I dont think its that good but i have tried to handle the story nicely as well as keeping with characters .
The First Time He Knew.
3 years before Sherlock's death.
John/Sherlock Relationship Status: 6 months dating.
It was on 30th of November when Sherlock returned from a trip to see his family. Two days, he said, was short enough for him not to go insane but long enough for Mycroft to leave him alone about visiting for a significant amount of time. It was the first time since i had moved in that he had visited his family for a prolonged period and he told me that he planned to tell them about our relationship at some point during his stay.
I knew he would not be hungry after being virtually force fed over the 2 day break but i did have a large pot of tea brewing when he trudged up the stairs. I expected him to come in and greet me in the way he enjoys, (more on that later) But he walked grudgingly past the open living room door and up the stairs. I sat there, dumbfounded for a moment, as i listened to him enter his room and scuffle around a bit before climbing onto his bed. Wait...he is sleeping? There must be something wrong. I reasoned he hated visiting his family but it must be something more, or else he would be moaning to me over tea right now, not sulking in his bed. I put the tea back on the stove and rushed upstairs to find out what was troubling my flatmate...my lover.
"Sherlock? You didn't come say hello." I said half jokingly whilst knocking gently on the door. Hearing a faint groan of the words 'Leave me alone' spurred me on further as he was just sulking like a moody teen now.
"Sherlock, please what's wrong? Im worried." There was silence for a few moments and i was about to speak up again until i heard him move on his bed and walk towards the door.
"Before i open the door you must know that it is going to be one of those long, relationship changing conversations as well as the fact that you may never tell anyone, ever." He spoke softly through the door and i swear i could hear small sniffles in his voice. Now i really was worried.
"Okay. Please just open the door."
He did so, only to reveal a shadow of the man i was (And still am) in love with. He was dressed in his grey pyjamas which left his bruised and battered skin fully on show. He had a scar stretching all the way up his arm and his neck was bruised in such a way that worryingly suggested strangulation. His hands had hundreds of tiny cuts on them whilst his face looked like it had been caved in with a bulldozer. His lips were puffy and blood was seeping through from his gums. His nose looked broken and severely bruised whilst his eyes looked dark and panda like with the right being swollen almost to the point where i don't think Sherlock could see.
I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a small croak before i broke down in tears. I wept for loved one's pain and i wept with anger and frustration as the urge to find and kill the cause of Sherlock's injuries grew quickly.
"Come on John." He said as he led me to the bed we had recently begun to share. I began to feel guilty for my tears but realised Sherlock probably expected this of me.
"Questions." He said, as though we were talking about having jam on toast for breakfast. I chose to ignore this though as i regained my composure in order to get answers.
"Just tell me everything, right from the beginning, no matter how gruesome please don't hold back unless you're finding it too hard." That god for a having a psychologist. You pick up a few things. Sherlock took a breathe and began what was the longest, most heartbreaking and most worryingly rehearsed speech i will ever hear.
"It was my father. It started when i was six. He used to do it when he was drunk and tell me that no one would believe me. I took it, once a day for ten years before father finally got sober. And for four years it was fine. But when i was twenty i went home to visit and he caught me smoking a spliff and flipped out. He beat me to a pulp and then pushed me down the stairs so that he could blame the injuries on a simple 'trip and fall'. Mycroft and mother did not and still do not know and they never can, it would destroy our family. Ever since then every time i visit home he beats me to a pulp and threatens to tell Mycroft im back on drugs and i need to be put away again. Mycroft would always believe father over me so i keep quiet, hide the injuries until they heal and wait until the next visit and the next beating. I go back for mother. I know ill get beaten but its worth it to see her and ensure she is happy and in good health, even whilst she is living with a monster. This time it was after dinner when he met me on the balcony outside the dining hall after i announced our relation ship. He said that this beating was for being a 'fucking homo'. I lay and took it and then allowed him to throw me a door just as he staged a large explosion with my childhood chemistry set. No one can ever know John. My mother wouldn't be able to take it and my father would kill me. I've got you to live for now." Sherlock ended with a sigh. I only nodded and embraced his body in mine as we laid back on the bed.
His father? If i ever meet him im going to fucking kill him. I never ever want Sherlock to go through this again.
So many thoughts ran through my mind but eventually i did concentrate on my crying lover that was cuddled into my body in an almost child like manner.
I hope that man dies painfully. I thought.