A/N: This chapter is short, but it is their telling the other what happened to them. So just a WARNING there.

Chapter 17: The Completely Sordid History

Sherlock breathed in deeply, wondering how to start. He wanted to tell Emmaline his story but he was not sure how to begin. She was thinking the same thing.

The two were lounging in his bed after Sherlock's dinner. His roommate Toby was out in the common room, leaving them alone. Sherlock lay on his bed, one arm bent under his head, looking up at the ceiling. Emmaline was lying next to him, curled on her side, facing him.

Sherlock's mouth was dry as his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. If he was going to tell her, it had to be now. Or else he would lose all his courage.

"My father died when I was ten." He blurted out.

Emmaline propped herself on her elbow, not sure she had heard him correctly. Sherlock turned his head to meet her eyes, his aquamarine globes brimming with sadness.

"What?" She asked, disbelieving.

"My father died when I was ten." He repeated carefully, the words heavy on his tongue.

Emmaline sank back into the bed and wrapped her arms around Sherlock, trying to offer him some comfort. The arm under his head moved to wrap itself around her, holding her closer.

"Mycroft was still living at home and we were playing chess in the living room that night." He launched into his story. If he did not get it out now, he never would.

"My mum and dad fought a lot. Daddy was a drunk and every night he would get into it with her. Sometimes he was all right, sometimes he would…he would hit her. But she always tried to hide it from Mycroft and me."

"That night they were fighting worse than usual and they came storming into the living room, arguing." Sherlock closed his eyes at the invading memory. "Mycroft picked me up and placed me behind him so I would not have to see it. Mummy was throwing things and calling names and daddy just stood there, taking it all."

Sherlock heaved in a deep breath. "And then he said he was done. He screamed at us that he was done with us and done with everything."

Emma wrapped her arms tighter around Sherlock's middle, trying to give him some strength to draw from.

"He pulled a gun; a little revolver that he had. Mummy barely had time to fling herself in front of Mycroft before he had shoved it in his mouth and pulled the trigger."

Sherlock shut his eyes against the tears that threatened. "I can still remember it, every detail. No matter how hard I try to delete it I can't." He whispered. "Whenever I close my eyes I can see it."

Sherlock took a shuddery breath and willed his watery eyes to stop; he would not cry for his father. "Mum called the police and we were taken to the station. She got everything but we sold the house; none of us could live there anymore. Not after that."

"I did not go to the funeral, and I have never visited his grave. I do not think I ever can. I still have not forgiven him."

Sherlock laughed shakily and covered his eyes with his hand. "He abandoned us. He abandoned my mother, and me, and Mycroft."

Sherlock's hand flopped onto the bed. "And I hate him for it." He finished quietly.

Emma tightened her grip on him and laid her head on his chest. "I'm so sorry." She whispered.

"It's not your fault." He stated.

"I'm still sorry.

Emma breathed out through her nose. Looking up at Sherlock through her lashes, she could clearly see the pain etched on his face. He had told her this, because he needed her to know. And she still loved him. Now it was her turn. All she could do was hope he would still be her friend afterwards.

"Down in Texas, my mom tried to find boyfriends. No one really wanted to go out with someone who had a kid." She began.

Sherlock listened carefully. He understood that this was her trust, and he would not betray it. No interruptions, he would listen to what she had said. Anticipation crawled up his spine as she spoke. Finally, he would know.

"When I was twelve, she met this guy named Gary. Gary Poole." Emma closed her eyes as she said the name. "I thought he was great – my mom did too. He used to take us both out – to the movies, to art shows. She really liked him."

"She asked him to babysit when she had a job interview. While she was gone he –" A sob forced its way from her throat. She gripped Sherlock's shirt in her hand and whispered the next sentence. "He molested me."

Sherlock's blood ran cold. He knew what that was. He had read plenty of court cases and documents that described the act rather in too much detail.

"He said I could not tell my mom because she would get mad and he would get in trouble. And my mom liked him so much, how could I tell her?"

"He would leave at night after seeing my mom and park his car a few blocks over. Then he would sneak in my bedroom window and hide under my bed until my mom went to sleep." Emma's throat tightened as the tears fell from her eyes.

"It went on for seven months until my mom walked in to my room one night and saw it. She kicked him out and called the police. I told them everything, told my mom, but when it came time to charge him I refused to testify. I was so scared of him. I didn't want to sit up there and tell a room full of strangers what he had done to me, right in front of him."

"So he got away with it. He moved away and I never saw him again. And that was the end of it. But I never got over it – I still check under my bed for him."

Emmaline cried as she admitted the truth. Her awful truth. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and let her cry. He smoothed down her hair and kissed her forehead. The shuddering sobs racked her body. But one fact got through – Sherlock wasn't leaving.

"Do you still want to be my friend?" She asked, lifting her head from his chest.

"Yes." He answered honestly.

Emma hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry about your dad."

"I'm sorry for you." He replied softly.

Sherlock made a vow to himself at that moment that if he ever encountered Gary Poole, he would kill him. No one caused his Emmaline this much pain and got away with it.

"Sherlock, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Sherlock pulled back so he could see Emmaline's face.

"Why did you do the drugs?"

"To escape from my past. To forget. And it worked." Sherlock answered honestly.

That was why he hated Mycroft so much – his older brother had watched Sherlock ruining his life but had not stepped in. He had simply allowed him to do it. Not until the first time he had almost overdosed on cocaine – then he had called the police. Even now, he did not visit his brother often. Sherlock had seen him twice.

"I could never do that." Emma whispered. "I'd be too afraid."

"No, you are much stronger than I am." Sherlock whispered in her ear.

Emma smiled softly. "Thanks; but I think you're pretty strong too."

Sherlock heard footsteps in the hall. A nurse poked her head into the room. "Miss Johnson, you will have to leave now."

"OK." Emma extricated herself from Sherlock's hold and sat up.

"Thank you for being such a good friend Sherlock. I don't know what I'd do without you." She leaned in to kiss his cheek before standing, and gathering her things.

"I've never told anyone that before." He told her.

"Neither have I." She replied.

They both looked at each other sadly before the nurse cleared her throat.

"You're my best friend Sherlock." Emma said when she got to the door.

"You're my best friend too, Emmaline."

Emma left for the night, leaving Sherlock alone with the dark histories they had both just shared. But for the first night in years, both of them slept easily.

A/N: Please review!