Chapter 3

DO NOT OWN. More on Sherlock's past and how their handling having him a child.

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None of them were able to believe it when they realized that a week had passed since their tragedy and the deaging of their friend.

John for himself, was extremely attached to the young boy and nothing made him happier than Sherlock seeming to be a bit more comfortable with him each day. He still flinched if he was touched unexpectedly or if someone made quick moves near him. But he was a little more open to talking with them and he usually remembered to simply call them John and Mary.

Mary who'd always had a sort of maternal affection for Sherlock, felt that taking care of him as an actual child was helping to heal the hole the loss of her own child had left. She simply couldn't believe how his parents had treated him. He was sweet and polite, always questioning. He was also unnaturally quiet, he had a hard time eating, often woofing it down an arm curled protectively around it as if afraid they were tricking him and it would be taken away. Then there were the night terrors that plagued him.

In the beginning they had written off his unwillingness to sleep as just being stubborn and wanting to stay up and experiment. By the end of it John felt terrible and really wished his adult friend was back so that he could apologize for everything he'd scoffed at that Sherlock did, that he now realized was the product of his younger years. The first night they had finally gotten Sherlock to sleep, it had been well after midnight. The two of them had fallen exhausted in their own bed. They had been jerked awake about an hour later by a scream. John had reacted quickly grabbing his gun and heading for Sherlock. The scream was so full of fear and pain that John was sure if he wasn't in army mode then he would have felt the need to curl up and cry. It was so lonely and painful. All he could think of was that whoever had done this to Sherlock had finally come for him, so pushing his emotions aside he'd gone crashing into Sherlock's room, searching for the creep attacking the boy. Scanning carefully the only one he saw in the room was Sherlock. Shaking the last vestiges of sleep, he tucked the gun in his waistband. Sherlock was laying writhing on the bed, his scream was replaced with mumbling. John moved closer to figure out what was being said.

"M sorry mummy, don'. Please don'. Daddy I won' do i' again. Please!" The little voice was desperate and heartbreaking. John immediately picked the boy up in his arms and cradled him close rocking him and pacing around the room.

"Shh Sherlock, shh. Its ok, their not here, they won't hurt you anymore." He continued in a mantra.

He looked down at the boy in his arms, his face was shadowed but when he passed by the window streetlight streaked across the young boys face. Tear tracks ran down his cheeks, his eyes were red. John was pleased to see that his mumbling had slowed and he was breathing a little more evenly. Finally his words stopped and he lifted his head up, eyes avoiding John's.

"M sowwy I woke you up. Please I promise I won' again, don' lock me in the close'!" He pleaded desperately choking back more tears. John wrapped his arm tighter around Sherlock placing his free hand in the curls.

"Shh Sherlock, its not your fault. You aren't in trouble." John took him and sat on the bed, with the boy in his lap. "This is because of the trauma you've endured. Its your minds way of trying to work through it, and..." At this he lifted the boys chin so he would look him in the eyes. He nearly couldn't continue because of the almost trusting look reflected back at him. Sherlock was sincerely listening to him, he wanted him to make it better. The strength of the trust placed in him made John feel on top of the world. He vowed he would not break it as everyone else had. "You're mind is also telling you, that you need to talk to someone about it. Talking helps you work through what happened, to understand it, and so that other person can help you realize that it wasn't your fault."

Sherlock's eyes glazed a bit as they did when he was deep in thought. He studied John harder through the fog, eyes flickering now and then as if trying to deduce John once more. It was times like this where Sherlock realized that he had been hurt his whole life and his mind told him that he shouldn't be trusting anyone. But his heart was arguing back, that John and Mary..who he noticed was standing in the doorway, weren't hurting him. John held his gaze steadily as the boy thought through everything.

Finally deciding he took a deep breath. "I was experimen'ing with a glass of juice. I wondered wha' kind of bugs would wan' i'. I was on the porch, I'd been there all af'ernoon. I was leaning over looking a' the bugs n wri'ing their names down. My mu-mother screamed and yelled tho my father tha' the freak was a' i' again. When I heard her I jumped and the juice n bugs spilled." Tears started to pool in his eyes as he spoke."THey s'ained mu'Mother's new shoes. Father...he grabbed my hair and yelled tha' I needed tho s'op bein a freak. Tha' I was a disgrace and he'd theach me once and for all. He..." A small sob but Sherlock muddled through. "He hi' me and threw me down, kicking my ribs. I fel' thwo of them break. I heard a hiss of leather and I realized tha' he had pulled his bel' ou'. He kep' hidding and hidding. I begged him tho sthop. He jus' laughed a' me. He thold me tha' I deserved worse. He didn' sthop even when I stharthed bleeding. WHen he go' thired he threw his belth tho the side and grabbed my hair again. He thook me down tho the closeth in the basementh. He puth me there. My finally goth me outh. He said I'd been there for three days."

Story finished, Sherlock gave in to his overwhelming emotions and placed his arms around John's neck holding tight. John squeezed him as he felt tears soaking into his pj's. The boy was so quiet that they could barely hear what felt like heart wrenching sobs.

'Another thing beaten into him. Crying was a weakness." He thought bitterly.

At that point, unable to hold back any longer Mary walked across the room sitting next to her boys. She placed a comforting hand on the child's back and whispered sweetly too him. They sat there, a small broken family trying to heal as the sobs tapered off to hiccoughs, which tapered off to deep breathing. The adults sighed in relief the boy was finally sleeping.

Based on what they had learned, they had finally set a plan for their days as long as Sherlock was a child. They had gathered some books and paperwork, Mary had a teacher friend that owed her a favor, so that he could learn in the morning. Mrs. Hudson had been pleased and flattered to be asked to teach her young grandson, as she had taken to calling Sherlock. The boy had been shocked the first time she had said it, his face turning a bright pink, before he had smiled shyly at her. The two had been thick as thieves since.

The days started with Mary, John and Sherlock making breakfast and eating. Sherlock still didn't eat as much as he should, but John was pleased to note that he was eating a bit more everyday and he was less and less hesitant about doing so. They still had to remind him to slow down, but he was very receptive and when reminded he ate slower and while he clutched his bee tightly, a nervous tick, he did not hover over his plate.

After breakfast they cleaned, having Sherlock dry the dishes. He did with excitement and relish. He'd confided in John later that he enjoyed being able to help out, especially people that were so nice to him. The morning then went to where John and Mary would sit upstairs doing something, while Sherlock went down to Mrs. Hudson's flat for class. They did this so there was practice for when they would be going back to work. From breakfast to lunch Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson would read and fill out worksheets, later Mrs. Hudson would correct them to give back the next day.

After the first test, Sherlock had hesitantly come up the stairs and shuffled over to John. The army doctor had immediately set aside his computer and smiled down at the boy.

"Hello Sherlock, how was school?" Sherlock smiled and nodded, fiddling with the paper in his hand. "Do you have something to show me?" Again a nod."Alright your nervous why don't you want to show me?"

Sherlock fiddled around, trying to find his words. John sat patiently, it was another thing they were working on. Trying to get Sherlock unafraid of opening up to them. They found if they kept a smile on their face, no matter what horrors the boy told them about, that he would eventually open up.

"I uh..." Right on cue. "I goth my thesth back n gramma said I should show you. Buth I thold her I shouldn'th show off cuz I noth as smarth as I think I am and no one likes a show off." Another thing that he had been forced to repeat until he believed it.

John reached forward and pulled him into his lap, taking the paper gently. Looking down, he noticed it was an English test, that Sherlock had Aced.

"Well you are probably the smartest person I've ever met, and wanting to show me and be proud of your grade is very good. I want to know how your doing. Now I think this should go on the fridge so everyone can see, don't you?"

A shy grin. "Ok." He said simply before hopping up and wandering in the kitchen, it was nearly lunchtime anyway.

Their afternoons were much the same as the morning. Every other day they had lunch with Sherlock, the other days he had it with the landlady , again practice for when no one else was home. His afternoons were his to do what he wanted with as long as it was something fun. No experiments, as he had time during class to do those, just good ol kid fun. At first grandmum had chosen for him, one day baking with him, another taking him to a park. Now she backed off a little and let him choose, if he couldn't think of something or was having a nervous day she would gently suggest something. At four o'clock he would stomp back upstairs and attach himself to either John or Mary. Following them around, asking questions, and helping out where he could. After dinner, John had set that time aside for him and Sherlock to sit by themselves in the kitchen. This was the time that John listened to Sherlock speak about his past and try to help him work through it. He hadn't opened up completely but he had mentioned a couple of major times he'd been in trouble. Both times had brought the boy to tears.

John felt that the routine was good but he was afraid of how Sherlock would react when they actually weren't in the flat. When he'd talked to Mary about it one night, she had suggested that they start leaving the flat for an hour or so each day, and up it until they were back to work. Then they could see how he reacted, and if need be, ween him away from needing them around all the time.

The night before they had decided, John lay in bed. He felt sure this wasn't going to go well and it was going to be hard to be strong in the face of Sherlock's sadness. He was barely able to say no to the grown man, never-mind his adorable younger self. Grumbling he rolled over hoping for the best.

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Next chapter, Sherlock's reaction when the two of them leave the flat. Thanks for everyone that has followed, or favorited this story its heartening to know someone is reading. Please read and review if you have the time.

Thanks :)