B Is For Boys
The years crawling up to Sophia's 13th birthday had been filled with horror stories. Mainly they were told by John and Mary and all of them were focused on Sophia's teenage years. Puberty. They had told him that she would change, almost overnight, like a monster from a fairy tale. He could kiss goodbye to her being in awe of everything he did. She'd be embarrassed by him. She wouldn't even talk to him, only groan and grunt in response. She'd always be angry or crying and there would be nothing he could do about it. She would hate him.
Of course, he assumed that they were only trying to wind him up. His Sophia wouldn't be that bad. She would never hate him or lie to him. She would never spend days on end being miserable or grumpy. And there was no way on Earth that she would ever stop talking. It was all scary stories. The type that children told each other at sleepovers. Complete fiction and nothing more.
But there was one thing that did scare him.
Dating.
Boys, to be more precise. Because he had met boys. He didn't understand them but he knew what they wanted. He had seen enough television, heard enough teenage boys talking to each other on the tube, read enough books to know that many young men just wanted to get girls into bed with them and nothing more. He wouldn't let that happen to his daughter. Not Sophia who was already so fragile and emotional.
He tried to tell himself that, perhaps his daughter would turn out like him with no attraction to the opposite sex until she was much older. Or, if he was lucky, she'd never find another person attractive in the whole of her life and Sherlock would be able to sleep easy knowing that he'd always be able to protect her.
Because that was his biggest worry. He could protect her from anything else but a teenage boy who could break her heart. A boy who could make her feel like she was anything less than the most important person on the planet.
Of course, if Sherlock knew anything about human emotions and relationships, he would know that there was nothing he could do to stop any of that. Nothing legal or anything wouldn't traumatise Sophia for the rest of her adult life anyway. It was only when she was 14 that he found that out. Unfortunately for him, he would have to learn from experience.
/
She should have never agreed to this. It was too loud and full of people she didn't care to be around. People who kept bumping into her clumsily. People who laughed too loudly about things that weren't funny. People who were all the same age or slightly older than Sophia. She didn't know many of them though. Once or twice she saw someone she recognised as someone who knew Madison but none of them bothered to talk to her. Madison herself had long since slipped out of Sophia's view. She was somewhere in the house with someone else. So much for sticking together all night.
Standing alone in the hallway of a house she had never been to before, Sophia was starting to get rather annoyed with Madison. She wasn't a very good friend. Sophia should have realised it earlier but she was almost starstruck. It was because Madison was popular, cool and pretty. It didn't matter what she did or said as long as she was giving her attention, the right kind of attention, Sophia didn't really mind at all. She did exactly what Madison wanted her to do because she thought it would make her popular as well.
Even if she knew she shouldn't do it.
Even if it was lying to her father.
The thought made her stomach flip and her chest ache. She had never lied to her father before. She hadn't even tried. There had never been a point. She knew for a fact that he would be able to tell she was lying just by looking at him. Part of her was sorely disappointed when he didn't even look up from his armchair when she told her first lie. The lie that led her to be standing in the hallway of a house that belonged to a person she didn't even know. The air thick with cigarette smoke and cheap body spray.
"Sophie, right?" A voice asked, pulling Sophia out of her thoughts. She looked up to see a boy standing over her. She recognised him from school. He was in the year above her but a lot of the girls in her class spoke about him a lot. He had floppy blond hair that was never greasy like many other boys in school. His eyes were shiny and forest green. His skin was perfect with no spots and his nose turned up slightly at the tip. Everyone said he was the cutest boy in school. If Sophia took the time to think about it, she would probably agree with them.
But why was he talking to Sophia? She tried to correct him, to tell him her name was Sophia not Sophie, but he didn't seem to listen. He spoke again. His breath smelt like beer. Sophia had never liked beer. Her father let her try alcohol at home a few times. It was some parenting technique he had read about. He thought that if he didn't make a big deal out of alcohol then she wouldn't sneak out and drink it. She had never planned to. She didn't like alcohol that much. She didn't want to get drunk. Not yet. Standing in the hallway, her plastic cup was only filled with cola. Madison had tried to make her drink some horrid sweet alcohol that came in a plastic bottle and then called her lame when she said no.
The boy was still talking. His hand grazed against her bare shoulder. She didn't feel anything. Not a bolt of electricity or a shiver like in the stories. His thumb began to rub circles on her skin. She didn't know whether she liked it or not. She looked down at his hand, bigger than hers, and then back to his face. He was leaning forwards, making her feel smaller than she remembered being before. He was saying something she couldn't quite hear over the roaring of the music. It wasn't the type of music that she liked. It pounded in her head, making it throb.
So when the boy asked if they should go somewhere quieter, the idea seemed brilliant. She nodded, worried her voice would shake and sound pathetic if she tried to speak. He took her by the hand, the same hand that had been on her shoulder, leading her upstairs like she was a child. She should have pulled her hand away from his but for a moment she was struck by it. It was warm and soft. No one ever held her hand. Boys and girls held hands around school but not her. She had never thought about it until now. She kind of liked it. She didn't love it but it wasn't awful. His hand was bigger than hers, more tanned as well. No one in school spoke about how pretty his hands were.
She was so busy focusing on his hands that she didn't realise that he was leading her to an empty bedroom.
/
"Who's house is she sleeping over at anyway?" Mary smiled one evening as she handed Sherlock his mug of tea. Seeing as Sophia was out for the night, John had invited him over for dinner. It was better than him moping around the flat on his own, John had reasoned.
"Some girl from school." Sherlock shrugged, he didn't really take much notice of Sophia's friends. She never really invited them over so he never really got the chance to meet them. There weren't that many either. Not until lately. For the past few weeks she hadn't been able to stop talking about her cool new friends in school. Sherlock hadn't taken much notice of it and could barely remember their names. School friends, he had concluded a long time ago, never really mattered or stuck around. Sophia had only managed to keep one friend from primary school but, seeing as she went to the grammar school across town, they only spoke online and rarely saw each other in real life. Of course, that friend was Tabitha. The little girl with the dads who still thought John and Sherlock were a couple despite meeting Mary a good few times.
"Well that's nice." Mary answered happily, dropping down onto the sofa next to her husband. "She doesn't really go friends' houses often, does she?"
"She's too introverted." Sherlock answered. "Most of her friends are online."
"Still, it's nice she's doing some proper teenage girl stuff, isn't it?" John declared. Sherlock let out a hum of acknowledgement but neither agreed nor disagreed. He liked his daughter being who she was. He preferred when she stayed in the flat in her pyjamas reading books or clicking away at her laptop silently. At least then he would know she was safe.
"They're probably painting each others nails and talking about boys." Mary teased. Sherlock rolled his eyes, happy for the distraction that came with his phone buzzing to life in his pocket. Mary and John continued to talk in the background of Sherlock's attention as he reached for his phone.
The message was from Sophia.
Ravenstone Road.
SH
Sherlock felt his stomach drop. The message wouldn't have made much sense if it weren't for the signing of it. Something that Sophia had always made fun of her father for doing. Something that John had joked that, if she ever used it, there must be something wrong. A joke that ended up becoming quite useful. It was soon agreed upon that if Sophia ever needed help she could sign her text with her initials and Sherlock or John or Mary or whoever had received the text, would know that it was an emergency. They would come running.
"Call Lestrade." Sherlock announced, leaping to his feet. He rushed out of the room, with John and Mary completely confused at his heel. He grabbed his coat from the hanger near the door and struggled to put it on as quickly as he would have liked. "Sophia's in trouble."
/
"Police have already been down to Ravenstone Road tonight." Lestrade explained over the phone that had been set to speaker phone. His voice filled Mary's car as the passengers sat in a tense silence. The drive was taking too long. At least in Sherlock's opinion it was. Even following the police cars that raced down the road with sirens blazing, it was taking too long. "Noise complaint. Seems like there might be a party going on."
"She won't be at a party." Sherlock snapped. "She's sleeping over at a friends house."
"Oh, Sherlock, you're not that dim." Mary smirked from the driver's seat. There was a pause and, after a quick glance in the rearview mirror to look at the detective in the back, she realised she was wrong. "Oh, wow. You are."
"Your point, Mary?" Sherlock hissed.
"It's the oldest trick in the book." Mary continued. "You tell your parents you're sleeping at a friends house and that friend tells their parents they're sleeping at your house." Hearing nothing in return, Mary rolled her eyes. "Then you both go to a party that your parents would no way in hell let you go to."
"No." Sherlock almost yelped. "No. There's no way she would have done that."
"Look, we'll knock on the door, tell them there's been another complaint about the noise and get them to wrap the party up. They'll soon start to scatter once we say we're taking some people in for underage drinking." There was a pause on the phone for a second or so before Lestrade spoke again. "Do you want me to... erm... bring Sophia down to the cells. Give her a bit of a scare for a few hours."
"No." Sherlock barked. "No. She won't be there. She doesn't like parties. Last party she went to had slices of cake and a bouncy castle."
"Goes against the rules of the safety words." John piped up. ignoring his friend in the back seat. "We can't make a fuss. Whatever's wrong or whatever's Sophia's done. We can't make a fuss."
The police cars suddenly slammed on the brakes, pulling up outside a house that obviously had some sort of get together going on. Even from inside the car, Sherlock could hear the muffled sound of bass music pounding in the air. Whilst most of the lights in the other houses on the street were dimmed or switched off for the night, the house they had pulled up outside was bursting with brightness. The front door was open with a couple of gangly teenagers smoking and drinking.
Sherlock Holmes had never been to a house party before but he had no doubt that this is what one looked like.
"You lot wait in the car. I'll have a run through and see if she's in there." Lestrade's voice crackled from the phone before a bleep signalling the end of the call rang out. The trio watched as the doors to the police cars opened and uniform officers climbed out and headed towards the door. Lestrade headed out of one, giving a quick nod to the group before entering the house.
"She won't be in there." Sherlock insisted after a few moments of quiet. "She doesn't like... social gatherings."
"Teenager girls are confusing things, Sherlock." Mary reminded him. "They're a mystery to everyone. Even you." Sherlock scoffed. He didn't like the idea of his own daughter being a puzzle was infuriating. He didn't need that in his life. He didn't want it. Mysteries were for work. They were cases to be solved. They shouldn't be in his family life.
They waited for a while longer, watching as teenagers scattered out of the house and ran in different directions down the street.
There was a ping from Mary's phone. She reached into her pocket to pull it out for slower than Sherlock would have liked. Everyone was being too slow for his liking this evening. Ever since Sophia had texted him he wanted everything to be as fast as possible.
"It's Lestrade." Mary announced calmly.
"Why has he text you and not me?" Sherlock asked, feeling slightly annoyed.
"Probably because he knew whatever he said, you wouldn't listen." Mary muttered as he pressed a few buttons to open the text. Sherlock didn't argue, knowing that Mary was probably right. "Right. Lestrade says to head home. He has Sophia and he's going to bring her back."
"No." Sherlock barked although Mary had already started the engine. "No. I'm going to get her." But Mary had already locked the doors and, as Sherlock reached down to unbuckle his seatbelt, John had reached backward from the passenger seat to grab his wrist.
"Sherlock. You know the rules." He argued. "If you go stomping in there and making a scene, Sophia won't trust you enough to tell you anything ever again. You're just going to have to do as you're told. Just for once in your life."
Much to John's surprise, Sherlock did do as he was told. He sulked, throwing himself back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest, but he didn't try to get out of the car again. Instead, he stayed silent all the way back to Baker Street.
When they did get back to the flat, Sherlock stormed into the living room and made a beeline for his violin. Mary decided to pop the kettle on. Even if the rule was not to make a fuss, she couldn't see Sophia going to bed without a lecture at the least. It would be best, she reasoned, for her and her husband to stay for a bit and make sure the detective didn't overreact or go a bit too extreme with the punishments.
"Sherlock, stop brooding." John sighed from his armchair as the detective began to play a rather miserable tune.
"She was at a party." Sherlock huffed, still pulling the bow across the violin's strings. "I know what things happen at teenage parties."
"You've read scaremongering reports in the newspapers of teen sex games and class A drug parties." John told. "None of that stuff ever happens. Sophia most likely just wanted to go to a grown-up party and feel like an adult for a bit. Every teenager does it. It's almost a rite of passage."
"She lied to me." Sherlock muttered, pretending that he was paying far more attention to the instrument. "I trusted her. Anything could have happened." Before John could argue, the three adults in the flat had their attention taken by the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. Sherlock's hand stopped, the bow hovering over the violin.
The door was thrown open, banging against the wall behind it. There was a blur of color that darted into the kitchen and down the hallway. Before any of the three could fully comprehend what was happening or figure out what to say, the door to Sophia's room slammed shut.
"She's fine." Lestrade declared as he walked into the flat. "Bit upset but fine."
"See." Mary chided, bringing in a tray full of tea and setting it down on the coffee table. Lestrade let out a heavy sigh and dropped down on the sofa, picking up one of the mismatched mugs. Whatever had happened during the ride back, it had tired the man out. He reached over to the pot of sugar and began to pile spoonful after spoonful into the mug.
"What happened?" Sherlock asked through gritted teeth, finally becoming inpatient. Lestrade shook his head ever so slightly before taking in a deep breath.
"She didn't do anything... wrong." He started carefully. "She's not intoxicated. Don't even think she drank anything. Not half as bad as some of those kids in there. Christ."
"So why did she send the safe word?" John asked before Sherlock could speak. "What's gotten her so upset?" Lestrade struggled for a second. From the look in his eye, Sherlock was dreading what he was about to say. A million awful situations ran through his head. Each one worse than the one before.
"No idea." Lestrade sighed. Sherlock's head snapped around to look at him, eyes wide and fierce. Worried that his head was about to be bitten off, Lestrade raised his free hand in surrender. "She wouldn't talk to me."
"For God's sake.." Sherlock cursed, placing his violin down on the table and making his way to cross the living room. Lestrade jumped to his feet, his tea splashing to the floor before he steadied himself.
"I wouldn't, mate." He warned, blocking the detective's path. "It seemed like a delicate subject. One that maybe Mary should deal with. At least for now."
"What do you mean?" Sherlock hissed. Worried that the detective was about to bite his head off, Lestrade began to frantically search for a way to explain himself as delicately as possible. He took a deep breath and looked down at his tea splattered feet.
"When I found her she was in a bedroom..." Lestrade started. Sherlock stared back at him blankly, obviously not seeing where this was going. "With a boy." The detective let out a string of profanity, his voice filling the room. Almost instantly, he seemed far less keen to leave the living room. Instead, running a hand through his hair, he turned to make his way back to his violin. "They weren't doing anything." Lestrade assured him. "Didn't look like anything had happened. I don't know. I'm just thinking maybe a woman would be better talking to her first."
The detective opened his mouth to argue. To tell Lestrade that he and his daughter could talk about anything. That there was no need for a woman to get involved, he could handle it himself and he was rather offended that anyone thought otherwise. But after fumbling a few times to make any sound escape his lips, he gave up. Then, with a sigh, he picked back up his violin.
/
"It shouldn't be taking them this long." Sherlock hissed as he paced the living room much like a tiger in a small cage. Anger was radiating off of him. Anger that had developed from panic and worry that grew with every second that Mary and Sophia stayed in her bedroom. Every few moments John and Sherlock would hear sobs leaking through the walls. That just made Sherlock grow more tense, his hands curling into fists at his side.
"Look, I'm sure everything's fine." John tried to reassure him. "If there was any emergency Mary would have told us by now." Sherlock spun around on his heel, glaring dagger at his friend who was sitting oh-so-casually in his armchair. It had been bad enough when Lestrade had left, telling them to call him if they needed him. They needed him there. They needed him to wait. As soon as Sophia had told them what his boy had done, they needed to track him down and kill him. John had told him to calm down and stop over-reacting. They weren't about to kill a teenage boy and Lestrade should be allowed to go home and get some rest.
Sherlock was furious that everyone was acting so relaxed about the situation.
"She's OK." Mary declared before she had even entered the detective perked up, his glare falling from John as his eyes darted towards the door. "She's fine. She's not hurt, just a bit upset."
"What happened?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep his voice as level and calm as possible to avoid being scolded for being 'overdramatic'. Mary and John swapped a look, as if they could communicate without words. Then, after a moment of tense silence, Mary spoke, gesturing to Sherlock's arm chair as she did so.
"It's not nearly as bad as you're expecting." Mary started gently as Sherlock plonked himself down in his seat. She sat herself down on the arm of John's armchair, not breaking eye contact with the detective. "It seems like a boy got a bit too... hands-on with her. She's not physically hurt. She wasn't... she wasn't raped." Sherlock flinched at the word. "She's just shook up is all. Most of all, I think she's worried about being told off. So I really do think it'd be better if you don't make a big fuss of it all tonight. You know, be a bit more sympathetic than furious, eh?"
"What was she doing at that damn party?" Sherlock growled.
"She said it was her friend's idea." Mary replied calmly. "Sophia thought they'd stick together but it seemed as soon as they got to the party her friend just left her on her own. A boy from school recognised her and got talking to her. He had a bit too much to drink and obviously thought tonight would be his lucky night. Seemed that the little sod didn't want to take no for an answer either."
"What's his name?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know." Mary replied, confused for a second before realisation dawned upon her. "No way, Sherlock. You can't get involved."
"Somebody sexually assaulted my daughter." Sherlock stated, sounding oddly calm.
"Sophia doesn't think it's worth reporting anything to the police." Mary told him although she knew that wasn't what Sherlock was thinking. Plus, even if Sophia did want to go to the police, Mary doubted they would do much about it. They'd say something about it being a minor assault, not having any proof or something along those lines. Even if by some miracle the police decided to do something about it, it wouldn't be much more of a slap on the wrist for the boy.
"I don't want to go to the police." Sherlock shot back. "I just his name and my laptop. I'll be able to find out his address within five minutes."
"Bloody hell, Sherlock, you can't go and kill the boy." Mary snapped. She turned to her husband who up until now had been silent. "John, try and talk some sense into him, will you."
"You know, whilst I don't condone murder, I do have to side with Sherlock here." John sighed much to Mary's surprise. She let out a few curse words under her breath and ran a tired hand over her face. "Whoever the little bastard is, I wouldn't mind teaching him a lesson."
"Well... a lesson... sure." Mary fumbled. "But you can't go all vigilante. You can't go round to his house and beat him up."
"We won't beat him up..." John started only to be interrupted by his wife.
"Look, why don't we just take this one step at a time." She tried, looking from John to Sherlock. "Let's focus on making sure Sophia's alright and getting a good night's sleep, OK? If you two still feel like doing something stupid then we can talk about it properly tomorrow." Sherlock didn't argue despite desperately wanting to make it clear that killing someone who assaulted his daughter was anything but stupid. "Come on John. It's time we got home."
"You're leaving?" Sherlock asked. He hadn't thought of that possibility. He had assumed that John and Mary would stay the night, at least. Maybe the week. He couldn't possibly be left alone with Sophia whilst she was in such a state. This was all at least a two man job. Sherlock Holmes, no matter how fantastic he was, wasn't fully equipped for this.
"It's late, Sherlock." Mary stated, getting to her feet with John following. "Some of us have jobs to get to tomorrow." As the Watsons made their way to the door, Sherlock leaped to his feet to follow. His eyes were wide and full of panic as he watched the pair grab their coats from the coat hangers.
"You'll be fine, mate." John said, clapping a hand down on his friend's back after he had slipped an arm through his coat's sleeve. Sherlock stared back at him, wondering how on Earth he could say that. He knew that human emotions were definitely not his strong point. How could they be willing to leave his fragile daughter in his hands? What if he said the wrong thing? What if upset her even more? There was no way he could cope with this. Not on his own.
John shot him a hopeful smile but to Sherlock, it looked idiotic. "No one knows Sophia better than you."
Sherlock Holmes prayed that that wasn't true.
/
The stupid clothes that Sophia had borrowed from Madison had been bundled up and shoved into the corner of Sophia's room. She hadn't liked those clothes anyway. Madison was much smaller than Sophia was. Slimmer but more developed in the right areas. The clothes were too tight and showed off too much of her skin. She had been cold all night and constantly trying to cover up the little cleavage that she had. Cleavage that had been perfectly constructed with bundles of tissue paper stuffed into her bra. That had been Madison's idea. She said no one would notice. The boy surely didn't notice when he was grabbing at her chest.
She was much more comfier now wearing her favourite over-sized pyjamas. Her face was bare now as well. Free from the thick makeup that Madison had put on her. Foundation that didn't at all match her pale skin, lip gloss that was too thick and goopy, blusher that was too bold and eyeshadow that was supposed to bring out her eyes but just looked ridiculous. Mary had wiped it all off for her, telling her she was much prettier without all that rubbish on her face.
Madison had said she needed it. She said that Sophia was too pale and she dressed like an old woman. She said a lot of things like that, Sophia realised looking back. Things that were rude and mean but you didn't realise until later. Then, even when Sophia realised that what she had said was rather mean, she told herself she didn't care. That it didn't really matter because Madison was cool and popular and paying her attention.
At least, she hadn't thought she minded. Now after all this she found herself extremely angry at her so called friend and rather disillusioned with the idea of being popular or cool. She didn't feel cool anymore. She felt stupid and pathetic. She felt dirty. But before she could burst out into tears all over again, there was a knock at her bedroom door.
"Come in." She called, her voice muffled by the pillow she had shoved her face into. The door creaked open and, after hearing nothing for a few seconds, Sophia stuck her head out of the pile of blankets and pillows she had buried herself under.
Her father stood in the doorway, hesitant to walk through. There were two mugs in his hands: a boring plain one and Sophia's favourite one. Molly had gotten that mug for her a while back. It had a picture of a grumpy looking dog on it. Grumpy looking dogs always made Sophia smile. Well, until now.
"Hot chocolate." Sherlock stated awkwardly from the doorway. "When you were younger you used to have one every night." Sophia's eyes began to well up with tears although she didn't know why. A lump grew in her throat. She buried herself back underneath her nest of blankets so her father couldn't see her grow teary.
There were a few moments of silence before Sophia heard her father's footsteps coming towards her. She peered out from a small gap between her blankets and watched as her father sat himself down on the floor next to the bed. He reached over to place Sophia's mug on her bedside table before taking a sip from his own.
This wasn't at all what Sophia had expected. She had expected Sherlock to be furious as soon as he saw her. She was anticipating a screaming match and had even thought up a few good arguments to deflect the blame from herself. Arguments that crumbled beneath her own scrutiny as she went over them in her mind. Deep down she knew that lying to her father so she could go to a party was an awful and idiotic idea. She should have never agreed to it.
Maybe it was Sherlock's plan for the silence to eat away at her or maybe he truly didn't know what to say to her. Whether it was planned or not, Sophia found herself bursting into tears. Big heavy sobs that shook her body until she couldn't breathe. Pushing herself out of bed in a tangle of blankets and pillows, she threw herself down onto her father's lap.
Still, he stayed silent. His arms wrapped around her body but he didn't say anything. He let her cry and cry until she couldn't cry anymore and her loud sobs decreased to shaking, gasping breaths.
"I said no." She whispered as her head lay resting on her father's chest. "I didn't want to do anything but he said I should be grateful. He said no one else would want me because I'm not pretty enough."
"He's wrong." Sherlock shot back angrily. His voice was practically shaking with fury. He tried to calm himself down before speaking again. Remembering what Mary said about trying to be sympathetic, he didn't want Sophia to think that his anger was directed towards her. "There is nothing wrong with you."
"I've never had a boyfriend." Sophia replied, her voice growing emotional yet again. "I've not even got close. I'm old and I've never had a boyfriend."
"Sophia, you are fourteen years old." Sherlock exclaimed, not quite believing what he was hearing. "You are still a child. You have your whole life ahead of you."
"Madison's already had four boyfriends." Sophia argued. She reached over to the bedside table for her mug of hot chocolate and brought it to her lips. Sherlock watched her, holding himself back from calling his daughter's friend any names.
"That doesn't make her a better person." He said instead. "None of this will matter in ten years time. It won't even matter in five years time. Your life doesn't depend on how many boyfriends you've had in high school." Sophia let out a hum. She wasn't going to out right agree with her father but at least she gave a noise that sort of told him she saw where he was coming from.
"Everyone in school has crushes." She stated. "You know, like boys they want to kiss and stuff... but I don't. I don't really think I want to kiss any of the boys at school. I think there's something wrong with me."
"Don't be stupid, Sophia." Sherlock scolded before catching himself and remembering the delicate situation they were in. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. Why couldn't Mary have stayed? She could have sorted all this out. A thought ran across his head momentarily. An idea. He could call Molly and ask her to come down right now to sort it all out. But he thought against it. "You might start to find boys attractive later on." He struggled to say. "You might never find boy attractive at all. You might find girls attractive. You might find boys and girls attractive. You might never find anyone attractive. Whatever happens, there is nothing wrong with you."
There was a few seconds silence. Sherlock wondered if he had said something wrong. He felt her head rest once more against his chest. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck. He was reminded of her as a child. Of when she used to be desperate to be picked up when she was upset. His arms wrapped tighter around her and he rested his chin on the top of her head.
"Thank you." She whispered.
They didn't speak of that evening again. Sophia didn't bring it back up and Sherlock didn't push her to talk about it. The closest they ever got to talking about that evening was one day after school when Sophia mentioned, with a suspicious look shot towards her father, that the boy who had brought her to the bedroom and placed his fumbling hands on her body, had been expelled from school. Something to do with being found with a class B drug on school property. They said he had been hysterical. That he had cried like a small child and claimed it was planted on him. There would be no way he'd get into the top universities he had been planning to go to now. He claimed his entire life had been ruined.
Sherlock pretended that he was shocked.
And Sophia pretended to believe him.
A/N: Well, there we go! Thank you for all the reviews, favourites and alerts so far! They do mean the world to me.
Please keep reviewing! I love hearing from you all! If anyone has any ideas for the one word prompt for the next chapter (the letter C) shoot them on over! Anything you wanna see just tell me and I'll try my best to do so!
annnyyywayyyy, I hope you liked this chapter! I can't wait to hear from you.
