Hi everyone - here comes the new chapter ^^ Thanks to Samayori, kiras70 and Cahaya Nightdreamer for the reviews, I really appreciate them. And thanks to Jaemi for helping me with a particular hard paragraph ^^
Chapter 3 - Cloaked under the night
It was dark, so dark. Pitch black. No moon, no stars. Clouds? Maybe. Light -a little bit of light. An old street lantern, flickering. It is cold, close to new years eve. There are voices, talking, laughing, chattering. Who is it? He remembers being with HIM, they where out on a date, in a club. He can't recall the name of the club, but it was loud, very loud. Not only the people, but the music too. What happened there? Did anything happen? He had a strange feeling of fear in the gut.
They are directing home, not his own, but that of his BOYFRIEND. It is an old building, big. A mansion. Trees rustling with the cold winter wind. He shivers. They aren't alone, he could hear other voices. But he doesn't know who's with them, doesn't recognize the people talking.
Then there was nothing. Nothing but fear and pain and fear and pain and HIS laughter, HIS loud, cruel, cold laughter and...
He woke with a start, a strange ringing in his ears. It took him a while before he recognized the ringing as his own shrill voice, screaming bloody murder. The door burst open, his sister stumbling into his room, hair disheveled from sleep, wearing a nightshirt, but wide awake.
"Hey, hey, its okay, John. Everything is okay. You're at home now, nobody is going to hurt you." Harry blinked, her eyes unseeing in the darkness of her brother's bedroom. There, there he was, right in front of his bed, sitting on the floor, his back in the corner between bed and bedside table, shaking from another nightmare, at least the screams died down right before she entered the room.
She cursed under his breath, not again. The older woman approached the boy ever so slowly, sometimes John needed time before he recognized his surroundings and understood that they mean no harm. This time, it took the boy, teen, she corrected in her mind, only a few seconds before he caught himself again. But the short intakes of breath and the silent sobs told her that it wasn't over yet.
Harry sat down onto her brother's bed. "Do you wish to talk about it?", she asked, her voice soothing and calm. John shook his head. "No.", he rasped coarse. Speaking like this hurt his tender throat. Tender because of the screams. They sat in silent.
"You are crying.", his older sister stated absentmindedly.
"I'm aware.", John said soft-spoken. He trembled slightly, the fear always stayed with him after a nightmare.
"You can go to bed now, Sis.", he whispered after a while. He knew the other has to work in the morning, he didn't need her to stay awake with him.
"You sure?", the older inquired. John nodded. "I'm fine now.", he assured, but they both knew it was a blatant lie. The older stood up nevertheless. "Try to sleep, kiddo.", she said, leaving the bedroom.
John heard the door close and sighed. He reached over to the bedside table, taking the smaller of the three blisters of pills and took one, swallowing it dry. Miss Wilson gave them to him, in case of another nightmare, so he could calm down. Carefully he stood from the floor, placing himself on the bed. He was still tired, but there was no way he would catch some sleep, he never did after a nightmare. And it was only 3:59 am. Shit, this was going to be one hell of a day.
He stared into the darkness of his room. Then he reached over and took one of the other blisters. Miss Wilson said he should take his meds in the morning, but then, it was morning right now, wasn't it? He contemplated a little, but in the end he took his daily dose. He was feeling numb, but that was because of the first pill he took. However, feeling numb was much better than that ever lasting fear.
The morning greeted him with a sore body and a splitting head ache. He tried to move, but only groaned. Everything just hurt. Maybe he should call in a sick day? But no, it was only the first week of school, and he was fine yesterday. Faintly he tried opening his eyes. It seemed he had covered himself with his blanket at one point or another throughout the night.
Right now he bitterly regretted it for the soft textile appeared to be glued to his back. A tired glance at his clock told him he needn't hurry. It was not even 5 am, he had two hours more before he had to leave for school.
Groggily he dragged himself into a sitting position. Every damn move hurt like hell, even if he was slow and careful. It was dawning, he could see it through a thin gap of the thick, dark curtains of his room. Wearily he let go of his blanket, it still was glued to his back. With one swift movement he ripped it off him, biting back a scream as he did so. There was blood on the cloth, of course there was. At least it wasn't as much as last time.
He could feel a soft, tickling prickle. He had reopened some of his wounds by tearing off the blanket.
Sherlock stood shakily, his knees buckled and he had to steady himself on his bedside table. He was naked besides his boxers, so he could see his bare feet. No wonder everyone called him a freak, he wanted to throw up by just watching himself. He was sickeningly thin, even without light he could see his every bone. His skin was of a strange greyish colour and... he stopped. No reason to make this any harder than it already was. He grabbed some fresh clothes and retreated to his very own bathroom.
Stiffly he limped over to the full-body-mirror and tried looking at his back. It was not as bad as last time when his father had used this blasted belt of his. The skin on and around his shoulder blades was broken, but he had expected this. This was where the belt-buckle struck mostly. The rest of his back... well, he wouldn't stop sleeping on his stomach anytime soon.
He stepped into the shower, maybe the scalding hot water would make him feel better although he didn't really believed it.
The hot spray of water left him feeling like his whole body was on fire but afterwards the blazing pain subdued to a dull ache. By the time he finally left the bathroom, he moved less stiff, to careful to be moving like he normally would, but he was perfectly sure none would notice. Nobody ever did.
Sherlock dressed his back with gauze, cautious to not do anymore damage than already had been done. He was becoming frightfully good at this – even with his right arm still in a cast.
Helena waited for him in her usual spot. When he joined her, he could feel her eying him up critically. Nobody ever noticed – besides from Helena. He knew she was suspecting something but he had confirmed his own theory about her home-life a long time ago although involuntarily.
It had happened about three months after she started accompanying him. She hadn't been there waiting for him like she normally was, so he had assumed she wouldn't come (wouldn't be the first time, she was rather often absent from school, it seemed) and went on alone. Turned out she just had been late, she had run after him, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. His reaction had been imminent. He had spun around, thinking it would be one of his tormenters from school, his hands about to ward off a punch.
Her reaction had been as fast as his – and everything as telling. Within a split second she had curled in on herself, cowering at the ground, her hands in front of her face. He had known instantly what had happened. Her behavior being as trained and as internalized as was his. It had taken her roughly five long minutes to convince herself that he wouldn't strike her. Sherlock had just waited, silently, patiently. That was the moment he had known her impaired hearing wasn't the result of any illness or what so ever. Repetitive blows to the head were most likely the reason.
"Sorry.", she had said, a faint blush on her pale cheeks. Nothing more. They would never discuss what he came to call The Incident - although he did contact child services that day. He didn't know what happened when the social worker visited her home two days later – but he noticed with dismay that Helena wouldn't come to accompany him the week after The Incident and he didn't see her for the following ten days. When she finally returned she didn't mention neither the visit nor his obvious meddling in her affairs.
He never contacted child services again – whatever they had done, it had made matters worse and they simply didn't do anything to help Helena. They never even revisited. Maybe they too feared her father and had family and friends who worked for him. He was a powerful man. Powerful and ruthless.
"You know, I'm going to be a social worker once I've graduated from university.", she told him on their way to his school and her university. He only nodded, he suspected as much. The saying goes, one will always become what one would need the most. She surly could use a social worker who jailed her prick of a father – but then, so could he. They walked in silence. Usually she would be more talkative. She seemed to be slightly depressed these days.
"That boy – he's new, isn't he?", she asked after a while. Sherlock murmured his agreement. "You know nothing about him?" He quirked an eyebrow. Helena knew he never knew nothing about anybody he ever met. "Well – what do you know?", she inquired.
He smirked. She knew how to get him to talk, he'd never miss a chance to show off.
"He hasn't been to a public school since quite some time - I'd say homeschooled but the state of his clothing suggests a bad financial situation so that is out of question. Maybe he attended a small school, or was homeschooled with a small group of children, so his parents wouldn't have to pay. Talking about his parents: the father left the family more than three years ago, the mother has to work to support the family. John lives with an older sibling, most likely a brother, because the mother couldn't care for him because of her work. He had an accident where his shoulder was injured which caused him to quit rugby. I guess he had to stay in hospital quite some time since he couldn't keep up with my speed yesterday in the corridors. I also believe he's gay, his reaction when someone called me "fag" was rather telling."
He stopped. Of course there was this strong feeling that he missed something. He wasn't just thinking about the behavior the only two persons which he kind of liked, displayed when they had met. Undoubtedly they knew each other before. Wherever they had met - it was clearly bothering both of them. But it wasn't just this. The way John held himself, walked, always as near to the wall as humanly possible, always watching his back. It was odd. It reminded him of what he had read about soldiers who were tortured in war.
Helena smiled at him. "You are astounding, you know?" she said then waved her good-bye at him because they reached his school. "See you later." She went on, barley looking up when she saw John lingering near the gates of the school building – just inclining her head slightly and quickening her pace.
School that day proved itself to be less dull than normally although that maybe because of John Watson. It was a miracle that he remembered the name of the new one, let alone his last name. Usually he couldn't bother to fill his brain with something as insignificant as names – it took him nearly a month to recall Helena's name. Only after The Incident he would remember it but even then just her first name.
The boy seemed to be an enigma – he was friendly to every one however at the same time he managed to keep all of their class mates at a distance. Of course this could be because it was only his second day but somehow Sherlock doubted it. He seemed to be comfortable with quite a few people at the room as long as they kept at least two arm's length away. Whenever somebody tried to step closer, he would retread, going so far as to snap at whoever dared to interfere with his personal space.
John was rather thankful that he managed to get another day done at school without any major incidents. The girl who accompanied Sherlock to and from school, Helena if his memory served him right, was standing outside the gates again that day. John watched her carefully. Sherlock's behavior regarding him hadn't changed remarkably so she hadn't told him where they had met. Maybe Sherlock didn't even know she ever was in an asylum? He wasn't sure how close they were.
John nodded in her direction when they left school and made their ways home. She hadn't changed much, he mused, since the last time he saw her a little bit over eigth months ago.
Thanks for reading - I hope you like it and I would love to hear what you think about it