April 10, 2006
John and Sherlock's father, Charles Holmes, was never a bad man. He was a good provider, an attorney who prosecuted high profile cases, and was brilliant about everything, except substance abuse. When he got drunk, he would lash out at anything or anyone that happened to be nearby, most often, his eldest son, John, who was only 10 when the abuse started and whose sole mission in life was to shield the his younger brother, Sherlock, from the horrors of reality that he knew far too well. Charles' loving wife, Olivia Watson-Holmes was in the hospital with terminal breast cancer, so she couldn't protect her children. John supposed that was his fault. If only he had known what a mammogram was and insisted that she get one every year, maybe the doctors would have caught the tumor in time. He vowed that when he became a doctor, he would never tell anybody that they were going to die. He would heal everyone, even the cases where everybody else had given up hope. In his 10 year old mind, the promise made perfect sense.
The cancer also triggered Charles' drinking problem. The only time John ever complained about it to his mum, Olivia gently said, "I'm sorry for causing all of this. I love you, you know. I'll have a bit of a chat with your dad. Just try and cheer him up and I'll be out of the hospital in no time. I'll fix this, I promise. Meanwhile, don't forget to look after your brother." Those were the last things that John ever heard his mother say. Mrs. Watson-Holmes passed away that night after 3 months in the hospital from complications of breast cancer, leaving behind 2 young boys and an alcoholic husband.
July 23, 2011
John was 15 and Sherlock was 10. Sherlock was 5 when Charles started drinking and ever since then, John and Sherlock have developed a routine. Whenever their father came home, Sherlock knew to lock himself in the bathroom, listen to classical music on John's iTouch, read a book or experiment with whatever is in the bathroom cupboard, and wait for John to give their secret knock. He's never questioned this arrangement because he remembered when John made him swear to do it and not say anything to his father about what he called "their practice fire drill". He was very serious as he bent down to his little brother, with a look in his eyes that Sherlock couldn't quite understand, and said, "Now, Sherlock, under no circumstances are you ever to leave the bathroom or take your headphones out, until you hear the secret knock. If you do, I will be so disappointed that I will never be able to trust you again." That threat alone was enough for Sherlock to obey without hesitation, which was difficult for him even at that age. John had only been disappointed in him once, when Sherlock managed to hack into John's computer and delete an English essay that was due the next day. Sherlock only did it to prove to John that he was clever enough to deduce his password merely one week after he changed it. He deleted the essay as permanent proof of his intellectual prowess. When John discovered the missing assignment, he didn't yell or scream or smash things. He just looked at him and his eyes were more of a punishment than Sherlock could ever have dreamed. Those hazel eyes, usually so bright and full of life and energy, darkened to the point where they looked as if John was about to explode with fury. For a minute, Sherlock thought that John would actually punch him because he looked so angry, but the blow never came. John just turned away and said, "Go to your room and think about what you've done." At that moment, Sherlock promised himself that he would never be the one to put that look on John's face again.
The Mozart concert running through his ears ensured that he didn't hear John's agonized grunts, the thumps of fists connecting with flesh, or his father's drunken curses and threats. He was reading one of books that John kept for him in a little box right by the toilet. John got all the books from the library and rotated them every 2 weeks. Sherlock hates going to the library himself because it requires him to be quiet and not deduce other people or what they're reading, but he is a voracious reader. So, he just placed holds for the books that he wanted online and made John pick them up. Sometimes, John brought back an overflowing bag of books, other times, he just had 2 or 3 books. It all depended on what Sherlock felt like. Hell, the condition of his spine depended on his obnoxious little brother's whim and he didn't care one bit. Said obnoxious little brother was currently perusing The Encyclopedia of Unsolved Crime by Michael Newton. He thought it was wonderful because it wasn't sentimental or horrific like most crime stories and it included a great amount of details, although not the most important ones. His home for crime in his Mind Palace was modeled after a wing in the British Museum of Natural History, which he toured with his class a couple months before. Every exhibit was a crime scene. Sometimes the crime was in progress, other times it was frozen at a particular moment for the young Sherlock to examine further when he had time. He could just walk down the hallway, solving crimes at his leisure. Occasionally, he simply stopped and admired his previous train of thought when he came to a case that he had already solved.
I really ought to have an audience to admire my cleverness. I've purposely built the crime division of my mind palace so that I can expand it if I ever have enough cases because I can just delete unimportant things like the colors of the rainbow (who needs that anyway?) or the solar system (does it even matter to me?). Why can I delete some things more easily than others? Does it have to do with the method of deletion? I must test that theory someday. Maybe next summer during holiday. Memories that I want to delete, but can't: my birthday (an inconvenient excuse to acknowledge my existence), my memories of my birth mother (pointless because she's dead and nothing I do will affect her), and John's jumpers (ugh, I wish I could forget about the sheer ugliness of those things that make him look 10 years older and 5kg heavier. Why does he even keep them? Maybe I should burn them.).
Little did he know that his older brother covered up to hide the bruises and scars given by his dad the night before from Sherlock's inquisitive eyes. There were even times when he needed to wear a turtleneck because of the marks high on his neck.
In spite of all the abuse, John did an admirable job of emphasizing the good aspects of his dad's character to his brother. Sherlock's greatest ambition was to be just like his father: intelligent, analytical, and efficient especially when it comes to emotions. His father always knew when to put aside his personal feelings and rely on his logic above all else while he ripped holes in the defense's case. He knew when to ignore everybody else's opinions and follow his own predatory instincts when cross-examining a witness. He was aware that most of the time he was the only one with any sense in the room and sometimes expressed his opinions and deductions at the expense of other people's patience. He loved the spotlight and hid his personal flaws with such finesse that some people thought he's a demigod. Yes, Sherlock promised himself that he would grow up to be just like his dad. He didn't have the faintest idea what that really meant. He would find out soon enough that making people into heroes never pays off in the end and that realization would eventually leave him with the bitter thought that heroes don't exist. For now, he idolized his dad as most young boys do, oblivious to any imperfections.
After Charles passed out from the effects of the alcohol, John gingerly got up from the corner where he was laying for the past hour, getting the living daylights kicked out of his ribs, chest, and stomach. He dusted off his jeans and looked over his extremities, making sure that nothing was broken. Luckily, drunk men never hit hard enough to do any serious damage; they just hit several places a bit less severely. John will go back to his room, patch the marks up with his first aid kit, and give Sherlock the signal to come out, but the bodily harm was only half of the hurt. Drunks give psychological beatings as well. For John, these hurt far worse than any physical pain. The latest slur Charles used on him is, "Your mum would be so disappointed with all the shit you do. You deserve all this pain! In fact, you deserve more than I'm giving you! I'm being merciful. The real world won't be so forgiving. Who would ever love you, worthless scum? You're useless as a punching bag now and you'll be useless for the rest of your life too." Initially, John told himself that it was the alcohol talking, but deep inside, those insults wounded him deeply because John thought that the beatings were a result of his failed attempts at perfection, which he knew his dad prized above all else. Charles hated flaws in anyone but himself, which made him practically a genius in his job, but terrible company anywhere else; so, he took his rage at the general flaws of the human race out on his very human son. Things like John's smile lines (imperfect marks on his face), his straight As (not A+s), and even John's girlfriends (how could anybody love such an imperfect person?) set Charles off on a rampage, destroying his oldest son's trust and respect for him irreparably. Eventually, Mr. Holmes would also shatter his younger son's unadulterated image of him and leave him without a hero. That damage would all take place on one fateful night.
October 15, 2011
The night started out ordinarily enough. John and Sherlock ordered Chinese takeaway from one of Sherlock's favorite restaurants and they were just finished with clearing the dishes when their dad's car pulled into the driveway. John looked at Sherlock, who was trying to analyze the splatter patterns of the dishwater and what they said about John, who was the only one to ever wash the dishes. He said, "Sherlock, get to the bathroom now." He shoved his iTouch into the boy's hands and pushed him towards the only safe haven he knew, but this time Sherlock had other plans.
Why has John deprived me of the knowledge of what goes on when dad comes home? I've got 5 theories so far. Most probable: Dad's got a girlfriend and John wants to shield me from the fact that they have a sexual relationship because of the possible emotional reactions stemming from my supposed attachment to my birth mother. One of the parties is probably very vocal during intercourse, which would explain the need for headphones. But why would John make me continue this procedure for five years? Surely, Dad wouldn't date a girl for five years without introducing her to me. Different girls then. Oh, he's clever. He wants to save us the trauma of having a stepmother, so he's devised a system to get sexual satisfaction without the commitment. Isn't that nice of him? Where was I? Oh, yes. Least probable theory: Dad's a bounty hunter and John helps him to subdue the criminals before Dad takes them to the police. They probably don't want me to get hurt or do something irrational. No trouble there, I'm getting better at controlling my emotions everyday. Tonight is the night that I find out everything and I have a foolproof surveillance plan. There are no flaws in it whatsoever. I've checked it precisely 213 times.
Unfortunately for Sherlock, his plan had only one flaw: it didn't account for his dad's many flaws. Sherlock's basic plan was to at least make it to the door at the end of the hallway that led to the kitchen without getting caught, using a variety of stealth techniques adapted from the Japanese ninjas and the Caribbean smugglers. The door that leads to the kitchen and living room silently swings into the hallway when it's opened, so he should be able to do that without attracting much attention. From there, he would assess the situation and decide if further action needed to be taken. If caught, he planned to use the excuse of hunger and say that he wanted a snack. He figured that should be enough to keep him out of serious trouble. However, the second he removes his headphones, Sherlock knows that something is very wrong. Instead of a woman's voice, he hears John's. His thoughts immediately spin out of control.
John. Why John? Is John the one who has a relationship? No, it can't be. There's no female voice. It can only be my dad and John. Incest? NO! Dad would never hurt John. He would never hurt anyone. Then, what is John saying? "Please, stop! I didn't do anything wrong! You aren't thinking straight. Listen to reason. Please!" Begging. Why would John be begging? He can take care of himself. Besides, why would he need to defend himself from Dad? This is so strange. I must go see what's happening.
He snuck through the hallway without incident, but he still heard John's voice talking to the mystery person, trying to bring him (male was more statistically probable) to his senses. The door swung open just enough for Sherlock to catch a glimpse of both the living room and the kitchen and what he saw made him want to be sick all over the blue carpet. John was shoved against the kitchen counter getting punched by a tall man in a suit. Sherlock began his observations.
Expensive black suit and well-groomed hair mean a high-paying job. The hand raised to hit John (please, God, help me not to vomit) is pale and smooth which indicates that he has an office position, probably with a lot of typing. Wait, his face is turning. It's...no. NO! It can't be Dad. It must be his twin brother or someone who bears an extremely close resemblance to him. I refuse to believe it's him. Dad punishes bad men, not good people like John. John is the definition of 'good'. John must have done something to deserve it. What has he done? I really ought to look away if this is going to make me sick, but I can't because of John. He's pleading now. I can't look away. I've never seen him like this. He's always had everything under control. John's face just turned a whole shade paler and he flinched a bit. He's shaking his head now. The man (I suppose I can't call him 'Dad' anymore) must have said something horrible to John. I can't look anymore. That's it. Uh oh...John sees me. He's looking right at me. The man formerly known as 'Dad' is wobbling on his feet and John's going to...catch him? And lay him down gently on the couch? Why would John do that? That man just beat him and now John's tucking him into bed? I'd better run now. John looks really pale and he's probably going to look at me with that "look that shall not be remembered" again. I don't think I'll be able to handle it this time.
John was too fast for Sherlock this time. The second he caught up with his little brother, he didn't say a word, just pulled Sherlock into a protective hug that was full of so much emotion that Sherlock couldn't help but return the gesture. Eventually, Sherlock decided that he had his limit on physical contact had been reached, so he broke the bond and began walking off to his room to sort everything out in his Mind Palace. Before he could get very far, John cried out, "Sherlock! I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never meant for you to see that!"
Sherlock stopped momentarily, whirled around to face John, and retorted, "But I did see it, John. I had to watch as he hurt you. You made me watch because you just wouldn't get that helpless look off your face. I couldn't look away. You were hyperventilating, your pulse was elevated, and...he could have killed you! It would be just like a reverse Lizzie Borden."
"Sorry, I haven't the faintest idea of what you were talking about just now."
"Try to be a bit less dense sometimes, John. You know the old nursery rhyme based off a true story." Sherlock began reciting it in a slow, haunting voice, "Lizzie Borden took an axe. Gave her mother forty whacks; and when she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one."
John cut in with an uneasy laugh. "That's an awful nursery rhyme and certainly isn't very suitable for children." Then, he stopped abruptly as he realized what his little brother was implying. "You think that if he had killed me, he would have murdered you too?" Both his fists and his stomach clenched at the thought of anybody laying a hand on the only thing he had ever wanted to protect.
"I don't simply think; I know. He will kill me because you haven't trained me to tolerate as much pain as you can. In fact, I think you've actually decreased my lifespan considerably by insulating me from this. You could have come to me when this first started..."
John interrupted quickly, "Sherlock, you were five. You hadn't even outgrown biting your nails! How was I supposed to come to you about anything?"
Sherlock seemed unfazed by the comment and kept on going, "Or you could have waited until I was old enough to understand. Two years ago would have been sufficient. That would also have been the most efficient option, but no. You wanted to prove that you could protect both of us all by yourself. Now, look what you've gotten us into. Besides, I was always in just as much danger as you were because he could have easily come after me once he was finished with you. Who would have protected me if you sacrificed you life to supposedly save mine? Nobody. You wouldn't be saving my life; you would just be giving him a motive to eliminate me. Think it through next time, John."
John had to blink back tears of hurt and shock caused by Sherlock's brusque analysis of the situation. Most of the time his little brother's blunt attitude didn't bother him, but this time it did. Because this time, Sherlock was criticizing the mission that John had given everything to accomplish. That hurt worse than all the years of Charles' abuse combined. Despite all the emotions flowing through his system, John took a deep breath, pulled himself together, and looked straight into the eyes of the little brother who he would have given up his life for if he needed to. "Relax, Sherlock. I'm asking you to trust me. I love you and I'm trying so hard to do what's best for you. I promise that I'm going to get us both out of this and here's how: for almost 3 months, I've been recording everything he's done to me on a flash drive. Pictures, audio recordings. I even wrote it all down in a document file with dates and details. I'm going to send the thumb drive to Child Protective Services tomorrow. That should be enough evidence for them take us away from him so that he can't hurt us ever again. They'll put us with a foster family and perhaps, the foster family will adopt us. We might even have a mum again, Sherlock!"
"Nothing's guaranteed, John. Our foster family may even be worse than...that man."
"Sherlock, he's still our dad. He's just been very sick ever since mum passed away."
"No! I don't want him as my dad. I should get to choose who gets that position in my life. He chose to drink. He could have stopped himself if he wanted to, but he didn't. Why? Why couldn't he stop?" Sherlock sobbed.
John responded by holding his brother tighter and whispering, "Shh...I haven't the faintest idea why he did it, but it's in the past now. He's a good man on the inside. He loves you. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. I'll take care of you"
October 18, 2011
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"John! They're here! They've come for us," called Sherlock from the kitchen.
John winced at the volume of Sherlock's voice, "Shh...please, be quiet. Dad's home, remember?"
Charles staggered through the hallway door. "Who's there, boys?"
"Nobody, Dad. It's nobody important. I'll take care of it. No need to come out here." John's voice was shaking as he tried to cover for his brother's misstep.
Even though Charles had a massive hangover, he was intelligent enough to know that John was lying. He lunged for his throat just as Sherlock let the CPS officers in through the front door in the living room. When the officers walked through the door, they caught Charles with his fist pulled back to punch John in the stomach. Realizing that they had an audience, Charles immediately switched to his 'charming-mode'. "Hello, gentlemen. Children these days can be so stubborn sometimes. You've got to make sure that they stay on the straight and narrow, you know."
A tall, burly, red-haired officer stepped forward and boomed in a very official voice, "Mr. Holmes, you are under arrest for child abuse, child endangerment, and assault of a minor. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your..." His voice trailed off as Charles pulled out the pistol that he kept in case of vengeful clients in one fluid motion and pointed it at Sherlock's heart. The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion. The officials were frozen in shock and dismay as they heard out Charles' threat.
"I see diplomacy has failed. Perhaps, this will motivate you to leave me and my family alone. I don't need to be arrested to realize that my parenting skills might not be perfect. I was well aware of that, but this treachery began within my family and I'd like the permission to finish it within my family. If you do insist on arresting me, I will have no choice, but to pull this trigger."
Horrified that his actions had put Sherlock in danger, John saw no other way out of this situation than to take matters into his own hands. He took a deep breath and tried his best to mentally prepare himself for what he was going to do.
I got him into this mess, and now I need to get him out. Whatever happens to me, Sherlock will be safe and he'll know that I love him. He's my top priority. I wonder if it will hurt much. At least, I won't be in pain for long, if Dad's the straight-shooter I think he is. Maybe the drink has interfered with his aim. Well, there's always a shred of hope, isn't there? Fine, then. Here goes nothing.
The only thing that the officers saw after that was a blurry figure that darted right in the line of fire and shoved Sherlock out of the way just as Charles pulled the trigger. Boom!
"Aaagh!" As soon as everybody regained their hearing, the first thing they heard was John screaming in pain. It only took a second after that for the officers to tackle Charles to the ground and handcuff his hands behind his back, while reciting his right to him. It turned out that alcohol had interfered with Mr. Holmes' aim and steadiness; the bullet struck John squarely in the left shoulder. He tried not to black out, but he couldn't help it. The last thing he saw before he drifted into unconsciousness was his dad being escorted into the police car waiting out in front. Satisfied that Sherlock was finally safe, John surrendered to the darkness that had been calling him ever since the pain started.
October 20, 2011
Beep...beep...beep. John woke up in a hospital bed and the first thing he saw was Sherlock with an unfamiliar, but kind-looking woman.
He looks happy. That's a good sign. Damn, my shoulder hurts. So does my leg. My leg? I don't remember that hurting before.
As soon as Sherlock noticed his fluttering eyelashes, he rushed over to the bedside and blurted out, "John, our foster family is amazing! They have a son named Mycroft and he's brilliant and logical and just wonderful. He said he'd teach me all his tricks to becoming as smart as he is. And we did get a mum! Here she is. Mrs. Hudson, meet John. John, meet Mrs. Hudson. She makes the best tea; you'll like that. And she has a mini-flat for us to share right above her own flat. We even get a separate address. Hers is 221A Baker Street and ours is 221B! Isn't it all lovely?"
All John could do was blink and smile because of the sheer joy that was in his heart. Everything had worked out in the end because he had fought to protect what he considered precious. His mind suddenly flashed back to the day when he had discovered what was the most valuable thing in his life:
A 10 year-old John shuddered as his drunk father barged through the front door. He knew what was going to happen and braced himself for the inevitable pain. His mind flew to remind him of the only positive aspect of the situation and the most important of all: At least, Sherlock's safe.
Back in the hospital bed, John's mind quickly changed that phrase to fit the amazing situation he found himself in now: Finally, Sherlock and I are both safe.