Exploring Sexuality

A/N: Profuse apologies here. Admittance that this has been written for months, I just haven't put it up. Thanks to all of you who stay with this story and have reviewed and followed, even while I was on hiatus. Excuses about exams, getting a job, life in general, school again. Confession that I got way further into roleplaying than I thought I was going to and that's probably a main reason this was so late. Shout-out to Amythe3lder, MAFITA, and GoddessonmyKnees, but I love you all. More apologies.

TW for mentions of molesting of a minor, child abuse, and mentions of rape.

Ch. 27

Sherlock decided he was basically going to make shrimp scampi without the shrimp, and Liz and John sat together at the table. "Do you want to talk about the past, or the future first?" John asked as Liz opened to a blank page in her sketch book.

"Future," Sherlock decided for her, gathering ingredients with some difficulty, considering they don't usually have a lot of real food in the house and he didn't exactly know where everything was with all the rearranging John and Liz had done earlier.

"Can we talk about school first?" Liz asked, watching Sherlock move about for a little while before starting in her sketch book, which made John smile.

"I think that comes second," Sherlock said.

"To what?"

"Where you want to live."

Liz's pencil stopped on the paper, and she looked between Sherlock and John. "I don't think I really have a lot of say in that, do I?"

"Sure you do," Sherlock said, looking over his shoulder at her briefly. "It's your life."

John still had a small smile on his face, and he sighed. "He's trying terribly hard to ask if you would like to stay here with us or not without pushing you one way or the other," he informed.

Liz's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped a little. "Could I?" she asked.

"John, she has to make an educated decision," Sherlock complained, making John sigh again and roll his eyes a bit.

"Sherlock's a bit of a prat, doesn't talk all the time, and when he does, it can be rather rude. He plays violin at four in the morning or when he is thinking too hard, but he's very good. I was in the army and have rules about eating regular meals that Sherlock continuously ignores. We solve crimes, and work weird hours because of it, and sometimes we get a little beat up. I work at the clinic, like you know, so it's not usually an issue. We drink a lot of tea and order a lot of take out. Anything else to add, then, Sherlock?"

"I do experiments on the table that John yells at me for and we generally make a mess of the flat. Actual cooking is a rarity unless it's Mrs. Hudson bringing biscuits, which she likes to do semi-regularly. John does a lot of worrying about everyone because he's a good person, and he has PTSD. If my brother offers to pay you to spy on me, you should just take the money, because John was an idiot and didn't because he's too loyal, but we can split the money and make stuff up. Or you can keep it. You should keep it, actually. I'm really not good at emotions, and have very little idea of what an actual, functional family looks like. I'm so invested in the current case because I used to do drugs, and I will battle with that addiction for the rest of my life." He said it all while looking at the stove, and very fast.

John looked from him, to Liz, who was staring at Sherlock's back. She didn't say anything for a long while. "Are you clean now?"

"Yes."

"Then I want to stay here," she said with a little nod, looking back down at the picture she was sketching.

Most of the tension left Sherlock's posture, and he let out an almost inaudible breath. "Good. Then if you wouldn't be opposed to it, John and I can homeschool you. At least until you're caught up."

Liz nodded again. "I'd like that. I don't think I could go to a real school just yet anyways."

"Which leads to other questions," John said softly, looking at the girl.

"I know," Liz whispered. She sighed and put her pencil down completely, giving John her full attention. "Go ahead."

John took a breath. Better to just get it all out of the way. He nodded, and when Sherlock didn't say anything first, he started. From the beginning. "When did you move in with your uncle?"

"When I was five, almost six," came the immediate reply. "And I know you're going to ask, or at least want to, so yes. He hit me. No, I never told anyone. He drank. A lot. I avoided questions, stopped going to school for weeks at a time, pretended to be my aunt when the principle called. She never existed. He- he only molested me once, a couple of months before I ran away, but it wasn't rape. I know the difference now."

John let out a breath and nodded. "You ran away because it didn't stop. Only got worse," he said gently, sadly.

Liz nodded, eyes bright with tears. "I was twelve. It had been going on for half my life. I didn't know what a real family looked like anymore, I was forgetting my parents. So I took three hundred pounds, two changes of clothes, some pictures and food, and I left when he was passed out drunk. I was on the street probably less than a month before they found me and started trafficking me."

John sighed softly, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, Liz," he said sincerely, voice still terribly sad. No one should have to go through that, at all. Any of it. It meant it had been four years since she had had any home at all, and ten since she had had a proper one.

"Another year and they would have killed me for the first thing I did wrong. You get sort of useless to them then." She wiped at her eyes and looked up at John, then Sherlock, and she frowned a bit. "I upset him," she whispered, seeing how tense the detective was.

"Not you," Sherlock said with a sharp shake of his head, voice a little off. He sighed, and they both watched all the tension leave his body. John knew what that meant. He was putting on a mask. "You didn't upset me, Liz. They did. Anyone that hurt you."

John understood then, made the connection Sherlock already had, then watched as it slowly dawned on Liz too. Sherlock had been used before too. "You're safe now," John said softly to Liz, then looked over at Sherlock's back. "You both are."

"I don't want to see a therapist," Liz said.

"Okay," John murmured, nodding. If something happened or came up, they could talk about it again. He could give her time.

"Liz, you said you wanted to live with me and John?" Sherlock asked after a long while, grabbing plates for each of them. Liz nodded silently. "Do you want us to adopt you?"

They both stared at Sherlock as he shut off the stove top and brought their plates over. "That's what Anthea gave you," John said with a nod and a small smile. "Adoption papers."

"With her uncle's signature."

"Can… Can we wait a month? Or so?" she asked quietly, still staring.

"Of course."

"As long as you want."