You threw James off his balance and toppled him into the side of Macie's desk. Papers and books clamored away and I shouted, rushing toward to grab you, but you sent your fist forward again, driving your knuckles into James' cheekbones. He made no move to fight back, no attempt at defense. He only tried to keep himself upright, facing you, his nose now sprinkling with blood.

"Sherlock!" I shouted again, wrestling you. "Jesus Christ, stop!"

But you hardly even heard me. Your skin was almost white with rage, throwing yourself toward Sholto with a pounce, your jaw tight, my efforts not even denting your momentum. You caught James in the stomach, and although the most he offered was a controlled grunt, I could see his brow twist with the pain of keeping his own hands steady. He doubled, and you slammed your knee into his side, throwing him into the shelf, colliding with the wooden edges and knocking off several clanging pens.

Miranda appeared in the doorway, her face knotted with confusion, but she made no move to get involved as I tried to wedge myself between you and Sholto. James continued retreating, and you continued barraging, shoving me aside with the flat side of your palm. But I snagged the collar of your suit and pulled, diverting your attention long enough to let James catch his breath.

"Let me go, John, or I'll kick your ass next," You snarled, jerking yourself free.

"You're a lunatic!" I screamed, stepping in front of James again. "Don't touch him."

"Did he listen to you when you told him not to touch you?"

"That has noth-"

You pulled me away from Sholto and pushed me back toward the doorway, toward Miranda, with a force that made me trip backward over the stacks of journals and papers. "Do me a favor, make sure he doesn't get any ideas."

James growled from his knee. "If you're going to be violent, fine. But keep it between us."

"Agreed," You approached him again.

I scrambled to my feet just as you threw him off his, sending him down to the floor and landing a hard kick to the thigh. He hissed, pushing away from you with his good arm, but you pressed your heel against his ribs, pinning him there as you leaned over him, venom under your tongue.

"You've the real bastard here all along, haven't you?" You seethed. "You knew that John wanted your friendship, and that he was determined to keep it, and you saw that he was needy. You took advantage of him, you used him, and you raped him, and you're still doing it, aren't you, major?"

"Sherlock, don't you dare," I cried.

"The difference is minuscule, really, because your rape was different," You continued, coming down closer to him and pinning him with your leg, your hand propped close to his face. "You wanted control. You craved control. And in the face of war, where you had no control, you craved it even more. You didn't need companionship. You needed someone whose every bone could be manipulated."

I tried to get toward you, but Miranda grabbed my shoulders and held me firmly against herself, watching the scene with something too close to amusement. You got closer to James' face, and I felt like I couldn't breathe, now trapped, my lungs swelled shut.

"It started out with little things, didn't it? Trapping him, pinning him, bruising him. You liked it when he was subservient to you, and John wanted to make you happy, so he allowed it. But you weren't satisfied, and you weren't happy. You kept pushing and kept bruising, and as soon as John couldn't tell you to stop, he couldn't tell you no."

"I'm ashamed of what I did," Sholto grimaced. "I know how horrible it was. I swore that I would never let myself start down that path again."

"Lovely, all is forgiven, then," You pressed down on him harder, and he released a sharp breath. I fought against Miranda, but her arms were steady.

"What do I need to do to convince you, Sherlock?" He asked, quickly.

"I want you to remember every single way you hurt John, every single fucking wound."

"I do remember."

"Not well enough." You removed your foot only to shove it down again, hitting Sholto's limb rather than his chest; you then lowered yourself further onto him until your thighs pressed against his arms. "I'd bet John does, though, whether or not he knows it. He remembers every little thing. Do I need to list them for you? The marks, the scratches, the bruises. The neck and hips. Nails along his back. Internal tearing. Eyes swollen, arms and legs sore and aching. He couldn't walk for two days, Sholto."

"I hurt your lover, and now you want revenge, I understand."

"You have no idea how much I wish I can inflict all that same pain and humiliation back onto you," You hissed, "But that would be reducing myself to your level of barbaric obscenity."

"Barbaric," He laughed, baring his teeth. "I guess we do have something in common, after all."

Your heat filled the room, and suddenly you were hitting him again, your whole shoulders heaving with your force. I shrieked and broke away from Miranda, throwing myself on your shoulders and trying to pull you away, but you had found his neck. James snapped into focus and gripped your wrists forcefully. I yanked at your shoulders, but you were dipping close to the deep end.

"You raped John," You howled, gripping your hands around his throat. "You fucked him and you left him to fucking rot."

James pressed his palms against your wrists, prying them apart. My heart thundered in my ears. "You're going to kill him!"

"It's what he deserves," You shouted, but your fingers began to come undone. "I'll slaughter you."

"Down, boy," Miranda said, now finally deciding to join the assault. She came behind you and slipped her arms under your shoulders, pulling you up and away from Sholto as he removed your nails from his neck. You allowed yourself to be removed, at first, but as soon as you were out of arm's reach of James you began thrashing again, kicking Sholto squarely in the stomach while throwing Miranda and yourself into one of the shelves. I stumbled back into the desk, barely dodging your fist, then went back down to make sure James was alright.

You removed Miranda's arms easily, but your anger was deterred for a few moments while you argued with her. James sputtered and coughed violently, pushing himself to his elbows as he spat out the blood from his nose. He rubbed his throat and glanced at me, but you weren't finished with him yet.

"This isn't the time or place for your pathetic romantic squabbles." Miranda said, firmly. "We've finally got-"

"You stay out of it, then." You snarked. "Major Sholto has been lying to me for long enough, and I'm sick of him."

"He's necessary to the case."

"He's not any more necessary than Jandi was necessary," You spat, "And you got rid of him fairly quickly."

"What the hell are you even mad about?" She demanded. "It's old news, Sherlock, you're being a child."

"Sholto had successfully hidden from me the fact that he is an active threat and danger to John, and that is something to be angry about."

"A threat?" I laughed, cold. "Sherlock, you've got to be kidding me. Alright, I'm sorry for not telling you. I apologize. Obviously my concern was misplaced. But you don't need to punish James now for an offense he made back in Afghanistan, nor do you have the right to."

"It isn't just about the offense, John. Don't be an idiot." You came toward us, arms at ready.

"Then what is it about, Sherlock?" James asked, now sitting up.

"You demolished John," You replied, "Utterly. He gave you the space and comfort and control you so desperately needed, yet you were nothing but a parasite to him, a miserable leech, sucking away his energy and health. You loved him, of course you loved him. He gave you everything you wanted, you would have been an idiot not to. But you fooled him into believing that he loved you, enough to let you strip him of everything he considers respectable and honest. And that, major, is unforgivable."

"You're bloody insane!" I shouted at you. "You're not even thinking straight!"

"I'm thinking perfectly straight."

"What now, then, hm?" James asked, now angry. "You're going to bleed me out, are you? Beat me until your hands go numb, what will that prove?"

"I don't want to beat you," You said, coming toward us, your energy sizzling, hand slipping to the small of your back. "I want to break you."

The air left the room as you pointed the mouth of your gun toward him, our skin stone cold. You couldn't kill him. You would never kill him. Not in this subtext, not in this house. Yet both of us were looking directly into the eye of a pistol. Miranda rolled her eyes with her entire body and turned away, brushing her hands through her hair and refusing to acknowledge any more of the argument.

"I should have known, already." You said, shaking your head. "John has bad habits of rationalization and suppression. He doesn't deal with his problems, and they resurface in odd ways. He was shot in the shoulder and developed a limp. His anxiety only bothers him when there's nothing to be worried about, yet disappears when he's in danger. Look at him now, still as a stone, isn't that a sight."

"Sherlock, put the gun down," I croaked.

"He's shown me the signs already, but they were different from what I expected because John is different. Fear, distress, resignation, it was all there, it was all visible, but he was able to behave as if he wasn't a victim because he had convinced himself he wasn't a victim."

"I know James did to me." I argued.

"Of course you do, you're not a child. But if you really thought that Sholto had wronged you, if you actually believed that he had performed a horrendous act of cruelty, you would treat him as if he had. You've practically worshiped Sholto since he's arrived here. What does that mean?"

"That he doesn't believe I hurt him?" James said.

"That he doesn't believe he's the victim," You corrected. "He believes you are. He tends to pick out the good of people, that's obvious. He prefers not to complicate things, he prefers not to consider men naturally evil, and he enjoys a good story with a good ending that leaves all involved a little bit better. And then, you came along. The major with no family, no purpose. Your good qualities drew John in, and your bad ones kept him coming. He wanted someone he could help. You wanted someone to seize."

"That is not true, Sherlock," I hissed. "We were both rational, we were both attracted to each other. He wasn't trying to control me."

"Oh, please, John, it's everywhere, just look." You shouted. "Macie, John is easy, Sholto is stern. John is flexible, Sholto is forward. John is simple, Sholto is serious. She has lots of colorful ways of expressing it, she was an artist, after all. She just didn't know what she was seeing."

"I let him take control because that was what he needed," I defended. "That's what people do, Sherlock, they bend. They do things they wouldn't normally do for the people they care about. I cared about Sholto. I didn't want to see him suffer."

"And that was what made you vulnerable," You said. "He knew you cared about him, and he knew you would trust him."

"I chose to fuck him," I shouted.

"No, you didn't, John, you chose to be quiet when he forced you into his bed."

I rolled my jaw. "The rape wasn't everything, Sherlock. We were together. We had a relationship. We were happy together, we enjoyed each other, and we had sex whenever the hell we wanted to because we were rational human beings who could control our own behavior."

"Not all the time, and that's all that matters."

"You're just jealous, Sherlock, that's all this is!" I was on my feet. "You can't handle the thought that at one point I wasn't yours."

"Don't be naive, John." You spat back. "You're helpless, and he's using you. You're sick, and he made you that way."

"You made me like this!" I shouted. "He hurt me, dammit, but so did you, and you still are. Put your fucking gun away."

"See, you've convinced yourself that his actions meant nothing, but look at yourself, John. You've been in pain ever since he's been here, in pain every time he looks at you. Even before, those problems you had, they weren't my fault, they were his. The reason I can hardly touch you is because of him. The reason you writhe and weep every night is because of him. Yet you look at him and you still love him."

"I know how to control myself and my own feelings, unlike you," I snapped.

"Maybe your self-deception goes farther than I thought."

I rolled my jaw and stepped closer. "Maybe you're just not as clever as you thought."

You tsked. "Sometimes, John, I wish that were true."

"Put your gun down."

"I don't take orders."

"You will this time."

"Or what, John? Are you going to try to stop me? You can't. You're small, and weak, and sick. You're not strong like you were in Afghanistan, because the memories of him have eaten you away like acid. You're unstable, you're defenseless, and you're gullible. I am protecting you. You'll thank me once you come to your senses."

"No, I won't, because I will never come to my senses." Fire lit up my mouth. "You touch Sholto again, and you will not need to protect me."

You stared at me, whirring. "What?"

"You lay a finger on him, and you will never see my face again, I will make damn sure of it." I hissed. "You know I'm not lying. Contrary to what you may think, I will not allow violent, vile, barbaric men to stomp me underfoot. I am not a damsel in distress. I will not tolerate this. Put your gun away."

"He really has made you his bitch, hasn't he."

"Fuck you."

Cold metal teeth bit into my temple and I was stumbling, knocked off-balance by the strike. It stunned me, almost as much as it stunned you. I sank to the floor, leaning heavily to one side as the room ducked and spun, black blisters bursting open along the corners of my vision. I reached up to touch the side of my face, drawing back with pinpricks of blood. You watched me, your face completely vacant, mental gears screeching to a stop.

Sholto was on his feet, and your aim was between his shoulders. "Don't move, major."

"You've hurt John," He snarled.

"Take one step and I will fire."

"Enough of this, Holmes." Miranda said, stepping toward Sholto, facing you. "Let's get moving. Tamim."

You glanced at her. "You found him?"

She nodded. "We found him. Sholto's Cemal, your Tamim, they're both connected. Think about it, you figured it out. The son of Cemal, Macie's friend. She knew him when he was younger, but she also knew that his father was a dangerous man. She helped him and his family in whatever ways she could, and in return she became acquainted with many of his sons and cousins, but they became acquainted with her, as well. He disappeared off the map for several years, but just recently he's come back, and he's seen her."

"He was in the recents?" You let the gun fall near your thigh.

"Yes, Sherlock. I remember him being mentioned by Jandi, but I hadn't made the connection between him and Cemal."

"And you know where Cemal is?"

"I know where his London faction rests."

"Then we need to get back to the city."

"As soon as possible." She glanced at me, then Sholto. "Preferably with all our heads intact."

She stepped over the mess and headed out the door without another wasted word, leaving the three of us in tense silence, your gun still resting at your leg. Sholto took a tentative step toward you, and you chose not to raise the gun, which was a good sign. Instead, you slipped it behind your back and flexed your shoulders, your fierceness now dissolved into bitterness.

"This is over." James said, sharply. "You had your free ticket for payback. Now behave like an adult."

"Strong words for the man bleeding," You replied. He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. You were the one to take your leave, without so much as a glance in my direction, stepping over the journals and heading back into the sunroom after Miranda.

James was beside me. "John?"

"I'm alright," I said quietly, pressing my hand against my head. He gently pulled it away to inspect, but I knew there wasn't enough blood for it to be serious. It just hurt, pounding when I spoke. On the other hand, blood was dripping from Sholto's lips, and both his mouth and his brow were split. His bad arm was held tenderly against his stomach, but his eyes were strong. The only pain he betrayed was when he touched my temple, brushing my hair out of my face. I would not fold.

You were gone. You hadn't touched him.

Thank God.