A/N: Sorry I keep posting chapters to this, but it never really feels done and I keep getting ideas to flush out the story more. (apologetic smile) Anyway, here is another chapter….really need to wrap this story up….it was supposed to be a one-shot…..good grief.
WARNINGS: Warnings in this chapter are a little more serious, so be advised. Dream sequence of a disturbing nature involving minor and not detailed molestation. Swearing, assault on a corpse, and Sally Donovan. Reader be warned.
Read and review if you like, much appreciated for the support I've been given thus far.
Chapter 6
Mountains and Valleys
When the knock sounds at the door, John and Sherlock look up, the detective having been on his phone while John was browsing the paper and Rosie played at his feet with her blocks. Mrs. Hudson stands in the doorway, a small smile on her face, "You've got a visitor."
From around Mrs. Hudson's legs a messy mop of hair appears and Sherlock stands as he sets his phone aside, "Well, hello, Macey." Sherlock says gently, emphasising the name to get John's full attention.
The little girl smiles and instantly rushes to him, wrapping her arms around him, her head coming to rest just above his hips as she laughs.
Mrs. Hudson brings a hand to her chest and a smile brushes her lips before she turns and leaves, not bothering to say how adorable the scene is as it would only make Sherlock say something crude to ruin the moment.
The little girl looks up and asks in surprise, "Uncle Lock, what happened to your eye?" the nick name is sudden, given he has only ever met the girl once before, but Sherlock does not dissuade her from using it as he finds it rather suiting.
"Pirates." Sherlock says matter-of-factly and Macey gasps, "I knew it! I told sissy they were coming, she never listens to me." Sherlock chuckles and then clears his throat, retaining the gentle voice he often reserves for children only.
"Macey, does your sister know you are here?" Sherlock admonishes gently and the girl looks up and shakes her head yes, though at the doubtful look from Sherlock the girl slowly shakes her head no.
"But I have reasons!"
"Oh yes, and what would those be?" Sherlock asks with a smirk.
"It's bring your daughter to work day, and my sissy brought me! I'm not her daughter but she says it don't matter, so I got all pretty and went with her to show off how good a sister I am! She took me to the Yard and I got doughnuts and sweets and juice and wonderful presents from Mr. Greg and Andy. I asked if you would be there but sissy said you don't come to the yard unless you are invited so I came to invite you!"
John finally stands, picking Rosie up and coming to stand before the girl who looks over at him and smiles, "You shot my daddy!" she laughs and John makes a face at such a strange reaction to such a traumatizing event.
John swallows and says, "Yes, about that….sorry?"
"It's fine, I didn't like him, he wasn't very nice, he always yelled and said bad things to sissy and he always locked me in my room without dinner. Sissy says he is burning in-"
"Oooookay, why don't we go and see your sister, hmm?" Sherlock asks as he picks her up and the girl wraps her arms around his neck, "Yes, I cordily invite you to the yard for daughter day!" the girl laughs.
"It's pronounced cordially, and you realize this party is for people who actually work at the yard, yes?"
Macey thinks on this a moment and then suddenly points to Rosie, "Who is that?"
John smirks, "This is, Rosemund, she is-" he looks to Sherlock and says softly, "She is our daughter."
Sherlock smiles back, a hand releasing it's hold on Macey long enough to stroke a finger down Rosie's cheek who gives a small screech and laughs happily.
"You're a detective right?" Macey suddenly asks Sherlock and the man nods, "Yes."
"Then you are perfect, a daughter to bring and a detective to boot, any one gives you grief for going and I will set them straight! Besides, sissy says you work harder than half the lot she works with and do the same thing twice as well, you deserve sweets and juice too!"
"Siss- uhm, Sally said that?" John asks in surprise.
"Yeah, though she always seems so angry when she says it."
"And that is called resentment!" Sherlock teaches happily.
"Sherlock-" John warns, "Not good, mate."
"Ah well, it's all in good fun. Alright Macey, you've got us, let's head to the yard!"
PAGE BREAK
John had called Greg to let him know where Macey had ended up, something that had relieved everyone at the Yard who had been frantically looking for the girl.
They arrived shortly after and entered the building, following the path they knew to reach Greg's office where a very frazzled Sally was waiting. She rushed to Sherlock, taking Macey in her arms and squeezing her, "Silly girl, what were you doing leaving like that! You are in so much trouble! How did you even know where to go?"
"I looked him up in Mr. Greg's files, but you know what?"
"What?" Sally asks.
"I don't think Mr. Greg can spell because Mr. Holmes was under the name cock-"
"Aaaand that's enough cake for you, no more mobile either." Sally says, giving an apologetic glance to Sherlock though John had covered his mouth with a hand and tried not to laugh out loud.
Sherlock sighed and looked at her, "I assume that took place after the Dillen case?"
"Yeah, shouldn't have gone behind his back then, should ya?" Sally says matter-of-factly before her hard eyes soften and she leans in and says quietly, "Thank you…."
"Sherlock if you like, Mr. Holmes if you prefer." he says and he raises a hand to Macey and pokes her nose, "And it was my pleasure."
"I invited Uncle Lock and Uncle John cause they are detectives too, and look, they have a daughter!" Macey points to Rosie who holds up a hand and reaches out for Sally's hair.
"Is that…"
"Uh, yeah, yes this is...this is my daughter, Rosemund Mary…" but he trails off and clears his throat.
"She is brilliant, John." Sally says but before she can say anything else Greg walks up, "Ah, found the little sprout didja? You know you gave your sister a fright running off like that."
"You were scared, sissy?" and Sally sighs before saying, "Yes, please don't leave me again without telling me where you are going, better yet, make sure that Greg, me or Anderson are with you, alright?"
"Okay."
"Good girl, now come on, the party's still goin'-" and Sally spares the boys a glance, "You two can come, if ya like. Got a daughter and all and ya do help the yard, on occasion." and she says the last part with narrow eyes and a challenging glare.
Greg looks to them and smiles as Sally walks away, "Well look at that, she was halfway decent to ya...the bloody hell happened to your face, looks like you got trounced by a junkie."
John looks to Sherlock and the man tightens his jaw before saying flatly, "Pirates." he than motions with his hand, "Shall we go?" and John sighs, "Well, we are here and Rosie could use some time around other children so, yeah, let's go." John starts walking, Sherlock following suit with Greg bringing up the rear, the man noticing as his brow wrinkles that Sherlock places his hand on the small of John's back.
Page Break
While the Yard is still first and foremost a place of crime solving and forensics and it is within normal operating hours, a surprisingly large amount of people have brought in their daughters.
The adults come and go as they still have work to do and the whole point is to show their offspring what they do whilst away at work, many of the children have been ushered into a large conference room where they run, scream, play and get hopped up on sweets and juice.
Some wonder off and return, seeking out their parents to check in and see what they are doing before getting bored and coming back to eat more sweets and then run it off.
To John's immense relief there are at least three other children around Rosie's age, on the verge of starting to understand and more thoroughly interact with the world around them but not quite at the point of talking and running.
He stands close by while conversing with the other parents and manages to get a few numbers in hopes of setting up playdates for Rosie. To his surprise, there are few who are reluctant, either not having interacted with Sherlock enough to be terrified at the prospect of the man coming to pick up Rosie, or those who have known him long enough to assess him as not a threat.
Sherlock stands next to John, not really paying attention, his eyes either scanning the room and observing the people or glancing to John and staring gently.
Greg has been watching the two from the far side of the room, Sally standing next to him.
"Ya know, I didn't notice anything the other day during the Sean Pence case but now that I look, something seems different about those two."
Sally snorts before sipping at her drink, "There is always something different about those two. You should be more worried if the something different is good or bad."
"No, I mean look, look how close Sherlock is standing to 'im. And he keeps giving him a weird look, like he is...smitten or somethin'. It's...odd."
Sally clears her throat and says, "Do you really want to think about it? I don't want to think about it, kind of creeps me out."
"Oh come on, after all 'es done for ya and you still wanna be like that?" Greg admonishes as he looks at her.
"No, course not, he's an alright bloke, I got my priorities settled where Sherlock is concerned."
"Ah, look at that, ya said his name and you didn't melt."
Sally rolls her eyes and sneers at him, "What I mean is, it's none ah your business if they are...close. They've known each other a long time, maybe it just sort of happened."
Greg stares a moment at the two across the room and what Sally means finally becomes clear in his head, causing his jaw to drop and he looks at her, "Ah, no! That's not what I...that's just wrong! I didn't mean they are….they would have…"
"So you're a homophobe, always wondered about that, considering your son is-"
"Hey, no!" he snaps adamantly, "Not against a thing, to each his own and live and let live and all that rubbish, I don't care about it, doesn't bother me…."
"Then why you making such a big deal about-"
"It's John!" Greg says suddenly and Sally glances around to see a few people have looked their way, Sherlock and John included.
Greg rubs the back of his head and waves a reluctant hand in their direction, John nodding and returning to his conversation, though Sherlock's sharp blue eyes continue to stare.
Turning away from them, Sally follows suit though she gives him a look, "Sneaky blighter can read lips."
And Sally goes a little pale at the thought, "Now look, I don't care...either way….I really don't. I love my son no matter what and you know damn well I have been nothin' but supportive. Even when he brought home that one with the hair...and the…"
"Gages, they are called gages, Greg." Sally says, trying to hide her smile.
"Right, whateva' but my point is, I don't see John...no, I just don't see it. He ain't….he's been spitting off for years that he isn't….that they aren't…."
"So why does it bother you so much? It was just a thought, you were the one who pointed out the way they been actin' in the first place. If you don't wanna know, why bloody ask?"
A conversation between him and Sherlock pops into his head and he hears the tone in Sherlock's voice, suddenly more revealing than it had been before.
"Did something happen? Is there something going on I don't know about?"
"Yes."
"Well? What is it?"
"I can't tell you."
"What?"
"I can't, I am sorry, but I promised John I would keep it between us."
"Sherlock….I know...I know you and John are friends….good friends-"
"The best."
Greg muses on that a moment before he nods, "Yeah, 'sppose your right."
"I am. Besides Greg, it's just a label." and they both glance over when they hear a baby cry out, John reaching down to pick up Rosie and Sherlock moves closer, placing a hand on John's shoulder while he leans in and gently cooes to the child. John smiles, gives the man a long look before leaning in and whispering something into his ear, Sherlock looking at him in surprise before he smiles, their foreheads just barely touch.
"Shit." Greg says and Sally clears her throat and looks away, "Right, juice, I need more juice-"
"Got a bottle in the office, add some oh that ta mine."
"Yeah, lots, lots and lots." she says as she walks to the table covered in foodstuffs and drinks, Greg spying the two one more time before he rubs a hand over his mouth and pulls out his phone.
"Gotta call him every bloody time, can't spare me two seconds ta just tell me when things change, gotta go find the answers my bloody self, stupid smarmy twit-"
PAGE BREAK
He is in his office with Sally when Sherlock walks in, a hard look in his eyes and a frown on his face. He enters to find Greg in his chair behind his desk with a foot on the corner, Sally leaning against the wall, both with drinks in their hands.
"Who told you, was it Mycroft?" Sherlock snaps as he slams the door shut behind him and smacks his hands down on the desk before him.
Greg eyes the man a moment, never having seen Sherlock look both angry and desperate at the same time.
"Tell me!" Sherlock says angrily.
Greg stares a moment and says with a smirk, "Told me what?" he sees the barest trace of confusion on the man's face and even though he knows this is a delicate matter he can't stop the smile that just barely graces his lips.
I love when I can confuse the bastard.
Sherlock looks to Sally and spits venomously, "You too, huh? Well, so much for friendship you wicked-"
"Oy! None of that, Sally ain't done nothing so don't take it out on 'er."
Sherlock looks to the woman who is glaring at him and Sherlock hangs his head and sighs, "I apologize, the matter is very...delicate...I did not mean to-"
"S'alright." Sally murmurs before she takes another drink.
Sherlock looks between them and says in annoyance, "Have you two been drinking?"
Greg looks to Sally who suddenly smiles and gives a little snort as Greg chuckles, "S'bout right, what with you and John kickin off on a proper relationship, we thought it deserved a toast."
Sherlock stills and both could see his face pale, something that they had never witnessed before, "So, you do know. Was is Mycroft, did he-"
"Naw, figured it out myself."
"Hard not to with the way ya two were pawing each other." Sally says under her breath.
"Excuse me?" Sherlock says looking to her with wide eyes.
"Calm down, Sherlock. It wasn't that obvious, just, something I noticed….something I observed." he said with a tip of his drink in Sherlock's direction.
Sherlock looks between them a moment before he says softly, "What do I need to do to keep this quiet. Name it, anything." he says quickly.
"What? You want to bribe us into secrecy-"
"Well that's offensive." Sally says as she takes another sip.
"You do not understand, the events leading up to our...change in relations is private and for John very traumatic. I won't have him or Rosie exposed to the disrespectful, filthy and cruel eyes of the public. I know what they do to people who are different, to people who are...my friends. I do not want him, Rosie, Molly, Mrs. Hudson….or you….you're family...exposed to the vulturous media or the public's eyes just for association with me. You don't deserve it….and neither does John… he can't...right now...just for now….he isn't strong enough. I won't let them hurt him or anyone I care about."
This stills Greg to the core, the look in Sherlock's eyes exposing something he has never really seen before, fear, the man is honestly afraid of what might befall those he cared about if news of their new situation were to get out.
"You of all people know, Greg, it's not just the media….I have... enemies. Real enemies who would do anything to take revenge or try and hurt me...John is…." and Sherlock stops, looks at Sally and then back before he swallows and reluctantly admits, "He is my everything, if I lose him, there is no coming back for me."
Greg digests this, all pretense for fun, games or teasing have ended and Greg knows that in this moment, he has to be the friend he always tried to be, though was often rejected. Sherlock was reaching out a hand, testing the waters of their friendship, however shaky and turbulent it might always seem to be.
Well, Greg wasn't going to disappoint, "You have my word, I won't say a thing, Sally too, we take it to our graves." Sherlock looks to the woman who nodds, the look on her face one of confusion, respect and finally, the smallest glimmer of understanding.
"Thank you." Sherlock says softly.
Greg and Sally nod and just then the door opens, John entering with Rosie in arm as Macey rushes by and rounds the desk, Greg picking her up and glancing at the two men.
John approaches, "Got a funny story for you. Make you laugh uncharacteristically long."
"Promise?" Sherlock asks with a small smile.
"Yeah. No doubt, Greg, Sally, thanks for letting us come up. Got some good numbers, Rosie is going to have all kinds of fun, won't you Rosie? All kinds of fun?" the girl looks happier than ever and claps her hands together as she giggles.
John glances at the three and his smile fades, "Everything alright in here? You three look like you've seen a ghost."
"Ah, just talking old cases. Nothing too exciting." Sherlock presses off casually.
"Leave it to you to be the life of the party." John teases.
"Never been my strong suit, parties, always so noisy."
"Mmm, yeah, considering you're the loudest one in the room."
"You two have a good night, thanks for stopping by." Greg says as he raises a glass to them and Sherlock nods his head while John smirks, "See ya round?"
"Definitely." and the man takes a long drink from his cup as Sally raises a brow and follows suit.
Suddenly John's phone rings and without thinking he says, "Sherlock, take her a minute, love. I gotta just find my, there it is...who could be calling-" the man completely oblivious to his slip and Sherlock stares at him wide eyed before looking to Greg and giving the subtlest of shakes of his head, the D.I. smirking and trying to hide a snort.
"Hello? Yes, Mycroft, what is it?" the room is silent, and the relaxed look on John's face melts as his brow furrows and the phone drops from his ear, arm hanging dead at his side.
"John?" Sherlock asks, worry gracing his brow and he takes a step closer before John says softly, "He's dead."
Sherlock stops bouncing Rosie, the girl protesting by hitting the man on the head several times but Sherlock just stares and John looks up at him, "The old bastard is dead...my….he...dead." and John drops into a chair by the door and puts his head in his hands.
"Whose dead?" Greg asks as he slowly removes his foot from the desk, raises up Macey to hand her to Sally who makes for the door but decides against it given Sherlock is now kneeling before John and she would have to acrobat around him to escape.
"My...demon." John says softly and Greg looks at the man in confusion before Sherlock places a finger to John's chin and raises his face up, "It's over, John. It's finally over, let's take Rosie home and we can-"
"Mycroft sent his body to Bart's, incase I wanted to….incase-"
"Alright, easy, what do you want to do, anything you want, I will make it happen." Sherlock says, knowing this sudden display of intense emotion is so very unlike John, especially in a public place. This was what Sherlock had meant by John not being strong enough, at least, not right now.
He was currently so caught up in trying to deal with his thoughts and feelings on what had happened to him in his youth, that he was unable to regulate himself around others, even in public, even though the last thing the man before him ever did was show such things to others. It went against everything he knew, everything he had been trained to be, the soldier, the abused child...never show your weakness.
Sherlock knows eventually, John will heal, he will be back to his old stoic self, but it will take time and the last thing either wanted was to make John face the public's eye about anything, cases included, before he was ready to steel himself against their intrusive and harsh eyes.
"I don't understand, who is dead? Is it a case?" Greg asks, not sure if he can be of assistance or if he should leave well enough alone.
"It's my….step-father." John says and he suddenly reaches a hand up, taking Sherlock's in his own before Sherlock joins him and John glances to Sally, "I should have known, when I met you….that you were….that we were the same...that we were both... soldiers."
Sally's mouth parts a little, her brow cocking in question and John shutters out, "My step-father was…"
"Your daddy was mean?" Macey suddenly asks, the adults having forgotten the little girl was in the room.
John clears his throat and looks away for a moment before he says, "Yes, yeah he was." his voice nothing but a soft ghost of a thing.
"John." sherlock says with confidence and the blonde man looks to him, Sherlock adjusting his hold on Rosie as he locks eyes with him, "What do you want to do? I can make it all go away, you don't have to see him, I can arrange everything. An unmarked grave, far away from London. You'd never have to be bothered again to think of him, just tell me what to do and I will do it."
John smiles up at him softly, "Thanks, mate. But, I think this is it, I think this is what I need. To lay the demon to rest. We should drop off Rosie with Mrs. H. Then head to Bart's."
Sherlock nods once, "As you wish."
John looks to Greg and Sally, "Till next time."
"John!" Sally suddenly calls and the man looks past Sherlock to see her staring at him strangely, "If you….ever want to talk….from one soldier to the other...call me up. I got plenty ta bitch about."
"And she is good at it too!" Macey says proudly.
John smirks, nods and then says, "Yeah, alright. See you round, Sally."
"See you." she says softly, her eyes finding Greg's before both watch the duo walk away.
PAGE BREAK
When they reach Bart's, sans Rosie, Molly is waiting for them in the morgue, Mycroft standing beside her and the pair watch Sherlock walk in with John just in front of him.
"Molly." Sherlock says by way of greeting and the woman gives a gentle smile, friendly and polite, the warm familiarity of affection, though platonic, still stands firmly in place and Sherlock winks at her.
"Hullo, Sherlock, what happened to-" but Sherlock shakes his head and she nods though Mycroft seems to shift just the tad bit closer, only Sherlock noticing as John comes to stand before the body.
It is covered in a sheet, John staring and trying to prepare himself for what he will see underneath.
"Does Molly know who this is?" John asks, his eyes never looking away from the covered body before him.
Mycroft nods, though adds as an afterthought, "She knows the relation to you, not the history. That is your story to tell if and when you choose to."
Sherlock nods to his brother, a sign of appreciation for his tact, something the man often forgets during times such as these.
"How'd he….how did he-"
"Heart failure, apparently your subsequent rejection….broke his heart, as it were. Hadn't eaten a morsel since you left...died in his sleep."
"Heh-" John chuckles harshly as he shakes his head, "Not likely, he didn't have a heart...or a soul for that matter."
No one says anything in response and John moves to stand next to the table, eyes hard as he glares at the sheet.
"This is a demon, Molly. A real true demon. Prayed on the souls of children, loved to hurt those who were weaker than him, loved to torture them."
Molly swallows as her eyes find Sherlock's and the man simply gives the faintest shake of his head, compelling her to refrain from speaking, the small woman always on the ready to offer comfort and aid to her friends.
Molly nods back and remains silent, allowing John to spin his metaphor until he is satisfied he has made his point, "No mercy, you never showed any mercy." John whispers, tears in his eyes but they have yet to fall.
He seems to shore himself up, take a deep breath and then looks to Molly and nods, the woman stepping forward and quietly pulling the sheet back and away from the face.
John sucks in a sharp breath, takes a step back and runs into Sherlock's front, the man placing a hand on his shoulder before leaning forward to peer into his friends face, John glancing to him.
"End it." he says sternly, "End it here and now, walk away and leave it all behind, don't look back."
John nods and swallows, steeling himself and doing his best to regulate the emotions that have been controlling him for the last week.
Moving forward again he comes to stand next to the body, looking down into the pasty and dead face of the man who utterly ruined his life in so many ways.
"It took you years to try and break me, but I survived it, with only a few cracks to show for all your efforts. You tried again, it only took you a day to worm your way into my head...but I have a secret old man….this time...you didn't break me at all." and then suddenly John's fist was flying and it crashed into the man's marose face.
Molly jerked forward but Mycroft stilled her with a hand, the woman looking to him before rolling her lips together and taking a step back.
John hit him again, his teeth gritting and his eyes rabid, his punches raining down like a righteous fury from above.
"It wasn't worth it! You bastard, it wasn't worth any of it! Ruined everything, ruined me and Harry and mum and took it all like the greedy glutinous thing you are!" the sound of a breaking jaw, the crack of a skull, the snap of a nose and then finally John stilled, shoulders heaving and face raw with anger and hate.
"I've never hated anyone, not as much as you, and I have no mercy for you...none...you are nothing but a bad dream, a nightmare, haunt me all you want...but you can't touch me anymore...and the anger….that's just for you. You and all those like you." John's eyes snap to Molly and the woman gives a small start, "Cover up that filth, he doesn't deserve to be seen, ever again, by anyone." Molly nods, tears lacing her eyes as a hand comes to her mouth though she remains silent and Mycroft's hand, slowly, as if he is unsure, slides off to come to her side, pulling her a little closer as his eyes stare in shock at the brutalized face before him.
John turns to go but is stopped by Mycroft, the man still staring at the face even after Mollys has moved to cover it.
"Doctor Watson-" and John turns around, Sherlock's hand still on his shoulder, the detective looking back at his brother with narrow eyes.
"I...hate to be that person, but, the body...I should not think you would want me to approach your sister over something so trivial, especially considering her...delicate recovery...what would you like me to do with-"
"Burn it. Send the bastard back to hell where he belongs."
"And the ashes?" Mycroft asks.
John's eyes fall to the sheeted form, hate still burning as he says softly, "Does he have any other family, anyone who might care?"
Mycroft shakes his head once and John snorts, "Course he doesn't. Toss them in the bin. I have no want of that...thing."
PAGE BREAK
It starts raining when they leave the Yard and the ride back to Baker street is silent, the air tense. Sherlock can tell John is still boiling on the inside, still running on hate and rage and thinking about all the things he should have said and done, thinking it wasn't enough, knowing he will have nightmares waiting for him when he goes to sleep.
Sherlock remains silent, paying the cabbie, unlocking the door to their home, holding up a hand to silence Mrs. Hudson when she comes bustling out, the woman nodding and quickly turning around to walk back to her own rooms.
He remains silent as they enter their flat, hangs up both his and John's coats and as he leads John to the bathroom. He is running on autopilot, not sure what he can do if anything at all, processing the turn the day took. Knowing it had started out so promising but that this evening they had taken a very big step backwards and only a small step forwards.
Turning on the water in the tub he plugs the drain and leaves the room, knowing John won't be going anywhere as he continues to silently sit and stew. He returns with candles and incense, something he only has ever used once for a case but still had stashed away, one never knows when they may need a way to hide a melodious odor from their flatmate.
He lights the candles, burns the incense, turns off the lights and then slowly starts undoing John's clothes, the man standing up much the same as a zombie would at Sherlock's gentle order.
He sets John's clothes on the table in the kitchen and then follows suit, soon enough both men bare and Sherlock shuts off the tap before getting in and sitting down. His hand reaches for John and he gives a gentle pull, the man still complying though his eyes are far away and his jaw is set firmly with anger.
It takes a moment, but Sherlock patiently maneuvers and adjusts to comfortably accommodate the man before him, bringing hands to John's shoulders and pulling him back to lay against his chest.
There is just barely enough room, and some water sloshes out, Sherlock musing that if this does work to sooth his partner, he will be sure to invest in a bigger tube in the near future.
They sit there in more silence, steam rising up from the hot water, the flicker of the flames dancing across the wall and the sweet smell of the incense permeating the air.
After awhile he hears John sigh, can feel his body relax a little bit at a time and Sherlock himself feels his own fears slowly creep away.
Going to need a bigger tub then…
Sherlock is not accustomed to bathing with someone, Janeen only ever having sat on the edge and playfully scooped water at him or washing his back. He isn't sure the protocol, has never done something this intimate, still, if he can have sex with the man before him, touch him at his leisure, begin a new and yet turbulent chapter of his life with him, he should be able to try and sooth him.
Slowly he raises a hand, bringing it to rest on John's forehead before dragging fingers back through the man's quaffed hair.
Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair-
Sherlock smiles and thinks about how much John has changed in the seven, now going on eight years he has known him. His clothes, his hair, his confidence and intelligence, his wit and kindness, all so telling of a man who had come from someplace dark, clawing and fighting to find his place in the light.
He was so quick to seek out the things he was accustomed to, dangerous situations, people who he could protect and ways he could find the adrenaline he had spent his whole life feeling. He was addicted to it, yet, now Sherlock knew, it hadn't been his fault.
John was the product of his environment, a cold harsh reality that had taken a very kind hearted and gentle boy, filled him with rage and sent him out into the world without any means to curb his hardening edges.
I will curb them, John has done so much for me, helped me to be better, to see how I was hurting myself by hurting others. He has softened my edges, softened my heart, sharpened my mind...I will return the favour my friend, I will….I will help you be better, just as you have done for me.
Minutes have ticked by and John's hair was officially wet, Sherlock threading his fingers through, occasionally taking a small bit of water in his hand and drizzling it over the top, only to then repeat his soothing gesture of running fingers over his scalp.
His hand was finally stopped by John, the man taking Sherlock's wrist and leading him down to his chest where he pressed Sherlock's palm and lets out another sigh.
"It won't be like this forever, Sherlock. I promise it won't. I will get better, I will be better, a better father, a better friend…"
"Hush, no use telling me what I already know, we've talked about your penchant for stating the obvious, you should try to resist such unneeded platitudes." But Sherlock's voice was gentle, what one person might find an offensive brush off, made John chuckle before his head rolled side to side and he said, "I'll never stop."
"Won't you?" Sherlock asks next to his ear, his voice growing softer, the teasing becoming more evident.
"No."
"Well you should."
"Well stop being so damn amazing and I will." John mumbles sarcastically, his free hand finding Sherlock's under the water and wrapping their fingers together.
Sherlock has nothing he can say to that, only a small smile before his lips brush John's temple, "Feeling better?" he asks as his eyes flutter closed and he finally allows himself to relax completely, finally acknowledging how good it feels to have John pressed against him like this, how soothing and domestic it all is….how much he has been craving something so simple...for far longer than he has known John.
I guess we are all learning something about ourselves today-
"Much." John says.
"How's the kettle? Boiling stopped?" and John let's out a rather lazily laugh, "Look at you, all metaphors and kindness. Unbelievably kind, too kind, makes no sense that, how kind you can be. I mean, I knew, from the moment I met you, I saw it, but it took you a long time to-"
"The kettle, John. How is the kettle?" Sherlock urges, unable to handle the slew of compliments and heart warming, endearing comments. It makes him feel strangely up lifted and adored, but Sherlock refuses to be put on a pedestal. Even he, in all his ignorance, knows such things are unhealthy.
"It's gone from a rolling boil, to a gentle simmer." John says with a sigh, bringing Sherlock's hand up to kiss it gently before he says, "Thank you, for this. It….it helped...bit strange...two grown men sharing a bath, but… it's...nice."
"Mmm." Sherlock agrees, "Need a bigger tub though." the dark haired man muses.
"Yeah. Definitely need a bigger tub."
"I'll order it tomorrow." Sherlock says as he kisses the top of John's head and the man snorts, "What, are you my benefactor now? We don't need a bigger tub, I was just-"
"We do, more of this would be a good thing."
"Yeah, why so?" John asks, cocking his head back to look at his friend curiously.
"Tell me, John. What color is the water?"
John's smile fades and slowly he looks down, seeing their bodies beneath the glassy surface and noticing there is no brown in sight.
PAGE BREAK
They are standing next to the bed, towels around their waists and hands hanging at their sides as they look at each other, "Straight to bed?" Sherlock asks, and John sees the man's eyes dilate in the dim light of the lamp and he smiles gently, "Not if you don't want to. I can, we can have some fun-"
"Only if you feel up to it." Sherlock amends quickly.
"I'm not a child, you don't have to act like I am-"
"I know. I just….it's been a busy day." Sherlock concludes softly and John nods, "That's an understatement. I essentially beat up a dead man, rambled on about demons and scared Molly to high heaven."
"Mmm, scared Mycroft too, loved seeing the horror in his eyes at the prospect of writing off the defilement of a corpse as accidental."
John chuckles, his hands still remaining at his side, though he feels Sherlock's hand come to the fold of his towel and gently his fingers give a flick, the fabric falling away.
"Sherlock-" and the man instantly stills when he hears the tone of John's voice, "Mmm?"
"With everything that has happened, mate...I just… I realize I have been a bad friend...so...I know it's been awhile and you have things mostly sorted….but...I just want to be sure….I mean the thing at Sherrinford was only a few months ago….then this...disaster and I just want to make sure….how are you...with everything? With everything you have found out….about your past….your sister...all the lies...the things you thought you knew not being what you thought they were-"
"I am fine, John. It took me a lot less time to get myself sorted as I have a very thorough big brother and have been able to see my sister as often as I need to try and work through my thoughts on the matter."
"But how could you, after everything she did to you-"
"Honestly, I still don't remember most of it. Whatever things she did to me before she was taken away I am fine to leave buried, I don't want to know, as it could have an adverse effect on my time with her now. But, the main difference John, is Eurus wants to be better, she wants me...Mycroft...my parents in her life, even if she doesn't understand why, even if she will never accept it or understand it...she loves me...in her own way and wants to try to build a real relationship...as twisted as it could become if I am not careful, I do as well. You never wanted that with Wayne….you only wanted escape...and he never gave it to you. You had to fight for it."
"I won in the end, even if he is still in my head, I won." John says bitterly.
"You did. In the end, all you can do is carry on, make your life...your future better. No one will ask of you anything more than to just be happy, and to be who you are."
"I'm not happy, I'm angry...that's who I am, who I have been since he set foot in my life."
"Well then, be angry, but do try to perhaps control it a little better, save me a few blows to the face, hmm?"
John chuckles, his head coming forward to press against Sherlock's shoulder, "I really hate this." John muses dejectedly.
"It's rather a refreshing change from the bottled up stoic hero you were. I've learned loads about you that I never knew before, and sometimes...I like the angry eyes, rather erotic."
John looks up at him with narrow eyes and a frown, "Cock." he says with annoyance.
"Yes, please." Sherlock says softly and John snorts before looking away and shaking his head, Sherlock's deep chuckle vibrating right behind.
PAGE BREAK
He is falling through space, the Earth below rushing up to meet him. He doesn't scream, more than likely because he can't, he has no voice. The jarring feeling of falling is making his stomach churn and bubble and he braces for the impact, closing his eyes and turning his face away.
His body suddenly jerks to a stop, eyes cracking open when he sees the ground only feet below him and somehow he manages to set his feet gently on the ground. Looking around himself he recognises the location, the lake just outside of his home town.
"Willow Lake." he says outloud, finally able to find his voice and he wonders how he got here, doesn't understand why he is here just outside of Aldershot.
Suddenly voices float to him, the laugh of a young boy and older man and John turns to see that just over the hill less than a kilometer away is Wayne, holding hands and walking with a young John.
"You don't have to hold my hand, I'm not a child." John says as he tries to pull away but Wayne only chuckles, John finally seeing the man in all his youthful glory. Tall and powerful, with chestnut hair and a smooth handsome face, his stomach twists harshly.
"I'm not holding your hand cause you are a child." Wayne says.
"Then why are you?" John counters.
"Cause that's what friends do." Wayne says and he suddenly takes the lead, guiding young John to an isolated spot amongst bushes and trees, a favorite fishing hole for the usuels who spend their nights here.
"You ever been night fishing before?" he hears Wayne ask as John starts to trot after them, his heart beating against his chest and his hands sweating.
"No, you?"
"All the time, I know the guys who come here, asked them if we could use it. We won't be bothered all night, just us, just fishing."
"Wicked." young John says excitedly.
The two settle down on a log near the edge of the water and Wayne starts to worm their lines and chat John up.
The older John swallows, not sure he remembers how this ends, not sure he wants to know how this ends and he feels a sudden pull to leave before he does, but his feet won't let him.
The sun fades rapidly, too rapidly, and before long there is a gentle fire going, John and Wayne cooking a fish over the top, John smiling at the thing proudly.
"Told ya you'd be a good fisherman." Wayne says bringing a hand to young John's shoulders.
"Yeah, it was fun, we should do it again soon, bring mum and Harry along."
"Not sure they would appreciate it like you do, but sure, why not?"
"Cool." young John says with a nod and for awhile there is just silence. Wayne eventually reaching into a cooler that John hadn't noticed until now and the man pulls out a beer.
"You drink beer?" Young John asks, scrunching up his nose.
"Sure do, why? You want one?" Wayne asks casually, though the older John can see through the man's guise now.
"Really? My mum says beer is bad for you, makes you feel funny and do stupid things you wouldn't normally do."
"You're mum is right, but what she didn't tell you, is sometimes, when you around people you trust, people who are your friends and can take care of you, it's alright...can even be fun." Wayne says and he hands a beer over to John, the boy looking at it before he slowly takes it and pops the top.
The boy takes a swig, pulling the can away as he makes a face, "That's disgusting...and I don't feel any different." young John says looking to Wayne.
The man chuckles before he takes a swig of his own and says, "You have to take more than just a sip, judging by your size...one can...maybe two and you will feel it pretty quick."
Young John debates, older John whispers, "Don't, please don't-"
Young John smiles and raises the can to his lips, planning to only take another sip but is then forced to continue to drink when Wayne brings a finger to the bottom, "That's it, pack it away, all the way down, that's a good lad."
Young John drains the can and then gives a loud belch, "Sorry." he giggles and Wayne chuckles, "Whoa, my heads a little dizzy."
"Ah, see, only took a can. Feeling good?" and Young John nods happily.
Wayne smiles at hims softly before asking, "Want another?"
"Stop! Don't do this, don't take advantage of hi- of me...don't take advantage of me!" John yells but the two ignore him, simply cannot hear him and they clink their beers together before they both take another big gulp.
The scene changes, John shaking his head at the dizzy spell that hits him and he stumbles to his knees, looking up when he hears laughing.
Young John is wobbling around, laughing and pointing at things, "And that! That's a tree! A BIG OL' TREE!" he raises his hands into the air and spins around, bending over awkwardly as he laughs and Wayne is staring at him with the most genuine smile, John can see the affection in the man's eyes and he wants to vomit.
"Whoa, so dizzy." Young John says and Wayne shifts from the log onto the ground, folding his legs before him as he pats his lap.
"Come over and sit down, Johnny boy, you need to take a minute or you are going to get sick."
"Sick? I can get sick?"
"Oh yeah, real sick, throw up and all. Just come and have a sit, I will keep you from doing anything stupid."
Young John smiles and walks over, "Okay." he sits across Wayne's lap, the man bending his legs up to essentially trap the boy there, one arm cradling his back while his other holds young John's outermost thigh.
"You have a fun night, Johnny Boy? Like spending time with me?"
"Uh huh, yeah, it was real fun! Can we do it again? Just us, no girls." the young John says.
"Yeah? I thought you wanted to bring your mum and sister with us next time."
"Naw, this can be just for us, us guys, a guys night. Fishing, drinking, having fires and dancing, we dance good don't we?"
"We do, dance real well."
"It was so much fun." Young John says and he lays his head on the man's shoulder, Wayne closing his eyes and his breaths suddenly coming in pants as his hand slowly moves up the boys thigh.
"Wayne?" Young John asks and the man looks at him in a way not meant for children but meant more for a lover. Old John wretches onto the ground, his stomach twisting harder and his mind races.
"Yeah, Johnny boy?"
"I like you. You're cool."
"I like you too John. I promise I will always be around, promise to always take care of you." and John reels up from the ground, fingers digging into dirt as he stares in shock and disgust.
"Promise?"
"Yeah. I promise." and the boy yawns and Wayne gently leans down and gives a soft kiss to the boys neck, young John moaning softly, not nearly coherent enough to know what is going on.
"Hey, Johnny boy, wanna hear a song?" Wayne asks and John watches as the man's hand creeps up the boy's thigh.
"Mmm hmm." young John murmurs sleepily.
"Alright. It's just for you, your special song, Gently take the ships to shore-"
John doesn't want to see anymore, doesn't want to know how far Wayne takes things. He had remembered that Wayne had taken him fishing once, remembered he had given John his first beer, but he doesn't remember this!
Sitting on the man's lap, smashed, being groped and kissed as Wayne sang to him, he only remembers the fishing, drinking a single beer and then….
Black out
"You bastard….you basterd!" John shrieks and he looks away because he realizes what is about to happen, what the man is going to do. He doesn't need to know anymore, doesn't want this vision of horror to be replaying in his mind for the rest of his life.
"Wayne-" and John spins around, sees that Wayne's hand has stopped cold, his eyes locked onto John's sleepy face, waiting with baited breath for the boy to say something, anything about what he is doing.
"That feels funny." young John says groggily.
"Do you want me to stop?" Wayne asks, his entire body ridgid, waiting for young John to answer, though older John seriously doubts the man will.
"I guess not, isn't it bad?" young John asks, shaking his head and trying to open his eyes but they keep drooping and he groans sickly.
Wayne visibly relaxes, his face taking on some shade of relief and longing, "Not if you enjoy it, does it feel good?" and John sees Wayne's hand start moving again slowly and young John buries his head in the man's neck, "A little."
"Well then, I guess it's alright. Just relax, relax and enjoy it, I promise to take care of you, Johnny boy."
"Okay." young John murmurs.
John surges up from the ground, running at the two with a desperate look and an outstretched hand but the scene suddenly changes and he is dropped to the ground in the backyard of his childhood home.
At first he doesn't see anything or anyone, just an empty yard and the backdoor into the house but then suddenly young John bursts through the back door, a young Harry on his heels.
"John, John whats wrong? Do I need to get mummy?" the little girl asks, still not having hit her growth spurt she is a tiny thing with blonde hair and great big blue eyes.
"No! You can't tell mum, you can't tell anyone!"
"Can't tell them what?" Harry asks in confusion.
"Something happened, something but I don't...I can't remember...and it wasn't….it wasn't okay….it was….scary and...weird and strange and-"
"Don't you like strange and weird?" the little girl asked and young John looked at her wildly, "What? No! Not like that! I just….I can't remember….we were fishing and then….I had a beer….did I drink two maybe?"
"You drank, beer? I'm telling mummy!" and Harry turned to run inside but young John grabs her and stops her.
"No! Harry, no, you can't tell anyone until I remember what happened!"
"Why don't you remember? Wasn't it fun? Did you enjoy it? I always remember things I enjoy!" and Harry smiles soundly at her proclamation.
"Did I….enjoy-" but young John is stopped by the back door opening again and Harry and John turn to see Wayne walking out, "Hey Johnny boy, how you doing? And look at the pretty princess." Harry goes to run to Wayne but young John's eyes darken and he holds onto his sisters hand, the girl looking at him in confusion.
"You okay, Johnny boy? You look a little pale, feeling alright?" Wayne asks with a smile as he approaches but John moves back, pressing Harry behind him.
Wayne suddenly stops, swallowing as his wide eyes stare at the boy in front of him, "John?" he asks softly, "What's this about?"
"You know what it's about, Wayne."
"Easy, no need to sound so angry. Why don't we sit down and have a nice little talk about what's bothering you, bet I can help clear it up."
"Bet you can't." Young John says firmly and older John clenches his fists, "Yes, that's it, John, turn him out."
Wayne studies him a moment before he tries again, his voice softer, his eyes gentle, "How bout we go fishing, have us some private time and you can tell me what's bothering you. I promise I can explain any questions you have, no need to be ashamed."
"I don't have any questions, I don't remember anything, I just know something happened, something weird and wrong and….strange!"
Wayne relaxes at that bit of knowledge, older John seeing the mistake he made in showing his hand on what he remembered. He could have kept the man under his thumb much longer if he had been smarter about it.
Wayne takes a step closer and then drops to his knees before he holds out a hand, "John, come here, I can make it all better. We should go inside and talk about it, let Harry go, yeah, Harry how about you go play in your room for awhile, the boys need to talk."
John eyes the man warily but after a moment lets go of Harry and the girl rushes away, beelining for her room.
"John, come here, come to me, I promise I won't hurt you, I just want to talk, help you sort out your feelings, I can help you understand what you are going through, why you feel so conflicted."
Young John takes a step towards him, Wayne's eyes lighting up a moment before John stops, "Something happened, I don't remember what but when I do...I'm going to tell mum."
Wayne only smiles, "Sure, that's fine. We can tell her together, promise, you and me will sit down with your mum and tell her the whole story...just as soon as you remember."
Young John nods and then slowly, tentatively, walks the rest of the way to Wayne who wraps and arm around him and pulls him to his chest, "I'm sorry your scared, that I made you angry. I thought you wanted- it doesn't matter, we can try again another time...for now...let's go have lunch."
Wayne stands and goes to take young John's hand but the boy jerks away from him and storms inside, leaving Wayne out in the yard to stare.
Older John watches, wants to know what happens next but he realizes this is no longer a memory, young John went inside, this image of a frozen Wayne is nothing but his mind making something up that it didn't see.
"You ruined everything that day." comes Wayne's voice, though the man hasn't turned around to acknowledge him.
"If you had just been more reasonable, if you had been willing to let me explain what was going on...why you felt so uncomfortable….we could have worked through your-"
"You molested me." John said, cutting the man off.
"And you enjoyed it." Wayne counters.
"I was blackout drunk, I don't remember any of it! You should have left well enough alone when I reacted the way I did. It was wrong and disgusting and-"
"Funny thing about being drunk, people say it lowers your inhibitions, lets you act more easily on things you want."
"Yeah, sure, but it also allows you to become pray to what others want, and I didn't want you Wayne, not in the way you wanted me, I wanted a father!" John shrieks out the word father as if it was a bitter thing on his tongue.
"I was a good father, tried real hard to make Harry happy...before the abuse started, I was good to her and your mum, but….truth be told...I made a better lover."
John growls and charges, grabbing the man by the back of the shirt and swinging him around, only to be greeted by the bashed in face of Wayne's corpse, John jerking back in shock and yelling.
John jerks away, sweat on his brow but his body still in bed, his mind not disoriented in anyway, infact, it is highly focused and he looks at the clock.
A neon five a.m. greets him and he looks over to see Sherlock resting peacefully.
"Sherlock! Sherlock wake up!" John orders in a hushed voice and the man in question jerks up to look at him, "John? John, what is it-"
"That's why it all started, that's how...he drugged me! I didn't fight him the first time….I didn't resist at all! He thought I was….just...denying myself...denying him out of shame...he thought I wanted it." John said without giving much else and Sherlock eyes John from behind confused and exhausted slits before saying, "Wha?" a half formed question and John realizes he has never actually seen Sherlock not fully awake, accept once when he had been drugged by Adler.
For the first time he gets to see a groggy confusion on the man's face, a complete loss of what the man is talking about and John stares, "My god, your adorable when your brain doesn't work."
"My brain….always...works...just running at….a normal….rate at the moment."
"You never do anything halfway, do you? Either your brain is super inhumane fast or slower than dirt."
"Not slow, just starting up, you were saying?"
"Hmm?" John asks.
"You were saying about the thing, the thingy thing- being drugged!"
John thinks about it a moment and then shakes his head, "The first time Wayne...ya know...touched me….he had given me alcohol. I remember it now, he had taken me fishing and given me a few beers and got me plastered."
"You remembered all this?" Sherlock asked as he gazed up at his friend from under his copious amounts of wild hair.
"I did, just now, I had a dream, I remember...after I was smashed he….he did things to me and I remember vaguely asking him what he was doing, but it's all a blur, I blacked out. So, I guess…. I didn't fight him….I let him…"
John slowly swings his legs out of bed and lets out a whine as he pulls on his pants, not bothering with a shirt as he looks to his companion and finally sees the alert sharp eyes he is so used to, "I let him-" John starts as a feeling of dread and disgust swells in him.
"John, you were a child." Sherlock says softly.
John thinks about that, knows Sherlock is right, but a part of him doesn't see that as a good enough excuse. It still seems wrong to him that he had been such an idiot, so trusting and naive and….abused.
Shaking his head, John opens the door and walks out, hearing Sherlock get up from the bed and swear, though the tone is that of worry and not annoyance.
You're a good man, Sherlock, too good, if anyone knew you like I did….you would be the most sought after man in all London…
"John, wait, please don't do this to yourself. You have been doing so well-" Sherlock says as he enters into the sitting room to find John pacing.
"Well? No, Sherlock, I don't think well is what I would call this. I'm jumpy, anxiety ridden, either spitting fire from anger or sobbing my head off from trauma. I don't have time to be this version of well! I need to deal with this head on, I need to...I need to-"
"You have been. Surely you can see that, can't you?"
"No, no I don't. I see weakness, I see a coward, I see...a man who is vulnerable and putting too much on his flatmate, on his friend... you don't need this...this inconsistency, this insanity, this….pain...my pain."
"I want it." Sherlock says quickly, stepping forward as he places a hand on the back of John's chair, "I want it and accept it readily. You've been doing very well considering everything you have been through. Every set back you continue to fight through and move forward, you haven't given up, haven't let the anger win. You have been in good humour, have been gentle and soft and-"
"I don't want to be soft! I want to be strong! I want to be better! The stupid….foolish child I was, he has a lot to answer for! Taking a beer...drinking it….letting his guard down...not watching his surroundings...not watching his back….weak, silly, stupid, trusting, naive thing he was-"
"You were." Sherlock amends.
"What?" John snaps as he turns to look at the taller man with annoyance.
"The weak, silly, stupid, trusting, naive thing you were. That's why it's eating at you, isn't it. Because the John Watson of today, would never have been as careless and stupid as to trust so willingly...so blindly."
"No." John says with assurance, with a form of pride that Sherlock cannot understand. Still he pushes forward, "But the John of back then...was only a child, had no concept of traumas or dangers. The John of back then was innocent, naive and too trusting because he didn't know any better. He wasn't a soldier….wasn't trained to look for the dangers of the world….he was a thirteen year old boy who was abused and hurt, didn't know what to do, how to react other than to run."
"I don't run anymore!" John says, emphasising each word, spit flinging from his teeth as he clenches them and squeezes his fists at his side.
Sherlock smirks, "I know, that is what makes you so...unique. No matter the trauma, no matter the danger...you never run...you always face it head on...quite the bravery and resolve for someone who thinks himself a weak coward."
John stares at him a moment and then shakes his head, letting out an irritated sigh before he brings a thumb and forefinger to his eye.
"That's why Wayne thought I liked him, thought that he needed to use Harry as a means to get me to comply. He truly believed I wanted to be...with him….because...because-"
Sherlock moves closer and places a hand on the man's shoulder, "Because why?" Sherlock asks gently.
"Because, I said I liked it. He fed me three beers, that's all it took...that's how small I was for my age, Sherlock. I was completely lit and at some point I blacked out. I remember...he was singing to me...touching me...and I asked him why he was touching me like that and he….he asked me if I liked it...I said yes, Sherlock….and the worst part is I can't remember if it is the lie...or the truth. I remember everything that happened after that day, because I never let my guard down again and Wayne's attempts to bring me closer would eventually escalate into the hell hole that Harry and I grew up in. But, I can't remember if I...told him the truth or lied."
"So?" Sherlock asks softly and John looks up at him in shock, his mouth hanging open, "John, it doesn't matter. Whether you enjoyed it or not, you were thirteen and he was an adult. He boozed you up, John, you blacked out, at that point even if you enjoyed it….even if you said you enjoyed it...your judgment was impaired and any decisions you did or did not make in that moment in regards to what you truly wanted….John, Wayne took your ability to say yes or no away...you were impaired...do not beat yourself up over trusting someone who you had faith in in the first place. Wayne wasn't supposed to be a predator, he was supposed to be your father...you got dealt a bad hand, it was a crap shoot….you have to try and let it go."
John nods, knowing Sherlock is right and he says softly, "I keep having these dreams, keep seeing different things that I had forgotten over the years. Things that I know I knew but just chose not to think about. It's like my mind wants to refresh it all, reexamine every little thing and try to dissect it. I keep thinking I am going to remember something important, but then I realize that even if I did...he is dead….I can't ask him questions….I can't sort this out...not that I want to...but the jumble of things in my head….the memories that are trying to be restored and reexamined...dissected...Sherlock there are things I am starting to recall that I don't want to. Like the fact...like the fact he wasn't...he wasn't…"
"Wasn't what?"
"He was never brutal to me, never said the things I dream about him saying...he was always so calm about it...even when he drank...he wasn't violent with me… I mean...I remember two sides to him….I don't know which is real and I can't ask him...even if I could I couldn't believe him…"
"What about Harry?"
"Harry?"
"Mmm, she said she used to sit outside the door….wait for Wayne to be done so she could help clean you up. She might remember things more clearly given she wasn't the one…"
"Yeah. You're right. I need to talk to Harry….I need to get this sorted out or I am never going to be able to get over this."
Sherlock nods, pulling the man to his chest and hugging him, "Alright, today, we go see Harry."
A/N: Alright there is another chapter…...really need to find an ending…..it just doesn't feel right…..not right now anyway…...read and review!