Author's note: Sorry for the wait, I've been so busy… enjoy the chapter!
Sherlock leaned across to the bedside table and switched the lights on as the TV showed the ending credits of Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. John blinked at the brightness. It was evening; the whole day had been spent on a Lord of the Rings marathon. Sherlock had moved the TV to the bottom of the bed so John didn't have to get up. John shuffled to one side of the bed so Sherlock could squeeze in next to him under a shared blanket to see the TV.
"That was great!" John smiled enthusiastically at Sherlock who returned a grin and spoke.
"I don't like many films, but I have to say I thoroughly enjoy a bit of Orc slaying!"
Sherlock was interrupted by a knock at the door and a voice from outside.
"Are you two decent?" Mrs Holmes shouted.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Yes Mother. Of course we're decent."
Mrs Holmes pushed the door open slowly and walked in, holding a tray.
"Don't be cheeky Sherlock, are you boys hungry?"
John hadn't noticed he was hungry until it was mentioned.
"Um, yes Mrs Holmes, thank you."
Sherlock's mother walked over to the bed and placed the tray across the boys' laps.
"Please, call me Violet. Mrs Holmes is too formal!"
John smiled and looked at the tray, which held two glasses of squash, and two full pork roast dinners, complete with Yorkshire puddings and apple sauce.
"Wow… thank you."
John grinned at Violet who smiled back. Sherlock had already started tucking into his dinner.
"You're very welcome Jonathan."
Sherlock snorted and almost choked on his dinner. Violet frowned at her son.
"What's funny Sherlock?"
Sherlock chewed and swallowed his mouthful between giggles.
"Just Jonathan, it's too formal!" Sherlock accentuated the last two words as a bit of a mickey take. Violet smiled and hit Sherlock softly on the arm with her tea towel.
"Oh stop it Sherlock! Is 'Jonathan' too formal for you dear?" Violet asked John, who smiled politely.
"No-body calls me Jonathan unless I'm in trouble!"
Violet chuckled and rolled her eyes at Sherlock, who was still giggling.
"'John' it is then! And as for you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you better stop giggling and eat your dinner before it gets cold!"
This was John's turn to laugh as he heard Sherlock's full name. Violet chuckled and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Sherlock had stopped giggling and was trying not to laugh at John's laugh. His little high pitched giggle was infectious and Sherlock had to try hard to keep a straight face.
"What's funny about my name?!"
Sherlock feigned insult, which just made John giggle more. Eventually John stopped with a few coughs and a moan at the pain in his ribs.
"Oww, don't make me laugh!"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
"I didn't make you laugh. My name did, apparently!"
John chuckled.
"Your name's not that funny, it's just very posh!"
Sherlock smiled.
"So is Jonathan."
John smiled back and the boys tucked into their dinner. Sherlock had just started on his second Yorkshire pudding when John spoke.
"How come you don't go by William? I mean, that's your first name isn't it?"
Sherlock swallowed and made a face.
"'William' is just so… ordinary and dull. 'Sherlock' is so much fancier. Besides, I have to try and compete with the name 'Mycroft' and 'William' just wouldn't cut it!"
John smiled.
"I guess it matches your extra-ordinary intelligence level."
Sherlock grinned at John and noted how a bit of a spark was returning to John's, albeit bruised, eyes.
"You think I'm intelligent?" Sherlock asked. John nodded.
"Of course you are." John said in a very matter-of-fact way. Sherlock smiled.
"Well, thank you. Mycroft always says I'm stupid."
John stopped eating and looked over at Sherlock, confused.
"Well he must be a right idiot to not see how clever you are!"
Sherlock chuckled and they continued eating. When they finished, Sherlock moved the tray to the bedside table. The clock read 8pm; John yawned and sat up straighter.
"I should probably be going Sherlock; my parents will wonder where I am…"
John tried to swing his legs off the bed but winced at the pain in his abdomen and ribs. Sherlock put a hand on his leg to stop him.
"No, you're staying here tonight. Mycroft has already been over to your house and told your parents where you are."
John looked concerned.
"Oh… what did they say?"
"Apparently your mum answered and said it was probably better if you stayed here for a bit."
John nodded and worried about what his dad would say. Best to put it to the back of his mind for now.
"Thanks."
Sherlock's hand was still on John's thigh. He looked down at it awkwardly and removed it with a small cough. Sherlock looked away and fiddled with something on the table. John moved his legs back into the bed slowly and let out a breath when he was done.
"You can't sleep on the beanbags again Sherlock, it'll hardly be comfortable…"
Sherlock looked up and shrugged.
"Don't worry."
John shook his head.
"No, you can share the bed tonight. It's king size Sherlock; there will be enough room for your skinny body."
Sherlock smiled.
"Thanks, I best get my pyjamas on then."
John was already changed, he had been all day. Sherlock stood up and grabbed a plain blue t shirt and a pair of trousers out of a drawer; they had cartoon pirates on them. John smiled secretly to himself.
"I'll look away and close my eyes, Sherlock."
John did just that as Sherlock changed at the other side of the room, muttering 'Done' when he was finished. Sherlock shimmied under the covers next to John and rested his curls on the pillow.
"Do you sleep with the light out or on?"
John swallowed.
"Um… always on… I'm… not particularly fond of the dark…"
Sherlock nodded and decided not to ask anymore questions, as it seemed to be a sore point for John. He didn't want to imagine what made John fear the dark. He simply put his hand on John's hand and said "Ok." John closed his eyes and wondered why Sherlock's hand on his didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt safe. John quickly fell to sleep but Sherlock remained awake. He didn't sleep well with the light on, but he would keep it on for John. John's peaceful breaths relaxed Sherlock and he looked over at the calm boy. He seemed even more vulnerable and small when he was asleep. Sherlock reached over and pulled the covers up to John's chin. John moaned quietly and rolled his bandaged head to the side, dreaming about something. Sherlock made a soft 'shhh' sound and stared dreamily at John's face. Anderson would pay for hurting his John, for causing the nicest boy he'd ever met pain. Sherlock decided he would always be there for John from now on, that's what friends are for, isn't it?
A few days later, John was back on his feet and back at school. His arm was still in a sling and he still had to wear the stupid bandage on his head, causing his hair to tuft out at the top like a blonde pineapple. No-one called him up on it; Anderson and his mates had been excluded for a week thanks to Mycroft and John had returned to his house. His mum had fussed over him to no end; Harry hadn't even noticed and his dad…
Well, actually his dad's reaction wasn't as bad as he feared. John had walked into the living room and stood in front of the sofa, which his dad was slouched on. His gruff voice filled the room.
"What happened boy?"
John swallowed.
"I, er… got into a fight. With some lads. They, er, beat me up."
John looked down. His dad remained seated, which John knew was a good sign.
"You better have hit them back, you wuss…"
John nodded.
"I did Dad, yeah." He said, slightly ashamed that he was fulfilling his father's wishes.
"Good lad. You better toughen up boy, when you come home from the next fight you better be telling me that you killed the bastards. Am I clear?"
John swallowed and nodded.
"Yes Dad."
John had left the room, relieved that his Dad hadn't had a worse reaction. He was hoping that there wouldn't be another fight; he wouldn't be able to fulfil his Dad's wishes then. His Dad had always been disappointed in him. "My only son is a bloody wimp. I have a queer wuss for a son."
John had mentioned many a time that he wasn't actually Gay, often receiving a backhand to the back of his head and the reminder to "toughen up, lad."
Never mind, John thought.
It was Tuesday lunchtime; Sherlock and John were at the Hideout crouched down beside the pond. Sherlock was holding a Tupperware box filled with water and two Great Crested Newts who were swimming around frantically. John was studying a book about Newts and their behaviour as Sherlock was reeling off all of the facts before John could say them. Eventually they moved to the bench and sat in wonder at the Newts. Sherlock broke the silence.
"Oh, John. I meant to ask: Do you want to come over to my house tonight for dinner? We can watch a film, or play a game or something?"
John smiled but the smile disappeared as he thought about what his dad might say if he didn't come home in time.
"Um…"
Sherlock looked away sadly.
"It's ok; you don't have to if you don't want… I just…"
John shook his head quickly.
"No, I do want to. It's just… my dad…"
Sherlock looked up with concern into John's eyes.
"What about your dad?"
John looked away nervously and bit his lower lip.
"He doesn't like it if I'm late home. Not because he cares about me, but if I'm not home and he runs out of beer he'll… if I'm not home he might…"
John looked down and scuffed his feet in the gravel, suppressing a sob. Sherlock put a comforting hand on his shoulder. John took a breath and continued.
"He'll take it out on my mum… I mean, if I'm there he'll hit me and not her…"
John swallowed back tears as Sherlock pulled him into another uncharacteristic hug. He spoke with his head muffled on John's shoulder.
"Well I'd rather he didn't take it out on either of you… you'd be safe if you came round mine?"
John pulled away from the hug and stood up.
"But my mum probably wouldn't. Sometimes he's fine though…"
Sherlock stood up to face him.
"See? So it'll be ok… you can't just not do things because your dad might decide to drink a bit too much…"
John nodded softly.
"I guess so…"
Sherlock took John's arm and guided him back to sit on the bench.
"Look, you need a break sometimes. Come over tonight yeah?"
John took a moment and then nodded slowly.
"Ok."
Sherlock smiled, the boys returned the Newts to the pond and walked back to class. Sherlock pretended to be fine but inside he was worried about what would happen if John's dad did get mad. He couldn't think too much about it, it will be fine, it has to be.
At Sherlock's house, they boys were in a tree house at the bottom of the garden. Sherlock sat slouched on some beanbags and John was cross legged, reading a Marvel comic book.
"Who do you think would win in a fight between Iron Man and The Hulk?" John asked, munching on a jam donut.
Sherlock lifted his head slightly.
"Hmm… well Iron Man doesn't have any real super powers… but if The Hulk suddenly wasn't angry then he'd definitely lose…"
John giggled.
"Yeah I guess. If The Hulk stayed angry though I reckon he'd win."
Sherlock nodded in agreement and rested his head back on the beanbags. John closed the comic book and peered out of the door to the tree house. It was rather a large tree house, and faced the larger Holmes residence, looking across the huge garden. The sky was a midnight blue colour and there was an orange glow form where the sun was setting. Sherlock and John had been sat, chatting and reading and enjoying each other's company for at least 2 hours. John sighed and uncrossed his legs.
"I should probably get going Sherlock. It'll take me 10 minutes to walk and it's getting dark."
Sherlock sat up and frowned.
"Do you have to go?"
John nodded.
"Sorry. I just… don't really want to be home too late… plus it's dark."
"I suppose so. Mycroft could drive you home if you want?"
John smiled.
"If he doesn't mind?"
Sherlock slid across the wooden floor to the ladder and stepped onto it.
"Of course he won't."
Sherlock made his way down the ladder and helped John climb down with one arm, as the other was still in a sling. They made their way into the house and up to Mycroft's bedroom. John was about to knock when Sherlock just opened the door. Mycroft stood up quickly from sitting on his bed.
"Sherlock, you could have knocked!"
Sherlock tilted his head to see around Mycroft.
"Oh, hello again Graham!"
The other boy smiled.
"It's actually Greg."
Mycroft walked forward and stood in front of his little brother. Sherlock smirked.
"Sitting with another boy in bed Mycroft?"
The older Holmes rolled his eyes.
"Oh please Sherlock. You can't talk; you slept in the bed with John…"
Sherlock flushed red and his face turned emotionless. John smiled shyly at Greg, who smiled politely back, ignoring the two brothers. Sherlock stepped around Mycroft and fiddled with a book that was on a desk.
"Can you give John a lift home? It's dark."
Mycroft sighed and John spoke quickly.
"Sorry, you don't have to; I said I would walk…" John said hurriedly, feeling bad for inconveniencing Mycroft. The older Holmes smiled at John.
"It's dark. Of course I will give you a lift John. Sherlock can stay here and talk to Greg."
Sherlock secretly rolled his eyes and John smiled.
"Thanks."
Mycroft led John out of the door and they heard Greg start talking about police work to Sherlock. The voices faded as John and Mycroft walked down the stairs and got into the car. The drive was quiet; John sat silently in the passenger seat until Mycroft spoke.
"So, why are you friends with Sherlock?"
John looked over at Mycroft.
"What do you mean?"
Mycroft kept his eyes fixed forward on the road.
"I mean he's not exactly an easy person to get on with. He's never had a friend before."
John looked confused.
"Really? I think he's very easy to get on with. I guess he can be a bit rude and obnoxious sometimes, but… I don't know… he's just… different."
Mycroft nodded. John continued.
"I think… behind that emotionless exterior there is something there. He does care, or at least wants to care."
"Fair enough." Mycroft said. He did wonder what attracted such a simple and nice boy like John to such a complicated soul like Sherlock. He knew he would never get a definitive answer, but he did know that John Watson was the best thing that had happened to his little brother.
"Here you are."
Mycroft pulled up in front of John's house and looked over at the smaller boy unbuckling his seatbelt.
"Thank you for the lift." John said as he got out of the car.
"Not a problem. See you soon John."
John smiled and closed the car door, walking up the steps to his house. Mycroft waited until John was inside before he pulled away.
John closed the door behind him and smelt the overwhelming stench of alcohol.
"Hello?" John said hesitantly. There was no reply. John made his way to the living room but no-one was there. There was no-one upstairs, the creaky floorboards would have given it away. His dad was definitely out; he would have been in the living room if he were in. John walked into the kitchen and gasped. He dropped his school bag and crouched to the floor. His mum was lying on the floor, not moving.
"Mum? Can you hear me?"
John brushed her hair out of her face and noted a bruise on her cheek. He leant in and put his head next to her mouth. He remembered doing first aid in primary school. He could feel the breath on his cheek and he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank God."
John did his best to put his mum in the recovery position with one arm; eventually he managed it and sat back, breathing heavily. He looked down at his mum's afflicted face. This was his fault. He should have been home. He should have stopped his dad. A tear rolled down John's cheek. Why did he listen to Sherlock? Of course this was going to happen, he should have said no. John sat and cried, it should be me on the floor. John regained his composure and wondered where his dad was. Probably the pub. Oh God. John swallowed apprehensively as he heard the front door open and his dad's heavy, alcohol laden footsteps walk in.
"John… I know you're here… get here now you useless piece of shit…"
Author's note: Dun, dun, Duun… I like a bit of a cliff-hanger! Please, if you get time- leave a review. It helps me see whether people are actually reading this story still!