John Watson was laid out on his bed, his face smashed against the cotton fabric of his pillow and eyes squeezed shut. His dad was drunk yet again.
He could hear his dad's voice echo through the house from down stairs, "Why would I listen to a cunt like you! HUH? I should have never married you! Cause I just can't stand you!"
His mothers short sniffling remarks trying to quite the drunken man, "Please George, please calm down"
"Shut up woman, Shut up I say! I am the man in this house. This is my house, I will do what I want!"
It was pathetic really, how normal this all seemed. Shut your eyes, nothing is going to happen tonight.It was almost funny how the banging of objects hitting walls didn't startle John anymore. He closed his eyes tighter until red marks drifted across his eyelids.
The ruckus was all the same at this point. His dad would scream about a divorce he would never get and his mom would cry and beg him to stay. It didn't matter when it had started. That might have been because John couldn't remember or because he knew the threats tonight were useless and the promises tomorrow pointless. All that did matter was, it was never going to stop and his dad was never going to actually leave. No matter how loud his voice got or how much booze he managed to consume.
John started to hum the Blue is the Colour to himself as his dad threw something against wall and his mom started crying louder. He pushed his pillow harder against his face as he began to drift to sleep. The sound of his parents faded in the void of sleepiness, still humming to himself he floated into unconsciousness.
Waking up was always the worst part. Dragging himself up off the floor to the bath room to clean off the blood and apply ointment to the bruise was bad but, the worst part, Sherlock thought to himself, was not the pain or the looks his peers gave him as he walked through school. No, the worst part was waking up to find he was still alive.
It hadn't always been this way. When mummy was still alive his dad would have never hit him. Hell even with Mycroft around things were better. Mycroft would at least protect him a little bit. Since Mycroft had left though his dad had begun to get steadily worse.
With a groan he began to get up off the floor, first rolling on to his bruised stomach, then bringing his hands and knees under him and straightening out to a full stand. Him legs cried in pain and he had to blink away the stars he saw before slowly making his way to the bathroom down the hall.
He could feel the crusted blood under his nose and on his chin. His right away felt heavy and numb but it was no worse than any of the times before. It was no worse than the first night it had happened or the night his brother had abandoned him.
When he got to the bathroom he flipped on the light, filling the sterile white walled room with an overly bright glow. He flinched against the light.
Looking into the mirror he could see that his nose had been bleeding, his bottom lip was swollen and split, and his right cheek was a gruesome blue shade. Wincing he lifted his soiled shirt to his chin. It wasn't bad. Bruising along the left side of his ribs and a few good sized spots on his back.
Sighing he turned on the faucet and began cleaning off the dried blood, hissing as he rubbed against his cheek. He quickly finished and applied ointment to his back, chest and face before swallowing 4 200mg ibuprofens dry and hobbling to his room.
As sleep started to claim his tuckered out body he thought of tomorrow. His escape from this hell, if only for 8 hours. He would be starting at a new school, for a second he allowed himself to hope maybe this time it'd be different. Maybe this time the kids would be smart and the teachers insightful and it would not just be a place to go where his father couldn't get to him. Even if it had only been a second it gave him the strength he would need to get out of bed in the morning.
Maybe this time... he could make a friend.
