Author's note: WARNING for swearing and violence. Thanks for all the reviews guys, I really appreciate them!

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…"

John stood up, his breathing shallow. Oh crap.

"JOHN! Here, now!"

John swallowed and made his way quickly to the front door. His dad was stood against it, his whole body rigid. John stopped a few feet from him and battled his urge to shake.

"Yes Dad?" John said, with a tremor in his voice. His dad took a step forward and John flinched.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"Uh, I… I had to stay behind at school… to do work…" John said unconvincingly. His dad stepped in front of him and grabbed his sandy blonde hair with his large hand. John screwed up his face in a painful grimace and moved his head to stop the hairs pulling.

"Like hell you've been at school… Did you realise I ran out of beer? No-one was here to clean the house, your mum is useless…you were trying to avoid doing your chores here… weren't you? You little shit…"

John held his dad's hand with his left arm to try and lessen the pulling on his hair.

"N… no… Ow! Dad no…"

His dad moved his other hand to John's collar and grabbed at the shirt, pulling his boy forward with both hands.

"You know what happens to little boys who lie, don't you?"

John had started to cry as his dad dragged him up the stairs.

"No Dad please…" John begged as his father yanked him across the hallway, towards a small storage cupboard.

"Boys who lie don't deserve light!" John's dad shouted at him. John pulled and tried to wrench himself free of his Dad's grip but the man was huge, and it hurt his hair.

"Dad… I'm sorry… Please… Don't, I don't want to… please!" John pleaded. His dad moved his hand off John's hair momentarily to open the cupboard door. John sensed an opportunity and swung his elbow into his father's stomach. His dad grunted and his grip on John's collar loosened. John crouched and his father let go, he crawled backwards quickly as his dad growled in an inhumane, animalistic way.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

John tried to stand up quickly and run to his room as his dad charged towards him and managed to grab his collar. John screamed as his dad pulled him backwards and his legs buckled under him. His back hit the floor and he was winded. His dad loomed above him with glassy, alcohol driven, murderous eyes. John lifted his arms to cover his face as his dad's boot came down and landed on his tender stomach and lower ribs. John moaned and curled up, coughing. His dad grabbed his shirt and dragged him into the small cupboard. The closet was filled with useless cleaning items and towels and there was only just enough room for John to sit, with his legs pulled up to his chest.

"You're a fucking useless piece of shit! You dare to hit me? Huh?!"

John's dad was stood blocking the doorway as John sat, coughing and wheezing.

"You'll stay in here tonight. Boys who disrespect their fathers belong in shitty little cupboards!"

John wheezed and didn't think before answering.

"Yeah, and dads who hit their wife and kids belong in prison!"

John immediately regretted saying anything but his anger got the better of him. His dad turned red and swung his foot into the cupboard, hitting John's ribs. He groaned and coughed as the door was slammed and bolted, bringing darkness to the small space. John steadied his breathing and tried not to panic. Another deep breath. Blink to try and adjust to the dark. The only little bit of light was a thin sliver under the door. I hate small spaces. And the dark. Oh God. What should I do? Cough. Pain. Oh jeez my ribs hurt. Breathe slowly. Don't hyperventilate. Listen.

John listened to his dad's footsteps descend the stairs. Don't go to the kitchen. Please don't go to the kitchen. The footsteps slowed and John heard his dad slump onto the sofa and the fizzing sound of the TV. Thank God. Right, now calm down. John took deep breaths that hitched as his ribs expanded. I can't stay in here. John's heart leapt as he realised he still had his mobile on him. His dad had forgotten to take it from him in his anger! John fished it out of his pocket as well as he could in the tight space and squinted at the bright light that met his eyes. He could call Harry? That would be pointless, she wouldn't care. His mum was downstairs unconscious. Sherlock. John thought back to earlier that evening in the tree house:

"Hey John, I just thought, do you have a mobile phone?"

"Yeah, course I do."

"Great! We can text and stuff if you want, if you get bored. Here's my number…"

John's hand trembled slightly, probably in shock as he scrolled down his contacts to Sherlock's name. He couldn't ring him. His dad would hear. John opened up a new text message and typed quickly.

Sherlock, I need some help please. Respond soon. - John Watson

John clutched the phone and within a minute it vibrated in response.

What's up? – SH

John smiled in relief that Sherlock had replied. He was struggling to control his panic at being in such a small space.

Dad got mad…

John hesitated, and then continued to type. Sherlock would deduce the whole truth anyway.

Mum's unconscious. He hit me, locked me in a cupboard. Can't get out. – JW

John hit send and breathed slowly. Not even 30 seconds passed before the reply came through.

I'm coming over. Hold tight. – SH

John panicked. Sherlock couldn't come over. God knows what his dad would do to him. John frantically typed.

No.

Don't.

Please. He's drunk. Just call the police. – JW

John exhaled deeply and squeezed his fist closed to stop it shaking. He'd never got the police involved before. It couldn't end well. But he couldn't deal with his dad treating them that way anymore. The phone vibrated.

Police on their way. Me too. I'll get you out. –SH

John almost rolled his eyes at Sherlock's stubbornness.

Just don't let him see you. –JW

John closed his eyes and his breathing relaxed now that he knew Sherlock was on his way. Those black curls and green eyes would relax him any day. There was no movement from his father downstairs and John sat silently for 5 minutes, until there was a creak on the stairs, then a small fumbling outside the door. The door opened slowly and John looked up to see Sherlock's concerned face, half covered by the unruly curls. John stood up silently and couldn't help but throw his arms around Sherlock, who hugged back. They parted and John whispered a small "thank you". Sherlock smiled as the two tiptoed down the stairs. A blue and red flashing light outside the door stopped them in their tracks and John heard his dad say something along the lines of: "what the fuck?" John swallowed as his dad came out of the lounge into the hall, John and Sherlock froze as the man looked up, had a double take, then stopped and turned to them on the stairs.

"What the fuck is this!? Who are you?!"

His dad looked around frantically as two silhouettes approached the front door. The man turned to the cabinet at the side of the hall, and grabbed a small knife that was concealed in the draw. John and Sherlock drew in a sharp breath.

"Not prison… this was your fault you little shit…"

His dad took a step towards John with the knife as the officers knocked on the door.

"Sir, this is the police. Would you please answer the door?"

His father's eyes widened and he leant forward and grabbed John's shirt. Sherlock screamed "NO!" as John was pulled in front of his dad; the man pulled John into his chest and held the knife at his neck. John squeezed his eyes tight as the police started to kick down the door.

"Sir, we're coming in!"

Sherlock stood, shocked with his hands up beside his head. He didn't know what else to do. This man was crazy.

"This is the police, we're coming in!"

"I'll fucking kill him I swear!"

"No, John!"

"Sherlock!"

His dad swayed as the knife skimmed John's neck. The door cracked and buckled in, swinging open. Two policemen stood in the doorway, guns drawn.

"Sir, put the knife down. We can resolve this easily."

John's dad shook his head quickly, he looked insane.

"No! You don't understand! I can't."

Sherlock took a step towards John but his father turned to face him, threatening the knife at John's neck.

"Don't move! I'll kill him I swear I will!"

John opened his watering eyes and looked directly at Sherlock. The policemen shouted and his dad was shouting but he didn't seem to care. Everything seemed to slow down as he looked at Sherlock's wide, green eyes. Sherlock's concerned eyes. John was being twisted at a painful angle by his dad, but all he could do was stare at Sherlock's eyes. Everything else seemed muted and far away. John saw Sherlock nod to his elbow, and then his mouth moved.

"Now John!"

It all sped up again. John didn't even think as he drove his elbow backwards, hitting his dad in an unpleasant place. The knife moved away from John's neck, he ducked down and moved out of the hold. John's dad stepped forward, knife aimed at John. Sherlock swung his fist and hit John's dad on the cheek as loud bangs reverberated around the hallway. John ducked, covering his head in his hands and Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and flinched. There was a loud thud, and then everything was quiet. John lifted his head and saw a policeman stood, gun drawn with smoke coming out of the barrel. Sherlock opened his eyes and immediately saw red. Lots of red. Blood on the walls, on the floor. And John's dad. He was flat out on the floor, white shirt soaked with blood. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open in a gesture of disgust but he didn't move. A policeman stepped into the hall and kicked the knife out of his still hand. Then he checked for a pulse. The other policeman crouched beside John and looked at his partner, who shook his head. Sherlock realised his legs were really weak, he sat on the step as the policemen checked John over, offering a supportive hand on his shoulder. One of them called for an ambulance and checked that Sherlock was OK. John sat at the bottom of the stairs, shivering and staring at his dad. The policeman was trying to get him to look away, talking to him slowly and patting his shoulder. John continued to stare. Sherlock shuffled down the stairs next to John, who continued to shake. The policeman turned to Sherlock.

"I think he needs a moment, give him some space."

Sherlock shook his head at the man and put a hand on John's shaking hand. John's eyes broke from the dead face of his father and turned to Sherlock's bright green eyes. Neither spoke. The policeman stood up and started talking on a radio. Another set of lights appeared outside the door but neither Sherlock nor John cared. The world seemed distant to John, all that was present was Sherlock, sat in front of him. John spoke quietly.

"He's dead."

His voice carried no emotion but his eyes flickered. Sherlock nodded slowly as paramedics started to try and talk to John but he didn't respond. Sherlock squeezed John's hand as a tear rolled down the other boy's cheek.

"It's alright John. I'm here. It'll be alright."

And even in the panic and chaos, John nodded. Everything would be different now, it would be new and difficult, but he knew everything would be OK because Sherlock was there.

Sherlock's here for me.

Author's note: Um… so that chapter reeeeaaallly wasn't supposed to go that way. My plan said nothing about death. Wow… ok… well anyway, please leave a review, I'd really like to know what you all thought of that!