Too Close to Holmes - 11/?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11 - Returning
Sherlock's return to Baker Street was not, unfortunately, uneventful. He stepped slowly out of the taxi, grudgingly accepting the assistance offered by John and Mycroft, and walked with pained, uneven steps up the stairs to 221b.
"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed when she stepped out of her door and saw her injured tenant. "What's happened to you this time?"
"Nothing, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock replied calmly. "I was just raped."
Everybody froze. Even Mycroft appeared horrified, staring at Sherlock in shock.
"Oh, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson said sympathetically.
"Don't you dare!". Sherlock snarled. "Don't you dare pity me. It's nothing. My injuries aren't nearly as severe as all the times I've been shot or stabbed or beaten. The only reason this is seen as worse than those injuries is because of a stupid social view of it as a violation. Well it's not worse. I'm fine."
John went to open his mouth, although he had no idea what he could possibly say following that outburst, but was silenced by a look from Mycroft.
"Cup of tea?" John asked once they had got into the flat and Sherlock had sat down on the sofa next to his mother.
"Yes please, John." Elizabeth said when it became clear that nobody else was going to answer. "That would be very helpful."
John nodded and started making the tea, listening while Sherlock sat silently on the sofa with Mrs Hudson fussing over him and Mycroft and Elizabeth talking about nothing in particular.
"I shall, of course, deal with Victor Trevor immediately." Mycroft said as John returned to the lounge with the tea.
"No!". Sherlock said, so sharply and suddenly that he nearly startled John into dropping the tea.
"Sherlock..." Mycroft said quietly. "You can't expect me to just allow him to get away with what he did to you."
"Of course not." Sherlock said, looking highly uncomfortable. "And while I would like nothing more than to see you completely annihilate him, you must remember that there are twenty-three others who may well have a different view of what constitutes appropriate justice. They will need to see him stand trial for what he did to... them."
John's eyes met Mycroft's across the room, and he saw an identical look in the other man's face as he imagined could be seen in his.
John's heart felt tight and squeezed with both sympathy and pride, swelling warmly as he witnessed the most considerate, selfless, and purely good thing he had ever seen Sherlock do.
“After the trial,” Sherlock went on to add, “I would not object if fellow inmates were to be informed of the nature of his crimes. Even within the criminal classes crimes of this nature against children are viewed as unforgiveable.”
*
It took nearly three hours before John was able to convince Mycroft, Elizabeth, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson that he and Sherlock would be alright alone. Sherlock had disappeared into his bedroom after less than half an hour, and John was eager to check that he was feeling okay.
“Sherlock?” He called, knocking gently on the door. “Sherlock, can I come in?”
There was no answer, though, and, after allowing Sherlock a few more seconds to respond, John carefully pushed open the door.
Sherlock was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his arms outstretched, like a thin, porcelain crucifix.
“Sherlock?” John said hesitantly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Sherlock whispered breathily, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “I’m wonderful. Positively perky. Like the pig. Perky the pig.”
John stepped closer, staring at Sherlock, taking in his short, rapid breaths and blown pupils.
“Christ, Sherlock.” John cried angrily. “What the fuck? Have you taken something?”
“Might’ve.” Sherlock replied with a smile. “That a problem?”
“I problem?” John echoed? “You shoot up on god-knows-what with Lestrade in the next room and you ask if that’s a problem? Of course it’s a bloody problem!”
“Why?” Sherlock demanded angrily, sitting up and glaring at John. “What the hell does my taking a little cocaine have to do with you or Lestrade? It’s all well and good stepping in now with your pathetic little intervention, but you weren’t so fast to step in when you could have stopped me being raped!”
John froze, staring at his lover... friend... flatmate. Did he really blame John for what happened? Did he really believe John hadn’t been trying to find him? Didn’t he realise it was tearing John apart wishing he could have got there sooner, before that monster had been able to hurt him.
“You know what, John?” Sherlock snarled, standing up and pulling on his coat. “I’m going out. Why don’t you try talking to me when you’re capable of being at least vaguely useful.”
John stared, biting the inside of his mouth as he watched Sherlock storm past him and out of the flat. Taking a few deep, shuddering breaths, he pulled his phone, determined to keep Sherlock safe, even if it was too little too late. Glancing down, he quickly wrote a text and pressed send:
SH high and stormed out. Keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s safe. JW
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