Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13296402.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_-_Fandom, johnlock_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      John_Watson_and_Sherlock_Holmes_-_Relationship, Greg_Lestrade_and_Mycroft
      Holmes, Victor_Trevor_and_Sherlock_Holmes, Johnlock, Mystrade_-
      Relationship
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Mycroft_Holmes, Greg_Lestrade, Victor
      Trevor, Mike_Stamford, Mrs._Hudson, Mr._Holmes, Mrs._Holmes
  Additional Tags:
      non-con, Drug_Abuse, Suicidal_Sherlock, Teenlock, Foster_Care, Abuse,
      Eventual_Smut, this_is_a_rough_one, I_am_so_sorry, A_hint_of_mystrade
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-07 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 10484
****** The Broken Boys (TeenLock AU) ******
by Sini333
Summary
     John Watson is seventeen, and one year away from aging out of the
     foster care system, after the murder/suicide of his parents three
     years prior. He gets placed with the rich Holmes family for the
     remainder of his time in the system.
     Sherlock Holmes is fifteen with a drug problem and severe emotional
     issues.
     What happens when a tornado meets a volcano? Can these boys save each
     other from themselves?
Notes
     Hey My Lovelies!!! So, this is a book I wrote a while back that I
     have been debating posting here. I have had it up on Wattpad for
     quite a while, but hesitated posting it here. It is a really dark
     one, so enter at your own risk and heed the warnings.
     Hope you like it!!! Enjoy <3
***** The Holmes Brothers *****
John sighed and glanced behind him as the car sped away from the curb, the
agent that was supposed to escort him in, simply leaving him at the end of the
walkway to a massive house. He could run, just fuck off and stay in hiding for
a year. Not like anyone would notice, no one thought about the angry kid in
foster care.
"I would not recommend running." A voice that sounded as posh as the
neighbourhood John was standing in startled him out of his thoughts. He spun to
see a man, only a few years older than him, leaning heavily on an umbrella.
"You would not get very far, and even if you did, you wouldn't survive on the
streets."
"Don't think that's any of your business." John snapped, shifting his backpack
on his shoulder and leveling a glare at the other man. "Why would it matter to
you anyway?" The other man smirked at him and pushed off his umbrella and
stepped closer to the boy.
"It would matter to me Mr. Watson, because your running would leave my parents
upset and I really don't want to have to deal with Mummy when she is in a
mood." The man stepped closer to John and stared down at him, sending a flare
of danger through the younger's body. "It is also my understanding that your
uncle and his wife are still insisting that you killed your parents and staged
the scene. If you abandon my family, I will have you arrested for murder."
"Based on what? The mad ramblings of a schizophrenic crack-head and his whore
of a wife?" John drew himself up as tall as he could and leaned closer, leaving
only a few inches between himself and the older man. "You have nothing on me."
"Don't be so sure Mr. Watson." John felt a shock of fear at the challenge he
saw in the taller man's eyes. There's no way he could possibly-
"Mycroft Holmes, if you are trying to threaten another young man I swear to all
that is holy I will bend you over my knee!" John jolted away from the taller
man, smirking at the blush that rose on his cheeks.
"Mummy! I am twenty-one years old, the likelihood of you being able to-"
"I'm your mother, I can have you over my knee in seconds if I so choose." A
kind, elderly woman bustled closer to the pair, pinching Mycroft's cheeks
before turning to John. "Well, stand up straight, let me look at you." The
woman before him didn't look intimidating, but as her piercing blue eyes
scanned John's body, he all but snapped to attention. She tutted and patted
John's cheek just slightly too hard, shocking the boy. "You are too thin, just
like my Sherlock. No worries though, I'll get you healthy in no time. You know,
I'm going to make waffles. Myc will show you to your rooms." With that, the
lady puttered off, leaving John and Mycroft slightly flustered.
"My apologies for my mother. She is brilliant but slightly scatter-brained. I
will show you to the house, but it is not my job to escort you to your room.
Mrs. Hudson will do that." Mycroft started down the walkway, John hesitating
for a moment before following.
He was led into the massive house and left standing alone in the foyer when
Mycroft disappeared into what looked to be a study. He wandered around the
massive foyer, just barely resisting the urge to touch the expensive looking
statues and paintings. Jesus, one of these could pay for mine and Harry's
education for life.
"If you're going to steal that then I suggest you do so quickly." A deep, bored
voice shocked John out of his thoughts and he spun, his eyes landing on a tall,
lanky, too-pale boy lounging against the doorway at the top of the grand
staircase. "Father is going to be home soon, and he would be livid if he caught
you." The boy sauntered down the stairs, the expensive-looking housecoat that
was draped over his shoulders fluttering around him as he moved.
"I-I wasn't-"
"Oh, please take it. I've been dreadfully bored here and watching another
little rent boy get hauled away by the police would make things so much more
interesting." The boy's sneer sent a flare of anger through John and he crossed
his arms defensively, standing his ground as the boy came to a stop before him.
"I'm not a rent boy-"
"No? With that haircut and those clothes? You certainly look like one-"
"Fuck you." The boy chuckled scanning his eyes over John's frame, sending a
chill over his spine. There was something off about the boy's eyes, they were
too wide and his pupils were too dilated-
"Hmm, given the right circumstances and the correct percentage, I just might
let you." John felt his cheeks flush and froze when the boy leaned close,
filling John's nose with the scent of cigarettes and lavender. "Though I can
assure you, I wouldn't pay for it." The boy spun away, a flurry of satin and
arrogance.
John lashed out, catching the boy by his elbow and hauling him back towards
him. The boy stumbled, but John's firm grip kept him from falling. He leaned up
and deliberately brushed his lips against the boy's ear.
"Oh, believe me Posh Boy, you would be begging to pay me by the time I finished
with you." John growled, releasing the boy with a rough shove and sending him
stumbling away. The boy looked furious and rounded on John, his fist flying
towards the older boy's face. John easily sidestepped the blow and gripped the
thin wrist as it passed his face. He twisted and wrenched the arm behind the
taller boy's back and pinned him to the wall, his responses automatic from the
years of abuse by his father's hands.
The boy grunted in pain as John pressed him into the cold wall.
"Release me, Neanderthal." The younger growled, his body practically vibrating
against John's. Jesus fuck, this kid has got to be on something. "I can imagine
it is a change for you, being able to take down the man threatening you for
once but-" John wrenched the boy's wrist higher up his back and the kid cried
out softly.
"Talk to me like that again, and I'll break your fucking jaw, got it Posh Boy?"
John released the taller boy and stalked away, leaving several feet of space
between him and the volatile young man. The boy stood and glared at John, his
chest heaving as he rubbed at his wrist.
"Oh dear, how long have you been waiting here?" A new voice cut through the
air, oblivious to the tension between John and the other boy. Another older
woman was approaching John shooting the other boy a disapproving glare.
"Sherlock, why on Earth haven't you taken Mr. Watson up to his rooms?"
"Why are you badgering me about it? He attacked me!" John fought a flare of
fear and anger towards the boy, but the feelings were cut short when the woman
tutted and ushered John towards the stairs.
"And I'm sure you rightly deserved it. I swear Sherlock, the way you treat
people, going to get yourself killed one of these days." John was about to
giggle when he heard the boy whisper, his words setting off alarm bells in his
mind.
"That day can not come soon enough."
***** Dinner *****
The room John was led to was huge, especially compared to the closet he had
been shoved in at the last place. Mrs. Hudson chatted the whole way up and
watched as John looked around his new room with barely restrained awe.
"This is my room?" John asked softly, looking back at the woman uncertainly,
half expecting her to guide him to the closet and lock him in. He would leave
if that happened again.
"Yes Dearie, all yours for as long as you're here. There is an en-suite
bathroom with a tub and shower, and an intercom by the bed. If you need
anything, just call. I will be here in a jiffy." John nodded slightly, still
processing. He turned at the sound of keys jingling, a shock of panic ripping
through him. So that was it, not a closet prison but a fancy bedroom.
His panic was stilled however, when he saw Mrs. Hudson pulling a set of keys
from her pocket and handing them to him. He watched the pity fill her eyes as
she registered his fear.
"These are yours. Gold unlocks the main door and silver opens the back door."
She stepped closer to John and rested a hand on his elbow, her eyes gentle and
understanding. "No one is going to hurt you here Dearie." She whispered and
John felt tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. "Dinner is in an hour, Mrs.
Holmes is making waffles." She patted his elbow again before leaving, pulling
the door shut behind her.
John sat on the edge of the bed, sliding his bag under the frame and glancing
once more around the room. He never unpacked, it was one of his rules. He never
stayed in one place long enough to justify unpacking. He lay back on the bed
and sat in silence until he was called down for dinner.
 

Dinner with the Holmes family was uncomfortable to say the least. John had been
seated next to Sherlock, the boy that had attacked him earlier, and across from
Mycroft and his boyfriend. Mycroft's boyfriend was nice enough, only a year or
so older than John, and either oblivious to the tension in the room or just
used to it.
"So, I'm Greg by the way." John smiled at the other boy, trying to be polite
but not wanting to talk. "How are you settling in here?" John shrugged and was
about to answer when Mr. Holmes, who had been basically silent for the majority
of the meal spoke. His voice was gentle and kind, but he had an imposing air
that made John shift uncomfortably.
"I'm hoping your room is satisfactory. I had originally planned to give you the
room at the end of the hall, but Sherlock needed to expand his laboratory for
school." John nearly choked on his food at the apologetic tone.
"No, it-it's perfect, thank you-"
"Yes Father, I'm sure anything is better than the cupboard under the stairs,
right Harry Potter?" Sherlock sneered, sending a flare of anger through John as
he dropped his fork and turned to glare at the boy next to him.
"What the hell is your problem Mate?" He snapped, catching the way Sherlock
tensed at his words.
"Boys-" Mr. Holmes tried to cut in, but Sherlock interrupted him, slamming his
hand down on the table and making John flinch.
"My problem, Mate, is that you came in here and fucking attacked me-"
"Sod off you attacked me!"
"How dare you-"
"That's enough!" Mr. Holmes shouted, pushing to his feet and smashing his fist
against the table. John flinched and ducked, falling out of his chair and
scrambling away. His chest was heaving and his heart was pounding in his ears
as images of his father's fists and memories of the beatings he had received at
the hands of the other foster families flashing before his eyes.
Someone was in front of him immediately, not touching him, but calling his name
and bringing him out of his panicked state. When he was able to breathe, he
opened his eyes to find Greg crouched before him, mumbling soothing words and
timidly reaching out for his wrists. John became aware of the death-grip he had
on his hair and loosened his fingers, letting Greg take his wrists in his hands
and check his pulse. Slowly feeling awareness creeping back into his eyes.
"Talk to me John, you know where you are?" Greg was asking and John nodded,
embarrassment starting to settle in. "I need words kid; can you tell me where
you are?"
"The floor?" Greg laughed softly, the concern in his eyes fading slightly and
he gripped John's hand and helped him to his feet. "I'm sorry-"
"Don't apologize. I spent eight years in the system. I know where you're coming
from." John turned to the older boy in shock. He didn't read like a foster kid.
Greg smirked and winked at him, leaning close and glancing coyly at Mycroft,
who was hovering uncomfortably in the doorway. "How do you think I met Myc?"
Greg draped his arm over John's shoulders and led him from the room, the pair
followed closely by Mycroft.
They walked up to John's room, the boy's hands and knees no longer shaking.
John and Greg flopped down on John's bed while Mycroft leaned against the
doorframe.
"So, has Sherlock always been so-" He waved his hands, unable to think of a
polite way to word his thoughts.
"No. Believe it or not, when I lived here, he was actually a pretty good kid. I
don't know what happened-"
"If you can get my brother to talk to you, ask him about Victor Trevor. That is
the answer to what happened to him." Mycroft spoke, his voice firm and angry.
"Come along Gregory, I think I've had enough of my family for the night. It was
nice meeting you Mr. Watson, I'm sure I will be seeing you around." Greg sent
John an apologetic smile and patted his knee kindly before rising and walking
to Mycroft's side. Before they left, Greg leaned back in, setting a card on the
little table by the door.
"That's my number, text me if you need anything. Also, you want a ride to
school tomorrow? I usually drop Sherlock off in the mornings and you're welcome
to tag along."
"Uh, sure?" John had forgotten that he was expected to attend school this time.
Greg nodded, saying he would pick them up at seven thirty and take the boys for
coffee before school. He was gone before John could object.
John got ready for bed, trying not to think of how terrified he was to attend
school the next day.
He didn't notice Sherlock sneaking down the hall, silently slipping from the
grand house and into the night.
***** Victor Trevor *****
Chapter Notes
     TRIGGER WARNING!!!! Things start getting rough from here on out, so
     be warned everyone....
Greg arrived to pick up John and Sherlock at seven thirty, as promised, and
took them for coffee before breakfast. John and Greg got on well, laughing and
joking about rugby and school. Sherlock seemed to hate everything and only
spoke when he absolutely needed too. If John didn't know any better, he would
swear the boy was hungover.
After Greg dropped them off, John found his way to the principle's office and
was given his course list and escorted to his first class. Maths with Professor
Trevor.
"Professor?" John whispered when he walked in, the class was in the middle of a
test. The man behind the desk looked at him and John felt a chill. He knew
those eyes, he had seen them aimed at him from at least three of the worse
foster fathers he had been with. "My name's John Watson-"
"Ah, yes, Mr. Watson, come in please." John stepped closer and accepted the
book and papers the Professor handed him. "You can sit in the back corner, next
to Mr. Holmes. Fill out the worksheets. That should be enough to catch you up
for the year." The man's voice sent an unpleasant chill through John's body,
but he obeyed, fighting off the panic that threatened to overwhelm him at the
memories Professor Trevor brought back.
He made his way to the back of the class, ignoring the questioning glances he
got from the other students. There was no doubt they knew he was a foster kid,
people always seemed to know. He took his seat next to Sherlock, sending the
boy a questioning glance. Sherlock was at least two years younger than him, yet
he was in John's advanced mathematics. Sherlock simply ignored him and went
back to looking incredibly bored, so John shook his head and started filling
out the worksheets.
Maths had always been a strong suit of John's so he breezed through the work,
so engrossed in the problems he missed Sherlock watching him intensely.
When class was over, John wrote down the assignment and was packing up his
stuff when the teacher asked him and Sherlock to stay. He glanced at the other
boy and noticed the tension in his face.
"Boys, can you come up here please?" Mr. Trevor asked, his voice still
unnerving John as he stood from his desk, watching Sherlock carefully. The
younger boy kept his head bowed and his textbook tight in front of his chest.
His posture sent John's instincts into overdrive. He had seen more than his
fair share of abused kids to recognize the symptoms.
"Is something wrong Mr. Trevor?" He asked mimicking Sherlock's move of keeping
his book in front of him, but John used it as a weapon as opposed to a shield.
He had also been abused enough to know how to stop it. The teacher smiled,
looking amused and stepped around the desk.
He was tall, taller even than Sherlock, and well built. He only looked to be in
his late twenties and was marginally attractive, but he gave off a vibe that
made John's skin crawl.
"Please, outside of class call me Victor." Ask him about Victor Trevor.
Mycroft's voice filled John's head with alarm bells as he suddenly understood.
The older man came up to John and clapped him on the shoulder and John fought
the instinct to flinch away.
John wasn't about to let another man scare him to his knees again.
"Is something wrong Mr. Trevor?" John asked again, emphasizing the name and
holding the taller man's gaze, proud of himself that his voice didn't shake.
Mr. Trevor's smile faltered and he released John's shoulder, sending Sherlock a
knowing glance before leaning back against the desk.
"It's alright, Sherlock was just like you a few years ago; all anger and pride.
Look at him now, my special boy." Mr. Trevor reached for Sherlock, but John
found himself stepping in front of the boy. He would rather the man touch him
than Sherlock.
He gasped when Sherlock shoved him aside and stepped closer to Mr. Trevor.
"I'm sorry Victor, I-I thought-" Mr. Trevor glared at the boy, clenching his
fist at his side.
"No, you clearly didn't think. Why him? What was your thought process? If you
had one I mean." Sherlock flinched, looking close to tears.
"He- he is a foster kid. I didn't think he would fight-" Victor lashed out and
slapped the boy, sending a shock of rage through John.
"Bullshit! You just wanted to fuck him! I thought I told you no one dominant!"
Victor grabbed Sherlock's jaw and lifted so the boy was barely touching the
ground and whimpering. John was rooted to the spot, fear and rage keeping him
from controlling his body. "You're dismissed Mr. Watson. If you tell anyone
about this, I will kill you."
When John didn't move, Victor gripped Sherlock's jaw tighter and glared at him.
John straightened his shoulders and met his glare with a look he hoped showed
that he wasn't leaving without the boy. Victor grinned and released Sherlock
with a shove and turned to John.
"Lock the door Sherlock. If Mr. Watson refuses to leave, then he can watch."
John heard Sherlock gasp and saw the boy step closer to the teacher, tears on
his cheeks.
"N-No please, Victor. Just- let him go. I-I'll do anything-"
"I'm not leaving without Sherlock." John stated, shocked to find that his voice
was steady.
"Just go John." Sherlock begged, but John wasn't going anywhere.
"No. Sherlock walks out of here with me, or I call the cops." Victor smiled
darkly and stepped aside, moving around his desk and sitting. John grabbed
Sherlock's wrist and hauled him out of the room. He dragged the resisting teen
to the nearest supply closet and shoved him in.
"What the fuck!" Sherlock shouted at him, shoving him roughly against the wall.
"Are you trying to get us both killed?"
"You're fucking mad at me?" John snapped in disbelief, shoving the younger boy
in return. "I just saved your ass back there! Literally, because he really
doesn't seem like the type to let a scrawny teen fuck him-"
"Victor will kill me if he thinks you'll talk!" Sherlock shoved John aside and
grabbed the door handle, swinging the door open and stepping out, hesitating
just before letting the door swing shut. "You didn't save me, Mr. Watson, you
condemned me."
The door slammed shut with a resounding bang that made John jolt and tears fall
from his eyes.
***** Playground *****
Chapter Notes
     TRIGGER WARNING!!!! This chapter is very dark and involves non-con,
     so enter at your own risk...
"You didn't save me, Mr. Watson, you condemned me." Sherlock fled the supply
closet, hurrying from the school. He ran through the back alleys and into the
forest on the outskirts of the town. He had found an abandoned shack out there
a few years ago, using it for moments like these when he needed to get away.
He stumbled into the shack, falling to his knees and clawing at the
floorboards. He hated himself for doing this. He hated that he needed this. He
hated that he needed Victor.
He found the little leather satchel Victor had given him, tugging the zip open
too roughly and sending his needles flying. He scrambled to catch them,
grabbing for the tiny baggie that held what he needed.
He was almost out, only enough left for a single hit. Sherlock felt his chest
tighten with panic and he scrambled to check his phone. Victor was between
classes right now, he could call, apologize for what happened with John, beg
Victor's forgiveness. He tossed his phone away and wrapped his arms around his
waist, bending forward and resting his head on the cold floor.
He fought the panic in his chest, his body already starting to lapse into
withdrawal even though he shot up the night before.
He grabbed his phone and dialed Victor. It rang through to voicemail and
Sherlock sobbed.
"V-Victor, please. Don't be mad at me please. I promise I didn't know he would
fight. P-Please, I-I need- I-I need some Victor. Please call me." Sherlock
could feel his body shaking violently and he sobbed again, not bothering to
hide his panic from Victor. "I-I love you." He hung up the phone and sobbed
violently.
He composed himself and readied his needle, pushing the point through his skin
and compressing the plunger, dropping his head back as his veins were flooded
with the poison.
His mind finally slowed to a blissful crawl and he let his body fall to the
floor, sighing as he drifted through the haze of his heroin induced state.
 

He came back to himself a few hours later, twitchy and breathing just slightly
too fast. His phone buzzed and he grabbed for it. It was a message from Victor.
Playground – V
12:00 – V
Be ready to beg – V
Sherlock felt a pulse of fear and relief course through his veins. Midnight
could not come soon enough, and yet, something told the boy it would come far
too soon.
 
 
 
By the time eleven thirty came around, Sherlock was already desperate for
another hit. He had made it home just in time to avoid questions from Mummy,
and made a conscious effort to avoid John, knowing the older boy probably had
questions.
John Watson had kept surprising him, first standing up to Mycroft in the
walkway, then nearly breaking his wrist when Sherlock had provoked him. The
panic attack in the kitchen had seemed out of character, but then John had
looked as though he would kill Victor when he was propositioned. The boy was
confusing and thrilling and everything Sherlock wished he could be.
Sherlock swung his legs off his bed, grabbing his coat and sneaking out of the
house, so excited about seeing Victor he missed John following silently behind
him.
 

When Sherlock arrived at the park, he was nearly five minutes early, and
practically twitching as his body demanded more drugs. He waited for Victor,
bouncing his knee and chewing on his fingers. His phone rang and he fought
desperately to get it out of his pocket.
Mr. Watson said you left school early today? – M
What did he do? – M
Sherlock growled in frustration and threw his phone away. He didn't want to
talk to his useless big brother right now. He needed Victor.
"You had better have a damned good reason for today." Sherlock jolted and
stumbled off the picnic bench, spinning around to face Victor. He saw the rage
in his eyes and timidly stepped closer.
"V-Victor I-"
"I told you that you picking someone was a bad idea. You aren't smart enough to
pick someone." Sherlock flinched at the harsh words, and waited for the praise
that always followed.
None came.
"I-I'm so sorry Victor. Please, you- you have to believe me. I honestly
thought-"
"That's why you don't think!" Sherlock whimpered as Victor slapped him roughly,
causing him to spin away. He felt rough hands pushing him down onto the picnic
bench and tearing at his trousers.
Fear lanced through him as he realized what was about to happen and he
squirmed, trying to escape. This had happened once before, he had made Victor
mad when Mycroft found out about them.
"N-No! Victor Please!"
"You damned near got me arrested today you little shit. Take it like the whore
you are." Sherlock kept fighting, begging for Victor to stop.
He was barely able to restrain the scream of agony that Victor ripped from his
throat.
 
 
 
John felt a wave of nausea when he realized what was happening to Sherlock.
Memories of pain and terror, followed by the weeks of agony and shame, flooded
his mind and made tears fall down his cheeks.
He broke when he heard Sherlock cry out in agony. He clapped his hand over his
mouth and sobbed violently. He wanted to help, but his mind had him frozen in
place. He pulled out his cell and forced himself to look as he snapped a few
pictures of what was happening.
He tried harder to block out the sounds, he couldn't listen to Sherlock begging
and Victor's harsh grunts and foul words anymore.
When Victor finished, he zipped up his trousers and let Sherlock fall to the
ground. The older man reached into his pockets and pulled something out,
dropping it on Sherlock's body before walking away.
Once he was gone, John was about to leave his hiding spot and race for
Sherlock, when four more figures appeared, sprinting for Sherlock. They
attacked the boy, kicking and punching his already broken form. John jumped up,
grabbing a thick stick and racing for the group.
He beat them off, vaguely recognizing a couple of them from the school. Once
they were gone, he dropped his weapon and knelt next to Sherlock, pulling out
his phone.
"Sherlock? Hang in there, I'm calling an ambulance-" A cold, weak hand gripped
his wrist and he looked down. Sherlock looked up at him, terror in his eyes as
he shook his head.
"N-No. Mycroft." John set his jaw but nodded, hunting for Sherlock's phone and
dialing the boy's brother.
"Sherlock?"
"Mycroft, it's John Watson."
"What's happened?"
"I-It's Sherlock. Victor, he-"
"Say no more. Gregory and I will be there in ten minutes. Keep him alive, and
do not let him take anything." The line disconnected before John could give the
address, but judging by Mycroft's reaction, this wasn't the first time this had
happened.
He heard Sherlock groaning and glanced down in time to see the boy about to
swallow a handful of pills. He swatted them out of his hand and gripped
Sherlock's coat, hauling him close and forcing his jaw open to make sure there
were no pills.
"Stop!" Sherlock fought him, crying and scratching. "Let me go!"
"No. Mycroft is on his way-"
"Just leave me alone! Let me die!" John felt his heart shatter as he pulled the
beaten boy tight against his chest. "I just want to die." Sherlock sobbed into
John's chest, pulling tears from John's own eyes and he tried to comfort the
boy. "Please let me die."
John felt the beginnings of the same rage he felt the night his parents died
and prayed Mycroft and Greg would arrive soon.
He had something he had to do.
***** The Truth *****
When Sherlock finally woke up, he was strapped to the bed in Mycroft's
basement. Gavin was sleeping in the chair next to his head and a private nurse
was changing the IV bags attached to his arm. This happened the last time,
Mycroft locked him in the basement and put him in a medically induced coma
until his body was done going through withdrawals.
"Oh, good, you're awake. I'll inform Mr. Holmes and Mr. Lestrade." The nurse
sounded nice, better than the last one at least. Sherlock nodded and tried to
push himself into a sitting position, but cried out when a sharp pain lanced
from his arse and up his spine. Geoffrey jolted awake, nearly falling out of
his chair as he struggled to figure out what was going on. His eyes met
Sherlock's and he sprung to his feet, stepping to the bed and helping the boy
sit up.
"How're you feeling?" He asked, clearly uncomfortable.
"Like I was beaten, raped, and forced into a coma." Sherlock snapped, tugging
at the restraints that kept his wrists tied down. "Are these necessary?"
"You still planning on killing yourself?"
"That's none of your concern-"
"Then yes, they're necessary." Sherlock rolled his eyes and tugged at the
restraints again. "Sherlock-"
"Don't. Just, don't. Please leave." Sherlock knew he sounded needy and
pathetic, but he didn't care anymore. He just wanted to die. George sighed and
nodded, stepping towards the door, but hesitating as he pulled it open.
"You should know, Victor Trevor was found dead in his flat. Ate his gun."
 
 
 
John sat in the dark, unmoving despite the hurricane in his mind.
'N-No! Victor please!'
'Take it like the whore you are.'
Sherlock's pleas and screams rolled through his mind, coupled with the pleas
and screams from his own throat from the nights the men he was supposed to
trust forced themselves on him.
A key turned in the lock and John reached for the lamp nearest him. It would
look cheesy, but it worked the first time.
A figure stumbled into the flat, tossing keys onto the table and grumbling
about bills.
John turned the lamp on and the man spun, fear and anger in his eyes.
"Hello Mr. Trevor. Remember me?"
 
 
 
When Mycroft found John, the boy was sitting on the roof on the hospital, feet
dangling off the edge holding a burning cigarette in his fingers.
"Never would have thought of you as a smoker, Mr. Watson." John laughed and
flicked the cigarette away.
"I'm not. Just like holding them." Mycroft sat next to the boy, watching the
sun go down over the town. From their spot on the hospital, he could see the
crime scene that Victor Trevor's home had become. "So, how's Sherlock?"
"I just got a call from Gregory. He's awake, and as abrasive as ever." John
huffed a soft laugh and kept watching the sun lower in the sky.
"My dad used to beat and rape me and my sister. I kept most of his rage aimed
at me, but she got more than a few hits. Mom would watch, tell me I deserved
everything he did to me. Everyone knew, no one stopped him." John shrugged and
sniffled, wiping his nose. "When he died, no one bothered to question it."
Understanding flooded Mycroft and he turned to the boy, reading the tension in
his shorter frame.
"Are you alright John?"
"You heard about Victor Trevor? Terrible thing that. Didn't even have the balls
to face what he did to Sherlock." John scrubbed his face with his hand and
sighed heavily. "Think anyone will miss him?"
"John-"
"Why didn't you do anything? You knew about what he was doing to Sherlock and
you did nothing."
"Victor Trevor's father is the chief of police. All complaints made against his
son are swept under the rug, no questions asked. He had Sherlock under his
control completely. When I found out what was happening, I forced Sherlock to
get clean, but he just went right back to the man." Mycroft fought the tears
that threatened to fall and avoided John's gaze. "I love my brother, but after
years of being bullied and abused by other kids, I'm afraid Sherlock doesn't
know what it is to really be loved." The pair shared a look that spoke a
thousand words. Mycroft knew what John had done, and John knew that he had
figured it out.
"You going to turn me in?" John didn't face him, but Mycroft could see the
change in the boy's posture. He was done. He wouldn't fight if Mycroft hauled
him down to New Scotland Yard and had him charged. He reached into his coat and
pulled out a business card. He handed it to John and stood, brushing off his
coat and keeping his eyes on the sunset.
"Call me if you ever need anything. My address is on the card, feel free to
come by and visit Sherlock if you want." He turned and left, his position on
the matter clear and weighing heavy in the air.
 
 
 
"Please, don't do this. You- you won't-"
"Won't what? Won't get away with it? Funny you say that, because I know for a
fact that I will. See, this isn't exactly my first time." John leaned back in
the chair in front of the terrified man, a dead grin on his face. "But, I am
enjoying the irony of you on your knees, begging for mercy. Just like
Sherlock."
"Please don't-"
"Put the gun in your mouth, Mr. Trevor."
"I-I swear, I won't touch Sherlock again-"
"You shouldn't have touched him in the first place!" John snapped, making the
man flinch. "I'm not going to tell you again. Put the gun, in your mouth." The
man followed the instruction and sobbed around the barrel. "I shouldn't let you
off this easy, I should bend you over the kitchen table and do to you what you
did to Sherlock. Do you have any idea how painful it is to have someone fucking
you with no prep or lube?" Victor shook his head, still sobbing pitifully. "I
should show you, but that would leave DNA evidence, and I really don't want
that."
John leaned forward and pointed his own gun at the sobbing man, his eyes steel
and his pulse steady.
"Pull the trigger, Mr. Trevor."
***** Broken *****
The cold wind bit through the too-thin t-shirt Sherlock was wearing. It had
been three weeks since he last saw Victor. Three weeks since his last hit. He
was clean, whatever Mycroft had done this time seemed to be working to quench
the cravings.
But it did nothing for the pain.
He was kneeling before Victor's grave, his hands shaking as he methodically
dismantled the razor he pinched from Greg's kit while he was at Mycroft's
house.
He had loved Victor, and occasionally, he had been able to convince himself
that Victor had loved him back. Victor was the only person to ever love
Sherlock. The only one that had ever wanted him, and he hadn't even gotten to
go to his funeral.
"I'm so sorry Victor." He whispered as he finally freed the blade from its
casing. "I-I shouldn't have chosen John. God, why would you do this to me!"
Sherlock screamed the last few words before slicing into his wrist. It wasn't
deep, but not as deep as he wanted it to go. He tried again, still not able to
push the blade deep enough to tear through the arteries. "Damn it!" His voice
cracked as his hand spasmed, the blade falling to the cold ground.
"You know, he didn't love you." John Watson's voice came from behind Sherlock,
startling the boy. "He may have said he did, made you feel good occasionally,
but he didn't love you."
"Shut up-"
"He raped you, Sherlock. How many times did he force himself on you? How many
times did he force himself inside you, only to numb the pain with drugs and
soft words? That's not love Sherlock!"
"Then what is 'love,' John?" Sherlock snapped, jumping to his feet and sending
the older boy a nasty glare. "What could a boy in foster care know about
'love?'" Sherlock stepped closer to John and let his mind run, words spilling
from his mouth. "Who in your life has ever shown you 'love?' Certainly not your
parents, they're the ones that beat you, weren't they? And judging by the way
you reacted when Father snapped a few weeks ago, none of your foster parents
loved you-"
"That's how I know!" John shoved Sherlock back, sending him stumbling back
against Victor's headstone. "I have never felt anything but people I was told
to love and trust, snapping my bones and shoving themselves into me no matter
how hard I fought. The only thing I know about love is that I've never felt
it."
"Then how do you know Victor didn't love me?"
"What makes you think he did?"
"He never treated me wrong-"
"He fucking raped you, Sherlock! How is that not wrong?"
"I deserved it!" Sherlock gasped as John gripped the front of his shirt and
spun him around and shoved him against a tree.
His senses were overwhelmed with everything John Watson. The feeling of the
shorter boy pinning him to the tree, his scent filling his nose.
"Don't you dare say that Sherlock. Don't you dare justify the actions of that
man. You did nothing wrong. He manipulated you, made you feel less than human,
just so he had someone to fuck and use when he wanted." Sherlock's cheeks
burned with shame as this shocking boy tore apart everything Victor had made
him believe. "You are brilliant, for fuck sake, you're fifteen and in the same
advanced maths as me, and I'm a year ahead." Sherlock flinched at the soft
brush of fingers against his cheekbone. "No one deserves to be treated like
that." John let him go and backed away, shoving his hands into his pockets and
blinking rapidly.
"J-J-"
"I killed my parents." John, voice seemed to catch in his throat and Sherlock
felt his blood run cold. His family had been informed of what had happened to
John's parents.
"B-But, the report said it was-"
"Murder/suicide. Pretty clever eh?" John laughed shakily. "Everyone knew he was
a mean drunk, so they weren't really that shocked when I woke up to find them
dead. It was good for mum, I was the only one who knew that she was as bad as
him. Everyone who knew her thought she was lovely, so I let her memory be
preserved." Sherlock should have run, should have fled from the murderous boy
before him, but something had him rooted to the spot.
"Y-You killed Victor too." He whispered, feeling his chest constrict. John
laughed and kicked at the ground, shrugging and smirking dangerously.
"Technically no. He held the gun in his mouth. He pulled the trigger. I just
gave him the motivation." Sherlock stared at the ground, noticing that his
wrist was still slowly bleeding, but not enough to worry about. "I know you're
mad, but I don't regret anything and you can't prove that I did it."
"What if I go to the police?"
"And tell them what? That after you were brutally raped by Victor Trevor, your
family's new foster kid broke into his house and forced him to commit suicide?
They won't believe you, especially when Greg, Mycroft and myself all attest to
the fact that you were in love with-" Sherlock closed the gap between them and
pressed his lips to John's, pulling a shocked sound from the shorter boy.
John stumbled back, breathing erratically and tugging at his hair.
"Sherlock-"
"You killed Victor." John looked at him in shock, but didn't move away when
Sherlock stepped closer, the instincts that Victor had honed into his brain
kicking in. "Y-You saved me." Sherlock stopped before the shorter boy and fell
to his knees, reaching for John's trousers.
He remembered that Victor liked it when he did this for him. He used to love
making Victor happy like this.
He felt hands gripping his, tugging them above his head. He looked up, half
expecting Victor to still be there.
He met the navy-blue eyes of a boy as broken as himself instead.
John fell to his knees and took Sherlock's face in his hands. It wasn't harsh,
like when Victor would touch him, it was soft and kind and everything Sherlock
didn't deserve.
"No, Sherlock. Stop that. You are worth more than some dirty blow job in the
dark. You don't owe me anything. I did what I did to save you from a lifetime
of abuse." Sherlock shook his head and tried to lean in closer to John, but was
held at arms length by the firm arms of the shorter boy.
"P-Please- John I- I don't- I-I can't-" John pulled him into his arms as
Sherlock collapsed under the weight of his emotions.
"He can't hurt you anymore Sherlock." John whispered, pulling the sobbing boy
into his lap and holding him close. "You're free."
***** Powerful *****
It took three weeks after their confrontation in the cemetery before Sherlock
stopped trying to repay John. He would sneak into his room at night, trying to
convince John to take him, to use his body in one way or another. John always
refused, often pinning the younger boy down until his anxiety passed and he
would dissolve into a pile of sobbing limbs.
They never talked about those nights, not when the sun was up.
 
 
 
John was walking through the halls of the school, clutching his books to his
chest and trying to listen to whatever tale Mike Stamford, the boy who had
latched on to John, was telling him. Something was wrong, during Maths someone
had slipped Sherlock a note that obviously freaked the boy out. He had
practically fled the classroom in tears and John hadn't seen him since.
"Have you seen Sherlock?" He finally gave in, interrupting Mike's story.
"Not since Maths. Probably buggered off somewhere to get high." John fought
back a flare of anger. It was no secret around the school that Sherlock had a
drug problem, but no one seemed to believe, or care, that the boy had been
clean for nearly two months now.
"He's clean."
"Sure, he's 'gotten clean' four times now. It never lasts John. He always turns
back to the drugs-"
"Not this time."
"You don't know that-"
"Trust me, I do." John snapped, quickly shoving his books into Mike's arms and
backing away. "Sorry Mikey, but I've got to make sure he's okay. Just, leave my
books at reception." John didn't wait for a response, hurrying down the halls,
praying Sherlock wasn't doing anything stupid.
 
 
 
A little incentive. I'm going to carry on V's legacy – JM
Sherlock curled in on himself, his chest heaving. He couldn't take his eyes off
the little baggie taped to the note. This wasn't the first time Jim Moriarty
had bothered him since Victor died. Jim had been one of the boys Victor was
feeding drugs to, and he blamed Sherlock for his supply getting cut off.
Now, Jim was offering to take Victor's place and Sherlock could feel himself
aching to take the bait. It meant drugs, it meant being wanted again, and since
John clearly didn't want him, Sherlock was struggling to see the point of
denying it.
He knew that if he caved, he would not be walking out of this closet. He knew
that Moriarty had laced the drugs.
But he couldn't bring himself to care.
You don't deserve to be treated like that. John's voice was clear in his mind
as he tugged at his hair, fighting every single fibre of his being that was
screaming for the drugs.
A sharp knock jolted him out of his thoughts and he stared uselessly up at the
door, knowing it wasn't locked.
"Sherlock? Are you in there?" John! Sherlock scrambled to his feet, not
registering the moment he picked up the note and baggie before he swung the
door open.
John looked terrified and relieved, the second emotion quickly fading when
Sherlock shoved the paper against his chest.
Sherlock cowered back into the supply closet he had been hiding in, expecting
rage and fists flying.
"Who did this?" John asked, his voice low and trembling.
"I-It's no one-"
"Sherlock. I can find out from someone else, or you can tell me now." Sherlock
automatically dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around his waist and
breathing heavily.
"J-Jim." He stuttered, rocking back and forth on his knees.
"Were you going to take them?"
"I-I don't know. I-I- I didn't want to, b-but- but its just s-so h-hard." John
was silent for a moment, and Sherlock could hear some soft mumbling. Shortly
after, a firm hand gripped his elbow and was hauling him to his feet. He forced
open his eyes to see John, his jaw tight and eyes steel as he led Sherlock down
the halls. "J-John-"
"Not now Sherlock." Sherlock snapped his Jaw shut and allowed himself to be
dragged, comforted slightly by the strength of the grip John had on his elbow.
His panic returned in full force when John led him straight up to Jim Moriarty.
John released his grip on Sherlock and stepped up to Moriarty, the baggie of
drugs in his hand as he gripped the taller boy's shirt and threw him against
the wall. The kids surrounding them froze in shock as John easily pinned the
other boy to the wall.
"I'm going to make one thing very clear." John's voice was dark, dangerous and
steady. That's probably how he sounded when he killed Victor. Sherlock's brain
supplied, sending more terror through his veins. "If you ever, try to talk to,
communicate with, or threaten Sherlock Holmes in any way again, I will tie you
down, cut your cock off with a butter knife, and shove it up your own ass."
Sherlock was both terrified and fascinated by the display, and watched in awe
as Moriarty basically crumbled under John's gaze.
"Y-You won't-" John slammed the boy back against the brick harshly, causing his
head to crack against the wall.
"Try me." He growled before releasing the boy, spinning around and grabbing
Sherlock's wrist. "Same goes for anyone else. Fuck with Sherlock, and I will
kill you all." Sherlock gasped as John hauled him away, unable to stop watching
the powerful boy in front of him.
 

John dragged him all the way back to the Holmes estate and up to his room.
Sherlock's parents weren't home, but he still locked the door. Sherlock stood
awkwardly before John's bed, waiting for the expected blows.
"God, I'm so sorry Sherlock." John's words sent a shock of what?No,
wrong!Through his head, and he flinched when John pulled him in for a hug. "I'm
so sorry, I just- the thought of someone else hurting you like that- I-
I shouldn't have made you watch that." John pulled back, looking up at Sherlock
and brushing his curls out of his eyes. The older boy looked to be on the edge
of tears and Sherlock couldn't understand why. "Are you okay? No one hurt you,
did they?" Sherlock shook his head, trying to figure out what was happening.
"I-I'm sorry John." He whispered, doing the only thing he knew how to do to
make John happy again. He leaned down and kissed the shorter boy. He licked
eagerly into John's mouth, trying to erase the anger and disappointment from
his friend. "I'm sorry." He whispered against John's lips, chasing after his
lips when the older boy tried to pull away.
"Sher-Sherlock." John tried to object, but Sherlock pressed forward, leaning
farther down and licking and sucking at the boy's neck. "Sherlock, stop." He
felt firm hands on his shoulders and suddenly he was pushed away, held at arms
length by a flustered John Watson. "Stop. I-I- I don't want you like this,
Sherlock-"
"Why not!" Sherlock shouted, all the hurt and rejection he had been feeling
suddenly spilling over. "What about me is so fucking terrible, that the thought
of being with me repulses you so?" He tugged himself out of John's grasp,
backing against the far wall and tugging roughly at his hair. "I-I just- I
don't want you to be mad at me, but you won't let me fix it."
He gasped as John suddenly surged forward, grabbing Sherlock's face gently and
kissing him.
Sherlock's entire world became that kiss.
It was nothing like Victor's kisses, which were always rough and demanding.
Kissing John was gentle, easy, a slow slide of lips and tongue that left him
breathless and lightheaded.
"You don't repulse me, Sherlock." John whispered against his lips. "There's
nothing for you to fix."
"B-But-"
"I don't want you to feel like you owe me. That you need to let me take you for
me to like you." John gripped his waist and tugged him back towards the bed,
sitting on the mattress and pulling Sherlock onto his lap. "When we do this,
I'm going to make you feel so loved. But I need to know you want it first. I
will never take anything from you that isn't wholly given."
Fire sparked through Sherlock's veins as something clicked in his mind.
He wanted John.
He wanted to feel his strength, his powerful body rubbing against his own. He
wanted to feel loved by John Watson.
"I-I'm scared." He whispered, leaning down to press a timid kiss to John's
lips. "But I do want this John. I-I- I want you." John pressed up for another
kiss, still soft, but deeper than the last.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You wouldn't."
***** Is This Love? *****
Chapter Notes
     SMUT WARNING!!!! Here it is!! The final chapter!!!! Hope you all
     liked it!!!
John insisted that Sherlock get cleared by a doctor before they did anything.
Sherlock protested, by eventually gave in after John kissed him thoroughly,
reminding him of what he was missing.
They called Mycroft and he arranged a meeting with a private doctor for the
next day.
"Why can't we just go to the A&E? They'll clear me-"
"And they'll ask questions and then the cops will be called. They'll accuse me
or your father then everything will fall apart."
"I would just tell them it was Victor-"
"That will open an investigation into his death. Let's just wait and let
Mycroft's doctor look at you." Sherlock whined and climbed back onto John's
lap, pressing soft kisses to his lips and face. "Sherlock-"
"Please John, I-I'll go in tomorrow." John chuckled, catching Sherlock's face
and kissing him tenderly. "Please John, let me-"
"No Sherlock. Trust me, you don't want to reopen those wounds. You could cause
permanent damage, and I won't do that to you." He brushed Sherlock's curls out
of his eyes and smiled softly up at the boy. "Tell you what though, you can
sleep here tonight, with me? Then tomorrow, I'll go with you if you want."
Sherlock sighed but agreed, letting John lift him up and lower him onto the
bed, pulling a giggle from him. They stripped down to their boxers and snuggled
under the blankets, Sherlock resting his head on John's chest and tangling
their legs together.
It took a while for Sherlock to relax enough to fall asleep, unused to having
another body pressed against his own that wasn't trying to take anything from
him. When he did finally sleep, it was deep and dreamless.
Victor had never let Sherlock stay, no matter how strung out or overwhelmed the
boy was. He take his pleasure, hand Sherlock a baggie of heroin, and send him
stumbling from his flat into the night. That was how Mycroft found out.
Sherlock had been upset after Victor kicked him out and he took the rest of his
drugs, planning on OD-ing. He had called Mycroft to say goodbye.
As Sherlock drifted into unconsciousness, he did so to the thought that John
would never hurt him like that.
When Sherlock woke the next morning, it was to John Watson pressing soft kisses
to his neck and chest, slowly and gently pulling him from sleep.
"Morning Gorgeous." John's voice was rough with sleep and it sent a thrill
through Sherlock. "Did you sleep well?" John's lips found a spot on Sherlock's
neck that sent a shock along his spine. He gasped and clutched at the sheets,
any response he may have had getting lost as John sucked on that spot.
"J-John-" He managed to gasp, pressing against the warm body behind him.
"You okay Sweetheart?" John pulled back slightly, gently running his fingers
along Sherlock's side. Sherlock nodded, and turned in John's arms, smiling
sleepily at the older boy. "Morning."
"Morning." Sherlock leaned in and kissed John, crinkling his nose against the
sour smell of morning breath. "Did you sleep?"
"A bit. You?"
"Better than I have in years." John grinned and kissed Sherlock again, soft and
sweet.
"Good, we should get going. Greg's going to be here soon."
"Can't we just bail?" John laughed and shook his head, pushing on Sherlock's
chest and rolling him out of the bed.
"Nope, I'll get in shit if I skip. Come on, a few hours at school, then
Mycroft's." Sherlock whined, but made his way to his own room to change.
 

School was dreadful, everyone staring at John and Sherlock, knowing what
happened the day before and practically cowering in fear of the shorter boy.
 

The end of the day couldn't come fast enough.
 

Then there was the horrendous exam that John had insisted on. Sherlock hated
getting poked and prodded by doctors, but if it convinced John that he was well
enough for sex, it was worth it.
 

When the doctor cleared him, Sherlock felt an overwhelming feeling of fear. He
wanted this, he wanted to be with John, but that didn't mean he wasn't scared.
Every other time he had been with someone else in that way, it ended with him
in pain and wanting to die.
John declined Greg's offer to drive them home, saying he wanted to walk, and
led Sherlock out of Mycroft's house.
They walked in silence for a while, not touching, but close enough that their
shoulders brushed occasionally. Sherlock was unsure what was wrong, John had
been so eager the night before. Maybe the reality that he could actually be
with Sherlock, no excuses, was freaking him out.
"What's wrong?" John asked, startling Sherlock out of his thoughts.
"I-I- nothing." He lied, glaring at the ground. He felt John grab his elbow and
force him to stop. He didn't lift his eyes.
"Hey, Babe, what's going on?" John lifted Sherlock's chin with his fingers and
forced him to meet the older boy's eyes. Sherlock read concern and something
else he didn't recognize and felt his chest tighten. "Hey, talk to me Sherlock.
This isn't going to work if you shut me out."
"I-I'm scared." Sherlock whispered, his cheeks burning with shame. He hated
that he was scared. He wanted to be with John, but there were still fears and
memories plaguing his thoughts.
John smiled softly and nodded, wrapping a hand around the back of Sherlock's
neck and pulled him down for a soft kiss.
"Me too Babe." He whispered, those simple words instantly sending a wave of
calm over Sherlock. "We can wait, if you want." Sherlock shook his head,
leaning down and kissing John timidly, sighing as the older boy leaned into the
kiss.
"I-I want to, John. I-I'm just- I don't know how to do this." John kissed him
again, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Then let me show you."
 
 
 
It wasn't a long walk home for them, but by the time they arrived, they were
both past their fears and snogging heavily as they stumbled up the stairs to
John's room.
John stopped their stumbling path just before they fell onto the bed, pulling
away slightly and changing the pace to something slow and sweet. Sherlock
trembled as John started pulling at his shirt, slowly slipping it over his head
before guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. Sherlock placed his hands on
John's hips as the other boy peeled off his own t-shirt and stood between
Sherlock's knees. His fingers traced Sherlock's jawline and cheekbones with the
softest of touches.
"What do you want Babe?" John whispered, smiling softly down at Sherlock. "Talk
to me Gorgeous." Sherlock took a shaky breath and silently cursed his body for
still shaking. John was barely touching him and he was trembling like a scared
puppy.
"I-I-" He hesitated, wanting to play confident, to not show John how nervous he
was, but something stopped him and he lowered his eyes, blinking away tears.
"I-I don't know." His voice was barely above a whisper, but he knew John heard.
John lifted his chin again and kissed him, shifting so that he was straddling
Sherlock's lap and pressing the boy down onto the bed.
Sherlock let himself be kissed and guided to the centre of the bed, digging his
nails into his palms in a steady rhythm, trying to keep himself grounded.
Once he was in place, John climbed back on top of his lap and kissed him
softly, letting the passion build between them until Sherlock was whimpering
softly under the older boy's touch.
John's hands wandered over his chest and sides, barely touching his skin.
Logically, Sherlock knew that he shouldn't be able to feel anything, yet it
felt as though his skin was burning under John's touch.
John's mouth left his and moved along his neck, kissing and sucking marks into
his skin. Victor never did that for him, at this point, Victor would have
already finished inside him and kicked him out the door. John was taking his
time, slowly taking him apart with gentle kisses and touches.
There was a word for this kind of attention, one that fled Sherlock's mind when
John latched onto one of his nipples and sucked gently. Sherlock whined as his
back arched involuntarily. He felt John grin against his skin as he shifted to
his other nipple, eliciting the same result.
"God, you're gorgeous." John whispered against his skin, sending that elusive
word bouncing around his skull again. "Tell me if you want to stop Babe, okay?"
Sherlock bit his lip and nodded, not wanting to disappoint John-
His thoughts fell short when John cupped his chin and kissed him chastely.
"I'm serious Babe. If I do anything you don't like or want me to stop, you have
to tell me and I will stop immediately." John kissed him again and that bloody
word slipped away again. "I don't want to hurt you." There is so much concern
in John's eyes suddenly his mind is filled with that elusive word, echoing
through every corner of his mind.
Love. This, what he was feeling under the gentle gaze of John Watson. It had to
be, he had never felt anything like it before.
"Hey, Babe, what is it?" John whispered, concern in his voice and Sherlock
realized that he had frozen. He surged up and caught John's lips in a searing
kiss.
"I'm here John, you won't hurt me." John smiled softly and nods, kissing his
way back down Sherlock's chest and tugging at his trousers and pants.
He bit back a cry when John took him in his mouth, sucking the head of
Sherlock's erection gently. The warmth of his mouth overwhelming.
He whimpered when he heard the click of a bottle and felt the cold press of a
finger against him.
"Good?"
"Y-Yes- J-John-" He keened as John pressed his finger inside him, gently
massaging him open.
It didn't take long for Sherlock to become a writhing mess beneath John's
touch, begging for something he didn't know he would ever actually want from
someone.
"God you're stunning like this Sherlock. Victor never got to see this, did he?"
Sherlock whimpered and shook his head, tears slipping from his eyes as John's
fingers brushed against that little bundle of nerves deep within him, sending
electricity sparking along his spine. "He had no idea what he was missing then,
cause you look- God, Sherlock, there are no words." John slipped in a third
finger and Sherlock keened again, hand's clutching uselessly at the sheets.
"J-John-"
"What do you want Love?"
"P-Please- John- I-I don't- J-John-" John shifted up and placed a soothing kiss
o Sherlock's forehead, still moving his fingers within his body.
"It's okay Love, I've got you." John shifted again and Sherlock whined as he
pulled his fingers from his body.
Sherlock's jaw dropped open in a silent cry as John pressed himself into him,
filling him in a way that was different than he had ever experienced with
Victor.
Sherlock slammed his eyes shut as memories of what Victor had done to him came
flooding back. He felt soft lips on his face and neck, slowly bringing him back
to reality.
"Hey, hey Sherlock, breathe Love, I need you to breathe. Come back to me Babe."
Sherlock became aware of how his chest was heaving, how tears were streaming
down his cheeks, and how wonderfully connected he felt to John. He steadied his
breathing and pulled John down for a kiss, nodding and sniffling. "You okay? We
can stop-"
"No! God, no please, don't stop John."
"You sure?"
"Yes, please John." John nodded and started moving, short, gentle thrusts that
left the younger boy breathless and overwhelmed.
Neither of them lasted long, finishing together with soft whimpers and cries of
each other's names.
 

Once John had gotten them cleaned up and situated under the covers, cradling
Sherlock close to his chest and pressing soft kisses into his curls.
"You okay Love?" John asked, his breath tickling Sherlock's scalp. Sherlock
smiled against John's skin, feeling fuzzy and brilliant. For once, his mind was
silent without the aid of heroin, something he never thought he could have.
"Is this love, John?" He whispered, tracing patterns over John's chest. He felt
more than heard John's sigh, nuzzling closer to the older boy as his arms
tightened around him.
"I don't know Sherlock, but I think it might be."
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