The Case of the Cuddle Chapter 5

Warning: Contains references to extremely violent rape and child sexual abuse. If you have any issues at all relating to these, please, please don't read. You could probably skip to the next chapter and still get the guist. I have no idea why I had to write this, and I'm praying you'll make it through this part and come with me into the next stage. You will probably be glad to hear that this story is proving to be a bit of a 'Topsy' - it just grows and grows, and I'm working on a happy ending for all concerned right now. Have hope. Please?

A/N: To everyone, a deep thank you for reading and reviewing. I know this is difficult material. Also, Dear Kida, since I can't email you, thank you for all your wonderful reviews. I'm so touched that you are sticking with this, and I'm usualy the same about not reading the violent, angsty stuff. I can hold your hand digitally if you like? :-)

'I was eleven the first time.

'Prep school had been alright. The boys there weren't big enough to hold you down. But then, boarding school. Big school. It started as soon as I got there. They could see I was different. Not just clever. Different. They hated me for it. They came at night. Sometimes in twos, maybe threes. Sometimes more. One after another. A core group, but always someone to hold me down. Someone to hold a hand over my mouth to stop me screaming for help. Not that anybody would have come. No one cared. It went on all term. The things they did. Not just themselves. Anything they could push into me. Rulers, hockey sticks, cricket stumps, bottles. And in the day, they were as sweet as pie, like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.

'In the last week of term, just before Christmas, two older boys came in while they were doing it. Sixth formers. Bullies. Everyone was afraid of them. They said they'd heard we were having a party and they wanted to join in. I was eleven. They were fully grown. The pain was so dreadful that I passed out. When I came to in the morning there was blood in the bed. So much blood.

'I was two weeks in hospital. There were operations. Blood transfusions. Apparently I was lucky not to have bled to death. After Christmas, the headmaster wrote to Mummy and said he thought I shouldn't come back, that I was a disruptive influence. So she sent me somewhere else, a progressive school for high achievers.

'One of the boys I'd known wrote to me later on. He told me the sixth formers had both gone to Cambridge. No one had been punished because no one had owned up. Or told the masters who was responsible. They were all too scared of those older boys, you see. Scared it would happen to them. I didn't blame them, not really. But I knew it was all over for me. After that, I was dead. Inert. I felt nothing. Nothing till you came.'

After he had persuaded Sherlock to take a sedative, he rang Mycroft.

'I need you to come as soon as you can.'

'I'm really very busy, John. I can't just drop the Arab Spring-'

'It's Sherlock. I'm really worried.'

Silence on the other end.

'Ten minutes.'

The older brother sat on the sofa in his overcoat, staring into the far distance. John set a mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of him.

'So, now you know,' Mycroft said. 'I wondered how long it would take him to tell you.'

'He said he's never told anyone. He thought he'd forgotten.'

'You know no-one else affects him the way you do, John. It was only a matter of time before he had to face it.'

'You knew about it all along?'

He sighed. 'I was at Cambridge at the time. I came home for Christmas and found him …like that. I can't tell you how dreadful it was, how awful I felt. And Mummy's reaction. She told him he'd provoked them. She kept saying it was his own fault.'

'Oh, Jesus,' John groaned, pressing his hand over his mouth so he couldn't vomit his flaming rage out. It was this man's mother, after all.

'I know. I tried, but he wouldn't tell me who it was. No names. If he would just give me the names, John.' It was almost a plea. He turned tortured eyes on the doctor. 'Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Anything. Just say.'

Tomorrow, Sherlock and John face up to what has happened...