Ok, I finally got Internet! Yay! But now my computers broken and I'm sick. I have one word. Damn. So basically, I'm writing on and iPod, which sucks. This story is going to have beatings, this story is going to have moriarty, but most of all it will have John hurting Sherlock. This is a WUMPH fic, so be warned. Warnings for child abuse, adult abuse, and may have mentions JUST MENTIONS of rape. Also, the chapters you don't have to read, if you want things to start fast. I just need to have opening paragraphs.

It was a normal day in London. Unusually normal. No murders, muggings, or burglars to report of. Lestrade and friends had even taken the day off, after three grueling hours of siting still. But The streets were alive with their usual buzz, and people moved in every which way, not paying much mind to the surprisingly tranquil scene. It was this kind of scene that made Sherlock Holmes insufferably intolerant. He had been cramped up in the small flat for days, nothing to do. He'd solved every puzzle available in the flat, done every single experiment possible with the soap Molly had boughten him for a present, and just about drove John crazy as well.

John had since gone out, to get away from his sociopath, left for Sarah's probably. Sherlock grinned. Now that John wasn't here to stop him, he could finally search for that tongue. Of course, John hadn't disposed of it yet, it was all that remained of the victim. So Sherlock looked. And looked. And looked. Nada. He groaned. Sherlock could even admit it, he was bloody bored. He played his violin for about 1 hour straight before sighing and heading for the kitchen. He needed that tongue. That tongue was- Sherlock paused, and looked up.

Rough footsteps on the pavement

Johns pattern, but they're too angry

Perhaps Sarah broke it off with him

No

No that's not it

The door to their flat finally opened. John Watson walked slowly and calmly; yet angrily into the kitchen, where Sherlock happened to be sitting. He was still in the middle of deducing. But he was a friend, might as well make some use of that.

"John." He said with a nod and a smirk. "How's things?"

John looked up slowly, ever so menacingly at the detective. He stepped forward forcefully.

Sherlock, as expected, was a pro at body language. He could tell a life from it. Right now, John was angry. Incredibly angry. He was boiling over with rage. Sherlock looked at him doubtfully.

"What is it, what did I do? Clearly I've-

"Shuttup"

John lurched forward and grabbed Sherlock's collar. Sherlock gasped as John surprisingly picked him up off the ground and threw him down onto the floor. He lay there, confused. Had John just-? No, John wouldn't...

Please review! Tell me what you think should happen, or if you have any preferences for flashbacks!