The Curious case of John Watson
Chp 9
Yes I have an exam today, yes I should be studying, and no I am not. Oh god, somebody please tell my brain I need to graduate! Sorry it's so short though, next one will be longer…I hope.
A few nights had past since John had tried to sneak out of his bedroom and Sherlock was starting to become more anxious than usual. He didn't feel any closer to figuring out John's lost memories. He didn't want to pressure the child, but he was beginning to start worrying. John had been in his coma for over a month now and he was afraid that maybe they'd be stuck like this forever. This posed more than a few issues, issues which he didn't care to deal with. No matter how terribly he wanted John to remember though; there was nothing he could do. He couldn't force him to remember the information, and it was even difficult to give him a slight push. This memory was traumatic, something so horrible John had blocked it from of his conscious mind, and he had developed a mental disorder because of whatever happened on this day. At least that was the conclusion Sherlock had come to. John might have been abused prior to this day, which seemed highly likely given the belt incident, but this day was the origin of his deep mental trauma. This was the day where it became too much. So while he wanted John to remember so he could heal and come out his coma, a selfish part of him wanted John to never remember. He didn't want him to have to remember this horrible thing, to suffer through that pain again.
He had waited too long; he knew that, he really should have been putting more effort forth. Irritatingly enough, Mycroft and Lestrade had even said so. They understood Sherlock's hesitance, but didn't seem to care nearly as much. They didn't care how this would torture John; they didn't get that horrible, gut-wrenching, heart breaking pain about thinking of John hurt. Now he really had to get started. John would probably be upset he had taken this long, little John had said he seemed angry. Sherlock was worried where that anger might be directed.
It is because of these events, and reasoning's, that Sherlock now found himself glued to a computer screen. Younger John and him had arrived at the flat a little over twenty minutes ago and the child was currently eating his Chinese take away. He had found some cartoon to hold his attention which contained characters with annoyingly high pitched voices; Sherlock would have shut the telly off if it weren't for how entertained John appeared to be. Despite the shrill noises he plunged himself into research. He needed to find information on John's family, any information. Anything that could help revive the child's memories. After the shoe episode he had been able to recall finishing his mother's Christmas gift and retrieving his action figure. So it stood to reason that with additional stimulus John could remember more details. It was a long shot, there was likely not much on the internet that could provide information that was pertinent to his condition. He started by looking into school records and finding John's grades plummeted after the holiday break, only to recover about a full two years later. Abusive home lives did tend to interfere with a child's school work. However the fact that he recovered meant he was either relocated, the abuser relocated, or it was a more specific event rather than a continuous abuse. Not enough data to make an accurate deduction.
"Sherlock?"
John's panicked voice ripped Sherlock's eyes away from the computer screen and brought them to the child. He was shaking and gripping onto his arm violently, his breaths starting to come out in shallow pained huffs.
"John?"
Sherlock jumped from his chair and rushed over to the child. He took hold of the small arm and held it close for observation. The skin was being sliced by some invisible force, forcing blood to billow at the surface and spill over. Sherlock attempted to hold pressure to the wound with his hand while he searched the room for something more suitable. To his disgust he could feel the flesh move beneath his grasp as the arm continued to be assaulted. He quickly decided that the discarded scarf lying near by would have to do. He pressed the fabric to John's arm and held it firmly.
"Sherlock, it hurts!"
The child had tears streaming down his face and Sherlock could hardly contain his own combination of panic and fury. His blood was running cold and he practically vibrated with rage. Someone was at the hospital, and they were cutting John.
"I know, you're going to have to be brave ok? I'm going to fix this. Is it still cutting?"
John shook his head nervously, he was beginning to have less of a time struggling to keep his breathing even but continued to allow tears to streak across his cheeks. Tentatively Sherlock raised the bloodied scarf to examine the damage. He couldn't help but take in a quick inhalation of breath as he became aware that the cuts were in fact spelling out a message. A message that was intended for one Sherlock Holmes.
I know your secret.
Anyone who read my other story should know that there was bound to be a cliff hanger soon! Hopefully I can get back to this soon for you guys, I should…no promises though.
