In which Sherlock has an abusive father... Oneshot... Probably. Basically where John saves the day by shooing away Sherlock's abusive father. This could take place in any time before TRF but after TGG. Angst-y at the end. It could be slash, depends how you look at it.
WARNING: Child abuse, may be triggering.
I do not own BBC Sherlock or its characters.
He had just come back from getting the shopping and was standing at the door of their cozy little flat. Placing the key in the keyhole, John noticed the door wasn't even locked. Strange, he could've swore he locked it when he left, and Sherlock was home doing an experiment having to do with that arm in the fridge. Maybe he had gone out? Got a call from Lestrade? But he'd never forget to lock the door anyway.
Whatever.
John stepped into the flat and placed the grocery bags onto the floor. He placed his keys back into his pocket, when he was interrupted by something, or rather, someone. Coming from upstairs, he heard two voices. One of them was Sherlock's, and the other... John was unsure. He knew eavesdropping wasn't a good thing but he was worried that if he interrupted, the two might stop talking about... whatever they're talking about. It sounded pretty serious since loud voices were being added in.
Yes, John thought for this mystery man to be trouble but a few sentences he had said in sentences towards Sherlock said otherwise. The ex-army doctor slowly creeped his way up the stairs, taking note on how creaky those things can be. He eventually made it to the top in complete silence and noticed that the door to the living room was closed, leaving a little crack to look through. John stepped forwards and leaned against the wall to get a good view on what was happening in that room.
Sherlock was sitting on their beige sofa, his back up straight and staring at the other man. His expression seemed... out of the ordinary; worried, afraid. The mysterious man looked to be in his mid 50s to mid 60s in age. He had a goatee, with grey hairs spreading over and across it. His hair was black and wavy but short, a few greys were spread here and there as well. The man stood over Sherlock, as if he were lecturing the detective. Like how a teacher lectures a student or how an owner scolds her dog for going onto the couch. Sherlock slightly lowered his head (as if he were in shame) and gulped. It was as if the man was awaiting a reply.
"Well?!" The man finally said. Sherlock placed his hand onto his thigh and turned his head to the side, trying to avoid too much eye contact.
"I... I-I don't know." Stuttering? That's unlike Sherlock.
"Really? All life you've been saying how you DO know and how you knew more than anyone. There is a bloody arm on the kitchen table." The man replied in a harsh tone, which further continued to confuse John. Did Sherlock know this man? Obviously he was uncomfortable to talk to him so he must know him in some sort of way.
"Are you that much of a fucking freak? Experimenting on human limbs?"
Sherlock turned away in shame again. This whole situation was making even John feel a bit uneasy. Cussing? Insulting? Who was this man? Maybe it was another rude police officer from Lestrade's team who didn't know about Sherlock's experiments? But even so, why is Sherlock taking any shit from him? No. It was definitely someone Sherlock knew personally.
"You were never the normal kid. Always the freak." Past tense? So these two went back years before. Perhaps a student at one of Sherlock's schools? A bully that Sherlock took insults from. Or maybe even a teacher...
"Now tell me, what do you work as now? As a living?"
Sherlock took a deep breath before answering. "I... I'm the world's only consulting detective." He said with a voice full of pride, which made John pull a smile from behind the door.
"Is that even an official title?"
There was no reply after a few moments.
"No."
The man burst out in a little teasing laugh. "You can't even get a real job. Too much of a psychopath for people? You should have just remained being the pathetic junkie that you were." He snorted at his own statement. John just found it appalling how this man would not appreciate Sherlock brilliant mind and ability. He could see Sherlock's eyes that were so full of anger and hatred. Yet he couldn't say anything... why?
"Remember when you used to come from school? When you were just a little boy?" What? Was this man his- no. Sherlock never talked about his father, John had always assumed that he had died or abandoned them at a young age. Never to be a... child abuser. This definitely took an unexpected turn. "You came home all bloody and bruised because what...?"
No response from Sherlock.
"Why did you come home all bruised Sherlock? What was that word that they used to call you?" Oh now that's just low. Now he's literally tormenting the poor guy rather than just lecturing him and making fun of him.
No reply.
"What was it?" The man repeated as he picked up a half full glass of... whiskey(?) from the table and took a sip. John didn't remember them ever having whiskey in the flat, so it was probably his.
Still no reply.
Finally the man had enough and whipped the glass of whiskey onto the floor, "SAY. THE. WORD!" He screamed as the glass shattered into many pieces and the liquid started to spread across the ground. Sherlock flinched as he was shouted at, and even John got a bit startled. It struck John as an extremely serious situation when Sherlock let out a very quiet whimper when he had flinched. Was... was he crying? John couldn't tell.
"I..." Sherlock looked as if he was having a hard time looking for words. "Freak." He finally said in a low, quiet voice. Hard for even John to hear. He hated that word so much. Freak. He hated hearing Sherlock having to say it.
"What else?"
"Faggot. Psychopath..." He continued without hesitation this time. It was odd hearing Sherlock say these such words, since they're usually thrown at him, rather than him saying them aloud.
"And are they right about those words?"
No, Sherlock. They aren't. Don't you dare say that they are.
No reply.
"'Course they are. Now, tell me about this little flatmate of yours. You finally managed to get one?"
Sherlock faintly nodded his head.
"John." It was almost like Sherlock said it as a call, not an answer.
"You shagging him yet, faggot?" The man asked in a harsh tone. John had to bit his lip and force himself from not bursting in and attacking this horrible man.
"What- no, I-"
"Is that it? Couldn't find a girl so you went and shagged your flatmate?" John could now taste the blood from his lips that now seeped through his teeth and onto his tongue.
"I'm... not gay. Relationships aren't my area." Sherlock's voice was quiet and vulnerable, which sent chills down John's spine. The brilliant Sherlock Holmes was usually the man tormenting and insulting others for their tiny IQs... not being overtaken.
"Oh my God you're still a virgin aren't you?" The man snorted, his smile widening into laughter like he heard the funniest joke in all his life. How pathetic. John rubbed his thumb against his index finger to try to relieve anger, although it wasn't working very well.
"You couldn't even get a somebody to shag with you?! Ha, I guess when they say that everyone has a soul mate, that excludes you as well."
Sherlock stared as the man continued to chuckle at his own words.
"Look at you. A 30-year-old man who's still a lonely freak stuck in his childhood. You don't even know your rights from wrongs. You could kill a man and think it was the right thing to do, you psychopath. This John, all he is is your teacher." The man slurred.
"He's my friend." Sherlock defended. John's heart warmed up but at the same time he felt as if someone punched him in the stomach.
Yes, Sherlock, you are my friend. You are my best friend. And I love and care about you the most in the world.
"Friend?! You don't really think he's your friend?! Oh please, he doesn't care about you at all, probably only here for the flat."
Sherlock gulped and continued to stare at the man. It went silent for a few moments. What was Sherlock's father even doing here? Did he just come here for the sole purpose of insulting Sherlock? John wanted to now kill this man. But he was afraid that if he showed himself, Sherlock would be furious for eavesdropping or ruining his plan. That's it, maybe Sherlock already has a plan set out and is just waiting for the right moment. John really wanted Sherlock to beat his own father for his filthy and damaging words.
"So come on, what can you deduce from me?"
Sherlock looked away, avoiding eye contact. The man stepped up closer and grabbed Sherlock by the jaw, forcing him to look at his father's face, forcing out another small whimper and flinch from Sherlock. "Make a deduction."
John winced at the sudden physical contact.
The younger man yanked away his head (which also earned him a little whack on the head) and stared at the older man on his own. "What?"
"Well, you said that was one of your abilities... So, make a deduction. You don't even have to say how you know."
Sherlock hesitated for a moment, but began to speak up. "You have a new girlfriend that you recently just cheated on by shagging with another man, one of the employees at the front desk at Speedy's cafe to be specific." The detective ended it with a smile, a smile that said payback. "I don't think I'm the one who prefers man over woman."
You had to go with the most humiliating deduction? That he was cheating on his wife? Sherlock who knows what this man is capable for.
"How did you-"
"I noticed." Sherlock smiled again, the arrogant and cold Sherlock was returning finally. It didn't last very long though.
"You really don't know your right from wrong, huh?" The man said in such a threatening voice with made Sherlock go back to his vulnerable self.
"Was... was that not good?" Sherlock asked as John began to storm away.
"No, Sherlock that was not good. Not at all."
"I was just telling the truth, wasn't that kind of me?" The consulting detective caught up with John and walked at the same pace as him.
"No... Sherlock that wasn't kind."
"Why?" Sherlock honestly asked, sounding like a curious preschooler. John laughed aloud as if it were a joke.
"Why?! What are you, a child?" John regretted what he had said after Sherlock shot an insulted look right after. The former army doctor could tell that he was about to throw back a witty insult along with a tantrum.
"No, I didn't mean that. Just-" John cut himself off and sighed. "Just try not to be so insensitive. Not all people handle that as well as you do. I don't need you to be killed on the spot because you told a man with a gun that he shagged another woman, or that it was his fault a close one died, alright?"
"Well, how am I supposed to know if I've... you know." Sherlock spat back, curious of the subject but also determined to get it over with.
"I don't know, we'll work on your timing when you say things." John replied with a smile.
"Why didn't everyone else notice?" The older man asked.
"Because everyone else is an idiot, and so are you."
God Sherlock you could be so stupid sometimes.
John's breathing quickened as he awaited for the next move. No. This is all part of Sherlock's plan. He might be getting his father angry on purpose.
"What did you just say?" The older man finally replied after a moment of complete shock. John actually got chills by the tension that filled the room. Sherlock slightly shifted in his seat in nervousness. "I don't like repeating myself, a smarter person would hear what I had to say in the first attempt." Now he was just toying around. Risky, but amusing to watch.
"You have the nerve to-"
"There's a difference between not knowing something, and being an idiot. It's quite obvious in which label I sort you into. Please don't talk any longer, I can physically feel myself losing IQ points by the sound of your voice." Sherlock continued, except he didn't sound... intimidating. He was stuttering and clearly nervous, but his father didn't seem to care anyway.
Sherlock where are you going with this?
"How dare you, disrespect your father like that!" The man stormed forwards, triggering a panicked expression onto Sherlock's face and causing him to move a bit further back into his seat. "Ungrateful piece of shit!" The man whipped the back of his hand against Sherlock's cheekbone, causing him to collapse onto the floor.
John froze in complete shock. Which was strange for him, he usually has fast reflexes.
"You deserved e'rything they did to you!" The man slurred as he threw a kick into Sherlock's stomach, then chest. Repeatedly. Sherlock let out a gasp for air as the man stormed around in pure rage. John watched as his friend tried to crawl away and ended up making it halfway to the entrance of the kitchen, but had his locks of hair being held onto, yanking him back onto his side. He let out a grunt and moved his hands to the hands fisting his hair, trying to get them to release. John later found out that Sherlock had a sensitive scalp, after a few months with living with him, so that could explain why it must have hurt more than it should have.
After throwing in a few punches across Sherlock's face and stomach, the man released Sherlock's hair and watched as he fell to the floor once again... in tears.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry..." Sherlock couldn't think any more. Where was he? Back at home or in the flat? How old was he? 8 years old or 30? Why was he getting beaten again? What did he do this time? Should he try and beg for the beating to stop?
It was all happening too fast for John to react, but eventually he snapped back into reality and ran downstairs to get a hold of his gun.
The man continued to kick, harder and harder with each blow. Cussing under his breath with every take. Calling the broken detective vicious names over and over. Sherlock's nose was bleeding and his right cheekbone and eye were beginning to bruise. The younger man startled himself as he felt warm, wet tears streaming down his face and soft whimpers and sobs being released from his own mouth.
"I won't do it again! I promise... I promise... Daddy!"
But no, this heartless bastard wasn't taking anything from the beaten and broken detective, he just kept punching and kicking and cursing and-
"Move away from him!" John busted through the door, gun aimed. The man almost immediately stopped. He stared at John and began to smile.
"So you're the flatmate he's been shagging, then."
"Move. Away. Now." John repeated, in a voice that was almost more threatening than the man's himself. The older man raised both his hands and moved away from Sherlock's limp body. John almost shot the man right there and then as he heard Sherlock beginning to silently sob and whimper and whisper apologies. Soon the man and the army doctor switched positions.
"Now leave, and don't ever show your face here. If you hurt him, I will kill you next time."
The man smiled, but quickly turned serious as he saw that John was not bluffing.
"Freak." The man sighed and he walked out of the room, defeated. John kneeled beside Sherlock and waited for the door downstairs to slam shut. He dropped his gun and quickly turned towards Sherlock.
"Sherlock. Sherlock. Are you alright?" Stupid question. Of course he's not all right! John's voice went from threatening and serious to soothing and calming. Sherlock's eyes were shut tight as if he were too afraid to look. The younger man was sweating uncontrollably and still letting out a couple of sobs.
"Shh. It's okay now." John assured in a soft voice as he pulled Sherlock onto his lap and hugged him close to his chest. He was furious. A man is beaten by his own father and thrown back to his childhood, helpless and afraid, and this... being continues to beat him and insult him? He calls him Daddy, and he still has the nerve to turn him into a bloody pulp?
"I'm sorry for what I did." Sherlock hiccupped. John wanted to scream but forced himself to hold it back.
"No. Don't apologize. You don't need to be sorry, you haven't done anything wrong." John gently massaged Sherlock's hurt scalp, moving his hand up and through the curly locks of hair.
"Please! I didn't-... I'm sorry..."
"Sherlock. I need you to open your eyes. You're not in trouble. This is John."
Sherlock hesitated but slowly relaxed his eyes and blinked them open, wincing at the sudden sunlight. His eyes were red and weary and his breathing was quick.
"Sherlock. You're okay now. Look at me," John gently pushed (and later, held.) Sherlock's head to look at his own. "You're okay now."
"John?" Sherlock croaked.
"Yes. John." The friend confirmed, smiling right after.
Sherlock stared at John in sadness and defeat and John stared back. He watched as tears rolled down his best friend's eyes and continued to hug him closer.
"Shh. It's okay now, you're safe. Just go to sleep."
Thanks for reading!
Uh feel free to review if you like! I could do another chapter where John goes to Mycroft and talk about this or something. I don't know... tell me if it was good or not.