CHAPTER 54. BREAKING

"I see the Kelly's have taken on another mouth to feed. I'm sure Mrs. Kelly is excited to have another to feed up." Sherlock climbed into the cab, John didn't reply he only nodded. Sherlock thought his friend was unusually thoughtful after his meeting with the Kelly clan.

Perhaps the circumstances were bringing up bad memories for the young Doctor. Sherlock recalled the young red haired boys green eyes.

"At least he has a steady home. Constable Kelly is a good man. A rising star, he is the least idiotic of the group at the yard." John nodded again. Sherlock ignored the ache in his ribs, observing how his friend held his left wrist subconsciously.

Sherlock grimaced not from the sudden bumpy route the idiot cabbie had decided to take but a memory that he'd thought he deleted long ago.

~0~

"Hey, what was that all about?" John loosened his school tie sitting next to his friend on the park bench. "You can't just nearly jump out of a moving vehicle, I think you gave poor Royce a heart attack."

"I hate Mycroft. I can't stand his presence I'd rather walk."

"Sherlock he wasn't meaning anything by it. He just wants your father to get off your case. So he probably thinks if he can get you to-"

"Conform? Act normal?"

"You are normal." John shouldered his friend. "Don't believe that you aren't you just see everything different. Maybe we all are idiots, even Mycroft and your dad, but they do care about you. Don't you think it was a little harsh to call him a fat pompous ass? And that you refuse to fan the flames of his ego by being complacent? Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"I hate him John!"

"Why? Why? He isn't so bad." John asked gently, a hand on his friends shoulder.

"What do you know about it?" the dark haired boy growled, rolling his shoulder back from the blond boy's touch, his eyes narrowing on his friend, feeling betrayed by his words. "Don't tell me you have fallen under the bastards spell. He is-"

"Hey, hey." John put his hands up unbuttoning his blazer, loosening his tie. "Listen. I'm not saying I'm wanting to hold hands with him and take orders. He can be a right bastard. But at least he cares."
"He's obligated John, don't confuse that with caring. He doesn't have a heart for sentiment, our father's favorite little puppet." John withdrew a little afraid to ask maybe, if that extended to himself.

"Right, obligation. I don't think that's-"

"Why are you defending him?"

"Sherlock calm down mate. I'm just trying to help."

"Well don't. And what do you know about it? Your sister is no better a fitting example of sibling endearment."
"Sherlock." John warned.

"What it's true. Do you think she gives you more than a passing thought? She never answered any of the letters you wrote all year."

"Stop. Why do you have to say things like that?" John was starting to slide away from him on the wooden bench, his hands grasping the edge of the old sun warped wood table. Sherlock realized he may have gone too far. John didn't get a chance to say anything else when a shadow fell over the two.

"Been looking for you, you little bastard." John who had been glaring at his friend, lost all color in his face. Sherlock's gray eyes tried to meet his friend's. John was afraid, his shoulders stiff, his breathing short and Sherlock was instantly sorry he said what he had. Sometimes his anger got away with him and he lashed out John always just let it roll off his back.

Sherlock could see the taller blond man, the one that his friend would some day grow to resemble so strongly. Except perhaps without the permanent scowl, the blood shot eyes, and whiskey soaked breath. No John wouldn't be pathetic, ruled by darker emotions. This was what father warned about, this is what happens to weaker men who allow sentiment and emotion to cloud their judgment.

"You were supposed to come straight home." John swallowed, not meeting his father's hard scowl.

"I am sorry sir. I was-uh on on my way." John replied moving away from Sherlock he slowly started to stand.

"Yeah, don't look like it. Looks like you were meaning to fuck around out here. You lazy little bastard. Don't care that your aunt was waiting for you the last hour?"

"I just, I just got off the train twenty minutes ago Dad." John explained quickly.

"Sir." He snapped, John and Sherlock both flinched at the biting tone.

"Sir." John's voice was surprisingly steady. "I didn't expect to see you home. When-"

"What did you think they'd keep me at that damn clinic forever. Bunch of crying cowards unable to cope with what they had to do. I'm not going to be in some crying knitting circle with a bunch of old vets, drying out. Decided to cut it short. Anyway that's my business. Imagine my surprise I get home to find Harry's moved out again. Indecent little slut. And your aunt tells me you've been away at school. So let's have a look at you. Don't you look proper in your fancy clothes? So you think you're better en us?" John didn't say anything and Sherlock still remained still both boys not wanting to draw attention, the younger dark haired boy could feel the bubbling anger rolling off the volatile drunk. When John didn't reply his father barked "Answer me boy! What do they not show you any manners at your new school?" Sherlock could only hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

"No-no sir." John whispered.

"You do don't you? Look at you. So is this one of your new little friends?" John's eyes were wide now, he climbed off the bench. "He know you're just a poor mechanics son? Or do you just keep us all a secret?" Sherlock didn't have a chance to react one minute John was standing the next he was pulled by his shirtfront over the table.

"Nnno" and a hand came down hard on John's face, Sherlock had been punched by older boys and kicked but he'd never witnessed this kind of violence. It seemed so raw, and cold John had been knocked to the ground.

"Sir!" his father snarled.

"Sir." John replied shakily.

"I see they let you have the run of the place there? Your hair is getting to long what are you a girl now?" Mr. Watson hauled John to his feet by his hair. "Answer me boy!"

"No, sir." Sherlock flinched again turning away from the sound of an open hand slap.

"Stop! Stop it!" Sherlock didn't know when he started yelling but he had. "You let go of him or I'll-" John shook his head warningly, but Sherlock ignored it.

"You'll what? Cry to your daddy? He know you keep company with the help?" Sherlock's silence made the man laugh.

"Well My lord," he gave a mock bow, "If you don't mind me and my son have some manners to work on."

"You-" Sherlock started forward but John pulled his arm free putting himself between his father and the younger boy knowing what verbal barbs the younger boy was capable of.

"Leave it." John whispered, Sherlock wouldn't though he scowled at the older man,

"You are just a feeble minded man, to weak to deal with his feelings of inadequacy, you're a failure as a father, a husband and and a disgrace as a soldier-" John put his hands out to stop his father from grabbing at the younger boy.

"No! Stop!" John pushed into his father's torso." Sherlock took a step back John wasn't thinking now his father made to push him away, the smaller boy ducked out of the way of the blow meant for his head.

"Run!" He grabbed his friend's arm. "Run! Go!" The sounds of sirens were nearing. Sherlock thought stupidly that Mycroft had somehow called help, John was wrench back he almost took Sherlock with him barely remembering to let go of his hold on the younger boy, only jerking him back instead of completely off his feet. "Go! Find Mycroft." John yelled.

Sherlock could see the sirens moving away towards some dark smoke somewhere to the left of the park, they weren't coming to help, he could hear John's father's harsh words. The fury radiating like heat off a sidewalk. Sherlock tried to think logically, he couldn't help he could only stand there just at the edge of the park, with the haunting sounds of John's father and the sirens mixing together. The young seven year old had his hands over his ears, a heavy hand came down on his shoulder he jumped.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft could see right away something was wrong "What's wrong?"

"John." Sherlock sobbed.

"Did you have a row?" the younger boy shook his head, his heart pounding.

"Royce." Mycroft turned to the man in the black suit.

"Sir?"

"John. Mycroft. He's-please you have to do something." He pulled on his brother's arm sleeves. "Stop him." Mycroft looked to Royce who held a determined look on his face stepping around the young masters. Mycroft tried to get his brother to make sense.

"Sherlock calm down. Tell me what's happened."

Sherlock pulled free from his brother and followed Royce, their sometimes chauffeur sometimes butler wasn't a very big man himself. It would be best to call the police, what would a chauffeur know about fighting? Mycroft not used to running took a little longer to come up short behind his brother nearly running him down. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his expensive jacket's sleeve. It wasn't very gentlemanly to sweat.

Royce brought a hard kick to the drunk's side, and left him groaning a few feet away. Mycroft could see John who had been smiling warmly earlier at something absolutely ridiculous the younger Holmes had said. He was trying to sit up.

"John?" He kneeled down placing a hand on the younger boys arm he whimpered only curling into a ball. Royce sent another booted foot down against the groaning older Watson's shoulder. Happy to hear the grunt and pop from dislocating the shoulder.

"John?" Sherlock was on his knees. "I'm sorry. John." Sherlock looked to Mycroft worriedly, silently pleading for him to fix it.

Royce leaned over whispering something that no one heard to nearly unconscious Mr. Watson.

"John, can you sit up?" Mycroft didn't know where to touch the younger boy, his blazer was torn and bloody.

"Give me a minute." He gasped, trying to steady his own breathing, John held his arm to his chest, his head buried in the grass, his knees under his chest.

"I'm sorry John." Sherlock whispered. The other boy tried to shrug only to hiss in pain.

Without further conversation, Royce scooped the injured boy up, something that startled the younger Holmes, John looked small being carried towards the car, his legs dangling over Royce's forearm, and head resting under the thin chauffeur's chin.

Once inside, Sherlock slide over on the seat next to his friend, eyes observation the way John held his arm to his chest, the wrist hung at funny angle. John didn't say anything he leaned a head against the tinted window closing his eyes and trying to breath steadily

~0~

"John?" Sherlock broke the silence of the cab. "Chinese?"

"Sounds wonderful." John replied.

"Good, I called in our order. There is an experiment I've been wanting to do."

"Does it involve fingers?"

"That was last weeks John. Keep up."