Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1196394.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Mycroft_Holmes, Mike_Stamford
  Additional Tags:
      Unilock, Johnlock_Fluff, Beginning_Johnlock, Obsession, Demisexual
      Sherlock, Bisexual_John, Rape, Rape_Recovery, Rape_Aftermath, Suicide
      Attempt, Underage_Drug_Use, Drug_Addiction, Cutting, Angst_with_a_Happy
      Ending, Virgin_Sherlock, Triggers, BAMF_John_Watson, Protective_John,
      Confused_Sherlock
  Series:
      Part 2 of Falling
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-17 Completed: 2014-02-24 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 26124
****** When I'm Falling ******
by phoenixreal
Summary
     Unilock. Prequel to Catch Me If I Fall. How John saved Sherlock three
     times, and then every day.
     Mike Stamford and Sherlock Holmes are dorm mates, and John Watson is
     a friend of Mike's who comes to visit before a party. He's fascinated
     by Sherlock, and later at the party finds out that his admireer
     (stalker) has decided he's tired of being turned down all the time.
     When all is said and done, John finds a bleeding Sherlock when he
     feels the only exit from shame is his own death. Sherlock is angry
     and pushes away everyone, turning instead to artificial means of
     relief. A Doctor comes in and saves him once more. Now the question
     is how can he save him a third and final time? And can he do it in
     time?
***** Can't Take No *****
The university life was supposed to be better. The people were supposed to be
more understanding, more intelligent, and more able to handle
his…eccentricities. Mycroft had warned him not to get close to people because
it led to hurt and pain and Sherlock tried very hard. Unfortunately, instead of
simply staying away from people and avoiding attention, he tended to attract
unwanted attention of all sorts. And he couldn't understand most of the
attention he got. His tendency to be unabashedly honest got him a reputation
quickly. And that, actually, worked in his favor by keeping people away from
him in most cases. But then there were those that came after him for other
reasons than his intelligence. Like Caleb Macavoy.
"Come on, Sherl, you gotta come to this party, I promise, you'll have a great
time!" Caleb said as Sherlock tried to make his way past him to his next class.
"I'll make sure you have fun."
"I'm not interested in such things, please," Sherlock responded, as usual. He
had turned down Caleb six times in the last three weeks. And he kept coming
back no matter how bluntly he put things.
Caleb stepped in front of him, stopping him effectively, flashing his thousand
watt smile as though it would change things. "Sherl, all work and no play makes
you a dull boy," he said, winking one hazel eye at him.
"I will be dull, then. I have to get to class, Caleb. I have no time for your
molestations," he said, stepping around him and using his long legs to his
advantage to move away before he could move to follow him.
"Dude, when are you gonna give up on that freak?" another voice said, coming up
on Caleb.
Caleb turned to his friend, Vincent Daniels. "Oh, not gonna give up. Have you
seen him? I'm dying to see if that alabaster skin is as flawless as it seems…"
"There are better looking first years with much more amicable personalities,
you know," his other friend, Eric Shackleford, said as he pushed up his
glasses.
Among the group, only Caleb was of the preference for boys. In particular,
younger boys that were new to the uni life. He liked to use his position as an
upperclassman to his advantage, and his size and strength as a football player
as well. He was popular, well liked, and well known. And never before had he
been turned down by someone so often. And it only made him more interested. Not
only was he uninterested in Caleb, it seemed, he had little to no interest in
anyone, stating flat out the first time Caleb came onto him that he was asexual
and had no interest in either sex, and kindly leave him alone. Caleb took it as
a challenge. A real, honest challenge, to change this exotic, unattainable
creature into some sort of sex fiend. He smiled at his two closest friends.
"But they are too easy. They fall at my feet when I pass by and beg me to fuck
them senseless so they have some sort of badge of honor that Caleb fucking
Macavoy took their virginity. No, no, this one…" he said, grinning even wider.
"You realize he's also younger than the rest of his classmates? He's barely
sixteen," Eric provided. "If something goes wrong…he is underage, even though
he's in uni."
Caleb arched a brow at Eric. "Oh, really? I knew he looked young, but didn't
realize he was that young. So he's that smart, huh…even better."
"I still think this is a bad idea," muttered Vincent with a shake of his blond
head. "I mean, you are going to so be frustrated if you keep this up and
ignoring the easier fucks."
Caleb shook his head. "But don't you see, it isn't about an easy fuck. This is
about power and control, my friends. I love to feel them under me, begging me
and loving every minute, and knowing I put them there. And this one…the
challenge, the chase, it is indeed exhilarating."
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
"Mycroft, everything is perfectly fine," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes as he
flopped onto his bed.
"Sherlock."
"No, I'm fine, they're fine, we're all fine."
"Sherlock, I know something is going one, what is it? I'm your older brother
for a reason. I would like to keep an eye on you. You aren't exactly the most
aware of your surroundings."
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes again. "Just a guy that keeps bothering
me."
Mycroft snorted. They'd been through bullying so much in boarding school with
his younger brother. They'd gone through three before he finally got done early
with a healthy dose of homeschooling.
"Bothering you, how exactly?"
"Nothing big, just keeps asking me to go to parties and stuff, and doesn't seem
to understand I have no interest. I told him the first time that I was
completely uninterested in him or anyone else, but he is…persistent," he said
with a sigh.
"Has he done anything?"
"Mycroft, no, for godssakes. He just follows me about and keeps begging me to
go to parties and telling me I need to loosen up and stuff like that. I guess
he has a reputation for dating new students and they generally fall at his
feet. I suppose he is interested in the pursuit," he said, rubbing a hand over
his hair.
"Who is he?" Mycroft's voice had that overprotective tone to it that meant he
was about to become involved.
"It isn't important; he's not doing anything, just a nuisance. Now please, I
can handle some things in my life by myself, Mycroft," he said with another
sigh.
"I understand, but Sherlock, you aren't as old as most of the students…and you
are at a disadvantage because of it."
"I'm well aware, Mycroft. Mummy told me multiple times and so did my advisor,"
he said, huffing another sigh and flipping to lie on his stomach. "I am vastly
more intelligent than most of them, including the professors. I think I can
handle myself."
"Sherlock, I know that, but people are unpredictable sometimes. You need to be
cautious."
"Bye, Mycroft," he said, clicking the phone off. He always tried to do this to
him, run his life. He would know immediately if Caleb's intentions were to do
anything untoward to him. At least, he hoped he did. He looked up as Mike came
in.
"Hey, Holmes, how is it?" he said, flopping on the opposite bed.
Sherlock waved his hand toward him. "Stamford, the usual," he said, standing
and looking through his bag for his chemistry work.
"So, I've got a buddy coming in tonight, you okay with that?" he said, putting
away his books in his trunk.
Sherlock was lucky when it came to his roommate. Mike Stamford was exceedingly
easy to get along with and was never bothered by Sherlock's surly moods. He
left Sherlock alone when he wanted it, but he often tried to speak with him
anyway. But he wasn't put off by Sherlock's dismissal of him. Mike had accepted
him as a he was, something that not many people did.
"No problem, I likely will not notice the presence of another. I have reading
before tomorrow," Sherlock said, sitting back on the bed and propping his book
on his knees.
Mike nodded and tidied up a bit, putting his clothes away before his friend
arrived. Sherlock was a bit curious, but it really didn't matter. Mike wasn't
really his friend, he was his roommate and his acquaintance that put up with
him. He was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't hear the knock at the
door and Mike's announcement that his friend had arrived.
"Sherlock!" came Mike's voice by his ear. He jolted and looked up between Mike
and a boy with sandy colored hair that looked about Mike's age.
"What?" he said, reflexively, blinking.
"Sherlock Holmes, my roommate," he said, pointing to him and then smiled. "John
Watson, he's pre-med," he said.
Sherlock sighed. "Obviously. His sister is a drunk, currently having issues
with her boy…no girlfriend…and she's got an obnoxiously annoying puppy at her
flat which is where you just came from. A shar pei, or some mixed breed
including it, but I rather think it is a pedigreed dog, but has terrible breath
and drools excessively even for the breed. She's also a terrible cook, but you
try your best to eat when she offers you tea. Today was an attempt at a late
breakfast, omelets with spinach it seems. You also play football, and missed
practice today, but just barely, and…" Sherlock stopped, blinking when he
realized both boys were staring openly at him. "Oh, yes."
Sherlock picked his book back up and began to read again waiting for the
inevitable questioning and indications of what a freak he was.
"Wow, that…that…" John stammered, adjusting his leather jacket. "That was
bloody amazing!"
Sherlock frowned and looked up at him with curious eyes. "Mike told me about
that, but wow, that's…just fantastic!"
"That's not the usual reaction I get," he muttered, looking over the new boy
for signs of prevarication. He found none. Only open, unabashed amazement at
Sherlock's skills.
"Oh?" John said, sitting down by his feet. "What do people usually say?"
"Piss off, or something like it," he said, tilting his head to the side and
frowning deeper at the curious man.
John smiled a lopsided grin and snorted. "Fuck, they're just jealous of you, no
one else can do that, I bet," he said.
"My brother does it better than I do," he said, honestly. "But he has a lot
better luck with people skills."
John grinned at him. "Fuck people skills. You don't need them, they're
overrated."
Again, Sherlock was surprised, raising a brow at him. Generally, he disliked
cursing. It usually indicated a lack of sufficient vocabulary. However, it
seemed so natural…and beautiful…coming out of John's mouth. Beautiful? Sherlock
blinked, extremely confused by that thought. True, he'd been attracted to
people once or twice in his life, hardly enough to move himself out of the
asexual position, but it had been hormones at the time brought on by puberty.
Now, why did he think that something as vulgar as foul language was beautiful
when spoken by this young man? He was obviously an older student, toward the
end of his medical studies, maybe as old as Caleb and his crew.
"Yes, but my lack of people skills generally serves to keep people at a
distance, which I prefer," he said with a sigh, closing his book, sufficiently
distracted by the new presence to not be able to read.
"Oh, hey, John knows your admirer," Mike said, flopping onto his own bed.
Sherlock shook his head. "Admirer, you mean stalker," he muttered, leaning
back. "He was at it again today, I swear, I would think turning him down
nineteen times in a row would be enough for him."
John looked between the two roommates. "Good night, who doesn't get the message
after nineteen times?"
Sherlock snorted. "Caleb Macavoy apparently. He isn't used to hearing no."
Sherlock didn't miss the odd look to cross John's face. "Caleb?" he said,
almost too softly.
"What do you know about him?" Mike asked, frowning.
"Oh, way too much. I'm on the team with him, at least until I start internship
and can't play anymore. He's the captain, of course. And has a penchant for
dating younger teammates until he tires of them, then dumping them for younger
ones. Of course, not only on the team, but he always goes for first years,"
John said, frowning deeply now. "He's not very kind about them afterward,
either. Telling the entire team what they did and how inadequate they were. I
think he gets off on the power trip more than anything. But most the first
years will fall to him, more than willing to date a popular guy even for a week
or two. He's a fucking right cock, he is."
Sherlock sighed. "Well, he apparently doesn't understand the term 'asexual'
either though I explained it to him the first time he indicated he wished to
initiate a romantic relation with me."
John blinked. "Ah, well, I doubt he's ever encountered someone with that sexual
orientation…"
"Never seen anything like it, myself, either John. I swear, I think I'm rooming
with a monk sometimes," Mike said, chuckling. "Never wanna get rid of this
bloke as my roomie. No socks on the door, no midnight wanking sessions…worst he
does is play his violin, but he's bloody good at it, so it doesn't bother me."
"Really?" John said with a smile. "The sexuality spectrum always fascinated me.
Are you entirely asexual? Or are you more gray or demi?" he asked,
perceptively.
Sherlock knitted his brows. "Gray, I suppose, but one would have to have a
meaningful emotional attachment to determine if one is demisexual. Something
I've never had, so I suppose for now, I consider myself gray asexual."
Mike frowned, obviously confused. John helped out. "Demisexuals are asexual for
the majority of the time, but they can have a sexual attraction to a person
they have formed an emotional bond to first. Gray are those that every once in
a while feel sexual attraction, but it can be fleeting or nearly non-existent."
"So is that why you're such a cold, logical, bloke?" Mike asked, frowning,
still not understanding completely.
"Emotions are a hindrance, they cloud the mind and interrupt the pursuit of
knowledge," Sherlock said frankly. "I thrive on logic and knowledge. Sentiment
is a property of those that cannot control themselves."
John smiled, and Sherlock frowned at him. "You are more amused by this than you
should be, Watson," Sherlock said.
"Can't help it, I find you fascinating, Holmes. For one, I have never actually
met an asexual, and I've never met someone so entirely set on their left
brain," He said.
Sherlock smiled despite himself. He was being praised for these things that
most people teased him for. "Well, I'm glad to have fascinated someone, dear
Watson," he said. "Most people don't like me. I'm used to it, to be honest. I
don't have what you would call 'friends'. I suppose Mike would be the closest
to that category."
"Sherlock's had his share of bullying during school," Mike supplied, being met
with an eye roll from Sherlock. "His brother came with him the first day, had a
little heart to heart with me. I really don't want to piss off his brother."
"I just got off the phone with him," Sherlock mumbled. "He's overly interested
in the situation with Caleb. I told him to piss off about it."
Mike smiled. "Of course, he pulled you out of boarding school to get away from
the wankers that were messing with you how many times? He worries about you,
Sherlock. "
"He just likes to use his position as a member of the government to interfere
in my life," Sherlock mumbled, in that moment, very much like a petulant child.
John grinned to himself.
"John, you should know that Sherlock just turned sixteen in January," Mike
said, looking at him. John blinked.
"Bloody hell, and you're already half a year through uni?" he said, turning
toward him again and blinking.
Sherlock sighed, his head thunking the wall behind him. "Yes, yes…I'd rather
not advertise the fact. I have enough problems without everyone knowing I'm
bloody sixteen."
John frowned and looked at Mike with a worried glance. "Ah, yeah, well, nice to
meet you Sherlock, hope to talk again soon, but Mike and I are going to a party
tonight."
"Ah yes, I'm sure it is the one Caleb was trying to get me to go to today.
Please, shove some other unsuspecting child at him so he'll be distracted from
bothering me, I have chemistry to read before tomorrow," he said, picking his
book back up and resuming his study.
John nodded and they headed out. They were quiet until they got to Mike's car
when John put a hand on him before he started it.
"Mike, you need to keep an eye on him if Caleb's got his eye on him. He doesn't
take no for an answer. In fact, there's a lot of rumors about how he's never
taken no for an answer if you get my drift," John said, brown furrowed.
"You think he's actually taken it that far? I mean, I've heard he's an arse,
and pretty damn relentless, but that's…" Mike said thoughtfully, hands dropping
to his lap.
John shook his head. "Yeah, but those things are what leaves the locker room,
if you get me. What I hear, and the rest of the team hears, is a lot more.
There's more than one that have left uni after being his boy toy for a few
weeks. And the things he says he does with them…even the most consenting person
would balk at some of it. I just think…if he's got his eye set on Sherlock, you
should make sure he's not alone too much of the time, you know? He's obviously
not going to give in, and do what he wants, and it will piss him off. He's not
known for his temper control on the field. He's obsessed with young and
inexperienced boys, and if he figures out that Sherlock's sixteen…"
Mike frowned. "Something else, John?"
"It's just that I've overheard some things, just in passing, when he's talking
to his two cronies. He's always talking about his 'boy' that he's going after.
That he won't be turned down forever, and the like. And I've got to wonder how
long his patience is going to win out, since he's been pursuing him for months
now from what I understand. And he hasn't been in a relationship since he
started this thing for him. Sherlock's right about him not being used to
hearing no."
Mike nodded. "But I don't know what I can do, he spends most nights either in
the library or the chem labs, and usually he comes onto him between classes…"
John shook his head. "I don't know, let's get to the party though. Maybe I can
hear something that might help out. Keep your ears open. I'm sure Caleb will be
there with Eric and Vince. They're inseparable. But maybe I can get Eric to
talk. He's the nerdy one of the bunch and typically will escape when they're
drunk."
Mike nodded and started the car and they headed to the large house. The party
was in full swing, loud music pumping out, and cars parked all around it. They
got in and were handed entrance drinks and set about to mingling. It didn't
take long before both took notice of Caleb and his two cronies. Vincent was all
over a girl who was sitting drunkenly in his lap. Eric was sipping at a cup of
something with a great deal of disinterest at the debauchery taking place
around him. Caleb was pawing at a younger man on the team who had been pulled
into his lap. Jeff was his name, John thought. He was obviously very drunk, and
wobbled on Caleb's lap, giggling madly as Caleb spoke into his ear. John
thought it was a good sign. If Caleb was looking for a shag, maybe he'd let…
Just then he shoved the boy off his lap, sending him sprawling to the floor,
blinking because he couldn't figure out what happened. Both Vince and Eric
looked over. Caleb was frowning, and he just muttered something and stood up,
stepping over Jeff and moving to the loo. Eric got up and shook his head. John
grabbed him as he passed.
"He piss Caleb off? Looked like a good shag, to me…seemed willing enough…" John
asked.
Eric rolled his blue eyes. "He's too fuckin' hung up on that Holmes kid. I
swear, if he doesn't shag him soon, I'm gonna go out of my mind dealing with
Mr. Moody."
"I heard he wasn't into him," he said thoughtfully, catching Mike's eye across
the room.
"Yeah, well, you know how Caleb is. He's got a thing for taking the v-cards,
you know. And he's obviously a virgin, and Caleb is dying to fuck him," Eric
said. John realized he reeked of alcohol himself, so he was drinking. That was
a bad sign. Eric was generally the sober one of the group.
John sipped his drink, a dark beer. "Well, not much he can do if the bloke
won't even go out on a date with him."
"Fuck, he doesn't care about the date," Eric said, glancing over as Caleb came
back and sat down with a no doubt stronger drink. Jeff had gotten up and left.
"He just wants to fuck him. He's like some exotic, rare species that he has to
conquer, you know. He's fucked gay boys, and he's fucked straight boys, so now,
he wants this. The thing he can't have. But he'll have it, one way or antoher,"
Eric said, and John didn't miss the narrowing of his eyes.
"You don't approve."
Eric shook his head, stumbling to the right a bit. "Ah, yeah, not one for the
fuckin' rape thing, but Caleb doesn't seem to care, as long as he gets what he
wants. Wouldn't be the first time."
Eric suddenly looked shocked and looked at John and realized what he said. "Ah,
fuck, John, don't tell him I said that. Shit, I'm drunker than I thought…" he
said and stumbled toward the loo, looking a lot paler than he had been.
Mike put a hand on his shoulder and John looked at him. "You hear that?" he
asked.
"I did. But what can we do?" he asked.
"Keep an eye on him, that's all we can do. He should be safe on campus, there's
security, and you said he stays in the library and the chem labs. As long as he
stays there, he should be fine. You might want to alert that brother of his,
just in case, you know…" John said as he watched Caleb sulking on the sofa
while Vincent made out with the girl who was now practically fucking him
through his clothes beside him.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
"Um, Mycroft Holmes, please," Mike said into the mobile as he stood nervously
outside class the next day. He was far away from Sherlock's classes, sure that
he wouldn't be caught. "Um, Mike Stamford. It's about his brother, if that
helps. Yes, ma'am, I'll hold."
He looked up to see John coming up to him he mouthed to him "Mycroft" and he
nodded.
"Mike Stamford? You are my brother's roommate,"came the cultured sound of the
elder Holmes brother's voice.
"Yes, sir, I am. I just thought I should make you aware of the situation with a
fellow who seems to be…ah…interested in your brother…and I'm a bit worried…" he
said, glancing at John who nodded encouragingly. Of course, he'd never met
Mycroft. He wouldn't understand the nerves that Mike had at that moment.
"Yes, Sherlock mentioned a fellow that seemed insistant in forging a
relationship despite his desire to the contrary. Something has come up?"
"Well, its just that my mate John is on the football team and we overheard some
things, and it seems that Caleb isn't too keen on the taking no for an
answer…and may become a little more…aggressive in the near future."
"Caleb. Caleb Macavoy?"
Mike frowned and glanced at John. "Um, that's him. How'd you know about him?
Sherlock said he didn't tell you who it was."
"Easy enough to deduce, Mr. Stamford. I would thank you and Mr. Watson for your
concern over my brother. I do appreciate it quite a bit."
The phone clicked off and Mike looked at John. "He already knew you and Caleb.
That man is creepy," he said with an arched brow.
They got back to the dormitory to find Sherlock gathering books. He nodded to
them as he started to leave.
"Oi, where you off to?" Mike asked as he stopped him with a hand on his
shoulder.
"Library, like usual. Caleb came by here earlier, I blew him off but I'm tired
of dealing with him today. Prat has shown up after every single one of my
classes to badger me, and I'm done with him. I figure the library is the only
place he can't bother me while I study," Sherlock said with a sigh. "He's
bloody annoying. I have no idea what happened but he's particularly annoying
today…"
John and Mike exchanged glances behind his back. "You want us to come with you?
He's an annoying git, maybe…"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, I'm fine. Besides, what can he do but keep
asking the same thing again and again? I'll have him tossed out of the library
if he bothers me there, I'm sure Mrs. Atheson would do that for me after I
helped her figure out who was stealing from the back room a few weeks ago."
Mike nodded. "Okay, but take your phone. I don't trust that guy, I met him at
the party last night, and he's a wanker, alright."
Sherlock didn't want to admit that he was indeed hiding from him. He'd really
shown up after every single one of his classes today. And it was incredibly
annoying and each time he had gotten increasingly more aggressive about coming
to his dorm that night. He'd dropped all pretense that he was taking him on a
date. It had already been apparent to Sherlock that he wanted a sexual liaison,
but now he wasn't even covering that fact with flowery words. After his last
class, he made it abundantly clear what he wanted.
He'd left class when he saw Caleb leaning against the wall. He sighed deeply
and stared at him a moment before he shook his head.
"Caleb, how many times must I turn you down? I've already explained, this has
nothing to do with you, your attractiveness, or sexuality. I simply have no
interest in romantic partners, I'm unsure how many ways to put this…" Sherlock
paused, because it was obvious something was different about Caleb.
A second later he was slammed into the wall hard enough to steal his breath. He
gasped at the body pressing up against him, and his books fell to the floor as
he blinked in shock. Caleb leaned into him, forcing his knee between the
younger boy's thighs and rubbing an obvious erection against Sherlock's thigh
as he nudged his knee into Sherlock's crotch. Of course, from Sherlock, there
was no reaction. He wasn't the slightest bit interested in Caleb. He put both
hands on his shoulders in an attempt to push him back, but Caleb was stronger,
and had the advantage of nearly a hundred pounds and several inches, not to
mention at least six years or more, on the smaller boy.
"Sherlock, no one tells me now. No one. Not you in your snotty little freakish
way, no one. I will have you, I will fuck you until you are screaming my name,
and you will fuckin' love it because a freak like you is never going to have
anyone else willing to do it. Now, it would be much easier if you just gave in
and showed up at my dorm tonight, and we'll take care of matters, and then,
you'll be mine because when I'm done with you, no one will ever want you again,
so I'm all that there is for you," he said, almost growling the words into his
ear. "I will have the most exotic and beautiful prize of them all, Sherlock,
and you will enjoy it…"
Sherlock heard the door open and suddenly he could breathe again. He blinked
and thought he heard someone, but his heart was beating rapidly and blood was
rushing in his ears so loud he really couldn't hear. He blinked and looked up
to see Professor Brathas standing there with a worried expression. Sherlock
shook his head and swallowed thickly, kneeling and picking up his books.
"Fine, fine," he said quickly, starting to leave, but Brathas put a hand on his
shoulder, and he turned around.
"What was that about?" he asked, frowning deeply.
Sherlock flushed a bit, stomach twisting. "Um, Caleb seems to want a
relationship that I'm uninterested in…he was making his point clear as to his
interest…I told him I wasn't interested, but he has a hard time with no, it
seems. I've…I've got to go. See you Monday, professor," he said and headed off,
nearly running into the wall as he stumbled.
Of course, Dr. Brathas was one of the older professors in the school, and had
immediately gone to the Dean with his worries about what he'd witnessed. He'd
taught both Holmes boys, and while the younger was less adept at navigating
social situations, neither was agitated easily.
"Enter," Dr. James Kirkwood said with a sigh, looking up as his philosophy
professor, Dr. Terrance Brathas, came in.
"James, can I have a minute?" he asked slowly.
James nodded and motioned to sit down as he stood to get his electric kettle.
"Tea?"
"Yes, please, thank you."
"What brings you in, Terry?" James asked a moment later, sitting a steaming cup
of Earl Gray with two sugars and cream in front of one of his oldest friends.
"I just witnessed a distressing altercation between one of my first year
students and an upperclassman. I thought it best to inform you," he said
slowly.
James sipped his tea. "You know how boys are, Terry, if we worried over every
incident in the hallways…"
Terry shook his head. "Not that kind of altercation. You know Caleb Macavoy and
his reputation, he was the elder student involved."
James sat down his cup. "Yes, he has a reputation as an excellent footballer,
but has a penchant for short romantic flings with underclassmen. Generally,
most problems with him comes from his dumping of said flings."
"Yes, well, his choice in pursuit is Sherlock Holmes, who is definitely not
receptive to his advances. After class I heard Mr. Holmes outside the classroom
point blankly telling him that he was not interested in going anywhere with him
for any reason. I heard a rather loud thump so I took a look and found Mr.
Macavoy had slammed the Holmes boy into wall and was practically frotting
against him in the hallway. He was talking to him and I swear the Holmes boy
looked like a rabbit caught in a trap, whatever he said to him. He moved back
as soon as I pushed the door open, as I'd been watching through the crevice,
and left. I asked Sherlock if he was okay, and he was visibly shaken. It took
him a good five minutes to collect himself before he told me he was fine and
that Caleb was insistent on a relationship he wasn't interested in. I've never
see the Holmes boy like that, James. He looked frightened. And he generally has
little to no emotion on his face, so I have to wonder how long this has been
going on," Terry said, taking a long drink of his rapidly cooling tea. "I've
taught both boys. And I've never seen either of them react to someone like
that."
"Didn't he just turn sixteen?" James asked, reaching behind him for a file he
often referenced. One has to keep information on boys like Sherlock Holmes
quickly at hand.
"He did, January sixth, if I remember correctly," Terry said. It was easy to
remember the birthday of the youngest student you'd ever taught at the
university level.
James nodded. "I'll inform the others, as well as his resident at the dorms. We
should keep an eye on the situation to ensure it doesn't get out of hand. The
last thing we need is some sort of scandal because of one young man's inability
to keep his cock in check."
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
Sherlock yawned. He'd finished all his weekend work, and now the rest of it
could be occupied with his own pursuits, perhaps a few experiments in the chem
lab and work on his violin. He'd been working on a couple complicated concertos
for Mycroft. He did like the complex ones. Thankfully, Caleb hadn't shown up.
He was greatful. Another confrontation with him in the same day was really too
much for him. Especially after the incident in the hallway. He really hadn't
been that shaken by something before. He shook his head and walked out. The
library was closing so it wasn't like he had much choice. However, sitting on
the bench outside the doorway was Caleb. Sherlock groaned, turning to walk
away.
Caleb was fast though and c aught him by the arm. "Now, don't run off! I just
want to talk!" he said smiling.
Sherlock turned around and shook his head, holding his books to his chest.
"Caleb, please, this is just not going to happen, I don't know why you keep at
this!" he pulled away and started walking away, only to be yanked around again.
"Why? Why don't you want me like everyone else? No one turns me down, no one,
Sherlock. I've never had this much trouble getting someone into my bed. What is
it about me that you don't like?" he said, narrowing his eyes and Sherlock felt
the anger rolling off him, and a pang of fear shot through his stomach.
He cleared his throat. "Caleb, it isn't you! I just don't find anyone
interesting in that way! I'm sorry, but that's the way it is! It won't change,
no matter how much you pursue me, beg me, I'm not going to agree to even date
you, let alone sleep with you!"
"So that's it? You're telling me no chance you'll change your mind?" Caleb
said, nodding and stepping back.
Sherlock was briefly relieved. He finally got it. "No, I won't change my mind."
"Sorry, then, but I get what I want, no matter how I have to do it," he said
and smiled a wicked smile. Sherlock frowned deeply and then he heard a rustle
behind him. He turned, but too late there was a shock of pain in his head and
the world faded to gray then black.
***** On the Blade's Edge *****
Mike walked into the dorm and sighed. He glanced around, but Sherlock wasn't in
yet. He frowned but assumed he must be at the library still. He gathered up his
keys and headed out to pick up John. They'd made plans to hit a local pub
tonight, but they didn't want to stay out too late. He scribbled a quick note
to Sherlock in case he came back and wondered where he'd gone off to that
night. He glanced at the clock. Nine on the dot, the library would be closing
now. He thought briefly about going by to make sure he got to the dorms okay
but shook his head. It was silly, really. The way between the library and the
dorms was well lit. There was no way Caleb would pull something where he could
be caught…
But Mike couldn't quell the uneasiness in his gut as he started his car and
headed to John's flat. They chatted and both of them tried to keep their mind
off their worries over Mike's younger roommate.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
The pounding in his head and the dryness in his mouth indicated that he'd been
quite unconscious for a while. He groaned and tried to move but found his hands
were stuck. No, wait, not stuck, tied. What? He blinked and opened his eyes to
see he was in a hotel room…not a very nice one. More like the local hourly
where the prostitutes hung out…
"Oh, he's up, Vince," came Caleb's voice. "I was afraid you'd killed him…"
He looked up to see Caleb and Vince. Vince was holding a small camcorder,
flicking it around between Caleb and Sherlock.
"What…Caleb?" he said, blinking and still confused. The blazing pain in his
head was enough to make him sick to his stomach. No doubt a concussion…
"Sweet Sherlock," he purred as he dropped to the bed. "I told you, I don't take
no."
"Caleb, please, stop this…" Sherlock said, fear coiling into his belly suddenly
as the world began to sharpen around him. "You…you don't want to do
this…Caleb…"
"See, I do, Sherl. Vince here is gonna record our little tryst. And if you
breathe a word of what happens here, I'm going to give this video to people who
will release it to the press and to some friends of mine in the porn industry,
and you'll go far, baby," he said with a grin, crawling over him and sitting on
his thighs.
Sherlock blinked owlishly at him, his stomach dropping and going cold. "Why?"
Caleb smiled, reaching out and ripping his shirt open, buttons flying
everywhere as he ran hands down the pale and hairless chest underneath. "Good
lord on high, you are a smooth as a little boy, Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes were wide. "Please, Caleb. Don't. I don't…I don't want this…I
told you…I'm not interested in sex at all, not with anyone, it isn't you, I
just don't…"
Caleb leaned back and backhanded him. Vince moved around to get a better angle
on the action, snickering. "Shut the fuck up, Sherlock. I will break your
goddamned jaw, and then every one of your bloody fingers. Then see how pretty
you play the violin or rattle off your haughty deductions."
Sherlock stared at him unsure of what to do. Caleb leaned down and bit down on
his neck, causing him to hiss in pain. "Now, I'm going to fuck you, Sherlock.
And I'm going to kiss you, and if you try anything, anything at all, like
trying to kick me, or trying to bite me, I will fucking leave you so broken
that you won't be able to walk, let alone stand. Do you understand? Don't say
anything. Just nod."
Sherlock swallowed thickly, eyes wide and nodded slowly. He felt his heart in
his throat and then he was almost hyperventilating as Caleb quickly undid his
trousers and yanked them off, pausing for a moment to stare at him before he
yanked his pants off him. Sherlock's face colored and he buried his head into
his arm as best as he could.
"Aw, the little freak's shy, isn't he?" cooed Vincent from behind the camera.
"Think this is gonna be yer best v yet, he's so much prettier than the rest of
the boys."
Caleb grinned and pulled Sherlock's face around and drove into his mouth with a
press of teeth, tongue and Sherlock was sure he was going to vomit. The slick,
slimy feel of another person's tongue was something he hadn't been keen on
experiencing. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shut out all the sensory
input, but it was impossible. Caleb moved and he opened his eyes again to see
him removing his trousers and pants slowly, watching him.
-ooooooooooooooooo Noncon scene oooooooooooooooooo-
"Normally, I like to make my boys come before I do," he said thoughtfully. "But
considering how thoroughly uninterested you are, I guess I'll just cut to the
chase and fuck your little arse, huh?"
Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. He had agreed to be good, to not fight,
but when he started to pull his legs apart, he couldn't help but struggle. "P-
please…d-don't…" he whimpered, all semblance of pride gone. His begging was met
with another, harder backhand that left his lip bleeding.
He looked up with wide eyes and fear washed over him. He was really going to
hurt him. He'd been so sure that Caleb was harmless, a nuisance, nothing else,
and had no idea that he was going to take things this far. He winced as Caleb
forced both his legs up. He blushed harder and turned away as Caleb stared at
him, then began to run his hands over his thighs and down to the hidden
entrance below. He whimpered again as he forced a dry finger into him. It
burned, and stung, even just that, he couldn't imagine what something more
would feel like.
"Ah, fuck, I think this is going to be fun," he said. "Vince, should I be nice
or should I just go in dry?"
"Ah, you know you'll hurt if you go in dry. Fuck his mouth a bit, then go in
like that," Vince said, moving around to watch him do just that.
Caleb nodded and moved up to straddle his chest. The ropes had already rubbed
his flesh raw and blood was dripping down his forearms. Caleb nudged at his
lips with the leaking tip of his cock and glared down. "Open, and if you even
think about biting down on me, I will shove my entire fist in your arse.
Understand?"
Sherlock swallowed and gave a small nod and had no other notice before Caleb
forced himself down into Sherlock's mouth. "It's in your best interest,
Sherlock dear, if you get me nice and wet. This is the only lube you're going
to get…" he said with a grin as he thrust down into his throat sending Sherlock
into a gagging fit that nearly made him throw up then and there. After a few
minutes he pulled away and roughly flipped him onto his stomach, pulling his
hips up and he felt he was being stared at again, so he buried his face in his
arms and felt the tears prickling his eyes. The humiliation of it was so much
he thought death would be better right now.
He tried to prepare for the pain, but it wasn't enough as Caleb, true to his
word, gave no other preamble, and slammed into him in one quick thrust.
Sherlock prided himself on being able to handle pain, but he screamed. It
wasn't a yelp of surprise; it was a pained scream as the pain shot up his spine
and down his legs. He was sobbing then, and begging him to please stop, telling
him it hurt too much, that something had torn… The burning and stinging ebbed a
bit and to Sherlock's horror he realized it was because he was bleeding and
that was acting as a lubricant now. The thought made him sick, again. He heard
Vincent telling him to move a certain way, and then another. Then he had his
head jerked up by his hair as Vincent came in front of him and giggled at his
face while Caleb forced him to look into the camera.
"Look at this little slut," Caleb said. "Isn't he a pretty little whore, even
with tears on his face? I think the tears make him even prettier. Here, scream
for me again, little slut."
He pulled out and slammed back in harder and Sherlock complied with the
request, yelping and sobbing hard as the pain thrashed through him. The camera
moved away and his head fell back down onto the bed and he had no more words
until Caleb began to move faster until he stilled and the stinging burn of his
release made him wince and let out a pained whimper. Caleb lay over his back
panting hard. He moved back, and Sherlock hoped it was over.
"You gonna take a turn, Vince?" Caleb asked, and Sherlock's heart nearly
stopped.
"Why not, his arse is just as pretty as a little pussy," Vince said and
Sherlock yanked hard on the ropes again, but was flipped onto his back and
staring up at the other boy. "Keep the camera on him. I know, when you're up
again, you can fuck him again before we dump him out. He's such a good little
slut."
Sherlock shook his head and screamed again, this time for help, anyone to
please come to help him, but Caleb took a moment and shoved a cloth in his
mouth and tied a gag onto him, effectively quieting his pleas, seeing that he
was hysterical at this point and unable to listen to their threats any longer.
Sherlock had trouble breathing through it though, and managed to pass out a
couple times before they were done. He had no idea how many times it was that
he blacked out, or how many times they'd used him. He had no idea what happened
beyond that moment.
-oooooooooooooooooo End Noncon Scene oooooooooooooooooo-
The next clear memory he had was falling to his hands and knees on the grass
outside his dorm to the sound of laughter behind him. He was still wearing his
shirt, ripped open as it was, and they'd put his trousers on him, but they were
undone. They moved away and the world swam around him, and he fell face first
into the dirt. A moment later he lifted himself enough to retch violently into
the grass he was laying in. He supposed to anyone else, he might look drunk. In
fact, he sort of felt drunk, like the world around him wasn't real. He felt
like he was detached from everything. He stumbled to his feet and managed the
stairs and into the dorm. His brain was misfiring and he couldn't catch
reality.
He felt so dirty, so very dirty, and he wanted to get it off his skin, but he
knew it would never leave. He stumbled into the bath and stared at the mirror.
The person that looked back was nearly unrecognizable. His right eye was black
and the cheek purpling underneath it. The side of his jaw on the left was
similarly bruising. There were huge, purple hickies and bites all over his neck
and shoulders. A few had drawn blood and were still oozing. He looked down and
knew there were bruises on his hips and his wrists were a bloody mess, still
oozing and burned from the ropes. The blood was sticky on his arms, and he felt
it dripping down the back of his legs even still. And they had a video. They'd
taken a video. The thought stuck in his brain and refused to dislodge itself.
They said if he told they'd send it to someone…
It took only a moment to decide. It was just too much. The pain, the
humiliation, the shame of having someone do something like this to him. His
life was precarious as it was; the strange freakish kid who had too much brain
and not enough social skills was what he was. No one really liked him, and
people like Mike and John tolerated him. What would they think about this? They
wouldn't like him at all, or even tolerate him anymore. And Mycroft would tell
him that he was at fault and should have been more careful. And he should have
known! He could look at a person and tell who they were sleeping with but he
couldn't tell if one obsessed student was going to rape him because he said no.
How could he have not realized this? He could never look at Mycroft again. His
knees gave out and he landed on the floor, staring at the doors under the sink.
He didn't even have to leave the bathroom, he realized.
Mike kept a box of razors under the sink. He didn't like disposables, and he
had an old fashioned style razor that took the regular blades. It didn't take
long to retrieve it and take one out. He looked at the silver and sighed. Yes,
this was too much. He couldn't deal with it. He only wanted to let go, to be
free of it, and go to sleep never to wake up. That sounded so easy right now…
The blade was sharp and sliced easily into the skin, sliding across his right
arm, severing the veins and arteries and sending blood dripping to the floor.
He knew it wasn't a mortal wound, but he wanted to at least feel something for
a brief moment as he applied another cut, and another, and another. Before
long, eight cuts were dripping blood from his right forearm. And he felt alive
for a change. He switched hands, and carefully cut into his left wrist and
sliced upward toward the elbow, opening the vein easily. He didn't even feel it
anymore… He smiled as the blade clattered to the floor, the dizziness over
taking him as he fell back into the wall and slumped slowly down to sit in the
spreading pool of crimson.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
Mike and John were only gone a few hours, and they came in nicely buzzed as
Mike stumbled a bit. It was just past midnight when they got back from the pub.
Mike hit the lights automatically before he gasped.
"Oh shit, sorry Sherlock, hope that didn't wake the bloke…" he said with a near
giggle before he realized that Sherlock wasn't in his bed. "Sherlock?"
John frowned then and looked around. "He should be home by now, the library
closed at nine…"
His eyes went to the closed bathroom door, and drifted down to a thin trickle
of red coming from underneath it. "Oh fuck," John said with a gasp, grabbing
the door and yanking. It was locked from the inside. "Oh fuck, Sherlock!" he
yelled franticly. There was no answer but a thump from the other side could be
heard and a clatter.
"Mike, open it, quickly," he said, looking at Mike who was standing very still
and staring at the red steadily leaking from under the door.
Mike nodded and slammed into the door hard, and it gave with a crack. John
gasped at the sight he found. Sherlock had slid down the wall, both arms cut up
badly. A bloodied razor lay nearby his right hand where it had fallen. And
there was a lot of blood, way too much blood.
"Call 999, now," John said, grabbing a towel from the cabinet and wrapping the
arm with the long cut down it that was bleeding faster. Sherlock's already pale
skin had gone even paler, and judging by the blood pool, it wasn't much to
guess that he would be dead before long if they hadn't found him.
"On their way, what…why…." Mike stammered.
John shook his head, "Go put pressure on the other side. Hurry, I'm going to
use my belt to tie off around his arm," he said, yanking his belt and
tightening it around his bicep.
"He's never been suicidal," Mike said solemnly. "I mean, he puts up with tons
of shit from other students, but nothing he's never been able to brush off.
Something happened. He's been beat up, look at his face," he said.
John nodded and looked over the rest of him, slowly realizing what must have
happened. "Oh fuck me, Mike…" he said and looked up at his friend across the
body he was hoping he was keeping alive. "His clothes, Mike. Look at his
clothes. And his neck."
Mike frowned, and was confused, but his face cleared and he bit on his lip. His
shirt had been obviously ripped open, and his trousers were ruined, the button
gone and his pants were gone as well. He was barefoot, and Mike hadn't seen his
shoes anywhere when they came in, and Sherlock was meticulous about putting
them by the entry. Then he saw the marks on his neck and shoulders. Mike
grimaced and looked away.
"God fucking dammit. I should have stayed with him. It was Caleb, I knew it
would happen, I fuckin' knew, Mike. Fuck!" John said with a heavy breath. "I
knew he would do something, but I didn't think…I didn't think he'd take it this
far…he's gotten someone drunk before and took advantage of them, but this…this
is different."
A loud knock sounded and Mike yelled for them to hurry. In a rush, Sherlock was
whisked away, and the ambulance was screaming out of the dorm parking lot with
him. Mike and John stood in the entry and watched it go, both still dripping
blood from both hands and knees where they'd kneeled in the spreading pool to
try and help Sherlock, to keep him alive a minute longer. A moment later, a
black car pulled up beside them, and a man Mike recognized told them to come
with him. Neither boy asked questions, they just went, still in a state of
shock.
The man sitting across from them looked very aristocratic and about mid-
twenties. He had an umbrella leaning against his legs and was looking out the
window with an expressionless face. Mike was dutifully not looking at the man
across from them. They pulled into a hospital neither boy had ever seen,
obviously a private facility, and got out and followed the well-dressed man
into the building. John and Mike were still silent as they were led through a
metal detector and handed a change of clothes, a set of scrubs by the feel, and
shown to a bathroom. They changed and emerged in the green scrubs and found
that the man was still there, and then they were led into a waiting area.
The man turned and spoke finally. "Mike, good to see you again," he said with a
sigh. "However, under these circumstances…"
"Yes, sir, um this is my best mate, John Watson, John this is Sherlock's
brother Mycroft Holmes," Mike said, looking between them.
John nodded. "Have they said how he is yet?"
Mycroft frowned and almost smiled a bit. "You are considerably concerned for my
brother's welfare."
John frowned. "Well of course, I tried to save him, after all. And when I get
my hands on fucking Caleb I'm going to kick his arse until he wishes he were
dead…" he said, trailing off with a dark look crossing his face.
"Is there a reason you feel so inclined to harm the one that hurt him?" Mycroft
asked, nearly an uninterested look on his face. But John could see that below
the mask, the older man was seething. It was difficult to see, but it was
there.
John examined him for a long moment. "He's a good bloke. He deserves better
than he gets, and I think he's pretty amazing as far as people go. And no one
deserves what Caleb pulled."
The moment was broken when a man in a white doctor's coat entered. He glanced
at the two young men first. "First, I have to thank you two, I understand that
you kept the bleeding under control until the medics could arrive."
John nodded. "I'm pre-med, about to go on. I knew what to do when we found
him."
"Good that you did, because it was touch and go as it was. He's stabilized now,
but we had a hard time keeping him from going into shock. He's being transfused
now, to replace the lost blood. We've also already collected a rape kit. Shall
I send it on to…"
Mycroft winced, barely, but it was there. "No. Keep it in house. I've yet to
decide how the perpetrators will be handled."
"You realize unless he acknowledges the assault, there can be no charges," the
doctor said, sighing. "In cases like this, they rarely go anywhere."
John frowned. "Cases like this?"
The doctor nodded. "It isn't unusual to see a suicide attempt after a sexual
assault. And if we are able to save the victim, they often refuse to speak of
the assault or put charges against those that assaulted them. We were lucky in
this case, in that the attempt came directly after the assault. My estimation,
it occurred less than an hour ago."
John wavered on his feet and found the seat behind him. "I'm gonna kill the
bastard."
The doctor sighed. "And there were multiple assaults. I'm not completely sure,
but the injuries coincide with more than one assault. Perhaps more than one
individual. We'll know more when the DNA samples are returned. Should I at
least send for the DNA samples to be completed?"
Mycroft nodded. "Please do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going. I'd
appreciate it if one of you would remain with my brother."
John frowned. "Wait, why aren't you staying with him?"
"Because, John, he would not want me to stay with him. I doubt he will even
call me once he has awakened. But please, do watch out for him. He is…fragile
in some ways. And this may be one of the things that breaks him," he said with
a sad smile and left the room.
"They don't get along well," Mike said, looking up to John. "It was quite a row
when he brought him to school. Sherlock couldn't get him from the door fast
enough."
Some hour later, the two boys were allowed into the room with Sherlock, and
they decided to wait for him to wake up. They were nice enough to give them two
large, comfortable chairs, into which the still slightly inebriated friends
soon passed out.
John woke early the next morning with a headache and a mouth full of sand. Now
he remembered why he rarely went out drinking. He blinked against the light
streaming in the windows and looked over to see that Sherlock was awake and
staring at the ceiling. John sat up and slapped Mike's arm quickly.
"Sherlock!" he said with a sigh and stood up to move over to him.
Sherlock fixed him with a glare that would have melted metal. "Why are you
here?"
John tried not to take his words to heart. After all, he'd been through a lot.
"Mike and I, we found you when we got in last night, and we came here…."
"So you're at fault," he said, rolling his eyes. "No doubt your skills as a
doctor in training aided you."
"Well, yeah," John began.
"You shouldn't have bothered."
John blinked. "Sherlock, look I know what happened last night, and I…"
"Nothing happened. Forget it. Forget me," he said, brows scrunching together.
Mike exchanged a look with John. John turned back. "Sherlock, you need to
charge the bastards for what they did…"
"Nothing happened. Leave me alone. I want you to leave. Both of you," he said,
staring at the bandages on his arms.
"Sherlock, just be reasonable," John began, frowning.
"I said leave!" he yelled now, his face a furious mask that John couldn't read.
Except the incredible pain in those pale eyes. Pain he didn't want to accept or
acknowledge. "I don't want you here, I don't want to see you again! Both of you
just fucking leave me alone!"
John backed away and grabbed Mike by the arm. Sherlock was getting so agitated
that the heart monitor was skyrocketing and beeping. "Fine, we're going," John
said, pulling Mike out of the room. They paused and looked back to see he'd
rolled to his side and pulled the sheets to his nose. John wanted to say
something, anything, but he knew in the state he was in currently, words would
be of no use.
That was the last time that John and Mike saw Sherlock for quite some time. Two
days later, after he knew Sherlock had been released from the hospital, he came
back to the dorm to find it empty of all of Sherlock's things, and no one knew
what had happened. He'd tested out of most his classes early, something about
medical leave, but both John and Mike knew that was crap.
The first football practice that John went to that Caleb was at was something
that no one would forget anytime soon. John was generally a patient young man.
He was only in his early twenties, and he was quite good at football. But this
day, a week after Sherlock had disappeared, John didn't care anymore about
playing for the football team. No, he'd hit his breaking point, the breaking
point of his heart and his soul. So he decided it was time. He didn't dress
out, but left Mike in the stands, telling him he wouldn't be long, and headed
down to the field where Caleb and his two cronies were standing at the head
barking orders to the team.
As soon as he came into view Caleb scowled and yelled at him. "Fuck, Watson,
where the hell have you been? You don't practice anymore? Too good for us,
fancy doctor now?"
That had been the very wrong thing to say because John smiled at him. But there
was something lit in his bright blue eyes that made everyone around him move
back a little bit.
"Too good for this team? No, this team is fantastic. Too good for your bloody
rapist arse? Yes, I'm too good for you."
Everyone on the team took a collective gasp as Caleb's face turned scarlet.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Watson?"
"You know what I'm talking about. You know who I'm fucking talking about, you
piece of shit."
John stepped forward until he was just out of swinging distance of the taller
boy. "I had to hold his fucking wrists together to keep him from goddamned well
bleeding out in the middle of the fucking bathroom after he slit them open so
he could die after what you fucking did. You couldn't keep your fuckin' cock in
your pants, could you? He was fucking unattainable so you had to fucking tie
him up and rape him. And if he'd died, I'd call you a murderer instead of a
rapist. And I doubt calling you on it in front of your precious team would be
all I'd be doing, because I'd probably be locked up for killing your sorry
arse."
Vince and Eric had stepped back away from Caleb who had clenched his fists
tight against his sides. From the sidelines, the coach had walked near enough
that he could hear what was being said, but not near enough to interfere.
"You dare accuse me of something like this, Watson, I'll have you in jail for
slander!" he said tightly.
"So you deny it? And you'll go give a DNA sample? Because you know, they do
rape kits when they see someone who has been raped, you know, even if they're
almost dead when they take them in. Two DNA samples. They don't have a match of
course, unless he names his assaulter. But there were two of them. You and…"
John looked between Eric and Vince. He smiled and stared at Vince. "Vince. And
here I thought you were straight. But you'll fuck someone who can't fight back,
won't you?"
"No one is fucking giving any goddamned DNA samples, I don't know what you're
on, but you obviously aren't sharing it with anyone here," Caleb said, his
hands still flexing, a roaring red flush over his face.
"If you didn't do anything, what does it matter?" asked someone on the team.
Caleb turned and stared at him.
"You guys believe this shit?" he asked, looking around. "I've been captain for
two years, and…"
"And there's an awful high turnover in the first years on the team," supplied
one of the third year boys in the back.
John grinned again, spotting the coach hanging back. Waiting. He was behind
Caleb. Time to go in for the kill. "What'd you do to make sure he didn't talk?"
he asked suddenly. "I mean, we're talking about someone who could give a shit
less what people think, yet he won't even come to school now let alone turn
your sorry ass in. So you did something. Something that made him not want to go
to the cops. What was it? Did you threaten him or his family? No, that wouldn't
work…not at all…" he muttered, looking around as if thinking.
"Wait, no, you wouldn't do something so stupid as that…" John said and then
looked at the way Vince's hands twitched around the ball. "Or did you? You did,
you fuckers recorded it, didn't you? And then told him that if he told you'd
give it to someone?"
The sudden pallor that came over Vince's face, and the deeper scarlet that
tinged Caleb's was the only confirmation John needed. "I bet you pull it out
and watch it and get off on it again, because you get off on the power trip,
don't you Caleb? You like being in control. You film the other boys you messed
with? Like Charlie who you got so drunk he didn't even remember what happened
the next day? Or Samson who you convinced to try LSD at a party and then took
him back and messed him up so bad he needed stitches? I wonder, did they say no
too?"
Caleb exploded. "No one tells me no!" he screamed and flew at John. "No one
tells me no! I fuckin' take what I want, no one has the audacity to tell me no,
especially not some uppity, better than everyone else freak like goddamned
Sherlock Holmes!" he screamed as he punched John in the ribs and the face. John
didn't fight back at first, just let him scream his pronouncement, practically
confessing in front of the entire team. Finally John grabbed his hands and held
him back. "Too bad your freak didn't die! Why are you here, Watson? You pissed
I got to fuck your piece of ass before you did?" he hissed into John's face.
John's face contorted, and before he thought, his fist flew out and caught
Caleb on the jaw, sending him stumbling backward, and then he was on him again.
Someone from the team pulled him back, and he quit, seeing the blood on his
knuckles. It looked like he'd broken Caleb's nose, and got in at least one
black eye.
"Call him a freak one more time, Macavoy," John screamed. "Call him that one
more time, and I swear to fucking God I will make you regret the day you were
born! He's not the freak, you are the goddamned freak! Normal people don't rape
someone because they don't want to have sex with them! Normal people take no
for an answer and find someone willing! But not you, you have to have power
over someone else, and ruin them!"
Caleb lunged forward again, but was grabbed by Coach Steels. "Enough, both of
you. John, go to my office, please, everyone else but you three," he said,
pointing to Caleb, Eric and Vince. "Afternoon off, get out of here."
John stepped out of the arms of one of his teammates and nodded thanks and
headed at a trot back to the offices, and dabbed his bleeding lip with a tissue
while he waited. He was sure he'd get kicked off the team for this. He'd nearly
dozed off when the door opened, and the stocky Coach Steels came in. Steels was
a shorter man, about five food eight, but he was broad and an excellent
footballer in his heyday, but a knee injury put him down to coaching. He didn't
mind though, he loved working with the teams.
He sat down and stared at John for a long moment. "So, John Watson…I don't know
what to do with you right now."
John shrugged. "I'm fine with leaving the team, Coach. I've got practicals and
internships coming up soon. I won't be able to play much as it is. Consider
today my notice that I'm leaving. I did what I needed to do. And I did it in
front of everyone so I didn't kill him."
Steels blinked at him. He hadn't expected this. He'd expected what Caleb had
given him. Begging the coach to forget it, that it was nothing, and he wasn't
going to let it affect the team. "I see. So you have proof of your accusations
out there? That's pretty heavy, there, John, accusing another student of rape."
John nodded. "Wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true. He was after my mate's
roommate. Kept harassing him for months, and then came back one night to find
him nearly dead in the bathroom, both arms laid open with intent to kill
himself. It wasn't a cry for attention or cutting gone bad. He knew what he was
doing and laid open even of his arm to bleed out in around fifteen minutes. I
managed to control the bleeding until the emergency got there. They collected a
rape kit with two samples. I'm completely sure one of those would match Caleb,
and about ninety percent sure the other would match Vince. And they pretty much
confirmed they videoed it. So I bet somewhere in one of their dorms, they've
got a tape or have it saved to a disk or something."
"Has the boy said anything?" Steels said with a sigh.
"He wouldn't talk, but I suppose the threat of having people see a video of
what happened might cause anyone to keep quiet. Unless he tells someone who it
was, and confirms it was non-consensual, there isn't much they can do. And I
don't doubt it was nonconsensual before you ask. His wrists had been tied and
were covered with bleeding wounds and rope burn," John said with a nod. "And
he's gone, no one knows where he's disappeared to, he tested out of his
classes, and disappeared. I'm worried he might hurt himself again. But I don't
know what else to do."
Coach Steels sighed. "I'll see what I can find out, John. But you're excused
with no disciplinary action from the team. I'll tell the others that you left
because of med school. Enjoy your round of practicals and internships."
John nodded and left, proud of himself. He'd stood up for Sherlock. And he
dared anyone to say anything about him again. But he had another month, and
then he'd start rounds at a nearby hospital. Summer would be busy indeed for
the up and coming doctor.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
John was on the Emergency when the call came in for an overdose. He was to take
lead on the patient because he'd already assisted on several in the last two
months. His superior would be there, of course, check over everything he
called, but this was a teaching hospital. And this is what they did. He steeled
himself as he prepped the room, and nurses buzzed around. He looked at his
supervisor and gave a nod to him.
"You ready for this John?" Dr. Brace asked in his usual low timbre. The man
should have been a bass singer.
"As ready as I'll ever be," he said with a nod. "Are we looking at an
accidental overdose on drugs or a suicide attempt by overdose?"
Brace shook his head. "Track marks, so looks like most likely an accidental OD,
but you know how it goes with the junkies. And remember, don't beat yourself up
if you can't same them. You won't be able to save everyone."
John nodded and looked up as they wheeled the patient in. He turned and too a
breath before turning around to get the information from the medics. He blinked
and stopped for a moment.
"John!" came Brace's voice. "Get with it, we're going to lose him if you don't
hurry!"
He looked up and nodded, working as fast as he could. He'd already been
intubated in the bus, and had seized in route. He went through it all
mechanically and didn't speak unless it was to yell orders. Brace stood back
and watched, impressed by his student's efficiency, and noting he made no
mistakes. By the time the patient was stabilized and wheeled out, John sunk
down in the chair.
"First one is rough, I know, but great work," Brace said.
John shook his head. "No, it wasn't the procedure. I know him, I saved his life
about two months ago on campus. That's where he got the scars on his wrists. I
kept him from dying. Put him on suicide watch immediately."
"Now we don't know for sure if…" John looked at him.
"Two months ago he had a perfect grade point average at Cambridge. He'd never
had a drink, never had a cigarette, and is probably the biggest bloody genius
I've ever met. He was raped and tried to kill himself, disappeared afterward. I
have no doubt he overdosed on purpose, sir."
Brace saw the seriousness in his student's face and nodded. "Okay, okay. Won't
hurt to do so. What's his name? Does he have family?"
John nodded. "Sherlock Holmes is his name, his brother is Mycroft Holmes, and
I've got his number in my mobile. I'll let you talk to him."
***** Seeking Solace *****
Mycroft tried his best. He really did. From a young age, he'd been fascinated
by his younger brother. Seven years were between them, and Mycroft was
constantly worried over the smaller boy. He just didn't see as steady as he
was. He asked his parents and they assured him that there was nothing at all
wrong with little Sherlock. They told him he was far advanced beyond other
children, just as Mycroft had been at the same age. But there was something
different about his little brother. He was small at first, incredibly small,
thin and fragile looking. Mycroft thought when he started walking he'd break a
bone when he fell. As they grew older, Mycroft found that little Sherlock
followed him often like a puppy. It amused him, and he allowed it.
That changed when Mycroft left for boarding school. For some reason, when he
returned on holiday, Sherlock wouldn't talk to him. He avoided him, and Mycroft
caught him more than once crying. He'd ask what was wrong, and Sherlock would
tell him to go away, he didn't want him around. He spoke to his mom, who told
him that Sherlock was very sad when he left, and moped about for a long while.
It seemed that Sherlock was angry at him for leaving. Mycroft tried and failed
to talk to him about it, but instead, all he did was anger him further. Soon,
any interest he had in Sherlock became interference. So he left his brother to
his own devices more often than not. Perhaps he should have took more care.
So when the phone rang in his office he gave sigh of deep pain because it was
the local teaching hospital. Sherlock had been missing for almost two months.
The authorities had been involved, since he was sixteen, but they'd had no luck
trying to find him. Mycroft had even called in favors among the less than legal
sort, but still nothing about the lanky teen had been found. He had every
hospital on alert to contact him should a teenager matching his description
come in to their hospital or morgue. He desperately hoped it was the former as
he picked up the phone.
"Mycroft Holmes," he said with no trace of the fear that was squeezing at his
throat.
"Mr. Holmes, my name is Dr. Brace at the teaching hospital, and we've taken in
a patient that my student that worked on him in A&E informs me is named
Sherlock Holmes and is your brother," he said with a sigh. "I'm terribly sorry
to bother you…"
"No, Dr. Brace, no, I've already put the area hospitals, morgues, and police on
alert to look for him. He's been missing for two months since he was released
after his past suicide attempt," he said professionally, standing and putting
on his jacket and grabbing his umbrella.
There was a pause. "Ah, yes, Mr. Watson told me about that. Of course, we
haven't the records yet, so I couldn't…"
"Yes, yes, Dr. Brace, what is his condition?" he said, sighing in frustration.
"He's still unconscious, he came in with an overdose of heroin and cocaine, but
we're not sure…"
"I'll be there in fifteen. Good day, doctor," he said, and hung the phone up.
He supposed if he couldn't destroy himself with blades, drugs would be the next
option. He should have seen this coming, though. Really, it wasn't that far-
fetched for a person to try and forget what had happened to them. Interesting,
though, that this Watson was involved again. He'd been the one to save his
brother's life the first time, and now again? He vaguely hoped that there would
be something there, something that he could use. Sherlock was on a downward
spiral, and if something didn't pull him out of it, there would be no saving
him. He'd rarely had care about what happened to his body, often burning and
cutting himself during his incessant experimentation. And now…
Mycroft allowed himself a moment as he stood before his door, hand resting on
the knob. He swallowed the ball in his throat and sighed deeply, collecting
himself. It wouldn't do to show his emotions to his people. He'd only been
given this job recently. He couldn't make it appear he had any sort of feeling
toward his baby brother. He blinked back the sting of tears in his eyes. How
long since he'd felt that? He was always going to be that little boy, chasing
him desperately, calling for him to come play deductions even though he wasn't
very good at it yet since he was barely four, all pale faced and curly black
hair. Mycroft shook the image away and strode from his office and called for a
car.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
John sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair after his shift was over and
watched over Sherlock. How could he leave him now? No, he couldn't. He
wouldn't. He stirred slightly and John moved closer to his head. He blinked
wearily and glanced over to see John. His dark brows knitted together.
"You again?" he muttered.
"Yeah, seems like I'm your personal savior or something," John answered with a
quirk of his blond brow. "Carted your arse in here nearly dead right into my
room, imagine that?"
Sherlock sighed. "I think you're the only one that would bother trying to save
me."
John shook his head. "Sherlock, was it an accident or did you try to kill
yourself again?"
There was a long silence. "I'm not sure. I've been using for two months, maybe
I just put too much heroin in the syringe this time…"
"On purpose." John had little doubt. The street name of "speed ball" or "power
ball" was often used to describe dosing with both cocaine and heroin at the
same time. The problem was the cocaine wore off first. A little too much
heroin, and when the stimulant wore off, the person would slip into respiratory
arrest. That was exactly what had happened to Sherlock.
Sherlock didn't respond. "You know I beat the shit out of Caleb."
He turned and stared at John. John continued. "Outed for the piece of shit he
was in front of the whole damn team, actually. He went at me first, but I broke
his nose and blacked his eye in the deal. Ended up quitting the team. But I was
happy. Felt good to finally bust my knuckles on his face. Damn near broke my
damn hand."
Sherlock frowned and shook his head. "Why?"
"Because he's a fucking wanker and deserved no better. He deserves to be in
jail. They've got all the evidence they need, you know, from when you went in
afterward. All you have to do is tell them," John said with a nod. "And I think
you should. Because the bastard's already had another kid on the team, who
suddenly quit and changed schools after they went out on a 'date'. He's not
going to stop, Sherlock. You can stop him."
"What are you, Scotland Yard, now?" Sherlock said weakly, attempting a snarl
and failing miserably.
"No, but I want to see him pay, dammit, what he did you you…no. He shouldn't
get away with it," John said with a deeper sigh, leaning back. "I know they
videoed it." Sherlock turned and fixed him with a glare. "I figured it out when
I started thinking about why you wouldn't report it. Something they'd done or
said scared you out of it. Normally, you don't give a fuck what people think,
so why would charging them matter? Unless they thought they could do something
to you afterward. And I thought that might be it. When I mentioned it to Caleb,
that's when he went ballistic on me. So I figured that yeah, that was it."
Sherlock said nothing, just sighed deeply and nodded slowly as he looked away.
John nodded. "Alright then, only one thing to do, get the video from them, turn
it over to the coppers with your testimony and the bastard will go away for a
long while." He stood up and headed toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, frowning as he watched him go.
"To find that video. Just a little breaking and entering, don't worry,
Sherlock," he said with a curt nod and left the room, passing Mycroft Holmes as
he left. Mycroft allowed himself a small smile, having walked up to the door
when John had started talking to Sherlock. So this fellow was willing to break
into someone's place to find this video? For his little brother? His heart
clenched and he walked into the room.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
"Mike, I need you to meet me at my place," John said into the mobile.
"What for?" he asked, hesitantly on the other end.
"Sherlock came into my A&E, overdosed himself on a speed ball, and I'm pretty
sure it wasn't accidental," he said, jogging across the road toward the bus.
"I'm breaking into Caleb's flat. I'm finding the video he took of Sherlock, and
then we're taking it to the cops."
There was a long pause. "Okay, I'll be there in fifteen. You have anyone else
you want to call in for help?"
Now it was John's turn to pause. "Maybe. I've got a friend that might be able
to help. I'll see you there."
The next phone call was shorter. Honestly, there wasn't much to say between
them. He said he needed help, and he said he'd come. He hadn't been sure, but
he'd known the man from when Harry had been slumming the bars. He'd often
helped John get his sister out of them and back home. John had helped stop a
couple blokes from rolling him one night, and now he was willing to help
anytime John asked. As long as John didn't ask what he did for a living.
A few minutes later, Mike was standing outside his small house and so was a
tall blonde man smoking a cigarette.
"Sebastian," John said as he approached, shaking his hand. "Been a while."
"Yeah, your sister hasn't been slumming down in the dregs these days," he said,
crushing the cigarette with his boot heel. "You said you needed help with
breaking into a place."
"Sebastian, this is my friend Mike. We'll stick to first names considering what
we're doing, alright?" John said, opening his door and letting both men in.
Mike looked a little nervous.
Sebastian sat down on the couch with a flop. "What's the score?"
"Friend is laid up in the hospital, second suicide attempt after he was raped a
couple months ago. We're going in to get the video footage they took of the
rape and get it to the cops. They've threatened to release it into less than
legal hands if he talks, I'm sure of it, otherwise he'd have reported it. There
might also be footage of other incidents. The bastard's done this before," John
said, grabbing a beer and tossing it to Sebastian and one to Mike. "No, I'm
tired of it. I already broke his nose once; he deserves to be in jail. But his
daddy's got money, so solicitors out the arse. Only way it will stick is the
evidence from the rape kit collected two months ago along with his telling the
cops what happened wasn't consensual, and the video is an added nail to his
fucking coffin."
Mike fiddled with the beer. "But if we're caught…"
"Then we'll be caught doing the right goddamned thing," John said, chugging the
rest of his beer with a nod. "I'd rather be in jail for trying to put the
fucking prat in jail than to watch as someone who I care about continues to
self-destruct. He deserves much better than that. Cutting his wrists was bad
enough, but now he's a drug addict on top of that, and almost killed himself
today by overdosing. So no, I'm doing this. Mike, you don't have to, and
neither does Sebastian. Though I doubt Sebastian here will balk at it."
Sebastian smiled, sipping the beer. "Nope, let's nail this bastard. If there's
one thing I can't stand it has got to be rapists. They all deserve to be hung
up by their nuts. I can respect a thief, or even a murderer, but a rapist? No,
that's where I draw my line."
Mike shook his head. "Nope, I'm in. I…I can't imagine that he…such a beautiful
mind he has, and so many years of torment and bullying, to finally be brought
low by something like this…I'm doing it."
John nodded. "Fine then, come on Mike, got a black shirt you can wear, I'll
change into one too. Got a couple stocking caps we can wear."
A few moments later, John was directing Sebastian in his black sedan to the
dorm. Sebastian had one eye, though, on the tail they seemed to have acquired.
He came to a stop outside the building and the car came to a stop further down.
"John, hate to say it, but we're being followed," he said.
John twisted around and glanced. "Ah, don't worry about him. Just seeing what
we do I'm sure. They won't stop us."
Sebastian frowned and stared at the dark windows of the black car. "What makes
you so sure?"
"The victim, his brother works for the government. He's picked us up in one of
those cars before. I'm sure he'd do what we're doing if he could. Instead, he's
going to probably make sure nothing happens to us while we're doing this," John
said with a nod, stepping out of the car.
Mike still looked nervous. "But what if they're home…" he said softly.
"Not gonna be. Friday night. Caleb, Vince and Eric are all at that big party at
Terrance's place. I doubt they'll be back before tomorrow night," John said,
typing in the code to the building. Mike arched a brow at him. "I had a
girlfriend that lived in this building a couple years ago."
Before long they found themselves outside the door to the room that Caleb
Macavoy and Vince shared. Eric shared a room on the floor below them with
someone else that didn't stick around long and moved out, leaving the room
private. Once done here, they planned to search his room as well. John pulled
on a set of latex gloves and handed a pair to Mike who fumbled them onto his
hands. Sebastian already wore leather gloves. He quickly opened the lock,
almost as fast as someone with a key, and they were inside. John pulled the
blind and flipped on the light.
"I'd say find the camcorder. Then we'll see what kind of tapes we're looking
for, and with luck it will still be in it," John said with a nod. After a
while, they found a locked box in the self of the closet. "Bingo," John said,
glancing at Sebastian.
"I'll have to break it, can't pick that," he said after looking it over. John
nodded an affirmative.
A moment later they were holding a small camcorder with the mini-tapes in it.
John sighed and licked his lips, seeing the battery was about half charged. He
flipped out the screen and rewound the tape about halfway and played it. The
image he was greeted with was one he was looking for, even if he didn't want to
see. Sherlock's tear stained face was staring right at the camera. He snapped
it closed immediately and swallowed thickly.
"This is it. Let's put everything back where it came from, I'll take the tape
and put the box back," John said, still slightly unsteady on his feet.
"You think they copied it any?" Mike asked.
John shook his head. "Not with it still in the camcorder. I doubt they've done
much with it since then."
Soon everything looked like it had when they entered, and they were out and in
the car headed back to John's house. He held the tape in his hand and was
nearly sick several times with the thought of the evidence on this tiny tape.
He swallowed hard and thanked Sebastian and told Mike he'd be in touch once
he'd gotten everything sorted.
"John, how are you going to explain how you got that?" Mike asked, frowning.
"Just going to say someone gave it to me I didn't know at the hospital after
Sherlock came in. He's been in drug dens for the last two months, who's to say
someone didn't try and help him out?" John said with a nod.
Mike headed back to his dorm, now a private one without Sherlock, and John sat
with another beer in his hand staring at the small tape. He had a camcorder
that used these, and he wanted to and didn't want to see what exactly had
happened. A part of him was revolted that he wanted to watch it, but another
part thought that if he knew what had happened, what they'd said to him, that
he could help him more. He nodded, choice made, and went and fetched his
camcorder and the cord that connected it to the computer. He pulled out a pad
and paper to transcribe what was on it. He rewound the tape to the beginning
and found that Sherlock's attack wasn't the first on it. He bit his lip as he
sped through Caleb taking a very drunk boy to bed, followed by another drunk
one that resisted a bit more, but eventually allowed him to do what he wanted,
and a third, this one obviously too high to even know his name.
Then he hit Sherlock's section and his stomach flipped. The camera was focused
on the bed with Sherlock's curls matted with blood and tied to the head of the
bed with ropes around his wrists. His hands were already red from the
restricted blood flow. The camera swung around and focused on Caleb.
"Fun times, right?" Caleb said with a grin. "Vince here knocked him a little
hard, hope he wakes up, otherwise it really is no fun. Heh, I've fucked plenty
unconscious but this is different. Never seen a more pain in the arse fellow.
Claims to be asexual, we'll see about that. You think I can make him come,
Vince?"
Behind the camera the voice that spoke was indeed Vince. "Well, if anyone can,
it would be you," he said with a snicker. "You like to make them come when they
scream no, don't you," he said then.
"No is the best, it really means yes, you know. Just like this beauty here.
Every time he said no, I heard, 'please Caleb, take me and fuck me until I
scream your name'. That's all there is to it. He just didn't know it yet. Oh,
shh, here we go…"
John tried to keep from throwing up with all his willpower. Watching what had
happened and hearing the horrible things they told him… His heart was in his
throat when he threatened to break his fingers so he'd never play the violin
again, and the look of sheer terror that passed his face. He studiously
recorded word for word everything that was said and then when they gagged him
he realized he was crying himself. It was obvious that Sherlock was barely
conscious but they continued once Caleb was done. Vince, then Caleb again. Then
Vince shoved his trousers onto him and yanked him up from the bed and stumbled
out with him and tossed him into the back of their car. Caleb followed, the
camera now on the back seat where Sherlock faded in and out, it seemed.
"Best fuck I've had in a while," Caleb said, turning the camera onto Vince.
"What about you?"
Vince shrugged. "Still prefer a pussy in front of the arses I'm fucking,
thanks, but not too bad…I mean, if you covered up his cock, you'd think he was
a girl with those pouty lips and pretty hair."
"Here we go, time to drop off my date!" Caleb said, handing the camera to
Vince, and outside was the dorm. Caleb pulled him from the car, giggling madly
as he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, unable to even stand. "Bye,
bye, lover boy! Was fun!" he called and went around to get back in. Vince kept
the camera on him as the retched violently into the grass and then laughed
himself.
"Well, that was entertaining…now you done with him? After chasing him almost a
semester and a half, one fuck doesn't seem like enough," Vince said as Caleb
took the camera back.
"Hell no, he's gonna be my pussy boy now. Just wait. I'll drop by in the
morning with something nice, and see if I can't rope him in as a regular fuck,"
he said smugly. "I think a little 'I'm sorry for taking your virginity'
presents are in order. Not like I can't afford them."
"You're hopeless. You think he'll really be your boy? After what you just did?"
Caleb giggled. "But he's so easy to manipulate. He acts so tough, like he
doesn't want anyone to be around, all I have to do is use a little persuasion
now, I've taken him, made him a dirty little whore, and now I convince him no
one wants him but me. But how much I adore him, give him all sorts of little
things to show him how nice I can be. And before long, I'll have him pinned to
the lockers in the football locker room. And he'll want me to do it, to make me
happy, just so I won't ever leave him alone again…"
"You are seriously fucked up," Vince said, eyes on the road. "What's so special
about this one? You never wanted to shower anyone else with gifts, just wanted
a fuck and run."
Caleb was quiet. "I don't know. Something…different about him. Ah, shit, now
look at me, the fucking high from the sex is wearing off and I'm getting all
emotionally attached to him. Shit, let's find some blow or something," he said
finally and the camera blinked off.
John succumbed then, dashing to the bathroom and vomiting violently. Now more
than ever he wanted to destroy Caleb. So he went back and copied the video in
the entirety to his computer then to two CDs. He took the tape and one CD with
him. He took the second CD and carefully unscrewed the heating vent. He hid it
just beyond sight and replaced the vent, making sure to clear the dust around
the whole area as if he'd just cleaned that wall. Then he walked outside and
looked left and right and saw the black car down further, and trotted down and
knocked on the window. It rolled down and a dark haired man with sunglasses
stared at him.
"Hey, can you take me to the hospital? To Sherlock?" The man looked confused.
"Look, tell Mycroft to meet me there too, I've got something for him."
The man closed the window and there was a wait and then it opened. "Get in," he
said.
John nodded, getting in the back and rode in silence. He got out and headed
into the hospital, being a student, he wasn't questioned. He found his way to
Sherlock's room and found Mycroft sitting in a more comfortable looking chair
to the back. Sherlock was sleeping, it seemed. John handed him the copy he'd
made. "First thing in the morning, send the cops in here. I'll stay the rest of
tonight. In the morning, I'm handing them the video tape, and Sherlock is going
to give his statement."
Mycroft didn't completely hide the twitch of a smile at his lips as he nodded
and left. John nodded to himself and pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat
down in it with a deep sigh. He curled his legs under him and before long was
asleep himself.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
Mycroft stood outside the door for a moment and watched as John Watson fell
asleep again. He looked down at the CD that John had given him and swallowed.
He did and didn't want to see what was on it, what had broken his sweet little
brother into so many pieces. He sighed and headed out to the waiting car that
had returned with John. He sat in silence until he got back to his flat. It was
after midnight already, but he grabbed a scotch on the rocks and took the CD to
his computer and sat down. By the end, his eyes were red, and there was a
feeling in his chest he hadn't felt in a long time. Pure, unbridled rage. Not
only had they hurt Sherlock, he'd intended to continue hurting him, to abuse
him in every sense of the word.
He knocked back three more scotches and then fell into a restless sleep and
waited for the morning. When it came he groaned but showered and no one could
tell he'd passed out the night before. Seven am on the dot, the door opened and
Anthea let herself in.
"Anthea, call in and have the officer that was on Sherlock's case go down to
the hospital he's at. Tell him there is evidence as well as a statement from
Sherlock waiting on him. Then I want you to put my solicitor on this. I want no
mistakes. Make sure that this hits the papers in the worst possible light for
the Macavoys. I want them destroyed, the son, the parents, I want their names
drug so far through the mud that Caleb Macavoy's grandchildren will still be
unclean," he said with a nod. "And the other one too. Make sure that neither of
them can escape the fate. I want everyone to know what they are, what they've
done. And then, please make accommodations for Sherlock at a rehabilitation
facility."
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
John started awake when he heard a whimper from the bed next to him. He blinked
and looked over to see that Sherlock's face was pinched and both hands were
fisting the sheets desperately. John sighed and stood up and took one of his
hands gently and stroked it.
"Shh, Sherlock, you're okay. I'm here, John's here, and I'm not gonna leave you
alone, okay? Together we'll figure this out," he said softly until Sherlock's
eyes blinked wearily, and stared athim.
"John?" he asked, blinking away the dampness that had risen to his greenish
eyes. Today they were green, John thought. Sometimes they were blue. He thought
they were very nice either way.
"Yeah, look what I have," he said, pulling the tape from his pocket.
"Is that…?" Sherlock said, eyes widening and hands twitching.
John nodded. "It is. And this, with your statement, means that Caleb will never
hurt anyone again, and he will pay the price for his actions."
Just then, a knock at the door came, and it opened, revealing Dr. Brace with a
uniformed officer. Brace looked at John questioningly as he stood holding onto
Sherlock's hand with one of his hands and holding a mini-tape with the other.
John smiled at him.
"Mr. Watson?" the officer said, looking at John. "I was told that this was
regarding the assault two months ago and you had some sort of evidence for me?
I'm officer O'Fallon, I'm lead on Sherlock's case from two months ago."
John nodded, handing him a tape. "Everything you need to charge Caleb Macavoy
is there for what he did to Sherlock. And Sherlock's ready to make a statement
about it now, aren't you?"
Sherlock swallowed and nodded. The officer pulled the stool closer and took out
a pad and began to write as he spoke.
"Okay, Mr. Holmes, first I have to ask why you're reporting this now rather
than when the incident occurred." He took out a small voice recorder and turned
it on as he spoke.
Sherlock glanced at John, who nodded and squeezed his hand. "Um, that tape," he
said. "He…he said if I told anyone…that he'd send it to this guy he knew in…in
the pornography industry…and…that it would be all over the place…and I didn't
want that to happen so…"
The officer nodded, jotting notes. "Okay, then tell me what happened two months
ago."
Sherlock took a deep breath. "Caleb had been trying to get me to go out for
months and months, and I…um…I kept turning him down. I wasn't interested in him
because…I wasn't interested in anyone. I told him…it wasn't him…I just was
asexual. I didn't have any sexual interest in anyone. But…he pushed it, and the
day before or of, I don't remember, he pushed me against the wall in the hall
and he was telling me it wasn't about a date, he just wanted to…you know…" his
face had reddened. "H-have sex and that was it. P-professor Brathas saw that
happen."
Sherlock took a breath and John reached one hand behind him and rubbed between
his shoulder blades. "Go on, you can do this."
He nodded. "After that, I went to the library, I figured it would be safest to
stay with other people, you know public places, but I didn't think he was a
danger, but I don't know why I didn't think he was a danger, I just didn't see
it…and I should have. It was stupid. He was waiting outside when the library
closed and I left to head back to the dorm. He asked me again if there was any
chance. I told him no, and then someone, V-Vince I guess, hit me from behind
and I blacked out…"
The monitors showed his heart-rate increasing and John scooted down and sat
down beside him on the bed, continuing to rub his shoulders as his breathing
began to speed up. "I…I woke up and he said stuff about people not telling him
no. I begged him not to, and he…he said since I obviously wasn't
interested…he'd skip…the…the pleasuring me part." Sherlock stopped there,
biting the side of his cheek hard enough that blood began to trickle from the
corner of his mouth. John tsked and picked up a tissue and wiped it away.
"He'd taken off my clothes…well, my trousers and p-pants, and he then took his
off and he sat on my chest…and he…he put it into my mouth and said…said to wet
it f-for my own benefit… Then he moved and he turned me over and…did that…and
then I realized that Vince had a camera and I can't remember what was said, and
then when Caleb…he was done and asked Vince if he wanted a turn and I had a
panic attack and was screaming so they gagged me, but I couldn't breathe and
kept passing out…I don't remember what exactly happened, but I know Vince was
there, and I think…I think Caleb again…and then I was falling onto my knees
outside th-the dorm…" Sherlock finished and was gasping for air.
"Shh, deep breaths, Sherlock, come on, don't pass out on me yet," John assured
him as he rubbed his back.
The officer looked up. "That was when you returned to your dorm and decided to
end your own life?"
Sherlock nodded. "I…I didn't know what to do…I was hurting so much…and I knew
that no one liked me already, what would come of it when they found out what
Caleb did? I just didn't care, I just wanted it to stop so I took Mike's razors
out and just cut and cut and cut and then opened the vein here," he said,
rolling his left arm over where the long scar was still a little pink. At the
top were the track marks.
"What happened then?" the officer said, jotting down.
"I left the hospital and got my things from my dorm. I put my things in my
brother's flat, said I'd stay with him, then I just walked out and didn't go
back. I had…I had some money, so I found a dealer…and bought some cocaine. It
felt nice but it wasn't enough, so I found a den where they showed me how to
mix it with heroin. That did it. I didn't have to think…didn't have to do
anything. It was nice. Then, yesterday, I guess I got the mix off…and ended up
here…" he said the last quietly.
"Accidental overdose?" the officer asked.
Sherlock felt John squeeze his hand. "Sort of. I mean, I don't think I
consciously did it, but I certainly didn't care if I died from it."
The officer nodded, finishing his notes, and turned off the small voice
recorder.
"Depending on what we can see on here, we may be in touch. Please be safe, Mr.
Holmes. Thank you, John. Um, may I ask how you got this?"
John deadpanned an innocent expression. "Honestly, this bloke found me leaving
the hospital yesterday and handed it to me. I didn't know what I had until I
got home and put it in my own camera. I was very surprised."
O'Fallon looked at him for a long moment than arched his ginger brows and
nodded. There was a glimmer in his green eyes as he turned and left.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
Six weeks later, John got a phone call he didn't expect.
"John Watson?" the female voice queried on the other end.
"Um, yes?" he said, shuffling across the road from the bus stop to the hospital
in a dull mist.
"This is Mycroft Holmes's assistant. Mr. Holmes requests you come with me to
his flat immediately. You're supervisor has already been informed of the delay
and it has been cleared."
Sure enough a black car sat feet away from him. He put his phone away and got
into the backseat and looked at the dark haired woman texting on her phone
without looking up, fingers flying. He sighed and decided she didn't seem in
the mood for chit-chat. Before long they arrived at a very posh looking set of
flats. The woman took him up the elevator to the very top floor where she
opened the door then turned and left.
Standing at the large window was Mycroft Holmes. He didn't bother to turn as he
spoke. "Mr. Watson. Soon to be Dr. Watson. What, may I ask, is the reason that
you've been helping my brother so much?"
John frowned and shook his head. This man. "Well, I think of him as a friend."
"My brother does not have friends. I'm sure you've noticed this."
John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, he does, whether he thinks he does or not.
I'd say breaking into someone's dorm to get evidence to convict his rapist
makes me pretty damn close to being his friend. How is he?"
Mycroft was swirling a drink in a highball glass. The ice clinked. "Not good.
He's in a rehab facility, and I'm afraid he hasn't done very well. He doesn't
eat, and has lost a significant amount of weight. He's already had to be put on
a feeding tube and confined to his bed twice in the last six weeks. He refuses
sleep at all costs and has to be sedated to even get any sleep. He refuses to
talk to the therapists, or to talk in group therapy, and now they are refusing
to even attempt to work with him. None of the therapist believe they can help
him. They've started giving him regular medications to keep him from acting out
against the staff and other patients. He's also taken to refusing to speak.
They are unsure how to handle him, and are suggesting I institutionalize him."
John's eyes bugged. "Like hell."
Mycroft turned with a lift brow. "What?"
"You are not going to put him in a fucking mental hospital. He doesn't need it.
He doesn't need any sort of drugs to sedate him or to make him stop acting out.
He needs to heal and if you were half as observant as you think you are, you'd
see that he isn't going to heal there," John's hands had balled into fists.
"I'm going to see him. Where is he?"
Mycroft shrugged, handing over a business card with the doctor in charge of
him. John nodded and stormed out of the room. Mycroft sipped the scotch and
stared out the window again.
"Oh, John Watson, how well I know he can't heal there. And how jealous I am
that it seems you are the only person that can seem to get through to him…"
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
John didn't think of the ridiculousness of the situation as he went in the
front of the deceptively nice looking building full of high class junkies. How
was he going to get into this place to see him when only family was allowed?
But the thought didn't cross his mind.
"I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes. Name's John Watson."
The receptionist looked confused, the turned and picked a clipboard from behind
her and hummed over it for a moment before gesturing for a man in scrubs to
come over.
"Jared, please take Mr. Watson to see Sherlock."
Jared, a shorter man with thick black hair and piercing gray eyes, frowned.
"Seriously?" The woman gave him a glare. "This way, Mr. Watson," he said with a
sigh.
As they got closer he shook his head. "Dunno what you plan on doing, but he's
not really been too cooperative…"
John shook his head as the nurse (orderly?) showed him into a room and followed
him in, closing the door behind them. Jared headed over to the bed and shook
Sherlock's shoulder gently.
"Hey there, Sherlie, you got a visitor," he said, far too cheerfully.
There was an answering grunt and John saw a flash of black curls. Jared
shrugged. "Most you'll get out of him."
John stepped forward and his frown deepened. He'd been restrained, both wrists
were bound in the soft cuffs and linked to the sides of the bed, and he had an
IV going with saline and electrolytes. That arm was secured down at the elbow
so he couldn't dislodge the IV. He was painfully thin. His cheeks were hollow
and his eyes sunken with dark circles under them. His eyes fluttered open and
he looked up at John and blinked.
"J-john?" he muttered and tried to reach up, but whimpered when he couldn't.
"P-please…take me…home…"
Jared was staring flabbergasted. John leaned over and pulled a penlight from
his pocket and flashed it into his eyes one after the other and took his pulse.
"What the hell are you people doing? He's here to detox from heroin and coke
and you have him drugged out of his mind on psychotropics? And you have a
fucking rape victim tied down to a bed? Do you even have any idea what you're
doing to him?"
Jared stared at him blinking. "But…but…he…he gets violent, we couldn't…couldn't
handle him…and he was going to hurt someone…we didn't know about the…the…that…"
Jared stammered.
John snarled, letting go of Sherlock's hand and grabbing the chart from the end
of the bed looking it over and flipped it to the history page. He shoved it in
front of Jared. "What does that fucking say?"
Jared swallowed thickly. "P-past suicide attempt post sexual assault, proceed
with due caution. May show aggressive tendencies in the next few weeks. Drug
use a result of sexual assault."
"He's been here six fucking weeks and no one bothered to read his fucking
chart?" John said with a severe tone to his voice.
Jared glanced up at him. "I..I'm just a nurse, man, I don't…"
"No, no one is just a nurse. You spend all day with him. The doctors come in
for what, ten minutes a few times a day and look at this chart and prescribe
meds based on the shit you just a nurse says about him. Don't you fucking think
it might be important to see what the fuck is going on with your patients
before you make fucking assumptions that they're just another high brow junkie
who turned to drugs because they got bored of spending money?" John was yelling
by now, Sherlock's foggy eyes locked on him. The door opened and a doctor came
in with security behind him.
"You are going to have to leave immediately, Mr.?"
"Watson. John Watson. And you're damn right I'm going to leave right now," John
said, and walked around and began unbuckling Sherlock's wrists one at a time
and deftly removed the IV, putting pressure on it for a second before digging a
cotton ball and Band-Aid out of the drawer behind him. As soon as both his arms
were free he reached out and grabbed John against him and sobbed loudly.
"Hush, we're getting you out of here, Sherlock, don't worry," he said, rubbing
his back.
"You can't just waltz in her and leave with a patient!" the doctor said,
glancing at the security guards behind him who had tensed but didn't move since
the patient was holding onto him.
"I can and will," John said with a malicious tone. "You are a bunch of fucking
idiots who cannot even read a goddamned chart and know that you don't fucking
strap a rape victim with PTSD to a bed like the men who raped him did and
expect him to be a good patient for you. Then you dope him up to keep him calm.
He's having fucking non-stop panic attacks and you can't even understand that
much. I'll have your heads, or his brother will when I tell him what happened
here."
The doctor blinked and turned to stare at the nurse. Jared shrugged. "I guess
it was in the chart…" he said sheepishly.
The doctor shook his head and the receptionist came running in and handed a
chart to the doctor. The doctor blinked his beady brown eyes vacant for a
moment. He ran a hand through his short mousey colored hair and sighed,
motioning for the two security officers to follow him, and soon the room was
empty of everyone except Sherlock, John, and Jared, who stood staring.
"M'sorry, John, please…take me out of here…can't think straight…all fuzzy…"
Sherlock gasped into John's shoulder.
"No, no, shh, come on, let's get you out of here," John said, pulling him up to
stand on shaky legs.
John pulled off his leather jacket and eased it onto Sherlock's frighteningly
thin frame and held him against him. Luckily, unlike a hospital, this place had
him in a pair of plain blue pajamas and there were some slippers near the door
that he helped him slip on. Then, he walked him out into the lot where he was
unsurprised to see a nondescript black car waiting him. He settled Sherlock
into it and scooted in beside him, still hugging him against him. A few minutes
later, he led him from the car into his modest little rental house. There was
only one bedroom, but they would make due, he certainly wasn't letting him out
of his sight. Good thing he had a double bed.
He sat Sherlock on the living room couch and turned on the telly. He pulled the
papers from his pocket. He'd stolen the chart before he left so he could tell
what drugs he was coming down off of and how long they would last. He still
couldn't believe they were so stupid. And Mycroft! How could he leave his
brother there? He sighed and brought a blanket out to Sherlock who was
shivering though it wasn't that cold. He'd lost so much weight…
John went and made tea, bringing back two cups. He handed one to Sherlock who
stared at it a moment before taking it in a shaking hand.
***** Full Court Press *****
Mycroft was unsurprised when there was an announcement that a very irate short
man had arrived and was insisting on talking to him immediately. Mycroft smiled
to himself. This Watson was continuing to surprise him on a daily basis it
seemed.
"Send him in."
He came in with a look like thunder on his face. He was pulling Sherlock behind
him, who had a surprised expression on his face. He was wearing what were
obviously John's clothes, because the pants were too short and the shirt and
jacket wasn't long enough. Mycroft hid his grin.
"John, stop, let's go," Sherlock was muttering as John gently pushed him down
into the seat closest to the door. He looked at Sherlock who pursed his lips at
him. He turned to Mycroft.
"What the hell?" he said, stomping forward and slamming both hands onto
Mycroft's desk and staring at the seated man across it. Mycroft almost
flinched. Sherlock did flinch.
"I thought you said they were having issues with himat the facility. That
hewasn't being cooperative," he said with a growl.
Mycroft sighed. "I'm afraid I wasn't entirely truthful with you yesterday,
John. Please, have a seat, and I'll explain. I'm afraid there have been a
number of errors in the last few weeks, the largest of which were upon me."
John waited a moment then sat down and crossed his arms. "Six weeks ago, when I
had Sherlock transported to the facility, I was assured that they offered the
best treatment program for his unique situation. I received satisfactory
reports for the first week or so, and then I was sent out of the country for
the next four weeks. I had my people check on progress and received reports
that Sherlock was uncooperative. I was unsurprised, Sherlock has never done
well with the concept of therapy, neither have I, so when they reported he
refused group therapy and individual, I was unconcerned. I had told the
director that this would happen."
A woman came in and set down a tray with tea on it and offered John a cup, and
then handed one to Sherlock. She left just as quickly.
"So when I got back to my office, I was displeased to see a stack of reports
from the doctor with the details I gave you. I went to the facility to visit
and found Sherlock in a very calm state, and sitting alone. While this in
itself was not unusual, I was worried when he didn't seem to respond to me at
all. I questioned the doctor and was informed that I was either going to have
to commit him for extensive care or take him out of the facility the following
week. I called you instead because he wouldn't have anything to do with me. You
were the only person I thought might care enough to try and speak to him,"
Mycroft said with a sigh. "I could not care for him myself, so I had little
option."
John nodded. "I think I understand. Obviously you have more important duties
than taking care of your little brother. Send his things to my house. I don't
doubt you know where I live."
He walked over to Sherlock and took his hand and they left together. Sherlock
gave one gaze backward at his brother, but he'd turned and was staring out the
window. He was confused still. But he followed John, and they found a black car
waiting for them. John didn't question it, just shuffled Sherlock into the
backseat and sat down beside him. Sherlock realized he was already tired, and
rested his head against John's shoulder. John adjusted and wrapped his arm
around his back and tugged him closer to him for the duration of the short
ride. He was unsurprised to find Sherlock had fallen asleep on the way there.
He smiled and shook him gently.
Sherlock woke with a start and blinked at him. "Come on, we're back."
John led him in and to the bedroom. As he was leaving Sherlock grabbed his
shirt hem. "Don't go yet," he said.
John smiled and settled into the bed beside him and pulled him against his side
like they had been in the car and Sherlock was soon fading into a quiet sleep
again. John, to his credit, had kept his anger in check. He was surprised at
that. He picked up the mail on the bedside table and found a summons to court
to testify at Caleb's trial. He chewed his lip a bit and wondered how this was
to play out. He hadn't set Sherlock's address yet, but he was sure there would
be another letter for him. At least the exposure should be brief. There was
also a page in his letter to return with the names of any other victims that he
was aware of, or people that witnessed the fight they had in the football
field. He'd fill it out and mail it back tomorrow with a note explaining that
Sherlock was at his address currently.
His mobile rang and he picked it up and spoke softly. "John Watson."
"John, hey, I tried calling you yesterday, what's going on? You never avoid
me," Mike's voice came over the line.
John smiled. "Yeah, I had something important to do."
A long silence. "What happened? You sound…different, John?"
"Oh, I just have a sleeping Sherlock Holmes in my bed," he said with a cocky
sound to his voice.
Another silence. "No way, what happened? I mean…you didn't…"
"Mike, I'm not a prick. No, his brother called yesterday, I ended up pulling
him out of the rehab facility he was in and bringing him back here. Long story,
but there was no way I was letting him stay there. I talked to his brother
earlier. He's sending his things over here later today," John said, and
realized his hand was busily brushing through Sherlock's longer dark curls.
Mike snickered. "You are fucking smitten, John Watson."
John's brow creased. "What are you on about?"
"Ever since the day you met him, you've been fascinated by him, and now you've
saved him three times. You're like his knight in shining armor and he's your
damsel in distress…" Mike said with an obviously amused tone.
John opened and closed his mouth a few times, every response sounding
ridiculous in his head. "I…Jesus fucking Christ, Mike….wow. I guess…I guess…I
missed it. I was so busy being worried I didn't notice why I was worried for
him…"
"You've done nothing but talk about him and Caleb and the drugs and worry and
fret ever since you met him, even if you don't know it. I thought you were
straight?" John snorted.
"Never said that, I said I'd dated a few girls. But I've dated a few guys too.
So I guess I'm more bi than anything else. Maybe pan, you know, since the whole
gender and gender expression doesn't bother me. Love…love is about a person,
not what they look like or what naughty bits they have," John said, eyes
rolling up at the ceiling. He hadn't noticed the change in breathing beside
him.
Mike giggled. "Damn John, I had you pegged for a straight guy hard core, I'm
surprised."
John shrugged, hand absently brushing through the dark curls under his hand.
"Yeah, well, I like who I like, and I like taking care of people. Generally, it
falls into the category that women are the ones that need taking care of. And
the few guys I've dated were so fruity it made me cringe. I'm not into the over
the top flamboyance expression. I mean, it may be fine for them…but not my
thing. And you try finding a male partner who is looking for a person like me."
Mike paused. "You're a top in a same sex relationship? You short little shit,"
he said snickering. "You…oh my god John, that's hilarious. No wonder you can't
find a male partner, they'd all try and top you!"
John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well my height has caused more than
one…ah…misunderstanding in that area. I'm too into controlling things in my own
way, you know. And to be honest, I love to give more than receive in the bed
area…if you know what I mean. And let's just say being a doctor certainly
doesn't hurt."
Mike laughed again on the other side of the line. "I'm not sure if that was too
much information or not, but anyway, what are your plans with your damsel
there?"
John sighed, hugging the warm body against him tighter. "Honestly, Mike, I have
no 'plans'. Right now, I'm going to help him get through what's happened, get
through the trial, and then try and help him get back to normal enough that he
can finish uni. If our relationship develops, it develops, but I'm not going to
make any moves anytime soon. He's got a lot of healing, and this fucking trial
is going to be hard enough. And I want to watch, and I want him to watch, as
they take that fucking bastard away in chains."
Mike sighed. "Man, yeah, I got the summons too, next week. Is he gonna be
okay?"
John sighed, hand carding through Sherlock's hair again. "No, he's not, but I'm
going to be there with him and fuck anyone that tries to argue with me. He's
been through enough without the defense tearing into him without someone there
beside him. His wanker brother is too fucking busy to bother, so I'll take care
of it. Anyway, I'm getting off now, he's asleep and he needs to rest as much as
he can. When he gets up, we'll talk over the trial stuff, but for now, I just
want to sit here with him."
John clicked off and slid down into the bed, but missed the dampness around
Sherlock's eyes, and if he noticed the tightening of his arms around him, he
didn't comment.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
Two weeks later, John had his arms linked with Sherlock as they practically ran
up the steps into the courthouse. He'd bought him a long coat (a nice one, a
Belstaff actually, and it looked good on him) to wear to try and hide but it
didn't seem to work because they were being followed by a slew of reporters.
Finally they were let in and escorted to the courtroom, where they sat in the
first row behind the prosecution.
Sherlock clutched John's hand tightly as both Caleb and Vince were brought into
the room and sat at the defense table. John knew it was the first time in
almost five months that he'd seen them. And John held his hand in both of his,
feeling Sherlock's pulse skyrocket. He leaned over and whispered soothing
nonsense to him to keep him calm. Neither noticed when Mycroft entered and sat
in the last row to watch the proceedings. It was all a play for the press.
Everything was already determined. But it would play out and Macavoy would hang
himself in the eyes of the public before it was over. Mycroft only hoped his
brother didn't break down in the middle of things.
Things were called to order, and the defense started by calling character
witnesses, the Daniels, the Macavoys, all tearful and unbelieving that such a
thing could have been said about their sons, and of course, the linchpin to the
crime was the video that had mysteriously disappeared from the archives two
weeks after Sherlock had entered rehab. With no video proof, there was little
to do but use testimony. Of course, neither the Macavoys or the Daniels
realized that there was more than one copy of the incriminating video. And
Mycroft Holmes would present it himself before the day was over. In fact,
copies had already been released to several news outlets, edited for discretion
of course. But in Mycroft's pocket was the original that John had handed him.
He, of course, had backups.
Finally the prosecutor called Sherlock to the stand. He stood on unsteady feet
and walked to the front and sat down, refusing to look up. He was asked to
recount his relationship with Caleb Macavoy and Vince Daniels. He repeated the
speech he'd practiced so many times with John, trying to focus on the words and
not anything in the room. When he was done, the solicitor nodded and sat down.
Then Macavoy's man stood and came over.
"So, Mr. Holmes, you're saying you never indicated to Mr. Macavoy you were
interested in him."
Sherlock shook his head, his heart rate once more going up. "No," he said
quietly. "I told him I was asexual. I had no interest in him or anyone else,
for that matter."
"And what does that mean, asexual?" the man asked.
Sherlock looked up and frowned. "Um, it means I don't feel sexual urges at
all."
"Really? Not at all?" he asked, unbelieving.
Sherlock shook his head. "No, I don't."
"Have you ever had an orgasm?" he asked, receiving objection from the defense.
It was ignored.
Sherlock shook his head. "No."
"That's interesting, because Mr. Macavoy indicated that you enjoyed your time
with him very much," he said smugly.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and glared at him. "Before or after he busted open
my skull?"
The man stumbled and turned around. "That is unsubstantiated."
"So the hospital records don't count?" Sherlock asked. "Considering it listed a
moderate concussion, severe lacerations and rope burns on my wrists, and
several internal tears consistent with the assault I endured."
"It was consensual kink," he said dismissively. Sherlock blinked.
"What?" he said.
"You asked to be tied up, and abused. That is all that is evidence of," the
solicitor said with a shrug. "You were ashamed of yourself and your actions,
which is what drove you to the suicide attempt and then drug use when the
attempt failed. There is no proof that anything that occurred between you and
my clients was anything other than consensual."
Sherlock stared, wide eyed at the man, mouth working, and breath hitching. John
winced. This was worse than he thought.
"I move to dismiss all charges," the solicitor said, turning and sitting down.
Sherlock was led away from the front and back to John, who pulled him in close.
"Not until all our witnesses have been put on the stand," the prosecutor said
with a huff.
John was called next, and went over the three times he'd been there to rescue
Sherlock. Then the defense came at him.
"So, what is your relationship with Mr. Holmes now?" he asked.
John shook his head. "He's my friend, and I'm helping him out."
"So he's staying with you?" he said, glancing over a file.
"He is."
"In your one bedroom house," he continued. "Tell me, does he share your bed
too?"
Sherlock was staring at his hands intently. John shrugged. "He does. He has
PTSD. He wakes every night at least three or four times from the horrific
nightmares he suffers."
"So you're sleeping together? I thought he claimed he was asexual."
John rolled his eyes. "He is asexual. He requires comfort and safety, I provide
it."
"Is there a reason his brother cannot serve this function?" the defense
continued.
John colored. "His brother is occupied with his job. He cannot dedicate time to
help Sherlock through this, so I volunteered."
"You know, relationships often offer benefits for both parties, and if you
aren't getting sex or money out of Mr. Holmes, tell me why you're doing this
kindness? Aren't you busy enough with the medical program you are completing
this year? Sounds like an awful lot of work for a guy you've known less than a
year."
John bit his lip. No cussing, he'd told himself. "Sherlock is an incredibly
individual. He's been bullied and pushed around his entire life because of his
intelligence. He has little tact and is incredibly honest. He can look at a
person and tell you who they're sleeping with, how much they make, and how many
pets they own and what kind. He has more information in that head of his than
anyone I've ever met. And you know what? He doesn't deserve that kind of
treatment. He's so much better than that. The fact that the day I met him I
told him just that made an instant relationship between us. He's not used to
praise. And so he came to trust me. And I became the person he could rely on.
And I'm damn proud of that fact."
"You provided the supposed tape to the police, correct?" he asked, looking at a
clipboard again.
"I did, and those gits lost it. Or rather I think someone conveniently got paid
off to lose it," he said with a sigh.
"Did you watch the tape, Mr. Watson?" he asked, turning to him. Ah, damn, John
thought. He hadn't actually told Sherlock he had.
"I did. I wrote a transcript so that I could use it later in case it was
needed."
"And what exactly was on this supposed tape?"
"First, it bloody well isn't supposed, and second it was exactly what Sherlock
said in his testimony. Of course, the tape shows more, such as those two gits
talking before and afterward. And three other assaults," John glanced to see
Sherlock had dropped his head and his shoulders had gone tight.
"I see. Convenient that you got it. How did you get it again?"
"Bloke gave it to me after Sherlock came in on the overdose outside the
hospital," he said with an easy shrug. "Figured he was one of his mates from
the drug den."
John knew they wouldn't question it further. If they did bring up the break in,
they were admitting that there was a tape to steal.
The defense attorney shook his head. "The tape doesn't exist, I move to
dismiss…"
"I have something to show the court," Mycroft said from the back of the room,
walking forward with a clipped step, umbrella in hand.
The judge arched a brow. "Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft said with a nod to each
side. "Now if you please…"
"You can't just walk in with evidence without first…"
Mycroft turned and stared at the lawyer. "It would be in your best interest to
be quiet now. You were not privy to this because I knew what had happened with
the tape before. Luckily, Mr. Watson here, was a man with forethought. He gave
me a copy, and doubtless kept one for himself. I will allow him his own copy,
and don't worry, there are already copies at the major news outlets."
Both Vince and Caleb had paled. Neither spoke. Mycroft was brought a TV and
looked back. "Please, if you are sensitive, you may wish to leave the room.
This has not been edited." He turned to his brother who was staring at him with
wide eyes. "Brother, do you wish to stay or go to my car and wait?"
Sherlock just shook his head.
"How can you do this? Are you really going to allow this?" the defense yelled
at the judge.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Smithson, Mr. Holmes and I had already discussed this
course of action considering the theft of the previous copy of this footage. He
has full clearance to present here by the authority of the British Government."
Both solicitors gaped as he turned on the video. He brought it to the first
incident on the tape. "As you can see, this is not what most people would
consider a consensual union." He sped to the second, and nodded. "Nor this." He
went to the third and nodded. "Definitely not this."
000000000000000000 Transcriptional recount of non con scenes, skip to next if
you don't want to repeat or get squicked. 000000000000000000000000000000
The entire room was silent, though several had left to wait in the outside. The
only people allowed were those involved in the case as the proceedings were not
public. He stopped on Caleb's face as he stood over Sherlock's slack body on
the bed.
The camera swung around and focused on Caleb. At that point Sherlock squeezed
his eyes shut and dropped his head to his hands. All he could do was listen; he
couldn't watch. The words and the sounds of those around him filled his ears.
Caleb's smiling face lit the screen. The other three clips hadn't had any
speaking in them. "Fun times, right? Vince here knocked him a little hard, hope
he wakes up, otherwise it really is no fun. Heh, I've fucked plenty unconscious
but this is different. Never seen a more pain in the arse fellow. Claims to be
asexual, we'll see about that. You think I can make him come, Vince?"
Vince now. "Well, if anyone can, it would be you. You like to make them come
when they scream no, don't you."
"No is the best, it really means yes, you know. Just like this beauty here.
Every time he said no, I heard, 'please Caleb, take me and fuck me until I
scream your name'. That's all there is to it. He just didn't know it yet. Oh,
shh, here we go… Oh, he's up, Vince, I was afraid you'd killed him…"
"What…Caleb?" Sherlock flinched, his own voice alien to his ears. Had he really
sounded like that?
"Sweet Sherlock, told you, I don't take no." Caleb's voice was accompanied by
the squeak of springs. Sherlock's heart hitched.
"Caleb, please, stop this… You…you don't want to do this…Caleb…" Sherlock
recognized the fear tainting his own voice and it sounded strange.
"See, I do, Sherl. Vince here is gonna record our little tryst. And if you
breathe a word of what happens here, I'm going to give this video to people who
will release it to the press and to some friends of mine in the porn industry,
and you'll go far, baby,"
"Why?" His own voice was broken.
"Good lord on high, you are a smooth as a little boy, Sherlock."
"Please, Caleb. Don't. I don't…I don't want this…I told you…I'm not interested
in sex at all, not with anyone, it isn't you, I just don't…" Sherlock heard the
fear that was reappearing in his chest in his voice.
The sound of him hitting him echoed in the quiet room. Vince was laughing Caleb
growled at him. "Shut the fuck up, Sherlock. I will break your goddamned jaw,
and then every one of your bloody fingers. Then see how pretty you play the
violin or rattle off your haughty deductions."
He hissed and then Caleb again. "Now, I'm going to fuck you, Sherlock. And I'm
going to kiss you, and if you try anything, anything at all, like trying to
kick me, or trying to bite me, I will fucking leave you so broken that you
won't be able to walk, let alone stand. Do you understand? Don't say anything.
Just nod."
The next sounds were his own heavy breath and rustling of clothes.
"Aw, the little freak's shy, isn't he? Think this is gonna be yer best v yet,
he's so much prettier than the rest of the boys." Vince's condescending voice.
More clothes rustling and Sherlock hadn't realized he was whimpering at the
time. He didn't remember that.
"Normally, I like to make my boys come before I do. But considering how
thoroughly uninterested you are, I guess I'll just cut to the chase and fuck
your little arse, huh?" Caleb's voice, and he remembered him staring at him,
and his face blazed inside Sherlock's mind no matter how hard he focused on the
words, the words alone. He needed to hear this. He needed to hear what he had
said, what they had said. He had to know. He had to know he hadn't asked for
it. He had to know that he had said no until the end. He had to know he hadn't
enjoyed it. He had to know.
"P-please…d-don't…" Sherlock almost didn't recognize his own voice. Another
sound of being hit.
He heard his own voice whimper in pain then.
"Ah, fuck, I think this is going to be fun. Vince, should I be nice or should I
just go in dry?"
"Ah, you know you'll hurt if you go in dry. Fuck his mouth a bit, then go in
like that," Vince now, amusement apparent in his voice.
"Open, and if you even think about biting down on me, I will shove my entire
fist in your arse. Understand?" Caleb's voice was commanding and stern. A pause
and the sound of something Sherlock forced out of his mind.
"It's in your best interest, Sherlock dear, if you get me nice and wet. This is
the only lube you're going to get…" Caleb spoke and then the sounds of him
coughing and gagging violently. A gasp in the room was heard. Sherlock couldn't
deduce at that point. Perhaps the jurors.
He heard himself scream and suddenly he felt someone's hand on his back, and
someone else had put their hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Voices he didn't
know spoke, and then he felt someone's arms wrap around him and he held back a
sob and recognized John's smell. He buried his face in his warm jumper and held
onto him. Someone was still rubbing his back behind him.
"Move to the side, I need a better angle," Vince said curtly. Then Vince was
giggling.
"Look at this little slut. Isn't he a pretty little whore, even with tears on
his face? I think the tears make him even prettier. Here, scream for me again,
little slut." Sherlock did scream again, more of a yelp this time.
Sherlock shut the sounds as he clutched into John's jumper and he felt the
tears flowing faster now but quietly as he listened to his own pained voice.
But he had to listen. He had to know that he hadn't given in, that he hadn't
been willing at all…he had to know.
"You gonna take a turn, Vince?" Caleb's exhausted voice.
"Why not, his arse is just as pretty as a little pussy. Keep the camera on him.
I know, when you're up again, you can fuck him again before we dump him out.
He's such a good little slut."
Sherlock didn't remember this part clearly. But he heard what he'd said for the
first time.
"God no, stop, please," his voice was low, and then he started to yell louder.
"Someone help me, please! Anyone!" There was a muffled scream and Caleb
snorted.
"Well, obviously, he's not gonna listen anymore, shame, woulda liked to seen
him suck you off, but he's too far out of it. Go ahead, that should keep him
quiet." Caleb now, followed by a pleased grunt from Vincent and Sherlock's
continued screaming against the gag.
"Fuck, dude, you sure that's not gonna suffocate him? He keeps passing out?"
Vince asked.
"He'll be fine. Hurry up, I'm already up again," Caleb commented.
Finally quiet and then Caleb's voice again. Sherlock had long since become
quiet.
"Get is arse in the car, Vince. Gotta wipe down for prints and shit. Go on,
I'll meet you there," Caleb was moving around and the sounds of Vince
struggling to carry Sherlock. There was a pause followed by a slamming of a car
door.
"Best fuck I've had in a while. What about you?" Caleb's self-satisfied voice.
"Still prefer a pussy in front of the arses I'm fucking, thanks, but not too
bad…I mean, if you covered up his cock, you'd think he was a girl with those
pouty lips and pretty hair." Vince's bored voice.
"Here we go, time to drop off my date! Bye, bye, lover boy! Was fun!" The
camera caught the sound of Sherlock throwing up violently and them both
laughing at it.
"Well, that was entertaining…now you done with him? After chasing him almost a
semester and a half, one fuck doesn't seem like enough." Vince now, distracted
by driving no doubt.
"Hell no, he's gonna be my pussy boy now. Just wait. I'll drop by in the
morning with something nice, and see if I can't rope him in as a regular fuck.
I think a little 'I'm sorry for taking your virginity' presents are in order.
Not like I can't afford them." Caleb's voice was grating.
"You're hopeless. You think he'll really be your boy? After what you just did?"
Caleb giggled. "But he's so easy to manipulate. He acts so tough, like he
doesn't want anyone to be around, all I have to do is use a little persuasion
now, I've taken him, made him a dirty little whore, and now I convince him no
one wants him but me. But how much I adore him, give him all sorts of little
things to show him how nice I can be. And before long, I'll have him pinned to
the lockers in the football locker room. And he'll want me to do it, to make me
happy, just so I won't ever leave him alone again…"
"You are seriously fucked up. What's so special about this one? You never
wanted to shower anyone else with gifts, just wanted a fuck and run."
"I don't know. Something…different about him. Ah, shit, now look at me, the
fucking high from the sex is wearing off and I'm getting all emotionally
attached to him. Shit, let's find some blow or something," Caleb finished and
the room was quiet.
00000000000000 End transcriptional account of Non con scenes 00000000000000000
The silence stretched for a long moment. The only sound was Sherlock's gasping
breaths into John's shoulder. Behind him, Caleb Macavoy's mother was rubbing
his back with a tearstained face, whispering how sorry she was, how much she
wished she could change things. On the other side, Vince Daniel's mother also
sat running hands over his shoulders and staring ahead blankly with red rimmed
eyes. The jurors were looking alternatively disgusted and furious and somewhat
sick. The judge, who had not watched, having already seen all he needed before,
sat and stared at the defense attorney. Mr. Smithson was blinking and staring
at the static now covering the TV screen.
"Does the defense wish to change the plea?" the judge asked.
Caleb stood up. "It's fake, can't you see that?" he screamed. "You all believe
that little slut freak? He wanted it! He walked by me every day flaunting
himself, and even on the tape he was begging for it, don't you see? It was
fake, all of that tape. No, he wanted what he got, and it isn't my fault he
couldn't deal with being such a little whore bitch and tried to kill himself!
Don't blame me for what he couldn't handle!"
The attorney shook his head. "I…can't defend this client," he said, and turned
and left the room at a brisk clip. Caleb stared after him.
"I'll defend myself! I'm innocent! I never fucked anyone that didn't want it!
Just because he's a prudish son of a bitch and didn't get off, he's pissed!" he
screamed, face gone completely red. Beside him, Vince sat and sighed.
"I'll plead guilty," he said softly.
"Smart choice, Mr. Daniels," the judge said.
"No, I refuse, they'll see! I won't plead guilty!"
The jurors left and returned in less than ten minutes with a guilty verdict.
Caleb had to be cuffed and drug from the room. Vince went quietly. Sherlock
watched, clutching tightly to John as he was drug away, screaming obscenities
at Sherlock and swearing to find him again when he got out. Sherlock shivered
and collapsed into John's arms again, sobbing loudly now. To his surprise he
looked up to see Mycroft kneeling in front of him.
"Brother, mine, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you so many times," he said
quietly. "But I want you to be happy. Stay with John. I'll pay his rental fees
for you, and I hope you'll finish school. I do love you, brother. I do love you
so much more than I can ever say. I am not sentimental, sentiment is a defect
of the losing side, and you know that I feel that way. Don't follow me,
Sherlock. Find your own happiness."
Mycroft stood and left and Sherlock gasped and leaned against him for a long
moment. The Macavoys and Daniels families had both gathered and stood to the
side, unsure what to do or say. Their entire world had just crumbled before
them. And despite that, they felt pain not for themselves. Mr. Macavoy's phone
rang, followed by the Daniels. Reporters were already calling for interviews.
John stood and tugged Sherlock's coat on him and grasped his hand and led him
to the door. His eyes were red and puffy, but they couldn't stay in the court
forever. They had to face the crowd outside.
John pushed through until they were so blocked there was only a choice to speak
or continue being pelted with questions. John hugged the younger man to his
side and sighed as he felt the trembling in his still too thin frame. Two weeks
had seen him gain several pounds, but he was still far too thin for John's
liking.
"If you want a statement, get over here now, we won't be repeating it!" he
yelled.
Sherlock shivered. "Hush, I got this," John whispered in his ear.
"Who are you?" came a cry.
"I'm John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is my house mate, charge, and maybe more than
that one of these days, but I'll answer anything you need. You got five minutes
and then we're gone," he said, holding tight to the man beside him who had his
eyes darting around at the enclosure of people with microphones and the
flashing of cameras.
"What does a guilty verdict mean for you, Sherlock?" came the first question.
"It means he doesn't have to be scared anymore," John answered, and Sherlock
nodded absently, eyes still darting around restlessly. "It means there's been
justice and Caleb Macavoy is being punished for the horrible person he was."
"Are you still suicidal?"
"Don't ask stupid questions," John retorted, glaring at the blonde woman that
asked.
"Will you finish at Cambridge?"
"Sherlock hasn't had time to recover completely, let alone decide what he wants
to do in the future. Time will tell."
"John, why would you have watched that video?" came a male voice.
John gritted his teeth and felt the tension in Sherlock's body. "I wanted to
help, and to help, I had to know what happened so I could be prepared. The same
reason Sherlock listened to the video today. To help in healing."
There were a few more questions and then they were let through to a black car
that took them to the small house. Once inside the door, Sherlock collapsed,
exhausted on the sofa with a whimper. John sighed and made a couple cups of tea
and sat down by his legs.
"You did a good job, 'Lock. Really. No one could have done better than you did
today. I'm very proud of you," he said with a smile to his voice. "That was
hard, and you did so splendidly."
Sherlock slowly sat up and sipped the tea. "I…I never said yes."
John frowned and looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"I…I had to know. I didn't…trust my memory. I didn't know if I had agreed at
some point, if I had encouraged them to continue, if I had somehow made it
happen…" Sherlock said, staring into the swirling tea as his hands shook. "I
mean, I could have left, I should have, but I had to know…if…if even once…I had
said I wanted that…I didn't have to watch…I just needed to hear and see…if I'd
kept fighting them and resisting…because I thought maybe…maybe I did deserve
it…"
John set his cup down and took the cup from Sherlock's shaking hands.
"Sherlock, no, you didn't stop fighting, and even though they'd threatened to
ruin your hands, you still tried to scream for help, because you didn't want
anything they did to you. Not at all." He held both of Sherlock's trembling
hands in his. Sherlock swallowed thickly at the lump in his throat.
"Did…did you mean what you said…that…that maybe we would be more than just
housemates?" he whispered.
John smiled and squeezed his hands gently. "Of course, Sherlock. You are the
best thing I've ever had."
"But I'm so damaged, John. Look at me. I'm so…dirty…and used…and…" Sherlock
began.
"Hush that nonsense," John said, reaching up and carding a hand through his
hair as he stared into his blue eyes. "You are not dirty or used. You suffered
a terrible thing. And you managed to come out of it despite everything."
"But…you know that I don't do the emotions thing very well…and I…I don't do
sex…and I don't know if I'll ever be able to give you that…" he said, tears
collecting in his eyes again.
"Sherlock, look at me," John said, tipping his head up. "You are more to me
than emotions and sex. If we spend the rest of our lives together cuddling on
the couch or in our bed, than I'm going to be happy with it. If I end up
shagging you silly in a week, which I very much wouldn't mind, I would be
happy. The only thing that would make me unhappy is having you walk out of my
life or dying by your own hand. That would kill me, 'Lock. I've come to love
you somehow in such a short time."
"But…but…I'm needy and I'll get dependent and I'll need your help and sometimes
I don't talk for days…and I play violin and don't sleep or eat. I'm irritable,
I get bored easily if my mind isn't occupied…and I might have some sort of
autism or be a sociopath or even a psychopath or have bipolar disorder or
antisocial personality disorder or borderline personality disorder or
something…and I'm suffering from PTSD and rape trauma syndrome that hasn't
passed the acute stage and have those nightmares and might have flashbacks,
and…and I'm demanding and will want your attention only on me…and I'll get
jealous if you go somewhere…and…and…"
John pressed his index finger against his lips gently. "Sherlock Holmes, I know
all this. Just shut up."
John leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against the younger man's and
then pulled back with a smile. Sherlock's face had gone red. He reached up and
touched his lips with his fingers and stared at John who smiled back. "First
real kiss?" he asked. Sherlock nodded. "Well, thank you for letting me give it
to you."
Sherlock's eyes filled and he flung himself into John's arms suddenly, knocking
the smaller man back into the cushions as Sherlock wrapped both legs around
John's waist and buried his head in the small of John's neck with both arms
clinging around his neck. His breath hitched and John settled back to weather
the coming storm as he felt the wetness begin to seep through his cable knit
jumper into his t-shirt underneath. He sighed and stroked his back gently with
one hand and pet his hair with the other well after midnight had come and gone.
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