Disclaimer: Of course I own Sherlock, that's why I'm not British, famous, or rich. It all makes sense now.
***************Chapter Three********************** *************
Emma smiled softly as her and Sherlock lounged in the family room, her new sibling rambling on and on about his latest case and the complete idiocy of the Scotland Yard. Since his arrival almost nine weeks previous, the entire family had grown very protective of the detective, who they could had been hurt terribly by something even if he tried to hide it. She had her suspicions about what had been done to him, of all did, after all there was only so reasons why a handsome man like Sherlock would shy away from most bodily contact if the other seeing was a , they refused to confirm those suspicions unsure if they'd be able to control their bloodlust if proven correct.
The vampire ran a gentle hand through her baby brother's soft curls, forcing the thoughts away to focus on the tale being spun by the younger. Just as he wrapped up the story his phone beeped. He frowned and tilted his head curiously, as did she. After all, it was three a. m., there was no reason for anyone to be contacting him and the Lestrade never text him after one a. m. Emma raised an eyebrow when a slow dark smile crossed his features after reading the text and she peaked over his shoulder to view the message. It read:
'Sneaking out? How very naughty of you and you left your pet all alone, none the wiser. ' - JM
"Someone special, Lockie? " She asked and he chuckled softly drawing the attention of Matt, who had just entered the room. "Oh, Lockie got a boyfriend? " Sherlock blushed faintly but shook his head. "Moriarty is not my boyfriend. I don't do relationships. " Emma tilted her head.
"Then who is he? "
Sherlock smirked. "An insane psychopath that fancies himself as my enemy and has assured me that he will burn a heart out of me. "
The couple stared at him, searching his face for any sign that he was joking. They found none and Matt gaped. "You're serious? "
"Yes. The game we play is the most exhilarating distraction I've ever had. "
"Game? " Emma questioned, wondering just how sane her brother was. Her mate was wondering the same thing and it showed in his incredulous expression.
He nodded. "He is a consulting criminal. Most of my cases are of his creation. Never have I had such an interesting opponent. "
"You're insane. " Matt muttered,while Sherlock text the criminal back.
'My nightlife is none of your concern, Moriarty.' -SH
'Oh? A virgin with a nightlife? Does Johnny-Boy know? ' -JM
Sherlock flinched violently at those words, memories of that bigger flashing behind his eyes, reminding him that now even that innocence had been taken from him. Emma and Matt scowled at the words, his reaction confirming their suspicions. "When? " she growled lowly paying Alec and Jared no mind as they entered with their parents.
Lizzy made a worried noise as she say the distress in his features, but he shook his head with a brittle smile and turned to his big sister.
"The night I was turned. " He responded honestly, reveling in the soothing feel of her slim fingers massaging his scalp. "My flatmate and I got in argument and I stormed out. They got me when I was heading home from the New Scotland Yard. After it was over, they ran and Papa found me. " He explained absently as he sent a reply to his enemy.
'My virginity has nothing to do with mentioning it. ' -SH
'Aw, no fun. Fine. New Case. 8 a. m. Come play. ' -JM
'Game on. '-SH
Sherlock grinned, feeling more like himself than he had since this entire fiasco had begun. Caderyn blinked at the sudden change, watching his childe's silvery blue green eyes light up at the words. Obviously, the childe felt more for this Moriarty than even he realized and if anyone could help him heal it was this psychopath. He chuckled softly, while his other children encircled the detective protectively, still realing from his confession. Everything would be alright... eventually.
Sherlock scowled darkly as he and John left their latest crime scene. The case left by Moriarty had been barely a six and he had been able to solve it in less than an hour. It irked him immensely. How was it that ordinary people did not see such obvious things. His phone buzzed and his scowl darkened. There was only two people it could be as John was beside him, and he had just spoken to Lestrade. In addition to that, Molly always called and his coven only text afternoon. As it stood, it was only nine a. m. leaving the only possible senders as Moriarty or Mycroft, neither of which he wished to speak to. Beside him, John frowned.
"Aren't you gonna answer that? "
The sleuth rolled his eyes at the question. "No it's either Mycroft or Moriarty. I don't care to speak to either of them at the moment. "
John stopped and stared at him. "Mori- Jesus Sherlock! Why are you still texting that psychopath?! "
"The game, John. " He responded as if that explained everything which to john it kind of did. Shaking his head in exasperation he followed the younger man as he hailed a cab. As they rode in the cab, John took a moment to exam his best friend. The man had started to withdraw from him after their fight the night of his mysterious 19 hour disappearing act and he refused to disclose any information what had really happened. In fact it was almost as if he truly thought that John would believe the ridiculous bullshit he had spewed about Wilkes renting a hotel for him. Then there was the beautiful choker he had returned wearing. When questioned about it. he would merely change the subject and the one time Mycroft had asked him to take it off he had nearly had a fit.
"Shut up. " Came a smooth voice and the doctor found himself looking up at the object of his thought, blinking.
"I didn't -"
"You were thinking, it's annoying. So stop. "
With a huff he moved to look away only for the choker around the other's neck to once again capture his attention. He had never been this close to it before, but now that he was he could see that it had 'Sherlock' emblazoned on it in spidery cursive. "It's hand made? " He asked curiously and Sherlock glanced at him briefly. "Yes. "
"Who made it? "
Sherlock didn't respond. Instead he brought one large yet delicate hand to the neck piece, curling his fingers around the crest gently. His mercurial eyes softened a small smile playing on his pale lips. It was a beautiful transformation, one John had never seen before and he knew without a doubt that had it not been for his own heterosexuality he'd have pursued a relationship with his precisely to watch him transformation this way again. As it stood a trill of fraternal protectivness ran through him and he found himself willing to do anything to protect this softer more fragile Sherlock. Anything, including breaking the sociopaths icy exterior if need be.
Jim was bored.
The promising criminal he had set to play with Sherlock had turned out to be dull and ordinary, so much so that he was actually ashamed he had sent him. Then there was the fact that his precious sociopath was upset with him because of said criminal, so much so that hwas actually refusing to respond to Jim's messages. He frowned at that thought. No, that just won't do. After all if he started to bore the beautiful detective the other would stop playing the game or find a new playmate like the Adler woman.
His frown deepened and he felt surge of possessiveness course through him. That couldn't be allowed to happen, at all. Sherlock was his. So how to entice the other out to play again? He pursed his lips on thought before a slow dark smile crossed his lips plans coming together in his mind. Oh, oh yes that was brilliant! The psychopath gave a low chuckle caressing the picture of Sherlock he had as a screen saver. It had been taken by one of his inside agents only days before Sherlock had met his pet doctor. The man's pale eyes were lit up with the exhilaration that came from solving a case , porclein cheeks flush with excitement. It was his favorite out the multitude of photos he had collected of the man over the years.
"Time to play, Sherlylocks. " He purred. Oh yes play indeed.
HANDS.
. Punching. Bruising. Hurting.-Crack-
"Please-please stop! Please!
'Ring around the Rosies'
FEET.
Kicking. Broken bones. Bruised organs.-Crack-
"No! Stop! It Hurts! "
'Sherlock's breaking slowly'
Thrust. Punch. Kick. Gag.-Crack!
"p-please. "
'Break him. Burn him. '
Whimper. Choke. Grunt. Groan.-Crack. -
"N-no. "
'His minds gone now.'
Sherlock jolted as a hand landed on his shoulder drawing him out of his memories and he looked to meet John's worried hazel eyes. "Are you alright, Sherlock? I've been trying to get your attention for almost five minutes now. " The sleuth nodded, supressing a shiver of utter disgust at the hand touching him. Why was John touching him? Didn't he know how filthy he was? Couldn't he see the dirt that clung to his skin with the same tenacity bubble gum stuck to hair? If so then why, why was he touching him?
His finger twitched, itching to scrub and scratch at his skin until he was clean again but he ignored the impulse. "What is it, John? I'm thinking."
The elder male frowned for a moment, noting how his first inquiry was ignored but choosing to let it go.
" I was just letting you know that I'm leaving for my date with Sarah. "
Nodding he watched as his friend left the flat. Once he was gone, the detective entered his bedroom, gathered some clean PJ's and locked himself in the bathroom. With extreme effort he managed to hold it together as he turned the shower up to it's highest temperature and undressed. It was only when he was under the scalding spray that he allowed his masks to fall and his solid control to break.
He scrubbed until his skin turned a raw pink and the water tinted a light pink. Until his throat was sore and torn from his hysterical screams and cries. As he cleaned himself his body shook harshly , remembering, reliving and it was all he could do to stay upright even as his knees went weak.
"Shit look at ya. So pretty an' broken. "
He whimpered at the phantom whisper, shoving his fist in his mouth as phantom touches and whispers overwlmed his mind.
"Not so clever now are ya?
"Freak. "
"Whore. "
"Monster. "
"Psychopath. "
Keening and teetering on the edge of madness, he collapsed to his knees and curled into as small a ball he could. As he rocked, a broken laugh left him and the haunting voice from his dream began to sing and unfamiliar melody. One that described him perfectly and he promised himself that he would store it and compose some music for it.
Playground school bell rings, again
Rain clouds come to play again
Has no one told you she's not breathing
Hello.
He calmed slowly and began to sing along as he dressed, despite knowing he had never heard the song before.
I'm your mind, giving you someone to talk to
Hello.
He began to mentally compose a violin melody for it and as he moved about the living room, he gathered a notebook jotting down the notes. But he never stopped singing along.
If I smile and don't, believe
Soon I know I'll wake from this dream
Don't try to fix me I'm not broken
Hello
I'm the lie living for you so you can hide-
Don't cry
Tears filled his eyes as he sang and his voice grew stronger.
Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping
Hello
I'm still here! All that's left of yesterday
His voice broke on the last word and he began to cry, unaware that his brother had been just outside the door of his flat and had heard it all.
Mycroft felt his cold heart break as he listened to his brother sob, blood chilled as the words of the haunting song the younger had just sang rang throughout his head. No longer were his suspicions merely suspicions, they were fact. Someone had raped his baby brother... and he hadn't been there to protect him. He closed his eyes painfully and turned to leave, having come over to ask about the reports his surveillance team had given telling him Sherlock had snuck out. However now, shame coursed through him.
Had he really gotten so caught up in his political matters to pay attention to his brother? To protect him from heinous brutalities like this?
Even as he climbed into his car and settled into his seat beside Anthea, he knew that the answer was a resounding yes.
With this thought and this revelation in mind Mycroft, for the first time in almost twenty years, allowed himself cry. He cried for his brother's stolen innocence and for his failure.
He cried and he prayed for forgiveness.
'Oh God, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me... because I don't think I can forgive myself. '
TBC...