Even if Sherlock had been willing to talk, John wouldn't have been able to carry on his end of a conversation after hearing something like that. They spent the day in companionable silence, John watching crap telly and Sherlock alternating between pacing, playing the violin, and sitting on the sofa with Hamish the bee. Occasionally he would look at John like he was trying to tell him something, but he never said anything.
In fact, it was three days later before they were able to talk again. John had been busy at the clinic and Sherlock was taking an endless set of case notes on his laptop. When Lestrade contacted them to say the foster children were willing to be interviewed the next day, there was still no conversation, but John knew the silence would be broken the next day. Even then, the cab ride was silent.
Lestrade met them in front of the Yard, holding a sheaf of papers. "This is a complete list of the children K has fostered," he said by way of explanation, before leading them into the building. John couldn't help but notice that everyone, even the Yarders, seemed reluctant to call her anything but K. "We've been ringing them in bits and pieces. Unfortunately, none of the others have been willing to talk."
"Do you think they were victims?" John asked.
"Of course they were," Sherlock said as he grabbed the sheaf of papers and began flipping through them. "If they weren't they'd have been willing to make statements that She was nothing but kind to them." He continued to study them until they were in one of the interview rooms. "There are a lot of twins on this list. Two sets of triplets, even. How many triplet sets are taken into care each year? It can't be very many." From the way he was talking it was obvious that he'd drawn some sort of conclusion. John wasn't sure if Lestrade had noticed it, and he knew better than to ask.
"They should be here in a couple of minutes," Lestrade said. He put a tape recorder on the table and then went to sit in a corner.
"What are their names?" John asked.
"Spencer is the family name. The boys are Dominic, Graham, and Martin. The girl is Christine."
Right after Lestrade spoke there was a knock on the door. He stood to open it. Five young adults stood there, four clearly related; they all had the same dark blond hair, light brown eyes, and lean build. The fifth was a woman holding an infant. "Sorry, we couldn't find a sitter in time," she said in apology as they all stepped into the room. Her dark hair, almond-colored skin, and high, flat cheekbones were in sharp contrast to the other four. "I can wait out in the hall if you like. I'm Gloria Yellowfox, Graham's fiancee." Even her accent was different, distinctly American.
"Congratulations," John said. He could easily tell who Graham was. He seemed far more put together than the others. While his hair was long, it was neatly combed and shiny. His hooded sweatshirt and jeans were worn but clean and well taken care of. Most of all, he was the only one besides Gloria to be smiling. "Do you have a wedding date?"
"Not quite yet," Graham said. He took a seat. "Is Gloria allowed to be in here? If not, is there a place she can wait with Angus?" John assumed Angus was the infant in her arms. He was almond-colored like his mother, but had faint wisps of blond hair on his head.
"She can stay if the others agree to it," Lestrade said.
"No," the other three said in unison.
Graham nodded, like he wasn't surprised. "Is there a place she can wait?"
"There's a room down the hall. It's got chairs and a vending machine," Lestrade told him.
"I'll wait there then," Gloria said, and smiled in Graham's direction before vanishing down the hall. Only then did the other three sit down, the two other men on each side of their brother and the woman to the left of all of them.
Unlike their brother, they gave the distinct impression of living rough. The one woman, Christine, was at least somewhat put together; her blouse and skirt had clearly been worn for a few days, but her hair was combed and she looked as if she had recently bathed. The man who sat to the left of Graham wore an ancient blue jumper that covered several other shirts and jeans that were too big for him, even with the legs turned up and a belt tightened as far as it could go. His hair was short but crudely cut, like he had taken scissors or a knife to it himself, and his skin bore several weeks worth of dirt. He slumped so far in the chair as to be lying on it with his legs angled to the ground. The man to the right of Graham had wrapped himself into a long coat and scarf. He wore gloves and had a ski cap clutched in his hands. His hair was long, tangled, and matted.
Sherlock sat at the other side of the table with John. He had put down the papers when they had first come in, and now he looked right at the family. "Hello," he said gently. "I understand that this is difficult for you. However, right now there are children still around your foster mother. They need your help now."
Even Graham was no longer smiling. "Christine first," said the man in the long coat. "She's the oldest."
Christine looked briefly at each of her brothers before speaking. "You know, our dad loved us, even if he could be a right tosser when he was drunk. When Mum died he just went off the bend. Didn't never hit us before then. And we were just normal kids, really, but he wanted to follow her to the grave. I talked back a lot and in our last row he slapped my face and I fell. It wasn't much really but when one of the workers came to our house and saw what a mess it was she took us all into care." She spoke with the raspy tone of the heavy cigarette smoker. "Went to this house full of other kids. First they said they'd split us up, no one'd take all four at once. Then they said they found a place for all of us. When we got there I thought we did pretty good. Big house, lots of stuff to do, big garden. And when we met Her She seemed nice enough." John wondered to himself if there was anyone K had victimized that didn't speak of her with capital letters. "Right off She said we could call Her Mum. I still missed my real Mum a lot and I jumped right on that."
"When did things change?" Sherlock asked.
"Our Mum wasn't much for a cuddle. She was good to us but she didn't touch us a lot. So when someone tells you to call Her Mum and wants to have a cuddle with you it seems good." She paused, glanced at her brothers, and began again. "I was twelve then. Not much different than other girls. Boy crazy." She looked down at her hands. "Anyway, She'd ask me about school every day and then two weeks in She asked if I'd kissed any boys yet. Told Her I hadn't, and that was true. Asked me then if I fancied any boys yet. Course I did, seemed like that was all the other girls talked about. So then She said when She was my age She'd kiss a pillow and pretend it was a boy. And I said that isn't much like a person, and She asks me if I'd ever practiced. I said no, and She said that when She was in school the girls all practiced with each other. I knew some girls that did and said that. So She leans over and kisses me. On the lips, but not hard. Asked me then if I liked it, and I said I did, because it wasn't bad really. So I said it wasn't bad, kind of tingly. Then I said that the shagging part was the one that sounded bad. Couldn't see why anyone would like getting something like that stuck in you. So She said that I just didn't know what the good part was like, and did I want to see. And I did because I wonder why people seem to like that and we go up to Her room. Then She tells me to take off my skirt and knickers and lie down." There was a lengthy pause.
"Go on," Sherlock said quietly.
"Then She wanks me off, except I didn't know it was that then. And it did feel good. Before that I'd dream about some boy and wake up feeling like something good was about to happen. And I thought this was what was going to happen. I knew it wasn't supposed to happen, but you know. It felt really good. Figured if I didn't say anything it might happen again. After that I asked Her if we could do that again and She said of course, if I wanted to so much." Her voice seemed close to breaking.
"Thank you," Sherlock said. "I know you have more to say but I want to hear your from your brothers first."
"That'd be me, then. I'm next oldest," said the man in the jumper. "Mum and Dad told me a few times 'Dominic, you're going to have to look out for your brothers,' since I came first. When we got moved to care I tried to make sure they would be okay. Let them get served supper first and let them say whether we play football or rugby." He looked over at his sister. "And like Christine said, our mum wasn't much for a cuddle and I liked that She was always up for it. I don't really remember when it was except that Graham and Martin were outside and Christina was out with some of her mates. I had a cough and She told me it was better to stay inside. In Her room was the telly, a big one. Any time you wanted to watch a movie you'd go in there. When I was in the middle of some film She comes in and asks if She can watch with me. Since everyone else was out I said yes, because I was alone. At first She sat right next to me but near the end She asks if I would mind sitting in Her lap. I didn't, really, and told Her that was good. For a few minutes it was all right, then She puts Her hand on the waistband of my trousers. I knew it was there but didn't really think about it. Then after another few minutes Her hand's on my leg, rubbing in circles. It was. I don't know. Strange. But I got used to it. Then She moved Her hand again." He fell silent. "Now it was right in front of the zipper of my trousers. This time when She started making circles it felt better." A pause. "Then when the film was over She left like nothing had happened. That was the first time." He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead looked down at his hands, just like his sister.
"I'm next if we're going by age," Graham said. He clearly wanted to sound strong, but his voice wavered. "You already know what it was like at first. I thought living with Her was going to be all right. Until one day. There was a big bookcase in Her room with all sorts of books and magazines. The other day She had gotten me a football magazine and I couldn't find it, so I went to see if it was in Her room. I couldn't find it and was about to look someplace else when one magazine fell on the floor. I picked it up to put it back on the shelf and then I saw it was a girlie magazine. I'd seen them before but hadn't looked at one close up. When I'd gone through a few pages She came in the room and asked me if I was having fun. I figured She'd get mad at me but She said that I was just interested like everyone else. Then She asked if I'd seen anyone naked like that in real life. I said my sister and brothers and my dad. She said anyone besides my family and I said no. Then She asked if I wanted to see someone else. I said yes before I could think about what I was saying and the next thing I knew She had taken Her blouse off. There wasn't - She didn't have a bra on. I couldn't help but look, and I really hadn't seen something like that before." As he spoke, his face turned red. "I just looked, and She said I could look all I wanted. After a few minutes She put her blouse back on - She never took off her skirt - and left the room with the magazine. I went downstairs then and found the football magazine on the couch. For a while I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd done something wrong, even though I didn't know what it was."
Graham must have given some sort of indication he was through speaking, because the man to the right of him said, "Guess it's my turn now." He ran a hand over his matted hair. "Dominic and Graham used to tease me some because I was the youngest. 'Martin's the baby,' they'd say, like I was years younger than them. But they didn't mean anything bad by it." He quickly glanced over at his brothers before speaking again. "Right away She said I was special because I was the youngest. I liked that. She said She'd been the youngest, too. A few weeks after we moved into Her house I got the cough Dominic had except it was worse. I was in hospital for a long time after I was born and I had problems with my lungs. So I stayed home from school with Her. She had said She worked at a place in London but She said She'd stay home with me that day. Said that us youngest had to stick together, and She could take care of me. I even got to spend the day in Her bed. I thought I'd finally have the telly to myself but I fell asleep again after the others went to school. When I woke up She was lying in bed with me. Said that She just wanted a rest. She put Her hand on my forehead and asked if my head hurt. It did and I said it did, so She started rubbing the top of it. She asked if I felt better and I said I did, even though it was the same. I just liked Her hand on me. Then She asked me if my stomach ached, and that did too, so I told Her that, and She rubbed circles on my belly. It felt nice even if my stomach still hurt. After a bit I was half-asleep and She was still rubbing. Then She went lower. I kept my eyes shut. I didn't want Her to leave or stop touching me, even if it felt weird. I must have fallen asleep for real at some point because the next thing I remember is waking up alone." He shut his eyes.
"I suppose you need to know what happened after that," Christine said as soon as her brother stopped talking. "Can – can we do that at another time? This is enough. Now, I mean." Her body shook along with her voice.
"No," Graham said firmly. "Right now, I need to say the worst bit. Before I lose my nerve." Christina looked back at him in confusion but both of his brothers paled further and Martin put the ski cap that he was holding in his hands on his head again. "Because, you know, I didn't tell anyone about what happened until Angus was born. Then I said something to Gloria and she said 'You know that's sexual abuse, right?' I told her, 'No,' and we talked all night about it. A few days later, when Angus came home from hospital, Christine, Dominic, and Martin came to our flat to meet him. All four of us talked by ourselves. Cause you know, we all thought we were the only one that She had been interested in and that the others were okay. I hadn't even told the rehab counselors about it. Before they came over I had thought I'd apologize to Dominic and Martin. But they wanted to apologize to me, too. The three of us hugged and we cried. None of us had to say anything because we all knew what we meant by apologize."
Sherlock had sat there silently for so long John looked over in surprise when he asked Graham, "What do you mean by apologize to Dominic and Martin?"
"I thought if I was the only one it'd be okay. Like, if it was happening to them it'd be bad but it was different if it was me. It wasn't all bad, really, but it felt dirty. I didn't want them to feel like that." Graham visibly swallowed. He looked anguished. "Sometimes when I wouldn't do something fast enough or I looked like I didn't want to do it She'd ask me if one of my brothers might be more willing. Of course I'd promise to try harder. But once She said I hadn't done enough. Said that if I didn't want to go to a new carer I'd have to do something for Her. And I didn't want that. Nothing that She wanted me to do would be as bad as not being with Dominic and Martin. They're my best friends. So I said yes, I'd do whatever it was. Then She told me the plan. It was…" His voice trailed off, and he took several deep breaths before speaking again. "A few days later I did it. I brought Martin up to Her room and said we were going to watch football. We did watch it for a bit and then Martin asked me if I'd seen that magazine I saw before. I was supposed to show it to him but I couldn't figure out how to so I was glad he asked. We both looked at it and near the end there was this one picture where a man and a woman were both. Um. Sucking on each other." Graham's face was now a steadily deepening shade of red. "I said what I was supposed to, which was that I wondered how it felt. I already knew how it did but I couldn't tell Martin that. Martin said he thought people must like it because in the magazine there were a lot of pictures with it, even though that was the only one with both at the same time." Another pause. Graham next spoke so rapidly it took a second before John realized what he had said. "And-then-we-kept-talking-and-I-said-I-could-try-to-show-him-how-it-felt-and-then-I-put-my-mouth-on-him-and-when-I-was-done-I-said-it-was-my-turn-and-he-put-his-mouth-on-me-and-then-when-he-was-doing-it-something-actually-came-out-and-then-I-left-the-room-and-hoped-he-wouldn't-hate-me-forever-because-I'd-done-it-the-way-She-said-and-I-love-him-so-much-even-if-he-did-hate-me-because-I-was-a-disgusting-pervert-he's-my-little-brother-and-I'd-do-anything-to-keep-him-safe." This appeared to be the final straw for Graham; he buried his face in his hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
His three siblings rose to their feet. They closed in on him and even while he was still seated they managed to form a group hug. Christine and Dominic returned to their seats after a minute or two, but Martin stayed standing, a hand on his brother's shoulder. "What he didn't know was that She'd told me to do something too. If I didn't want him to get the same thing I was supposed to show him the magazine and get him to, well, like She said 'suck your cock' when She told me and I was supposed to do anything to make him do it. I was glad I didn't have to hold a knife against him or something but then I thought whatever I'd done with Her had made me so bad it even spread to my brother. It happened a bunch of times. Not just with Graham, but Dominic too. Graham and Dominic had to do the same things too. Even after we left Her house I couldn't make myself spend time with them, because I knew they hated me for making them have sex with me."
"But we all thought that," Dominic said quietly. "She told each one of us that we had to do it and when we talked it was when we realized it was because of Her and not because we were so bad. It would have been bad with Christine, but when it's one of the brothers that looks like you and acts like you it's so much worse."
"It sounds so scripted," John said. It reminded him of terrible porno films, if you ignored the fact it was acted by two ten year old boys.
"I know She had a camera in her room," Christine said. "I'd have to do things to myself and She would record them. Said that either I'd do it when I knew the camera was there or She'd hide it in Her room and I'd never know when it was recording. But She never made me do anything to my brothers."
"I think you've told us enough for today." Sherlock both looked and sounded carefully neutral. Lestrade had spent most of the time when Graham relayed his terrible story with an expression of shock on his face. John himself had to bite back tears and still had a lump in his throat. It occurred to him that Sherlock's neutral expression was his own way of biting back all emotion.
"If we need to talk to you again, I'll ring Graham and he can get all of you," Lestrade said as the four siblings filed out the door in a great hurry. Graham looked back and half-nodded before he vanished out the door.
Once he seemed sure that the whole family had left, Sherlock spoke again, still sounding neutral. "That is why She's fostered so many twins, then. The incest taboo is something those children are no doubt aware of. While it would easily be possible to get any set of siblings to do so under the threat they will be separated if they do not, since they are aware that after coming into care their siblings are all the family they have left, twins and other multiple birth children are even more vulnerable because of their tendency to a closer relationship than ordinary siblings and even stronger desire to not be separated from others. That close relationship is also what prevents them from speaking about what has occurred. If both are unaware the other is also following a script and both truly believe they have forced their sibling into sexual activity, they fear being arrested for such as well as losing that sibling's love. Finally the incest taboo is even stronger amongst them, and is the most effective deterrent against speaking She has." His neutral look faded into a questioning one. "I could have given them my number. It would be easier for when I speak with them again."
"About that," Lestrade said slowly. He got up from where he was sitting and stood so he did not face Sherlock or John. "The higher-ups have said that you can't work on this case anymore." He looked briefly at both of them as if expecting some sort of explosion, but there was none. Sherlock looked at him as if he'd started speaking a foreign language, but that was all. "Not that you've been in any way subpar; without your help we'd have never cracked the case. It's just that if no one ever talked about all this without speaking to you there'd be a good chance her solicitors would use it against us, and no one wants to see this case go wrong. Any other interviews are going to be done by different Yarders. Normally we have a female officer interview children who have been abused, but in this case…" He turned once again to face them. "It's the policy, you know. It never occurred to me it would be a problem until now."
"Are you finished?" Sherlock asked him. He sounded like he'd been made to sit through a particularly dull lecture rather than being taken off the case. Lestrade nodded, unable to speak. "We should be going, then." Sherlock directed John out the door, not saying anything, not exploding with anger, not seeming to react at all.
The cab ride back to Baker Street had to be one of the most uncomfortable John had ever experienced. Sherlock might as well have been a mannequin with a head that moved. Even when they reached the safety of home, he merely sat down on the sofa and stared. He wasn't sulking, he wasn't lost in thought, he was just blank. This unnerved John so much that he retreated to his room, not wanting to do anything about it other than hope it would go away. Before the case it wasn't something he would have ever done, but this had sapped so much of his energy. A thought occurred to him: if this case drained him so much, how must Sherlock feel? He banished it quickly as it came.
Later that night, he awoke to a cry. It wasn't precisely a scream, but a quieter wordless expression of distress. At first he wondered if he had dreamed it, but when it was quickly followed by another John jumped out of bed and raced downstairs. Sherlock had left his door open and he was thrashing about in his bed. "Sherlock?" John asked as he stepped into the room, the light from the hall enabling him to see inside.
"No," he replied, still asleep. Sherlock sounded desperate, even though his voice wasn't any louder than it was normally.
"Sherlock?" John said again, wondering if he should shake him awake or not. He came to stand beside the bed and put a hand on the mattress.
"No." He opened his eyes but they did not focus. Instead they stared blindly into the distance.
"You're having a nightmare," John heard himself say.
Sherlock rose into a sitting position. "No, no, no, no no. I don't. I swear to you I don't. Never." He sounded like he was begging. "I promise I don't want to."
"Sherlock, it's John. You're in your room at Baker Street and you're having a nightmare," he said again, although he was beginning to doubt this was just a nightmare. It was beginning to trigger unpleasant feelings of recognition.
He turned so his eyes were on John, but still there was no focus. "Yes, I know, I'm sorry. No no no no no! I wasn't dreaming about him! It was you!"
"No one's here but me. You're in your own bed. You're safe. Please wake up." John wondered if putting a hand on his shoulder would make things better or worse.
"Yes." Sherlock suddenly sounded robotic. "Always. I'm just a sexual psychopath. Fuck me. Sorry, please fuck me. No, I mean Mummy, please fuck me. Yes, I will. Of course I'll tell you. I always tell you. That only happened once. I'm sorry. I know. I love you too."
This isn't a nightmare, John suddenly realized. This is a flashback. Suddenly very glad he hadn't put a hand on him, he started to move closer to the bed and his foot met a ball of fluff. He reached down and picked up Hamish from the floor. Hoping it would work, he dropped the stuffed toy in Sherlock's lap.
Whether it was entirely from that John didn't know, but Sherlock blinked a few times and seemed to finally see what was in front of him. "John?" he said slowly.
"It's me. You were having a nightmare," he carefully replied.
"It's - it was - oh God." Even in the weak light he visibly flushed. "Go. No. Not again."
"I'm not leaving," John said. He took a guess as to what Sherlock meant and added, "Are you going to slash up your bed sheets again?"
"I - no." He pulled Hamish to his chest. "Please. Go. I don't want you to see this."
"Like I said to Phillip before, it's not like this isn't something I've ever experienced."
"Yes, it's perfectly normal to climax from repeated erotic dreams involving someone who's supposed to have been hurting you." Sherlock didn't sound sarcastic, just sad. "I'm such a pervert," he said after a moment.
John then laid a hand on his shoulder. "No, you're not." There was an awkward silence.
"Stay." Sherlock looked as surprised he said it as John felt hearing it. "Just for tonight, please."
"Right here in your room?" John asked for clarification.
"Yes. You... know about nightmares." He looked away.
"In your bed?" It was big enough to hold two people even if they never touched, but Sherlock might consider that a step too far.
"If I can take off the sheets first."
"That's fine," John said, and turned his back.
He kept his back turned until Sherlock said quietly: "You can turn around." He was wearing pajamas, long ones John had never seen before, and the mattress was bare. The sheets were piled on the floor. "You first," he said, and John lay down on the side. Sherlock climbed into bed as well and lay down close enough that their heads were touching but so Hamish was close enough to his chest that their lower bodies couldn't easily touch. He pulled the blankets over himself and said, "Good night, John." While he had planned to stay awake until Sherlock fell asleep, the truth was he fell asleep shortly after climbing into bed and never found out if on that night Sherlock slept at all.