Sorry there was a little bit of a wait for this chapter! Please leave some feedback if you can... who knows, it may even make me update quicker ;)
John didn't know how long they had been sat there, but it was now dark outside and his detective was in a deep sleep in his lap. The soldier looked down at how carefree and peaceful his partner looked, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. John marvelled Sherlock's ability to suppress his memories and emotions for so long without telling anyone. The doctor wouldn't change the younger man for the world, but it was now easy to see why Sherlock acts the way he does. He cannot even begin to imagine how, in Sherlock's position, he would allow himself to trust someone again. Especially when the only person you had ever trusted, broke that trust, in every horrific way possible.
John tried not to look at the detective differently after the admission. The last thing Sherlock needed was pity and hesitance after learning about something that happened nearly two decades ago. He had to remember that whatever happened back then didn't change the person he was today. Right now his partner may seem vulnerable and fragile, but he knows Sherlock is usually anything but. To change now and treat him like a victim would not be received well, and nor should it. However, it did mean an open and serious talk needed to happen before there were any further developments in their sex life. With his past, it was likely Sherlock could be reluctant or anxious about some steps in the progression of their relationship, and John understood this now. The worst thing John could imagine is accidentally triggering Sherlock, and even though he did not do it purposely, John would never forgive himself for putting Sherlock back into the moment of his attacks. The doctor needed to know anything that may even slightly trigger his partner, and then he can be aware of words, touches, actions, or even smells that he needed to avoid. Once Sherlock completely trusted John, they could then begin to explore each of them at the detectives pace, insuring everything they did together was nothing like his previous experience of a relationship.
Thinking back to the small snippets of information about what Victor had done to his partner when he was just a teenager made the doctor's anger, which he had fought to supress, begin to return. John's malicious side wanted to track down the lowlife and torture him until he begged for death. But John wasn't that person. Sure, he had killed people before, and even to save Sherlock. But that was the difference; in those moments he had killed to save someone. Killing Victor now would be for his own benefit, as he was no immanent threat to his partner anymore. It just seemed utterly wrong for Victor to escape punishment for the torture he had put Sherlock through as a teenager, and the torment he still held to this day. Even if he did want to track him down, that was extremely unlikely. Sherlock could never know, and frankly, the thought of trying to find the right Victor Trevor without the detectives help was laughable. John was a doctor; he didn't possess the skills of locating suspects that Sherlock did. But just thinking about Sherlock at that age, innocent, inquisitive, amicable, how could anyone take advantage of him? Why did no one else notice? Where there no PhD supervisors in that damn university laboratory?
John tried not the think about what Sherlock may have been like without such an awful start to relationships, but he couldn't stop the images flooding his vision. Maybe he wouldn't have an obsession with becoming inhuman, to always be detached and indifferent. He ultimately imagined Sherlock just the way he was, but more carefree, smiling more, happier.
He would have probably had other relationships, meaning they may not have even met.
John carefully extracted himself from under his partner; having become so restless he worried he would wake the detective from his peaceful sleep. Sherlock definitely needed sleep right now. Once he had completely slid from underneath him, the younger man curled up into a ball on the small sofa, holding his legs tightly to his body. Fearing the movement was for warmth, John reached for the blanket that was folded and hung over the back of the sofa, and wrapped the detective into the warm, fluffy material. A soft groan of content came from under the cover. Satisfied his partner was still asleep, John moved his chair so it was angled towards Sherlock and let himself fall into the soft cushions.
Trying to calm down, the doctor ran his hand over his face, trying to diffuse some of the tension in his head. His whole body ached with the pressure from all the emotions, and his mind felt ready to explode with all the questions and anger, spinning around in his head.
He desperately wanted to call Lestrade and track down Victor together, arresting the bastard for what he did to his partner. But that would be betraying Sherlock's trust. If the detective were somehow ok with Lestrade knowing, there was still no way he would risk the chance of Donavan and Anderson finding out. But, John desperately needed justice of some form for his partner. He felt so helpless to the fact this man had shattered Sherlock, yet he was still free to walk the streets to do this to others. John felt a sharp pull in his stomach at the realisation, making him feel even more nauseous: what if he had done this to more innocent children? A plan formulated in the doctor's mind. If Trevor was a multiple offender, and he was still walking around free, John could catch him without dragging Sherlock into it.
There was only one man for the job.
John reached for his phone, dialling the number he rarely ever used. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The phone rang for only two rings before it was answered.
"Should ask why you're up at 2am, Doctor Watson?" Came a familiar drawl.
"Should I ask why you're awake to answer, Mycroft?" John retorted, feeling increasingly conflicted about what he was about to do. Sherlock was still sound asleep, so he kept his voice low.
"Touché. What can I do for you?" Mycroft replied in his usual taunting tone.
"Victor Trevor. What do you know about him?" John stated, careful not to let his voice betray the emotion that just his name aroused.
"The name sounds familiar." There was a short pause where John could hear a filing cupboard screech open, and then the rustling of files. John ignored for now that Mycroft seemingly has a filing cabinet filled with files on everyone who had passed through Sherlock's life. He couldn't imagine what his own would contain. "Victor Trevor, D.O.B. 21st September 1970, friend of Sherlock's at university. In fact, if I remember correctly, his only friend. Now works for Pfizer, largest pharmaceutical company in the world. What is your interest in him?"
John could do the maths, Victor was twenty-five when Sherlock was fifteen. The doctor looked over to his sleeping partner, looking completely peaceful and innocent. Victor was over ten years older. John once again fought the urge to throw up.
"I can't tell you anything, but I think you should look into him. Thoroughly." John said, bitterly.
"Personal life?" Mycroft asked. John could hear the confusion and intrigue in his voice.
"Yes. But please, for Sherlock's sake, keep him out of it. And I want to be involved in how we act." John urged.
"As you wish. I will let you know when I get information. Good night, Doctor Watson."
With a click, the Holmes brother disappeared, and John was left to fret about what he had just done. Had he broke Sherlock's trust? Mycroft was sure to come to conclusions about what had happened to Sherlock when he started digging. Maybe he should have spoken to Sherlock about involving his brother first. Shit, he really should have spoken to his partner first. Going into a deep panic, John failed to realise that Sherlock had woken up, and was deducing him intently.
"It's ok. I understand." Sherlock spoke softly.
John's eyes shot to his partner's. "How much of that did you hear?" He asked.
"Enough." Sherlock replied, devoid of any emotion.
"I'm so sorry," was all that John could say, his voice breaking slightly at the realisation of what he had done. Sherlock had trusted him, and straight away he had broken that trust.
"I mean it, I understand, I'm fine. You haven't betrayed my trust because I won't be involved. I could never get over the fact he may have done this to others, and I'm relieved they can get justice." Sherlock insisted. The pale detective didn't look fine, but he couldn't miss the relief in his features.
John had never thought his partner's continued distress could have been impacted by the guilt of others potentially suffering in the way he did because he had not reported him. Who knows, if they found others wiling to speak up, Sherlock may give a statement too. As a minor at the time, it is likely his identity would not be publicised. Either way, if Sherlock prosecuted or not, he would get closure.
"You need more sleep, shall we go to bed?" John asked, getting up from the chair and already moving to help his partner up.
"It's going to be a bad night. I can feel it." Sherlock admitted. Taking John's outstretched hand, the detective let his partner take his weight as came to his feet.
"Then it's a good job I'm here." John comforted.
Finally climbing into bed, John lay behind a curled up Sherlock, and pulled him into a tight, safe embrace. As he kissed the detectives curls, he realised he truly and utterly loved this man.
"Goodnight, love. I'm here." John whispered, ready to help him through the night.
Coming up, the nightmares...