Chapter 4
Wow, this is really turning into an intensive Easter holiday. I was supposed to write a one shot, which turned out to be a little longer. Chapter 4 is now coming out and I cannot really see an end yet.
That's the beauty of , as a writer you really are in contact with your readers, since you add chapters, get reviews and stuff, then get the drive from that to write more chapters. I thank you all for inspiring me!
Disclaimer: If I was producing BBC's "Sherlock", I would get off my ass and produce more episodes before 2013. Since it is not, it is implied I am not Steven Moffat (Nor the good Mr. Conan Doyle).
I also have a thing against cream-filled biscuits.
John Watson sat on the sofa, staring into the kitchen but not really seeing anything. He could hear in the hallway downstairs, probably coming home from buying groceries.
He hoped that she didn't come upstairs. Despite all her claims that "she was not their housekeeper", she loved bringing them little treats, like biscuits filled with various fruit-flavoured cream. They had a box of orange-flavoured ones standing on a shelf for weeks until Sherlock had started offering it to clients.
He could hear her shuffling across the hall and the small thud of her door closing. Breathing out, he lowered himself back into the softness of the sofa. Pretending to Mrs. Hudson that everything was fine was not what he needed right now.
He stared down at his hand, still grasping his phone. The screen was black. His first impulse when he had seen that picture was to delete it. He actually had his thumb against the delete-button when he thought that maybe it was the only evidence they had for…what obviously had happened. If it ended in a court trial, though he doubted Sherlock would ever allow that. But that did not mean that he had to look at it further. The search for the number came out blank, but it did not matter. He would recognize the man smiling and pointing at the camera anywhere. Moriarty.
John hoped by God that his was the only phone that picture found its way to, but he wouldn't count on it. Moriarty was the kind of man who kicked you until you lay on the ground, then came back and kicked you some more.
John turned and eyed the shut door to Sherlock's bedroom. Since John had tackled him to the ground, mistakenly accused him for being on drugs, the door had remained shut and nothing had moved inside.
Making his way over to the door, John pressed his ear against it. He couldn't make anything out, but maybe Sherlock was sleeping. At least he knew he was still in there, there was no way he could have walked out and John not noticing.
"Sherlock?" There was no answer from inside.
"Sherlock, can I come in, please?"
The pain he had had in his stomach since being sent that picture intensifying, John tried the door. At least it was not locked.
"Sherlock, I am coming in, alright?"
Slowly opening the door, he peered in. He couldn't see his flat-mate anywhere, at least not from that angle. Very slowly, as to not startle him (shamefully thinking about when he just wrestled him to the ground after what he had endured) he made his way into the room, moving along the walls. Hearing something shifting in the corner, John turned towards it and thought his heart might shatter by it.
Sherlock sat on the floor between his bed and the wall, his knees pulled up against his chest. His hands were gripping a pillow from his bed and when he looked at him, John saw a look he had never seen on his friend's face before. Humiliation and shame. It was only there a moment, so quick that John was not quite sure it had ever been there at all.
When he saw John looking at him, Sherlock turned his head, looking at the opposite wall with a stony expression.
Careful not to approach him too quick, John sat down on the floor near the foot end of the bed, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
"Sherlock…I…"
"It does not matter."
" But I should never have accused you for being on drugs, restraining you like that after…what had happe…wait. How can you know I know…. what I …know..?
Feeling awkward, not wanting to say the word "rape" out loud, nor pretend he did not know and have Sherlock tell him, he left the sentence hanging in the air.
Sherlock smiled humourlessly and waved his phone. "Got the same picture as you, I suppose. I must say, if Moriarty had sent a picture every time he did a crime, it might be easier to catch him."
"Sherlock, what happened to you is not right! And I swear to you, we will find Moriarty and the men who did this!"
"What, Lestrade and his lot? Hardly." he snorted, sounding like his usual self.
Looking at Sherlock, John wondered if he was still in shock or actual did not care about what had happened. He always said he was able to distance himself from feelings, but surely this experience should have some impact?
"Okay, but I want you to know that I am always here for you. And that this was not your fault. It is okay to show some feelings sometimes, you know. To let it all out".
Rising, Sherlock looked down at his friend. "Please, John. Next it will be Mycroft calling, asking to sit by my bed site and read me a story. I can manage fine on my own".
And he did. For several days Sherlock slept, shouted at the telly, cluttered their flat with more dubious experiments and even ate some food from time to time. He had brushed Lestrade off when he called, claiming he was too busy to help them out, but that was not so unusual either.
John started to think that maybe the picture looked more dramatic than what had actually happened or that Sherlock actually did not think so much of it, when he heard glass shatter in the kitchen, followed by a choice of swearwords that would make a sailor blush.
"Sherlock, the window is open, next we'll have Mrs. Hudson up here complaining again."
Sherlock rounded on John, his safety goggles pushed up to the top of his head, brandishing a sheet of blank paper and a bent tea spoon.
"What? If I don't keep my voice down, and talk polite and behave fucking correct, I will get in trouble? I am not a damn schoolboy, John, I am a grown man, in case you haven't noticed! Oh, it must be wonderful to have an ordinary brain like yours, but mine is rotting, you get that? My mind is rotting staying cooped up in this fucking apartment all the time!"
Breathing heavily, Sherlock grabbed the nearest tea cup and threw it at the wall.
"And this is your fault, John! Before, everything that happened, happened only to me! Nobody had anything to blackmail me with, because it did not work! But now I have you, and it has made me vulnerable, you get that? If I had never met you, I would be fine, but if I take another case now, they will rape you! So I am stuck here forever, rotting my brain. Does your fucking ordinary brain understand what I'm saying? They will fucking rape you!"
Staring at his friend, John felt numbness creeping over him. They will take me too. If Sherlock takes on another case. To protect me, he must stay unhappy all his life. That was the true purpose of the attack. Not only to humiliate Sherlock, a man who all of London knew did not like to be touched, but to demonstrate what would happen to his best friend if he continued ruining Moriarty's work. So to ensure John's safety, Sherlock would have to be ordinary.
Never take on another case. Never use his hard-earned skills. Never feel any pride anymore. And in the end, it would kill him.
Never had John understood the meaning behind Moriarty's threat at the pool."I will burn the heart out of you". To protect the only person who mattered to him, Sherlock would have to give up his own life.
Crossing the floor, grim determination in his face, John did the only thing he could think of. He flung his arms around his best friend, who was still clutching the paper and tea spoon, safety goggles askew on top of his head.
Standing still at first, John felt Sherlock go limp in his arms. The paper and spoon fell on the floor and hesitant arms gripped around John's back. Being the shorter man, John reached up and pulled Sherlock's head down towards his shoulder. He could feel the other man shaking.
"I am not afraid. I swore to you that we would get these bastards who did this. I will not let you give up everything you love, just to protect me. No! Don't speak, I am not done yet. I love you, you are my best friend, and in your own weird way I know that you love me too. And it goes both ways. I refuse you to give up just to keep me safe. You understand? You are the strongest man I know, be strong for me. We can do this."
John felt Sherlock hands tightening around his back and sensed a shudder go through his friend. Then the tears came. Slowly at first, then, like a damn that burst, great heaving sobs racking his tall frame. John added his own tears, pressing his face into the shirt front of his friend.
Rocking back and forth on the kitchen floor, amidst tea cups, scribbled papers, shattered glass and several empty take-out boxes, the two friends clutched at each others, preparing themselves for what might come.
What will happen next? I don't know, so if you have any ideas or request, my inbox or review box are always open.
I will now search for my Easter egg, "cleverly" hidden by my husband somewhere in our apartment.
Happy Easter to you all!