Another chapter for you lovely, lovely, gorgeous, sexy readers. Did I mention you're all lovely? And the fire thing is something my science teacher taught me to do. It supposedly works better to make people think they're going up against an inhuman force or something. Also, everything I touch turns to angst.
WARNINGS: Mentions of homophobia, physical violence, etc.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
Chapter Five:
"Now, Harriet, you're John's sister, correct?" Sherlock asked, peering at the woman seated across from him.
"No, I'm his mother." Harry replied sarcastically. "And don't call me Harriet. It's just Harry." She added, brushing a lock of blonde hair from her eye.
"As you wish. Now, Harry-"
"Who are you, exactly? How do you know John?" Harry asked with furrowed brow.
"I'm a friend, we met at a diner."
"You're a bit young. Do you go to Uni together or something?"
"No. We met at a diner. But that's not important."
"Are you dating him?"
Sherlock sighed. "I am trying to. That is why I need to ask you something. I-"
"You don't need my blessing or anything. If you want to date my brother you can go right ahead. Just don't call him short and don't insult his choice of jumpers and you'll get along fine." Harry said, sitting back in her chair with a sly smile on her face. "Though don't forget to put my name on the guest list for your wedding."
Sherlock cleared his throat. This definitely wasn't going to plan. "I'm not here about anything like that. I wanted to talk about John, about something that happened to him that makes him uncomfortable about his sexuality."
"Excuse me?"
"Whenever I attempt to broach the subject of his sexuality, he becomes angry and unhelpful. I was hoping you might know why."
"Er… I think I might know about that, but I don't think… Well, you're his boyfriend or whatever, I'm sure he won't mind if I tell you. And besides, I'm technically a part of this story too so I can tell it to anyone I like." Harry said, mostly to herself.
"Yes, yes, go on." Sherlock urged impatiently, sitting on the edge of his seat.
"Well, when we were younger, back when we still had a mum and dad and everything, we lived in this small town that wasn't very, um, welcoming to anyone who wasn't white, straight and Christian. My parents didn't share the same values or anything like that, they weren't racist or nothing, and they always said it was fine for other people's children to be gay and whatever… But when I came out, they kinda didn't know what to think. Mum tried to insist it was just a phase and dad didn't talk to me for a month. John didn't really get what their problem was, he was happy for me and everything. It was a while later that the really bad thing happened." Harry explained, pausing for a moment to look at Sherlock quite seriously. "I haven't offered you a drink, have I? Do you want one?"
"No, please just continue with your story." Sherlock replied.
Harry nodded, licking her lips. "Right, right. So, uh, where was I? Oh right, well, one night me and John were walking through town, and it was pretty late mind you, we'd been out playing a bit of football and talking about the cricket grounds they going to put in. Anyway, we were walking home one night and as we rounded a corner, we ran into this group of boys and…"
"Well, well, well, lookie here, boys. It's the lezzo and her fag of a brother." Desmond grinned.
"What do you want, Desmond?" John growled.
"Nothing from you, faggot. But I'd like to show the lezzo what a man can do for her."
"Stay the fuck away from my sister."
"What are you gonna do, midget? Kick me in the shins?" Desmond taunted, to the delight of his cronies.
"I'm gonna kick you in the nuts in a minute!" Harry roared.
"How's about you suck 'em instead?" Brenton called.
"How about I sucker punch you in the face?" Harry threatened, advancing until she was only a foot away from the ape of a boy. "I'm not afraid of you, you homophobic bastard, alright? No matter how much you taunt me or curse at me, I'm not going anywhere and I'm not changing who I am to suit your microscopic brains. Now leave me the fuck alone!"
"C'mon, Harry, let's get out of here before these assholes infect us with their stupidity." John said, turning to walk back the way they had came.
Harry went to follow suit when a sudden pain at the back of her head made her stumble sidelong into a parked car. "Ow, what the fuck?"
"Oi! You coward, how dare you hit my sister when her back's turned!" John shouted, racing to Harry's side.
Brenton sneered. "Not like it's a crime to hit a lezzo. They're not real people like me."
"You're not a person. You're a fucking pile of shit that's taken on an ape-like form and plays pretend at being human. Why don't you fuck off?" John retorted, checking the back of a now seething Harry's head for blood.
"Oh you're going to pay for that!" Brenton shouted, leaping at the pair of them.
John swung his fist up to meet the brute's oncoming jaw and was rewarded with a grunt of pain as the boy stumbled back, though the reprieve was short-lived as one of the others came roaring forward. Desmond grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back while two others held his sister down. One after the other, they took it in turns punching him and kicking him. Every now and then he heard his sister let out a cry of pain. The siblings struggled with all their might, biting anything within reach and twisting this way and that in a desperate effort to get free. Soon, John was too tired, too beaten-down to even move and simply lay panting and grunting as more blows were rained over his body. A wicked gleam entered Desmond's eye as he grabbed John by the throat.
"You boys go help the others with the lezzo, I can handle this little fag on my own." He said, dragging John out of view.
Harry swore and managed to bite the hand of one of the boys who was attempting to gag her. "Fuck, John, help! Someone please! Help me! It's… it's a FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! HELP I'M GONNA BURN TO DEATH! PLEASE HELP ME! FIRE!" She shrieked, writhing in their grip.
Lights flickered on in the houses lining the streets and people came rushing out. The boys dropped her and scarpered. Harry lay slumped as a few men came to her side, though they were slightly confused at the lack of a blazing inferno. Managing to weakly push herself up, she looked about, but couldn't see any sign of her brother. "John! John, where are you?" She cried.
"What's wrong, girl?" One of the men nearest to her whispered, trying to push her gently back to the ground.
"My- my brother. He… They took him somewhere. He's hurt too. Please, you have to find him." She said softly.
"It'll be okay. What's your brother's name? We'll find him for you."
"His name's John. John Watson."
The man nodded, looking to the others. "There's another kid around here, he's hurt too, I think. Check about for him and call an ambulance."
Sherlock frowned, digesting this new information. "So, your being beaten is his reason for-"
"No, no, that's only the half of it. See, when Desmond dragged John off… he did something to him. I don't think he, you know, um, raped him but… He did something terrible to John. He had nightmares for- for a long time. And he never went outside after dark, not ever. My mum and dad, they sent him to a therapist to try and help him but it never really went anywhere and after awhile he seemed to just... get better. But he only seemed to. Inside, he was still…"
"Still what?" Sherlock asked, scooting forward until he was practically seated on thin air.
"I don't know, broken, maybe? He just… he was never the same as before. He got suspended twice for punching kids who called him gay when before he'd just laugh it off and tell them to grow up. It's like he was scared of something." Harry said softly, staring at the coffee table between them.
"These boys, the ones who attacked you, what happened to them?"
"They got off." Harry shrugged, sitting back. "They're parents made the 'he's-normally-such-a-good-boy-we-don't-know-what's-happened-please-don't-send-our-baby-to-prison-we-promise-it'll-never-happen-again' sob story play. One of them even talked about how losing his uncle to cancer had left him angry and confused and blah, blah, blah. No one really seemed to care that they could've killed me and John. But hey, you can't win 'em all, can you?"
"That's disgusting." Sherlock said without emotion, though his eyes were flashing dangerously.
"That's life." Harry replied, a hard look in her eyes. "No one really cares about you if you aren't like them. They may say they care about others and all of that crap, but they don't. It's a fact of life."
Sherlock pursed his lips, but let it go. He sat back, staring out of the window. "I want to help him. But he won't let me. I've never… I've never really cared about anyone before and now... I don't even know where to begin. I've never felt so helpless and clueless before, it's maddening. Most people are so easy to read. They live their lives dashing about after love and money and respect… but somehow, John's different."
Harry shrugged. "John's not like other people. I don't know why, that's just the way he is."
"I want him to… love me, I think. I want him to be mine, to be okay." Sherlock closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, his mask of indifference was once again in place. He got to his feet swiftly, glancing at his phone. "Thank you for your time, Harriet- I mean, Harry. You've been most helpful."
"No problem, kid. Good luck winning the heart of my brother." Harry replied, waving him away. "Just don't forget me in the wedding speeches."
Sherlock smirked. "Of course, Harry. I'll make sure to have it drafted and sent for your approval by Monday."
"You'd better." She murmured, pouring herself a glass of vodka.
d(-_-)
John strode out of his lecture theatre in a relatively better mood than when he had entered them. And why shouldn't he be happy? It was his last lesson after all. No more assignments or tests or examinations or having to go over some tortured old romance novel searching for significance in curtain colours. No, now he was going to have a lot more downtime in preparation for his going away. Arrangements would have to be made for his things, and the sale of his flat. Plus, he should probably start going back to the gym. He'd let the whole matter slide for awhile and now he was starting to resemble jelly. He was so relaxed, he nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone started to ring. "Er, hello, John Watson speaking." He said into the receiver.
"Hey bro, it's Harry. I'm just calling to let you know that me and Jeanette are going to be out for the rest of the afternoon, so you don't have to swing by or anything." Harry said.
"Oh, okay then. Are you having a dinner or something?"
"Yeah. Anyway, I thought I might let you know your boyfriend stopped by. He seems… nice. Little weird, but he really seems to care about you. I didn't know you were into young pretty boys."
John had barely heard the last bit, having stopped dead at the mention of 'boyfriend'. "My- my what? I don't have-"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I was just letting you know." Harry replied impatiently.
"Why was he there?"
"He wanted to ask me a few questions about you. Have to go, John. See you later, okay?"
"Okay. Bye, Harry." John slipped his phone back into his pocket, starting off again, now a lot less light-hearted. What could he have asked Harry about? Unless… If you won't tell me, I'll find someone who will. Oh fuck no. He didn't, he couldn't have. Harry would never- Oh shit. He'd probably worked it all out by now and was plotting exactly how he was going to use it to- No, he wasn't going to think about that, otherwise he'd have a panic attack. It was bad enough waking up with a handcuff around his wrist, he didn't need to imagine hours of endless torture and suffering.
"Are you all right, John?" A voice whispered in his ear.
John spun around, burying his fist into Sherlock's stomach. The Consulting Detective stumbled back, breath forced from his lungs. "Don't ever come near me again, you arrogant dickhead." John hissed.
"J- John, what-" Sherlock gasped, trying to straighten up.
"You know what you did! Now stay away from me or I'll call the police!" John threatened, marching away. Sherlock stared after him, completely shocked. Well, not completely shocked. He did consider the possibility of this happening, after all. He just didn't expect it to happen at that time. Or in front of a bunch of college students. He straightened up, readjusting his scarf, and strode after John, already editing his 'I-understand-how-you-feel-I-just-want-to-help-and-love-you-and-have-you-love-me-and-solve-crimes-together' speech.