroft and Sherlock share and the detective cocks his head to his brother and motions to John and Mycroft sighs, "Was there a cause or did she simply like to overindulge at the college parties?"
"Uh, no, we didn't go to college, I mean I didn't until I joined the...army...we just sort of…. were- "John trails off as he chews and swallows before shoveling more food into his mouth and he leans over to look at her, "Why did you relapse….what could have prompted you to….job is fine...low stress...happy with Stacy….you panicked, why did you panic?"
Mycroft glances to Sherlock who smirks, "Told you he is getting better." Mycroft looks to the ceiling in annoyance and then shakes his head.
"When can you take her?" John asks as he looks to Mycroft and the man seems relieved to be answering a question instead of having to ask them, "Any time. I have a car downstairs with a doctor on stand by. She will be seen to by the best and make no mistake, her recovery will be speedy."
"Good." John takes another bite and then sets the food aside and stands, "Right, Sherlock want to help me get her to the car?"
"What, now?" he asks.
"Yes. Now, please, I can carry her to the couch but getting her down the stairs without bashing her head is another matter. The sooner we get her back on the wagon the sooner she can have her life and I can have mine." Sherlock stands and walks over, helping John to get the woman to her feet and she moans as her head rolls back and forth, "Oh god, where are we going? John? Johnny? Where are we going? Do we have to move again? Has he found us?"
"Shut it, Harry. You are being shipped off to rehab, soon enough this will all be just a bad-"
Suddenly, as if she is possessed, Harry jerks forward out of their grasp and she yells, "No! I am staying with you! You have to protect me! You said you would protect me!" she drops to her knees and lets out a sob.
John instantly moves forward and kneels next to her, "Harry? Harriot! What are you talking about? Protect you from what? What is it?" he is cupping her face and she seems to fade out again but John shakes her and her hands jerk up to grip his wrists, "Don't let him get us! Not again! I can't! I can't do it! You have to protect me! We have to run!"
"God, you boozed up fool! Protect you from what!" John snaps irritably.
Harry suddenly reaches a hand around and yanks a piece of paper from her back pocket and hands it to him, "He...he made parol….he sent me a letter...he is coming….Johnny he is coming."
"The bloody hell? Who made parole-" and he rips the paper open and starts to read, Mycroft has come to stand by his brother at this point and they look upon John as the color suddenly drains from his face.
"Oh my god." he whispers.
"What is it John?" Sherlock asks softly, calmly. If John had been paying closer attention he would realize Mycroft and Sherlock have already put most of it together, the questions being for his own benefit.
"I...I have to go...we have to go. Harry, Harriot! Wake up! Get the fuck up we have to go, now!" and he grabs her arm and starts to pull her up.
"John, what is going on?" Sherlock asks moving forward to place a hand on his friends shoulder but John yanks himself away, "No! Not you, not this time. This doesn't involve you. I have to...I have to pack...we have to pack...Harry get up!"
Sherlock slowly raises his hands, "John, calm down. I understand what is going on-"
"You don't." John snaps, "Not this time. Mycroft, I need you to take her. Take her and get her out of here. I am...was….I am her primary caregiver, no one goes near here from the outside of that rehab but me….I need… my gun…. Need my gun, Harry go with Mycroft." and he drops her hand which plops to the floor, the woman sagging over and curling up to sleep as John shoots from the room, heading upstairs.
Sherlock looks at his brother, "Get her out of here Mycroft. I will bring John along shortly to fill out the paperwork."
"Do you suppose-" Mycroft starts as he ducks down to pick up the piece of paper John has dropped in his hastie exit, "He is wanting to hurt them?"
"I don't know. But I do know that John is currently in autopilot, repeating the same cycle that he grew up with, and we have to break it. I have to help him break it."
"Do be careful, he is unpredictable right now. I'd hate to have to take you to hospital after taking her to rehab."
"I noticed the signs after the first month of knowing him, but it never...I never asked. Everything about his personality implies-"
"Don't dwell, people like John don't discuss it in polite society. They much prefer letting sleeping dogs lay."
"Don't look back." Sherlock muses.
"Quite so. Very blunt but apropo for the soldier and doctor."
"His ability to forgive, his desire to protect above all else, to serve and aid those who can't help themselves. His addiction to danger, his anger….it is all so telling…"
"Yes." Mycroft says regrettably, "Unfortunatly as his friend, you are required to step in and….help him to cope. Unless you'd rather I call a specialist?"
Sherlock looks at his brother and then up the stairs, a frown firmly planted on his face, "And they call me the machine."
"Yes." Mycroft says with a smirk and Sherlock serves him a frosty glare before he goes to move into the hall and up the stairs, though he stops when he sees movement and he instantly backs up, "Get Harry behind you." he whispers.
"What?" Mycroft asks.
"Just do it." and Sherlock silently moves into the kitchen and reaches for the rolling pin he has been using to flatten his most recent experiment.
"Hurry back, John. It is time to best your demons." he says softly to himself as he gingerly picks up the wooden object and holds his breath.
PAGEBREAK
John has been packing, violent and quick, as he breathes raggedly. He isn't going to be gone forever, just long enough to get that bastard off the scent. He has to get him away from Rosie, away from Harry, Sherlock and everyone.
He will come for you, he promised he would come if he ever got out. That letter was from yesterday, I have been plastering myself all over the papers for the last seven years….he knows where I live...he will come...he will come because he promised he would come...you have to go…
"He will follow me….away from Rosie...away from Harry...away….don't look back...get away and don't look back."
Another few minutes pass and he slings the bag over his shoulder before he goes to his nightstand and withdrawals his Browning. He feels his heart calm a little, takes a deep breath, "You can kill him….god you can kill him and get away with it...Sherlock will make sure you get away with it." but he isn't actually hearing himself talk he just kisses the barrel of the gun and then tucks it into his belt.
The feel of the cold metal through the back of his shirt adds more soothing waves and his stomach settles a little.
"If he finds you, just shoot him. Shoot the bastard. Be calm, go back downstairs calm and just….soldier, soldiers today."
John takes a look at his room and his eyes linger on the cribe in the corner, "For Rosie, end the cycle John."
He moves out of his room and down the hall, quickly descending the stairs, calling Sherlock's name as he jumps the last few steps and stumbles in through the doorway.
He instantly reels back and slams into frame, yanking out his gun as the bag is dropped with a thud to the floor.
In the center of the room stands a formidable man, his hair now silver, eyes a soft brown, with lines deeply seeded into his forehead and around his mouth. He still stands tall, still looks like he could tackle an elephant if he so chose despite his obvious age.
The man is pointing a gun at Sherlock, Mycroft and Harry, the woman crumpled on the floor behind the two man who stand calmly with their hands up, blood leaking from Sherlock's nose and a small cut on his cheekbone.
"Jesus! Jesus Christ!" John says, shoving up from the frame to stand straight and point his Browning at the man whose eyes are staring at him hard.
"Johnny, how good to see you again, my boy."
John says nothing, he simply stares, his eyes like a deer in the headlights, "I see we have the same idea, you know what they say, great minds and such…"
"What….what are you doing here Wayne?" John asks, his voice cracking though his hand remains steady as it always does.
"Never that bright, were you. I've come for Harry." his gravelly voice wheezes out.
John takes a step, "Over my dead body old man." he hisses out, his left hand fisting at his side.
"I could do that...but I think I will just settle for my daughter."
"She isn't yours! Neither of us were yours! Our father is dead, you're just the monster in the closet."
The man stares at him for a moment and then starts to laugh, a small chuckle at first before something more heinous and evil rattles up from his throat, a twinkle in his eye, "So, I was the boogeyman, I like that….creeping in the shadows….coming into your room at night just to chase you under the covers."
"No." John says in a clipped tone, "No more running, no chasing….I can shoot you now." he says with a small smirk tugging at his lips.
"You can. Just like I can shoot them," and his thumb glides up to the top of his gun and pulls back the trigger, "STOP!" John bellows out as he cocks his own gun in response.
"Oh, look at you. Big man now. Stop playing soldier John. I just want Harry, we have unfinished business."
"How did you get out. Life sentence. They said life sentence." he almost whines.
The man glances to Sherlock and Mycroft, he grunts and says, "I don't know, how did you get away with shooting the cabby?"
"How did you know about that?" Sherlock suddenly asks and Wayne smiles, "Wasn't that hard. I kept good tabs on my kids on the inside. Took me a bit, I ain't a detective like you….but….between what I read in the papers about the incident and then later seeing Johnny boy running around London with the likes of you… I just had a feeling, really proud of you Johnny, shooting the bastard down."
John lets out a breathy chuckle, "Let me make you proud of me again." and he inches a little closer.
"You won't shoot me."
"No? Why is that?" John asks through gritted teeth.
"Because, John, you're scared of me." and Wayne's eyes look dangerously happy.
"I'm not scared of you, old man."
"No? Then why is your hand shaking?"
John's glance to his hand and there is a subtle tremor, "Psychosomatic." he states bluntly.
"Right. The war torn soldier. Ptsd. Tell yourself what you want but we know why your hand shakes Johnny."
"Shut up! Just shut the bloody hell up!" John yells.
"Oh there it is! I was wondering when that temper would flare."
John says nothing in response, Wayne looks to the two across from him, "Surely you've noticed, the anger, so much anger. Angry all the time, even when your happy your angry. Quick to yell and thrash at anything that rubs you wrong."
"Shut. Up." John says again and his voice gives another crack, "By the way, I heard about your wife. Poor woman."
"Oh no, nonono you don't get to talk about her. Not a word, not a word or I swear to god I will shoot you in the head."
"I heard, Johnny, that you had yourself a beautiful baby, a little girl...tell me, what's her name, aye? What's the pretty girl's name?"
"Sherlock, I am going to kill him now. Hope you don't mind the mess." and John tightens his form, prepares to fire.
"No, not at all, the carpet could use some red to liven up the room" Sherlock says with a dark smirk.
Wayne glances at the blonde, the hold on his old gun tightening, "Today isn't a good day for me. How about you just let me grab Harry and I will be on my way."
"You will NEVER take her. Do you hear me? You won't touch her again!"
His eyes narrow as he looks at John and then a devilish smirk spreads up to the corner of his eye, "Well then, what about you?"
John looks at him and then glances to Sherlock before his eyes dart to Harry and back to Wayne, "Nope, can't have me either."
"Do they know?" Wayne asks as he nods his head sideways to John's companions.
"Have you told them anything? Or did you keep it to yourself, like you always do. What was that you used to say, you and Harry...don't look back? How long has it been since you thought about all that time we spent together while your mother was at work?"
John's right eye twitches, "I know you haven't forgotten, you aren't the type to repress, oh no, not you… you engage...you always engage. Like the way you enaged me over and over to spare poor Harry."
John's eye twitch turns violent, "Oh, there it is. Let it come." Wayne laughs lightly.
"No, no I don't think I will. I am done with you, you can haunt me all you want but you can't control me. Not anymore."
"Come on John, tell them." Wayne smirks.
John grits his teeth, growls out as he takes a step and finds himself only feet away from pressing the muzzle of his gun into the side of Wayne's head.
"Tell them. Tell them Johnny boy."
John's breathing heavy now, his body tensing, his anger about to consume him, "So angry, all the time. Just give me Harry and let me walk away. Or take her place, I don't care but I am not leaving here empty handed. I've dreamed of revenge much too long to walk out of here without one of you."
"Revenge?" Sherlock asks suddenly and both men glance to him, "Revenge for what? It seems to me if anything John should seek revenge on you for all the trouble you've caused him."
"And there is the answer to my question. You've told them shite. Well, let me enlighten you."
"Shut up." John says and his eyes are trained on Wayne with such force he thinks he might burn holes through the man's head.
"No, John, I think it's time the truth comes out. So let's tell them. John was clever, really clever. He wanted to protect Harry from me. Kept my focus on him, fighting, yelling, letting his anger lead him head long into battles he couldn't win so I wouldn't focus on his dear sister. He took her away several times, but we always found them, brought them back. You see, I wanted Harry, but John just couldn't turn a blind eye, so he always took the brunt of it….on his knees….on his back….on his stomach...that was pretty."
"SHUT UP!" John shrieks and he now presses the muzzle of his Browning to Wayne's temple and tears are pooling in his eye.
"Well, that clever brain of his came up with a plan. He placed cameras all over the house, making sure they were hidden, so no one would think twice. I had gotten sloppy over the years, his mother was just so….passive….her late husband, their birth father had gotten himself shot...he was an army doctor…I was her substitute and as long as she didn't have to miss Hamish Watson, she let me do just about anything."
John growls and presses the gun into his flesh, "W-why can't I shoot you." he whimpers out, the question aimed at himself.
"I already told you why, Johnny." Wayne says glancing at him before his eyes run back to Sherlock, "So, he sets up these cameras and he purposely picks a fight. Well, he knew he wouldn't win, knew what would happen after…"
"He did it anyway." Sherlock finishes.
"He did, took it like a man and then took the tape to the police. The rest is history and now, I want to finish what I started, just to spite him. So, John, are you going to give me Harry?"
"You know my answer." John says and his voice is dark, resolute. Sherlock can tell that the place he has just gone to holds demons, demons that want out.
"Then you must be planning to come with me, because you aren't going to shoot me but you know I have no qualms about shooting one or both of them."
John's breathing heavily through his nose, his mouth closed firmly and Wayne eyes him, "Well?"
He looks to Sherlock, glances to his sister still passed out on the floor and then to the gun, which is beginning to shake.
"Damn it, pull the trigger, pull the bloody trigger you moron, pull the trigger!" John suddenly yells but his finger doesn't pull and he instantly lowers the gun.
"DAMNIT!" he throws the gun which fires off into the wall.
Everyone jumps and Sherlock jerks forward but Wayne is faster and straightens again, "Ah ah, nononono, backup…" Sherlock looks at the man with venom but he raises his hands again and takes a step back, "Johnny made his choice, he is coming with me." and Wayne suddenly reaches out a hand and grabs John by the front of his shirt, yanking him close, "Right?"
"You'll keep away from Harry? Won't hurt Sherlock and Mycroft….you will leave my daughter alone?" he asks.
"Yes. I just want one of you….only one." Wayne says and John rolls his lips together as he gives a jerky nod.
"John!" Sherlock suddenly yells and both Wayne and John look over to him, "You see but you do not observe...look at him." he says softly.
John's eyes flash back and forth between Sherlock and his step-father before Sherlock urges him again, "John, Look. At. Him."
"The fuck you saying!" Wayne says as he shakes the gun in Sherlock's direction.
"He only wants one of you… he has a gun, you lowered your weapon, he has full control but he only wants to take one of you? Think John, observe!" Sherlock says more loudly.
John suddenly swallows as he looks at Wayne, "Why one? Why not both? Unless, you don't think you can handle two people. But you have a gun….so why worry...unless...unless the gun…" John stops.
"Isn't loaded." Sherlock says.
John looks at the gun and suddenly notices how old it is, a hint of rust near the rotating barrel, "You just got out of jail...where did you get the gun?" John asks suddenly.
"Don't worry about that." Wayne says and John narrows his eyes and slowly backs away, out of his step-fathers reach.
"The hell you going, boy, get back here."
John looks him up and down, truly sees him for the first time, "You're what, seventy now?"
"Seventy-five, minimum." Mycroft finally speaks up.
John lets out a relieved snort, "Too old to handle two people, especially with no bullets… what were you going to do? How were you going to take your revenge? Beat me to death? Can you even punch anything anymore?"
"Johnny, don't piss me off."
"Oh, I am going to do a lot more than piss you off. I am going to kill you." and suddenly John lunges. The gun goes flying from Wayne's hand and John tackles him to the ground, near shrieking as he waylays the man below him.
Punches fly, blood splatters his face and John keeps punching, the skin on his knuckles breaking, he would have kept going but two pairs of firm hands grab him and yank him off, Wayne curling in on himself as he coughs and whines.
"Let me go! I want to kill him! I want to rip him apart! You fucking bastard! You filthy, dirty nasty old bastard!"
"John!" Sherlock bellows as he yanks John back further and slams him against the wall, "Look at him, John! Look at him! Is he worth it! Is that wrinkled old man worth losing your freedom, losing your daughter! You've spent years living your life as you want! Don't let him come and take it away from you! Don't let him win!" and John stills at this, chest still heaving, eyes wide as he wipes at his face with the back of his hand and sniffs sharply, tears welling up and falling.
"I want to kill him! Please, just let me...let me kill him. He is the reason I am like this, he is the reason I am so….he is….everything I hate...just let me…" John cries and Sherlock wraps his arms around tightly, holding him, "I wouldn't be a very good friend if I did that, now would I?" Sherlock says and he motions for Mycroft to go.
The man nods and quickly crosses to Harry, hoisting her up into his arms, forcing him to leave his umbrella behind as he quickly tries to negotiate the stairs.
"Send your men, Mycroft. I don't want any of this getting out." Sherlock calls after him, "Not a word, I promise." Sherlock whispers to John as he rests his lips on the top of the man's head, his arms still tightly holding John in place, both to keep him from murdering someone and to offer comfort.
"You killed someone, can't I do it just once...a real good old fashioned murder, I'll do it just how you like too….make it clever...you can solve it and blame it on Anderson." John whispers as more tears fall.
Sherlock chuckles at this and turns his face so he can rest his cheek where his lips had just been, "Not this time, Watson. Perhaps we can plan a triple murder for next month."
"But I just want to kill him."
"Come now, John. That wouldn't do, you have to be more clever than that. Think of the motive, it all points to you. Not even I could change that much evidence."
John sighs and his body shutters, his eyes still looking at the now unconscious man on the floor. Sherlock glances down and sees this, decides it's time for John to be done with this.
He turns the man away and guides him down the hall and to his bedroom, where he shuts the door and sits John on the edge of the bed.
John stares off into nothing and Sherlock slowly, so as not to stress the man, begins to removes his shoes, socks, pants, coat and shirt.
"Lay down, John." he orders as he pulls the bedding back and John literally collapses onto the bed, his brain shutting down due to the trauma and stress.
"Just sleep, let it all fade away. Don't look back." Sherlock says softly.
John is out seconds later and Sherlock leaves to go to the bathroom, he checks on John's Step-father, the old man still crumpled in a heap on the floor. He ducks into the bathroom, grabs up a rag and wets it. As he walks out Mycroft enters with several men in tow, "Clean it all up, I don't want evidence of anything, as for this filth, get him out of my site, bury him as far down in the system as you can. I do not ever want to even hear his name, erase him." Mycroft says with such venom Sherlock gives a small smirk and chuckle as he turns and enters into his bedroom.
He shuts the door and returns to John's side, taking the rag and cleaning the blood off his face. He cleans his own as well, not bothering to cover the cut on his cheek as the wound isn't that bad.
He is about to stand up when he hesitates, his eyes dilate and he decides this might be his only chance ever.
Slowly leaning forward his lips connect with John's lightly, his brow furrowing in a long denied indulgence as he pulls away.
"Don't look back." he whispers again and then stands, collecting the man's clothes and taking them out to one of Mycroft's various men, "Have these cleaned, pressed and returned."
"Yes, Sir."
Mycroft looks at his brother and they nod at each other, "Blood." Sherlock says by way of goodnight and he turns back towards his room. Mycroft, for once, not saying anything in response.
Sherlock shuts his bedroom door and leans against it, all the data he has just collected over the last hour near drowning him as he glances to his friend who lays comatose in the bed nearby.
He sighs, runs a hand down his face and then starts to undress, leaving on his boxers as John would not appreciate waking up next to a naked man.
Sherlock pulls the covers back, lays down and then spends the next hour staring at John, his eyes locked on to the relaxed face of the angry man next to him. He reaches out a hand several times, but stops halfway between, not wanting to disturb him nor give himself even the smallest glimmer of hope.
Sherlock has almost told him so many times, before he got on the plane being his biggest regret. He decides, in this moment, the one time in his life he has ever been able to lay next to his friend, his companion, he is going to say it, say it just once.
He thinks John needs to hear it, even if it will only reach his subconscious, he thinks he himself needs to hear it so it can be acknowledged.
He takes a breath and says softly into the darkness of the room, "I love you." his voice shakes when he says it, his heart beating hard against his ribs even though John can't hear him.
He waits for a moment, feels the words on his tongue and realizes they don't taste bitter and so he says again, even softer, "I love you, John."
Sherlock tenses when John rolls onto his side, his face just before Sherlock's chest, the man can feel hot breath licking at his skin and suddenly John mumbles out an extremely fatigued, "I love you too, Sherlock."
Sherlock sucks in a breath and he bites his lip and nods his head once even though John can't see him in the darkness and he says, "I will a-always love you, John. No one will ever hurt you, and I promise, I will keep you safe. Even if I can't...have you….I will always want you. My friend, my John Watson."
The silence stretches and Sherlock is grateful because if John had been awake this would have had a very different outcome.
"I said I loved you. No need to get mushy." the man murmurs and he rolls onto his belly and then starts to snore.
Sherlock just lays there in the dark and tries to wait for his heart to stop trying to rupture out of his chest, tries to wait for the butterflies in his stomach to disappear.
The silence stretches until John seems to wake again and he says with a gushed breath, "You can hold me you stupid idiot, just don't get fresh."
"B-but..you're not…"
"Just do it, before I change my mind." and Sherlock reaches out an arm and seconds later John scoots closer, "I need it." he murmurs. Sherlock nods, "Alright." and he holds John as he has wanted to do for years now. His mind going silent, his heart slowing and soon after, he is fast asleep.
A/N: Please let me know what you think. It was a really quick write, I wanted to get it all down before I forgot it. If you like it I will think about posting another chapter. R&R