John listened intently as Mycroft began unravelling the Holmes family past. The few times he tried to interject, Mycroft raised his hand to stop him. The elder Holmes knew that, once he had started this story, he had to finish it, so John sat and listened.
He felt his heart break when Mycroft related snapshots of their abuse at the hands of their father and indifference from their mother, frequently closing his eyes to prevent the tears that he felt threatening to fall. Mycroft was careful not to let slip any reference to the incestuous relationship in which he and Sherlock were engaged during this period, of course, deeming it unnecessary to share.
John heard all about Jerry and, for a short while, his heart warmed to the kind man who had meant so much to Mycroft, but he was confused by the lack of fondness with which Mycroft himself spoke of the man. John almost opened his mouth to question but thought better of it.
It was apparent that the Holmes brothers had suffered a difficult childhood and early adulthood. John wondered briefly why they never fought back. It didn't make any sense. As Mycroft and Sherlock became adults, their father was still taking opportunities to abuse them, and John couldn't understand why these two apparently strong and grown up men didn't just fight back. He clenched his fists as Mycroft told of an occasion when Sherlock, in his early twenties, was dragged by his hair and beaten. He couldn't imagine his flatmate so vulnerable and could only begin to imagine what kind of a hold Siger Holmes must have had on the pair.
"You must be wondering," Mycroft stopped his narrative to address something that he could see was troubling John, "why my brother and I never fought back?"
John looked up sharply and blinked to clear his eyes and his mind.
"Umm, well... yes." He replied honestly. Not much point hiding it from a Holmes. "Why didn't you? Surely the two of you could overpower your father enough to..." he didn't finish the sentence. He wasn't even entirely sure what they could do. He just couldn't bear to imagine them just letting it happen.
"Well, yes." Mycroft's soft reply came. "Unfortunately, the hold that our father held over us was long-standing and firm. In all honestly, John, it never really occurred to us, even in our adulthood, that we could fight back. We were young; weak; pathetic. That was what we had been brought up to believe, and it never crossed our minds that we were, in fact, none of those things any more."
John nodded. He understood that. Not first-hand, obviously. He had been fortunate to have been brought up in a loving family home, but he had been a doctor long enough to have seen his fair share of abuse cases - children and adults. Wear a person down enough emotionally and you can pretty much get away with anything- whatever the age of the victim.
He cringed at the image again, his stomach turning at the thought of the Holmes brothers, of all people, being abused that way.
"Now, if you will allow me to continue, I shall be getting to the crux of the matter very shortly."
John licked his lips anxiously and nodded again. He sat back in his chair and patiently listened as Mycroft continued.
He smiled again as he was told about the family Christmas dinner and his mind drifted back to their own family Christmases. It was a short-lived trip down memory lane however, as Mycroft continued to relate the events of that particular year and the intrusion in their bedroom.
"He what?" John couldn't help himself from exclaiming before he clamped his hand over his mouth in horror at his lack of restraint.
"Oh God, Mycroft, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just... " John lost the fragile control he had over his emotions and finally let the tears fall. Mycroft nodded and passed the box of tissues which was on the table next to him.
"Thanks. God, you must think I'm being ridiculous." John half-chuckled at the madness of it all.
"Not at all, John." Mycroft's voice was low and calm, "I imagine it would be difficult not to be moved by the whole thing, in fact."
He took a long, shuddering breath himself and rested back in the chair.
"So..." his eyes dropped to his hands, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, "Sherlock killed our father that night. I could tell straight away that he was dead. Sherlock was in shock, naturally. He hadn't meant to kill the man. He was just protecting me..." Mycroft voice began to tremble as the emotions of that night crashed into him.
"I suppose you could be forgiven for thinking that it was all over at that point. It was self-defence. It was unintentional. The police would see that. Of course, that is all obvious now."
"Of course." John had regained some control of his voice now and was sitting forwards in his chair, hovering, undecided about whether or not Mycroft himself required any sort of comfort.
Mycroft raised his eyes to meet John's and shook his head.
"That was not the end of it all, John." Mycroft continued to relate the story of Jerry and Jim and the ten years that followed.