Authors Note: HEYO! XD Please tell me what you think; I would love to know XD I own nothing and no one, apart from the following: Fredrik Jones, Theodore Wells.

JUST SO YOU KNOW: This is my FIRST attempt at Sherlock and Johnlock, so please be kind!

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ALSO: I made up middle names and first names for certain characters, just so I had something to work with ^_^

SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT, BUT I'M IN UNIVERSITY!

Chapter 11

Sherlock

Geoffrey and Philomena allowed for me to take another week off of school. They thought it would be good for me to take some time to get back to myself, to just breathe and try to start putting the whole thing behind me.

And, you know, to prepare for what I would face at the school.

They also allowed for John to stay with me. They had seen how John had helped me over the months I had been with them, so they probably thought it would be good to have him by my side throughout 'this difficult time'.

I wasn't complaining.

John and I were, practically, alone during the day. Just the two of us, doing whatever we felt like doing. It was calming. I had never had a moment in my life, before moving in with the Watsons, where a situation was calm. I never knew the feeling. It was addictive...

It was halfway through the week - Thursday, April 30th 2015 - when John and I were in the living room, that I decided to tell him.

It had been John's idea to build a fort in the middle of the room, the two of us grabbing all the duvets, pillows and blankets we could. I had never built a fort before... The closest I had made to a fort was hiking the duvet on my bed over my head, sitting under there with Redbeard and a torch. That was the most I had done in my childhood that could be considered 'normal'.

The two of us were relaxing under the canopy of sheets, food and drink around us, as we lay back against the pillows, staring up at the roof we had made. We spoke about anything and everything that came to mind. We didn't linger on a subject, we didn't speak about anything too difficult.

We just made light conversation.

It was during one of the moments of quiet that I started to think about it. Started to think about what had happened. Stared to think if I should explain everything to John. I knew he was curious. I knew he was aware I didn't have the best upbringing, but he didn't know exactly what it was like.

In some ways, he deserved to know. He deserved to understand what had happened, so then he could fully understand why I did certain things. In other ways, telling John would only make it worse. Any time my parents came to the house, anytime something happened at the school, he would just remember the things I said and... Well, there were many things John could do or say, all of the possible. I couldn't say for definite exactly how he would react.

But did that mean I would lie to him forever? That I could?

Sighing softly, I ran my hands down my face. I just couldn't seem to make my mind up. If it was anyone else, I would have my answer. I wouldn't tell them. But I never knew what to do when it came to John Watson. He was far more complex than the idiots in the world.

"What's wrong?" John asked, nudging my arm with his elbow. "That's the fifth sigh in just as many minutes."

Rolling my head to face him, I found John grinning. Completely oblivious as to what was going on inside my head. I didn't want to take away the smile on his face. I didn't want to bring his mood crashing down.

But if I didn't tell him at that moment, would I ever get up the courage to do it at a later date?

"I need to tell you about my family." I told him, quietly. "You should know."

"You don't need to." John said.

"Yes, I do."

I couldn't look at John. I couldn't look into his eyes. It would be a lot more difficult for me if I had to look at him...

John didn't say anything as we lay there. He kept quiet, waiting for me to say something. He was patient, he always was with me... He never tried to rush me or force me to do anything. It always helped, especially when it came to situations such as this...

"Ever since I can remember, I haven't had what people would call a 'normal upbringing'. My Mother and Father both had horrible tempers. Neither of them liked that Mycroft and I were different." I started. "I never knew a day without being hit... Every day, no matter what, I would be hit by both of them. It had started with Sherrinford, so I don't know what set them off, but they never stopped as the years went on."

I heard John shuffle around, turning onto his side to look at me properly. I could practically feel him staring into the side of my head.

"They would bruise us, they've broken bones. And it's been more than verbal - it's been mental, verbal, emotional. Sherrinford was the most affected by it. I told you he was taken away at eighteen, but I never explained why." I continued. "Sherrinford, being the oldest, got the worst of the abuse and the most. He was even abused sexually, from the age of seven to thirteen, by numerous friends of our parents. All of it messed with his head and he tried to kill our parents and himself... No one believed him, though. They put him in an asylum and we haven't seen or spoken to him since."

It was so quiet. Deafeningly so.

I could hear my heart beating in my ears.

"When Sherrinford was taken from us, they turned their anger to me. Then, when Mycroft became the perfect child, all negative attention was focused on me. I began to lock myself in my room. I withdrew further into myself... I started cutting myself at the age of eight." I sighed. "Before coming to this house, I was used to cold words, bruises and pain. I didn't know what a family was supposed to act like, until I saw how you and your family interacted."

John was silent.

I told John everything about my parents. Every single thing he had ever done to my brothers and I. I showed him what few pictures I had of Sherrinford, as we as Mycroft from back before he made his agreement with our parents. They were all pictures without our parents, of the three of us doing something we enjoyed with each other and Mrs Hudson. It was the only time I - any of us for that fact - felt some sort of happiness, not that it could really be called that...

Whilst Mycroft had red hair and mind was a dark brown, almost black, Sherrinford had a reddish-brown colouring. His eyes were also a blue-grey, the lightest dusting of freckles covering the bridge of his nose. I couldn't say for sure what his height was... I hadn't seen him in just under a decade...

To be honest, I couldn't say if he looked anything similar to how I remembered him.

I couldn't say if he even remembered me.

Out of everything that had ever happened to me, I believed that that was the worst of it. Having my eldest brother taken from me, not knowing where he was or if he was even alright... Having one of the only people that actually cared taken away.

"Come September, Sherrinford will be twenty seven." I said. "He needs help, but they just locked him up. Trying to hide their dirty secret."

"Why didn't you go to the police?" John whispered, the tips of his fingers running gently over the images in front of him. "Why don't you?"

"They would never believe us. The only proof we have is on us and, even then, they would say it happened at school. Many of our peers hate us enough for any suspicion to be taken off of them."

Laying on my stomach, I rested my chin on my crossed arms. I looked away from the pictures, staring at the duvets and pillows that cushioned the ground. I rarely took out the pictures. It had been years since I had even glanced towards where I kept them.

"Besides, my parents hold too much power. The only way they get convicted is if we have solid evidence, showing that what we say is true." I sighed. "We don't have that. Nothing will be done if I open my mouth. Except from, maybe, getting another beating when no one's around."

I felt John's arm slip around me. He moved slowly, carefully, as if approaching a frightened animal. I suppose, in some ways, that was a good thing. I mean, it was the case with some of the victims in the cases I assisted with - they tell us what happened then, when they are touched or someone moves unexpectedly, they react hysterically. Why? Because everything that had happened was at the forefront of their mind. Everything was brought to the surface and, sometimes, they were lost in the memories.

I didn't notice I had moved until I was tucked close to John's side. The side of his head rested on top of mine, his thumb gently rubbing against the side of my back.

"I'm not going to let that happen." John told me. "They're not going to hurt you again."

John

Sherlock fell asleep an hour after we looked at the pictures. After everything that had happened, he had been sleeping a lot more. Not that I blamed him. I mean, he slept badly as it was.

As soon as I was sure he was asleep, I was on the phone. I flew out of the fort I had made with Sherlock, fumbling around for my mobile, before violently searching through my contacts.

I was beyond furious.

"Hey, John! Everything ok?" Greg's voice sounded down the phone.

"No. Everything is not ok." I hissed. "Please tell me your Dad knows what happened to them."

Silence.

That was all I heard on the other end of the phone.

Complete and utter silence.

"Sherlock told you." Greg sighed.

"Yeah, he did. About his parents, about Sherrinford, about Mycroft... He told me." I growled. "Now, does your Dad know?"

My hand was clutched tight around my phone. I was gripping it so hard my hand was aching. I felt hot. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a fire. My heart was pounding, my entire body was shaking.

I didn't know what I was supposed to say, if I was supposed to say anything to anyone. I wanted to, God, did I want to! But I didn't want Sherlock to get hurt. That was the only thing stopping me.

I didn't want his 'parents' to win and get to hurt him again.

"Yeah, he does." Greg told me. "We've been trying to get a solid case against them, ever since My told me."

"Good. I want in." I said. "I want these people out of their lives. For good."

"You and me both..."

Greg and I weren't on the phone much longer after that. I was too riled up to keep talking about it all, I was getting too angry. I couldn't keep talking about it with Greg and Greg himself needed to talk to his Dad and Mycroft about it all.

I, on the other hand, made my way back to Sherlock.

The sixteen year old was still laying there, asleep. At first glance, it looked as if he was sleeping peacefully. However, the closer I got, I could see the slight frown, I could see the slight shaking.

Careful, as not to wake him, I settled myself back next to him as gently as I could. All I could do was wrap an arm around him as he slept, hoping he wouldn't wake up before he got some decent sleep.

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