A/N: Thank you to all who have read, reviewed, and followed/favorited this story. It means so much to me, really. Just a brief warning that this does contain a scene of child abuse, not too graphic, but could be triggered for some readers. Thank you all again and I hope you enjoy this next chapter of Rushing Waters.

The yelling had begun around half past seven, the tall, thin man with jet black hair screaming at his wife. He didn't notice the small figure cowering in the shadows, his tiny fingers wrapped around Momo, his stuffed elephant. Sherlock was frightened, Daddy never yelled like this, especially not at Mummy. But, Daddy had been acting funny for a little while now, yelling about money and what Mummy buys at the store.

Sherlock took a step back, ready to run up the stairs and shut himself in his room. He bumped Mummy's tea mug, shattering it into a million porcelain pieces on the dark hardwood. His Daddy's head flew up, the room echoing with deafening silence. Sherlock looked back at him, more frightened than he ever had been in his short six years. Wild blue eyes bore into him from across the room. Sherlock took another step back, right onto a piece of the mug. He felt it slice into his foot and burst into tears.

"WILLIAM!" His Daddy shouted as he began to stomp toward him. Sherlock was even more scared now, Daddy never called him that. He was always his little Sherlock. Despite the burning pain in his foot, Sherlock turned around quickly and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, up the stairs, tracking blood the whole way.

He scurried under his bed, hoping that his Daddy couldn't find him. He could hear him barging up the stairs and down the long corridor that led to the nursery. He was shouting loud, not very nice words. He was tucking himself into a corner on the dusty floor when he was grabbed by his leg and dragged out from underneath the bed, the plush navy carpet scraping against his chin. His small fingers reached desperately for anything that he could grab onto to get away from this monster. This wasn't his Daddy.

WHACK

The sting of a belt came down on the little boy's back. He couldn't help but cry out.

"Mummy! Mummy!" He wailed, the tears coming fast down his face.

The belt came down again and again, Sherlock crying out for his mother, his brother, someone, anyone that could help him. His cries grew weaker with every lash, until finally, he was silent.

"It happened with increasing frequency, every one of my limbs had been broken by the age of eleven. My nose broken countless times, even a skull fracture at one point. All hidden and explained away. We went to different hospitals, bribes were given, all of them sent me back to that hell. My father was found face down in our pond when I was thirteen. It was assumed that he had drowned while in one of his drunken states, I was just glad to be finally rid of his torment. My mother was obviously under the same regime, she died in my arms not long after from all the trauma that she had suffered for years. Mycroft never knew the extent of the abuse, he had other business to attend to. Far more important than his mother and younger brother," Sherlock spat out the last sentence with all the disgust he had.

John, his face having taken a slightly grey hue, ran his hand over the head in his lap again and again, speechless at what Sherlock had just disclosed. They sat in John's chair like that for a long time, until he finally spoke.

"He's lucky he's dead, otherwise I would go out and kill the bastard right now."

Sherlock gave the slightest smile and reached for John's hand, grasping the well-worn fingers in his. He loved holding John's hands. They were always so sure, always there for Sherlock.

"I have no doubt in my mind, John," he said, his thin fingers brushing gently across John's, "do you think that's why I am the way I am? Monsters beget monsters after all."

"What?" John nearly shouted, startling Sherlock out of his lap. John saw the fear flash through the ice blue eyes and softened his voice, "Sherlock, love, you aren't a monster, you aren't a freak. You are so very wonderful. You help those who don't have anyone else, you've saved lives, you've brought closure to grieving families, and justice to those who were unjustly taken. I know how deeply you care about others, why would you do what you do if you didn't? I don't want to hear those words ever come out of your mouth again, Sherlock, because you're everything to me, my whole, damn, perfect world."

Sherlock just stared at John, his eyes wide. For the first time in his life, he couldn't find words.

"You are not your father, Sherlock, and you never will be such scum. Never."

Sherlock's eyes shone with tears, threatening to spill over onto his pressed white shirt. He looked into his lap, his hands still holding John's. The tears spilled over and splashed onto the backs of their hands.

"I just wanted him to love me," Sherlock whispered, the heartbreak of that little boy betrayed so long ago evident in his voice.

John said nothing, what could he say really? He simply wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him close. He kissed his nose, the spot on his skull that was slightly dented in, underneath the once bruised eyes, on the jutting collarbone that had been broken so many times.

He knew he couldn't take all of the pain away, no one ever could erase those haunting memories. John just wanted Sherlock to know that he was loved now, no matter what had happened in the past.

Sherlock sighed, the tears of pain becoming tears of relief. There weren't any monsters anymore.

He was safe now.