John turned at the door ignoring the photos in his hand. Something in Sherlock's voice had shaken him to the core, and he wished he had not listened, yet still he needed to hear the end of it. He followed him and found the detective curled up on his bed, crying silent tears. John put the photos onto the bed next to Sherlock's head. The younger man noticed and shoved them violently to the floor.
"When?"
"What's that to you?" Sherlock sounded sad, defeated, disappointed.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't know. How could I possibly have known? I didn't mean it."
"What? Heartless? Cruel? Cold?"
Sherlock huffed and decided to explain, "I was nine. When it started. Twelve. When they. Found someone else," after a short pause he added, "Someone younger and. More innocent." His voice was bitter.
"Who? They?"
"Teacher. Natural Sciences. Explains some gaps, doesn't it? Solar system. Mr Northam was rather busy teaching me more. Wordly things."
"Have you ever spoken about this?"
"No? Who'd want to hear?"
"I would."
Sherlock gulped and sighed when John touched his ankle. It was slightly swollen. Sherlock did not care. He had hurt his side where he had hit the table.
"You hurt yourself," John stated and Sherlock shrugged the remark off, "I've had worse."
"Let me help," John offered but Sherlock refused to be looked after by someone who hated him.
"I don't hate you. I was angry. Confused."
"And now you're pitying me. Stop pitying me, John. I don't like being pitied."
"I don't pity you," John said.
"Oh," Sherlock sneered, half-heartedly, "No pity for the victim? Then you're heartless, too."
"Can I. Hold you?" John asked, and Sherlock''s eyes narrowed, "Why? You want to have a go, too?"
"No, God, no, Sherlock," John tried to reassure his friend, "I'd like to comfort you." He put an arm around the thin shoulders and pulled Sherlock into a hug. After a while, the lean young man melted into the touch and buried his head in John's sweater.
"It's. Alright," John mumbled holding him, "Just let go."