A/Note: Thanks irishjedi4life for letting me know I'm not the only one!

You guys are so quiet, please let me know how I'm doing.

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9. The event in the alley

'So? Where do you want to go?'

'I'm not the one who's hungry John, your choice.'

John made a disapproving face. He had learned over the past months that Sherlock didn't eat much. 'I feel like grabbing a butty, would you mind walking up to the market area?'

'Your coronary arteries,' he shrugged.

'Yeah, ha ha cute.'

...

John had gone into the café but Sherlock had refused to go in. The smells of bacon always made him nauseous, so he stayed outside, sitting at a low wall across the street. The day was darkening rapidly now, with the approaching rain clouds. Sherlock partially regretted staying outside. The jacket he was wearing today was too light for this weather. He raised the collar around his neck and shoved his hands into the pockets. He was craving a smoke now. The wind picked up and he started shivering. Looking around, he moved towards the nearby alley, in hopes that standing between the two buildings would be enough shelter.

What's taking John so long? If only I had a cigarette I wouldn't feel so cold.

A man in his late twenties just turned into the street. He was in the process of trying to light up his cigarette by cupping his hands around the end. Usually young men in their twenties didn't mind so much if he asked for one. They sympathised with how difficult it was to buy them, as most of them had gone through the same thing in their teenage years. As long as they weren't too strapped for cash, they usually didn't mind giving one away, so it was always worth a try. If the temperature kept dropping it would be good to have one for later. He'd have to wait until he was on his way home, obviously. John disapproved of his smoking.

'Excuse me, could I please have one too?'

The man paused only a few feet from Sherlock and looked up, hands still cupping his cigarette.

Sherlock knew he had made a mistake.

...

John came out of the café and looked around. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. He was just sitting at that wall across the street. Wondering if Sherlock had just wandered off, abandoning him for doing something so boring and useless as getting food, John crossed the street. He felt the wind gusts and thought maybe he's in that alley.

He turned into the narrow alley and everything stopped. His stomach plummeted. For a few agonising seconds he wanted to scream but nothing came out of his throat. About twenty feet away, behind some rubbish bins, there was a man holding Sherlock against the wall with one hand on his neck. Sherlock was struggling for breath. This sight brought up in him an overwhelming mix of feelings. Worry, anger, anxiety, urgency. All he could think of was that Sherlock needed him, and that he needed to protect Sherlock. John felt a surge of adrenaline within him. He tossed his forgotten sandwich and ran towards them. His voice came out, loud and clear.

'Oi! Let go of him!'

The man turned, momentarily surprised by the yell. John yanked him away from Sherlock and threw a punch, making his head whip back. Sherlock recognised the next move. John spun around with great speed to place his back against the man, then grabbed the arm over his shoulder and flipped him down to the ground. The man hit the cobblestones hard and was in too much shock and pain to move. John grabbed the front of the man's t-shirt, lifted his head a foot off the ground and finished him off by knocking the assailant out cold.

He turned to Sherlock, who was coughing against the wall.

'Sherlock!' He grabbed him by the arm and pulled, urging him to run towards the street. 'Come on!'

Stumbling around, they ran for several blocks, changing directions now and then. Once they had gone a long way away from that alley, Sherlock skidded and ran into a shop, dragging John along, still attached to his arm. There was a noisy bell clanging by the door as they hurriedly shut it and ran further inside, between the racks of clothing. They stopped to catch their breath, doubling over their thighs, panting. A few seconds later John managed to raise his head, only to see several women staring at them, customers and salesgirls alike. He also saw, looking around, that the racks carried women's underwear. 'Em, just looking for a gift,' he waved towards the... frilly knickers. A couple of old ladies frowned and looked away, disapproval in their faces.

'Sherlock?' He whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you all right?'

'I will be - as soon - as I - can breathe,' his voice broke and he coughed again.

'Is your throat okay? What happened?' John tried to reach for his collar.

Sherlock held a hand up as he panted, so John stopped and let his hand fall.

'Right. Let's catch our breath and head back to my house.'

'No!' Sherlock's eyes were wide. He caught himself and tried to revert to his usual cold demeanour. 'I mean - I'm fine. I think - I'll just - go home now.'

'Sherlock-'

'I'm fine, John. Stop fussing.'

'Maybe I should go with you.'

'Not necessary, I assure you. I - I was just momentarily distressed, that's all. He was choking me.'

'All right. But it's no trouble if you want me to go with you.'

'I can go on my own. I'm just tired now, that's all.' He attempted a smile. 'We ran a lot.'

'I'll just wait until you're in the bus, then.'

'Em, all right.'

'Right. Ready?'

Still panting, he nodded.

They walked to the nearest bus stop and John fidgeted, not knowing what to say. He kept looking around, in case the man managed to walk in on them.

'Sherlock-'

'I'm fine John.'

'No, you're not fine. Talk to me, Sherlock.'

'John, stop nagging me.'

'What happened back there? What did you do? Were you reading him?'

'No. Why do you assume it was my fault?'

'Then why didn't you fight back? Was he armed? Was he trying to rob you?'

'No.'

'Was he someone you know?'

'No!' He immediately regretted his harsh tone. 'I... I'd better go, John.' Sherlock looked away, thankful for the approaching bus. 'That's my bus.' It wasn't, but he just needed to get away from John's questioning right now.

'It's just. I-.'

'I'm fine. Stop fussing.'

'Okay, all right, all right. Call me later, will you?'

Sherlock nodded, climbing into the bus without looking back.

...

Sherlock went straight to his room. He had much to think about. He examined himself in the mirror. He put his collar up again and shoved his hands in his pockets. He tried to see himself from the stranger's eyes.

Thin (starving?) kid, wearing old loose grubby looking clothes, dirty trainers, standing in an alley, shivering in the cold, asking for a cigarette... Homeless kid trying to get his attention? Soliciting.

He shivered remembering the eyes, scanning him with a dirty smirk. He felt naked.

'And what do I get in return?'

He took a few steps closer and I foolishly backed into the alley. Panting. From his point of view, that was an invitation. He grinned at me.

'You look like you need money to get some food in you. Lucky for you, I have the worst case of blue balls. How much for a blow job, sunshine?'

Bumping against a bin, I came to my senses and tried to get past him.

'No, that's not what I-'

'What's the hurry?'

He blocked my way, 'How about five quid? I can throw in a couple of fags too.' He grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand to his crotch.

'No, I -'

'Now you have to finish what you started.'

He grabbed a fistful of the clothes on my chest and shoved me further into the alley, pushing me against the wall. Holding me by the neck I just couldn't move. And what he said next was so filthy. John didn't see our hands between us, given his questions. Why didn't I react? I just stood there, paralysed. If it weren't for John...

Sherlock shivered again, remembering the man's rough hands and what he felt under his palm. The crude words still echoing in his ears. His eyes widened.

Fear.

He wrinkled his nose. He looked at himself in the mirror again, angry at his own weakness.

Learning how to fight is of no use if you can't control your fear.

But how does one train for that?

Face your fear.

- What was it that you feared? The non-consensual aspect of it or the act itself?
- Both.
- Would you fear it if it were consensual?
- Yes.
- Would you fear it if it were John?
- Yes.
- It will never be with John.
- No, it won't.
- Sex. Why would that alarm me?
- Loss of control. Submission. Weakness. Pain.
- Loss of control in front of him (if it were John).
- I would loose his respect.
- I would loose him.
- It will never be.

He looked in the mirror again.

Just face it. Sex will never happen to you. Much less with John.

He felt shame for his own show of weakness. And that John had seen it. He wished John could delete that.

He replayed the scenes of John fighting his attacker. John had defended him, without hesitation or fear, against an adult, stronger and bigger than himself. Construction worker, his mind provided a bit uselessly. His cheeks flushed as heat pooled in his groin. John was a formidable fighter. He almost wished he could forget that too.

...

John texted but he didn't reply. And also tried to make him talk throughout the next few days. Sherlock could feel John's stares and worry. Surely he must have figured out by now what the stranger was after. But Sherlock didn't say anything else about that day. There was nothing to be said.