Author's Note: (This chapter jumps around the time line of 4 months switching in between John and Sherlock's view points, so just hang with it. *WARNING* Sexual Assault)
John: Month One
The taxi ride back to their flat seemed to last a painful eternity as Mary lay limp against John's side. He put his arm around her to try and provide some comfort, but he wasn't sure how much good he was doing. He looked at Mary, seeing a cold nothingness pour from her stilled eyes. He wondered what his life would be like now that so much had changed. He had lost his daughter, and his best friend who was now so much more than just. He still had his wife, but this was a woman who he had been thinking about leaving, but was not forced to stay with. Before leaving, he promised Sherlock that he would take care of Mary, and he was going to. Not because he loved Mary, which he did no longer, seeing her just reminded him of his dead daughter, but because he loved Sherlock.
Mary moved a little against his side and John was jolted out of thought. He looked over to her, but nothing had seemed to change beside the position she was sitting in. It was raining now, so John looked out the window, watching the water droplets collide with the earth.
John scarcely noticed when the cab had stopped, not realize he had arrived home until a sound from the front seat showed the cabbie's annoyance at John and Mary for not getting out and paying him. John tapped Mary on the shoulder, and she looked up slowly.
"We're home." Not my home. John said gently, running a hand through Mary's hair. Not as nice as Sherlock's... Mary nodded and sat up. John opened the door, and gave Mary a hand getting out. He slipped the cabbie some notes before assisting Mary in getting into their flat.
"I'm just going to lie down." Mary said, making her way slowly to the bedroom. John heard the door close gently behind her as he sat down at the table near his kitchen. He held his head tightly in his hands, using every muscle to resist slamming his head down on the table until he fell into unconsciousness.
Beer will help. John thought to himself as he stood stiffly and walked over to the fridge. Much to his dismay, upon opening the fridge he found he only had one bottle, and that simply would not do.
"I'm running out to get some shopping and maybe some take-away. I'll be back soon." John said against his bedroom door. He heard a slight noise that he assumed was Mary saying okay, so he grabbed his wallet and left. There was pub not to blocks away, so he figured he would just walk through the rain. Gave him a chance to clear his head, and try to make sense of the mess that was now his existence.
As John walked closer to the pub he could only think of that night, it seemed like a life time ago, where he and Sherlock had gone to a pub, relaxing and drinking, then... John sighed. It was the best sex he had had in a long time, even drunk. Why? Because it was Sherlock. It was always Sherlock, and now he would never get to be with him again and that thought was just to painful to dwell he walked inside the door of the pub he had been so deep in thought that he had not realized he had gotten there. He looked around at the patrons. Sherlock would have seen so much, but John just saw people. He walked over to the bar, sat down, and ordered a stiff beer. Tonight he drank to kill his emotions.
"I will need more of these, just keep them coming." John said to the man behind the bar before turning and looking around. He saw someone familiar sitting in a corner near the back of the establishment.
"Lestrade?" John asked, slipping of the stool and walking over.
"John?" Lestrade asked, words slurred with inebriation. He had obviously been here a while. "Come on over here."
John walked over to the small table Lestrade was perched at, sitting down in a chair across from the drunk D.I. The last time John had spoken to Lestrade had been several hours ago, and he had been bashing him on his relationship with Sherlock.
John felt all the anger he had been suppressing at the time build up and burn like a fire, but when Lestrade looked up at him, a bucket of water quenched the flames of anger. Lestrade's eyes looked sad through the glaze of drunkenness, and John could do nothing but feel as his own sorrows chilled his blood and dragged him away from anger and back to sorrow.
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be home with Mary and the baby? Or with Sherlock?" Lestrade bit out the last words with a touch of anger.
John downed his drink in one go, motioning for another to be brought. He felt his pain and regrets clench his stomach.
"Umm, the baby didn't make it, and Mary wanted to be left alone." John said, not sure if the thing about Mary was true or not. "And Sherlock and I broke up." John felt sick saying it out loud. It just made it to real.
"Oh." Lestrade said, demeanor changing completely. "Sorry to hear all that."
"Yeah..." John sighed into the new glass that the waiter had brought over.
"Well, tonight we drink in hope to forget." Lestrade said, smile creeping onto his beer stained lips. He lifted his glass.
"I'll drink to that." John said, hitting his glass against Lestrade's, and then taking a deep drink.
"I will need more of these." John said pointing to his glass. "So will he, and keep them coming." Everything after that was a bit of a blur, and John was thankful for it.
Sherlock: Month One
Sherlock woke up in the late of noon, panting in a cold sweat. Victor had assaulted his mind, his dreams, none stop for hours. When he finally found the courage to open his eyes and look around, Victor was perched on the edge of his bed smiling.
"Why, good morning Sherlock." Victor said bitter sweetly. "Did you sleep well?"
Sherlock ignored Victor, slowly rising to his feet. He wrapped a sheet around himself, and walked for the bathroom. Perhaps a scalding shower could bring him some perspective. Victor tripped him as he walked, and he crashed hard against the floor. His lip was bleeding, he could taste it, and his knee was bruised, both otherwise he would be fine.
"Looks like you fell again." Victor said teasingly. "Are you going to pretend to be dead for two years this time round?"
Sherlock exhaled sharply, pulling himself off the floor. He figured if he ignored him, he would just leave. He opened the door, leaving his room and hopefully Victor behind. He got the bathroom, closing and locking the door. He knew that Victor was not real; he knew the locked door wouldn't keep him out, but it was a silly human comfort.
He turned on the water, steam pillowing from the pipes and filling the room to a point of near suffocation. He stepped inside, water burning his back. He hissed, the pain covering every inch of his exposed flesh. Pain was good, pain was real.
"Oh, I do love a show." Victor said, hand leaning on his chin as he sat on the edge of the toilet, staring at Sherlock. "Please, entertain me."
Sherlock started to cover himself, but realized there was no point in it. Victor would stay just the same, and he wasn't real. He put some soap on a sponge, dragging it down his arms in a sort of daze. It wasn't until he was almost completely washed up that he realized that he had used John's soap and not his own.
"Case" Sherlock muttered to himself as he stepped out and dried off. "I need a case."
"Oh goody!" Victor said, voice brimming with excitement. "Since your old one fuck you and ran, can I be your blogger?"
Sherlock ignored Victor with much difficulty this time as he went back to his room and got dressed. He would play his violin for a while, try to clear his mind up a bit more, then he would head down to the yard and demand a case from Lestrade.
Day planned out, Sherlock sank into his chair, pulling out his violin. He placed it to his chin, bow held gently in his hand, and began to play.
"How lovely of you to serenade me." Victor said blissfully, leaning back in John's chair. He stretched out his leg, petting Sherlock's thigh with his toes. Sherlock cringed at the contact, but kept playing. He was not going to let Victor mess up his life any more than it had already been.
"Give me a case." Sherlock said, throwing up Lestrade's door, then passing back and forth while Victor sat down and watched the interaction. Lestrade looked up at Sherlock, hands pressed to his head as he squinted in pain.
"Could you please keep it down." Lestrade growled through clenched teeth. He opened his desk drawer, pulling out a couple of aspirin, and downing them with a glass of water that sat on his desk.
"Out drinking, were we?" Sherlock asked, putting on a bored and unsympathetic tone. He needed to act is if nothing were wrong. He looked Lestrade over; his hair was a mess, he kept grabbing the sides of his head, and he had a familiar smell on him. It only took a moment to realize what the smell was.
"And with John. Most have been a crazy night if you didn't get a chance to shower and comb your hair before coming in today." Sherlock said flatly, sorrow drilling its way into the pit in his stomach. No, Lestrade will not see him break down.
"Yeah" Lestrade said, looking up. "I was having a drink and just happened to run into John. He told me what happened. How are you doing with it all?" He asked, face softening.
"Perfectly fine, I knew it would happen eventually. Couldn't care less really." Sherlock said dismissively, a little too quickly, desperate to hide his real emotions.
"Tisk, tisk. You naughty boy. What a liar you are, Sherlock. You will have to be punished for that later." Victor said, smile shinning and eyes glowing with hatred.
"If you say so, not really in the mind to argue right now." Lestrade said, shuffling through some papers. "What are you looking for exactly?"
"Something, anything. Preferably a murder, a bloody one." Sherlock listed off, acting as if he were walking about what kind of shoes he wanted to buy.
"Give me a minute and I will try to find something for you." Lestrade said, flipping through file after file. "It's been pretty quiet lately, not many murders."
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of course now London decides that murder is wrong. Right when I need a case the most." Sherlock complained loudly.
"You could focus on me?" Victor said, standing up and walking to Sherlock's side. "I can make you forget about John. I can be your case."
"Do you have anything or not, my patience is wearing thin." Sherlock snapped, trying to not be obvious about the fact he was trying to get away from someone.
"Here's one." Lestrade said, finally looking up. "Will a cold case do?"
"Perfect." Sherlock said, snatching the file from Lestrade's hand and walking out the door briskly. His coat swooshed as he stormed from the office, and he made sure to slam Lestrade's door for good measure. He heard him curse Sherlock's name which brought a small smile to the broken detective's lips.
John: Month Two
"Mary, I am leaving for the Surgery now. Be back later tonight. Call if you need anything." John called through the closed door. Mary had not left their room since coming home from the hospital, and it was starting to worry John.
"Okay, bye." He heard Mary call out weakly in response. He started to say something, but shook his head thinking better of it. John had spent a lot of time in the last month trying to stay out of the house, whether he was working or grabbing drinks with Lestrade (which had become quite the regular thing).
He wasn't sure of the effect it was having on Mary, but he only cared a little. The last month had been hard for him, being without Sherlock and forced to try and be near Mary. He knew he loved her once, but he very much did not anymore. He felt guilty for it of course, but looking at her he saw only his dead child and his crushed happiness. Because of her, he would never get to be with the person he really loved, and maybe he was making her pay for it subconsciously.
He walked down to the street, and tried to hail a cab. When he was with Sherlock, it always seemed that Sherlock could just pull a cab out of thin air. He smiled at the thought of that, not noticing when a cab pulled up to the curb.
"Ehum" The driver said, getting John's attention. "Need a ride or what?"
"Oh yeah, right." John said shaking his head, then climbing into the cab. He gave his work address, and then fell back in silence. He looked to his side and he could almost see Sherlock sitting there. His thick dark hair framing his perfect cheek bones as rings of sun drifted and slipped from his face. His hand curled tightly around John's as if one would die if they let go. The slight smile that always teased at his lips every time John would lean into his side.
"Excuse me? Sir? We've arrived." The cabbie said, dragging John from his fantasy. He was getting lost in his head during cab rides a lot now a days.
"Thanks." He said, climbing out and paying. He watched the cab pull away, and he swore he saw the cabbie shake his head with annoyance. John shrugged, wouldn't be the first time he was ditzy with a cabbie, and it wouldn't be the last. He walked into the Surgery, checking in, the going right to his exam room.
It was a relatively quiet day, only 5 patients. He clocked out early, and headed to the pub which had become his usual hang.
He looked around, but didn't see Lestrade. Alone then? Good. John thought to himself as he took a sip from his drink. Being a regular, all he had to do was walk in before he had a drink in his hand. God, I am turning into Harry... He thought, but he hardly cared anymore. How much more could he take before he lost it all together? All of it, because Sherlock had asked him to, and he will do whatever Sherlock wants him to. That's just the curse of getting caught up in that crazy mad man. John thought, drowning his sorrows in a pool of beer.
Sherlock: Month Two
"You shouldn't worry; your husband is not involved in any criminal activity." Sherlock said, tone conveying a pure form of boredom.
"How do you-?" A woman who was sitting on Sherlock's couch asked, eyes and mouth gaping.
"He has been sneaky around because he is having an affair with his secretary." He stared at the woman for a moment. "And his boss, though he is thinking about stopping that one."
Tears began to fill the eyes of the confused woman.
"Please," Sherlock said, almost angrily. "If you are going to do that, leave first. I shouldn't have to deal with a pregnant woman's unbalanced hormones. Oh, congratulations on the baby by the way, though the father might not be pleased as he is planning to leave you for his secretary." Sherlock smiled, but it held no kindness, only annoyance.
The woman ran quickly out of the flat, sobbing deeply into her hands.
Sherlock rubbed his temples, and then leaned back into his chair striking what John called his "thinking pose". He knew that he should have been nicer about telling that woman about her husband and her pregnancy, but that was always John's job. John would have stepped in and comforted her, told Sherlock to stop being such an awful wanker. He smiled in spite of himself.
"Wow that is the 4th case this month." Victor said, dragging his hand slowly across Sherlock's shoulder blades. "You are brilliant." He whispered sensually in Sherlock's ear.
Sherlock cringed, trying to slink away from Victor's mouth. "I wish you would stop getting so close to me." Sherlock said dully. He had given up on ignoring Victor, because it only made him worse.
"Oh, but Sherlock I must. You have no idea the things I am waiting to do to you. Just go to sleep." Victor purred.
Sherlock knew nothing good could come from him sleeping when Victor had so much control. He learned that Victor could not touch him or hurt him when he was awake, but in his sleep... That is why he had been living on tea and coffee for the last 2 weeks, afraid of the things Victor will do now that Sherlock has no power to stop him.
"Not interested." Sherlock said, breathing sharply. He picked up his violin and played loudly, trying to keep himself awake, and block out Victor's filthy words.
Hours of violin playing later, Sherlock found himself in the shower. He thought about the time he and John had spent in that very spot. John's face when Sherlock penetrated him, his face when Sherlock sucked him off, his face when he came because of the things Sherlock had done to him. Those thoughts alone served Sherlock well enough for a quick wank, but his stomach dropped painfully when he looked up from his post orgasm bliss to see Victor staring at him.
"Is there no privacy in this house?" Sherlock snapped, shutting off the water, and putting on a dressing robe.
"No." Victor said plainly, following Sherlock back to the lounge. "Not anymore."
John: Month Three
"I have work in the morning, so I better head home." Lestrade said, standing up to almost fall immediately back over.
"So do I, but you don't see me leaving." John said, face red with intoxication.
"Yeah well, eh." Lestrade slurred, not finding an argument that held valid. He stumbled across the pub, till he fell through the door and into the street. John laughed silently to himself, waving for the bar keep to bring him another round. He hardly noticed when a man walked up to him.
"Excuse me." The man said, face pulled into a smile. "Is this seat taken?"
"No, not at all." John said, swaying slightly to one side. He looked up as the man sat in the chair Lestrade had previously occupied. He was tall with shortish dark wavy hair, and blue eyes. In his drunken state, the man looked a lot like Sherlock, and it pained him to look.
"Name's Chris." The man said, extending his hand for John to take.
"John" He replied, taking the man's hand and shaking it firmly. He remembered how he had held Sherlock's hand from across a table at the pub near Baker Street, and he quickly let go.
"So John," Chris said pleasantly. "Was that your boyfriend that just left?"
It took John a moment to register what he had just been asked, and when he figured it out, he gasped a little.
"No, just a friend." John said quickly "and who is to say I am gay anyways?" This was a question he often wanted to know the answer to.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I just hoped you were." Chris said bashfully, blush creeping onto his face. "I think you are pretty hot."
John swallowed hard, his body betraying what his mind knew was right.
"Is bi good enough?" John asked, eyes becoming lustful. This man might not have been Sherlock, but he sure looked like him, and that was enough for right now.
Chris's face drew into a huge smile. "Certainly." He said, grabbing John's wrist and pulling him to his feet.
"Where are we going?" John asked as Chris pulled him along.
"Somewhere private if that is okay with you." Chris said, feet not missing a beat as he continued to hurry along.
"Desperate are we?" John asked, voice falling into a low kind of laugh.
"You have no idea." Was the only reply he got before he was being dragged into an elevator.
Suddenly lips were pressed against his, a needy tongue prying to get through John's closed mouth. John opened up for him, swallowing his tongue and gliding his own against Chris's lips. Teeth clanked against each other as both tried to find the right position. Chris held John's head fast in his hands and grinded his crotch against John's. The sensation on having an erection grind against John again made him whimper needily, his own pants now growing too tight.
The door to the elevator opened, leaving Chris and John falling to the floor, bodies intertwined. Chris leapt to his feet, dragging John up with him as he darted for a door.
Soon, they were crashing through said down, and fumbling with clothing. John's head was spinning, but in his mind he was with Sherlock again. He groaned "Sherlock" under his breath, but Chris did not seem to notice, or if he did, he did not care.
Tonight was going to be a nice break from the boring sadness that was John Watson's life, and he was ready to take it all in. Literally.
Sherlock: Month Three
"Hush now Sherlock. Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more." Victor sang gently into Sherlock's ear. He had not slept in almost a month, and his body was breaking down. His mind was deteriorating into normalcy, and he was beginning to feel hungry all the time.
"Just sleep Sherlock, please. Look at yourself. You are falling apart my dear."
"Shut up, just SHUT UP!" Sherlock shouted, shoving his hands into his ears. He couldn't handle anything anymore. He had not worked a case in weeks, his mind crumbling until he could no longer deduce even the simplest things such as affairs or cover-ups. He needed to sleep, and he knew he was going to within the next day, maybe sooner. He walked in a daze, tripping over his own feet as he made his way to his bed.
"Good... Good..." Victor whispered gently, soothingly. "Sleep now Sherlock, refresh your brilliant mind. Seeing you fall apart like this is awful." The way Victor said it Sherlock could almost believe he meant it, but the giant smile that swallowed his face showed the truth.
"No" Sherlock whimpered, vision fading to black as his head hit the pillow. The last thing he could recall was Victor's smile as his face loomed ever closer.
"Nice to finally have you here." Sherlock could hear Victor's voice echoing around him. He blinked, realizing his eyes were open, but he was just in a dark space. He tried moving his hands, but he couldn't. Bound. He tried moving his legs, testing everything. Head to toe, too tight to get out of. Can't get wrist in the right position to break thumb. Trapped.
"Good analysis. Completely correct by the way. Can't get out of this one brilliant detective." Victor's laugh bounced around the room, slamming against Sherlock's ears. Suddenly, a bright light flashed on, catching Sherlock completely off guard. It was blinding at first, but Sherlock blinked it away quickly. He saw Victor standing there, wearing tight vinyl pants and holding a riding crop. Sherlock looked down, realizing he was stark naked, tied up and left sitting helplessly on a cushion in the middle of the room. Great...
"Mmmm, just how I like it." Victor purred, voice ruff. "You never let me be in control. You always had to be the dom. Well, not this time darling. Time for me to have my fun." He smiled wickedly, lightly smacking Sherlock's thigh with the riding crop.
Sherlock flinched, but shrugged it off. He was not going to give Victor the satisfaction.
"Don't want to play?" Victor asked with fake sadness. "Maybe this will convince you otherwise." He opened a door that Sherlock had not seen before, and John came tumbling out of it. Tied and stripped just like he was.
"Don't you hurt him!" Sherlock said, suddenly in a panic. Not real, not real, not real! Sherlock thought over and over, but he couldn't stop the way his body felt. He felt scared, and that is exactly what Victor had wanted.
"Well you see Sherlock, if I hurt him or not is strictly up to you." Victor smiled innocently. "Do what I say, and John here will be just fine." He ran a hand up John's back, stopping at the bullet scar, digging his finger into the muscle. John cried a muffled cry of pain, and Sherlock could taste the rage that thickened the air around him.
"Okay, okay." Sherlock said pleadingly. "Just don't." He knew that he had just walked right into Victor's hand, but he hardly cared. Even in dreams, this is all this was, John was all the mattered.
"That's my good boy." Victor cooed, kicking John aside and striding over to where Sherlock lay helplessly. He lifted Sherlock to his knees, using the ropes that bound him. It took all of Sherlock's will to not bite or spit at him. Victor ran his hand across Sherlock's face, tracing his lips lightly with the tip of his finger.
"Perfect." Victor growled. "Just perfect." His eyes glowed with vicious intentions as he threw Sherlock back to the ground. He grabbed the detective's waist, flipping him around so he was completely vulnerable.
"This will be a lot for fun if Jonny Boy gets to watch, don't you think?" Victor asked, walked over to John. He lifted him up and dropped him on a chair facing Sherlock. Victor fastened the ropes around the chair leaving no escape.
Sherlock looked up at John's eyes. Even in a dream he looked too real, eyes stricken with horror and tears flowing down his face steadily. He had a ball gag in his mouth, but Sherlock could tell he was whimpering, panicking. He wanted to tell John that it would be okay, but Sherlock was not sure of that fact.
"Oh, this is just how I imagined it!" Victor cried out with glee. "Having you while your little pet watches. Oh, how joyous!" He stalked back over to Sherlock, face glowing with hatred.
He moved his hand over Sherlock's arse, grabbing and twisting the flesh. Sherlock felt the tears in his eyes, but he refused to give Victor the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. At least that much he was in control of.
Victor laughed, raising his crop up and turning to look at John.
"Now pay attention John. See how his skin will turn a lovely shade of red, watch as tears fall from his eyes, listen as he struggle to not cry out with pain just in spite of me." Victor said softly. "It should be real fun."
Victor hit down on Sherlock hard, causing a gasp to escape from his lips. Won't let him break me... Sherlock thought desperately as the blows continued to fall, each one causing him more and more pain. He felt tears falling down his face and splashing to the floor. He heard the whimpers that escaped his lips in spite of himself. He felt the burn of each blow as he was beaten down further and further into submission.
"I think I may be ready for the fun part." Victor said roughly. Sherlock heard the sounds of vinyl peeling off sweaty skin as he physically and mentally prepared himself for what was going too happened next.
Without warning, preparation, or lubricant, Sherlock suddenly felt the most painful intrusion. He felt as if his body was being torn apart, and this time he could not help but cry out in pain. With each thrust Sherlock felt the pain rise to unbearable levels. Through the blur of pain he could feel some kind of liquid running down his thighs. Blood. Sherlock clenched his teeth, desperate to try and make himself stop screaming. He looked over at John, trying to find anything at all to distract him.
John was fighting against the ropes, causing small cuts to form all over his body. In places the ropes had turned completely red, soaking through to drip on the floor. Sherlock opened his mouth to tell John to stop struggling, but the only thing that came out was a throat destroying scream that echoed around the room.
He heard Victor laughing though the screams, and he blood boiled. He tried to move, tried to get away, but Victor had him held fast and there was nothing he could do. Within minutes Victor's thrusts had increased in speed, and Sherlock almost fell unconscious from the pain.
"No!" Victor shouted, slapping Sherlock hard enough to drag him away from the brink of unconsciousness. "I want you to feel everything!"
Sherlock felt like he was going to fall apart, and he just didn't know how much more he could take. Suddenly, everything stopped. He felt Victor pull free of him, and then he realized there was now more than blood pouring down his thighs. He collapsed; face meeting hard with the ground, but it was pain he could take. Pain he was in control of.
"That was amazing. Your blood makes perfect lube." He heard Victor say, but his voice sounded far off. "It seems that you will be waking up soon. Shame, I wanted you to watch me play with Watson. Until next time Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes snapped open, his body and sheets covered in sweat. He looked over at a clock and realized he had been asleep for almost two days. It had felt like only an hour or so in his dream. He sat up, rubbing his eyes in attempt to try and kill the nightmare.
"That was great for me, but how was it for you?" He saw Victor sitting down on the floor near his closet.
Sherlock almost threw up then and there, but he was able to make it to the bathroom. Not even the sounds of his painful retching could block out Victor's laughs, but he gave it is all regardless.
John: Month Four
"Mary, we need to talk about something. Will you come out and go get coffee with me?" John asked against the door. He had been trying to coax Mary out of the room for weeks, but every time he was met with negative results. It had come down to one simple fact; he couldn't be with Mary anymore. The night he spent with Chris had made him realize that is just wasn't fair to either of them to stay together. He was going to end it with her, and then beg Sherlock to understand. To take him back.
"Fine" He heard Mary say, her voice was soft.
It took about an hour, but John was able to get Mary out of the house. They walked together in silence, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Once they reached a small café, it was a relief. They were seated outside, and John was reminded of the time he had spent with Sherlock that wonderful day so long ago.
"Look Mary..." John started, but he just wasn't sure how to begin. She placed her hand on John's, and he looked up at her. She had a small smile and John could see the pain behind it.
"I know." She said calmly. "You want to split up, right?" She asked.
John's eyes widened, jaw dropping. "Well, yes actually. How did you-?"
"I know how you feel about him. I see it in your eyes every time you look at him, and I don't blame you. I knew that I was a replacement for him, and I accepted that, but he is back now." She stroked his hand gently. "You should be with him."
John was stunned, having no idea what he should even say. "Mary I-"
"Don't John, just don't." She wiped away a tear that fell from her eye. "I will get the papers started, and we will make this as clean as possible. I do think you should move out though."
"Mary..." John said, leaning over to kiss her cheek softly. "Thank you so much, you have no idea what you are doing for me."
"Yes I do. I am letting you be happy, which is something you could never be with me. Maybe if things had been different, if our daughter had..." She stopped for a moment to compose herself. "But it didn't work out that way. I have seen this coming for months John, don't worry. Go, be happy."
John stood up, and he pulled up Mary with him. "Thank you, truly. Thank you." He hugged her quickly, and as he did he saw a coat tail disappear around a corner. Sherlock? He thought to himself, hope getting carried away. With one last smile, he ran out of the Café, determined to get to Baker Street. To get Sherlock back.
Sherlock: Month Four
Sherlock was feeling overwhelmed. Victor had been hurting him and John every time he went to sleep, and being cooped up in the flat wasn't helping matters. He had decided that morning after waking up from a particularly nasty nightmare that he was going to go for a walk and try to clear his mind.
"Are we going for a walk?" Victor asked, striding up to Sherlock's side.
"I am going for a walk, and I would really like it if you stayed here." Sherlock said, tying his scarf around his neck, and heading for the door.
"Oh, but Sherlock. Won't you miss me? I mean, we have been together 24/7 for four months." Victor cooed.
Sherlock sighed, walking out the door with a flick of his coat. He walked in silence, blocking out the noise Victor was making. He had had a rough few months, and he wished beyond all else that he was with John.
He walked past a small café when he heard something. He stopped, turning to look. He saw John and Mary at a table, holding hands. I need to leave, don't listen, don't deduce. Just walk away... He walked over so he was within ear shot, then listened. He heard Mary's words and he could hardly believe it. He had to be asleep; this had to be a dream. No, it couldn't be. Victor wasn't raping him relentlessly. He watched John's face, saw how excited he was becoming. Was this it? No, good things don't happen to him. This has to be some kind of trick.
"Oh no, look at that." Victor said, a slight panic in his voice. "Looks like John is coming home."
For once, Sherlock hoped that Victor was right. He saw John hug Mary then look up. If Sherlock got caught spying on him... He took off running back to Baker Street, hope rising and washing through him. Please, please, please.
He crashed through the door of his flat, almost falling over as he stumbled and landed on the couch. Should he make tea? What if John doesn't come? What if he does, but then Victor does something? No, he wouldn't let that happened. Victor had hurt John enough times in his dreams; he wasn't going to let him hurt him for real.
He was so deep in thought, in worry and hope, that he almost didn't hear when there was a knock on the door. His body seized up, not permitting him to move or talk.
"Did you want me to get the door?" Victor asked sarcastically.
Sherlock shrugged off the feeling that burned though his body, and walked carefully up to the door. When he opened it, it took every bit of strength he had to not cry or laugh or pounce on the man in the doorway.
"Sherlock." John said, voice coming out nothing more than a faint squeak. "I left Mary."