Okay. So I have finally realized that I have an unhealthy fascination with abuse. I don't know why. I can't figure out if I'm a sadist or a masochist, but I am one. Please don't judge me on this piece. It was a nasty little plot bunny that kept scratching at the inside of my skull. I think it was my body's unconscious way of expressing my anger and depression over a situation here at college (I won't go into that, it would be longer than the story). So enjoy it if you can. Don't yell at me if you don't.

IMPORTANT: anything written in italics is what is written in the report and not Donovan's words.

0O0~~~~~0O0

It was a normal day for Sherlock and John. Well, as normal as you can get when a genius sociopath and army doctor chase after a killer. A string of clues and a small piece of yellow fabric had led them here, an apartment building just outside of London. The duo was standing off to the side as Lestrade and Anderson wrestled the suspect down the stairs. The man, Luther Adams, only stopped struggling as he glanced at the two. His face twisted into a wicked grimace and when he spoke it was a deadly quiet tone.

"Watson? John Watson? My god it's really you!" The police force turned to the addressed man, who stood so tense that he nearly shook. "It's a surprise to see you out wandering in the open. I thought when they locked you in the loony bin you stayed there forever!" The man shouted. There was a stunned silence before John spoke.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." The doctor mumbled. There was a horrible laugh, like the horrible screeching of a violin played by a razor.

"I'm surprised that they let psycho's work with the police. After all the shit you've done, you think they would be catching you not working with you!" Then Adams paused and glanced around. "Oh ho! They don't know, do they? They don't know what you are. It's going to be a big surprise for them, Johnny boy. Big surprise!" With a final squeal of laughter he was dragged back to the police car.

There was a haunting silence as no one wanted to speak. It didn't escape anyone's notice, even the dimwitted Anderson, that John was pale. What secrets did the army doctor have? They all knew the man as a kind hearted, smart, patient man. No one wanted to ask, though even if they did they never got the chance.

"Looks like we are done here. John, let us go. My experiment is going to be thawed terribly." The Consulting detective spoke for the first time. Without a glance back he stalked away and John shuffled after him and into the cab.

They didn't speak to each other for the first ten minutes home. Suddenly John turned to Sherlock and stared at him.

"You know, don't you?" He asked, stammering slightly.

"I do." Came the sharp answer.

"You understand why?"

"I do."

"You're not going to tell anyone."

"I will not."

"Thank you."

0O0~~~~~0O0

It was a week later when John and Sherlock were back on a case. Currently they were at the police station where Sherlock had commandeered a poor office cop's desk and was making his deductions to an avidly listening doctor. They both decided to ignore the soft whispers and odd glances that were thrown Johns way. No doubt the rumor mill had taken hold the suspects words. Keeping his promise Sherlock said nothing and John desperately tried to pretend that no one had ever met Luther Adams.

"Oh my god!" Came the shout from Sally Donovan, who was staring at a pile of papers she had just pulled from the printer.

"What is it Donovan?" Lestrade said in a tired voice. Anyone would sound like that after dealing with Sherlock for more than twenty minutes. Instead of answering Sally went over to the desk that the duo sat at and waved the pile of papers in front of them accusingly.

"The man was right. This is the psychological report of Watson while he was in a sanitarium. Patient 137746 John Hamish Watson. Admitted for attempted patricide. Age 15 Claims the voices told him it would help him gain eternal youth. Preliminary diagnosis. Psychopathic tendencies, schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder, depression." She waved the papers in front of their faces again. John froze like a statue. Looking in horror at the papers, as if the words would jump off the page and attack him. There was a loud murmuring from the officers and a shouted "I knew it!" from Anderson.

"Keep reading." Sherlock said coldly, he was now standing by Johns side with a strong hand on his shoulder to keep him from running.

"Sherlock, no!"

"Keep. Reading." This time it came out as a growl as he ignored Johns protest. Slightly surprised Sally complied, turning the page.

"Three month re-evaluation. Patient John is acting odd. Many of the symptoms that he first presented have disappeared while other symptoms (random bouts of anger, talking to inanimate objects, memory loss) have begun to appear. However there are moments, when John believes no one is watching that he acts as a normal teenager. Freak this is not helping his case. It just shows that John is even more crazy than you."

"Just keep reading. Read it all." Sherlock's hand clenched on Johns shoulder. The other cops in the room turned back to Sally, who looked skeptical but kept going anyway.

"Six moth re-evaluation. Major breakthrough. Patient admitted that he was pretending to be mentally disturbed. Looking back through old notes confirmed that it was very likely he was pretending as he could never keep the symptoms straight all the time. When asked John admitted that he gladly went to stay here for the rest of his life to get away from his father. A long session later it come to light that Johns father was not only a alcoholic but physically, psychologically and emotionally abusive. I predict sexually abusive as well, but when the subject was brought up the patient shut down completely." There was a stunned silence as they all came to terms with what the repot said. They all glanced at John to see his reaction but during the reading his position had changed.

Sherlock had pressed Johns face close to his stomach. They saw john breathing calmly, as if the closeness was the only keeping him there. They assumed that Johns eyes were closed, but they couldn't see because the consulting detective's long fingers were covering his eyes. So there stood the socio/psychopath who no one thought had the ability for emotion stood in a protective stance over his, yes they would admit that it was his, doctor.

"There is still more Donovan. Don't stop now." With a shuddering breath Sally started again, seriously regretting digging this document up. She could not deny the detective though, so she flipped the page and continued.

"Nine month re-evaluation. John has finally opened up about his past. He has, in my experience at least, the most horrific forms of abuse placed on him that we have ever seen. As he told the story with cold eyes even I cried. My prediction about the sexual abuse turned out to be correct. Not only for himself, but also for his sister who is sixteen and already an alcoholic. With permission from the warden I will file a police report for the man. Also, despite having no real mental problems the warden will allow John to live here until he can gain emancipation." Sally let out a huge rush of air in a sigh, like she hadn't been breathing the entire time she read. "There is nothing after that, just the release form from two years later." She whispered.

"Just ten days later after his release Hamish Watson was sentenced to life imprisonment for gross sexual abuse, child abuse, physical assault, statutory rape, torture as well as attempted murder." Sherlock stated. He quietly let his fingers drag through John's hair in a comforting motion. John sat up slightly, no longer burying his head in the detective's stomach.

"My father . . . was a cruel, evil man. So much so that I thought the only way I could survive was to be locked up in a sanatorium for the rest of my life. I would have kept up that charade until the day I died if Dr. Smich hadn't been so perceptive." John said quietly, though everyone heard his words.

"Why didn't you go to a teacher, or the police?" Lestrade asked slowly. A couple people in their audience nodded at the question, all of them wondering the same.

"I did once. . . " John paused, staring off to the side, refusing to look anyone in the eye. "I told a teacher. She told the police. They came over to investigate. In the end the two officers left with beer in hand and my dad laughing and patting them on the back." He chuckled darkly. "Then I got the worst punishment of my life."

"The bastard locked me in a closet for a week. Seven days I was forced to sit in a cramped, pitch black silence. The only time the door opened was when he wanted to hit me or touch me. I got fed twice the entire time. I wasn't allowed to speak or go to the bathroom. He would walk by the door every once in a while. He would pound on it, scream, curse, threaten. Anything he could do to scare me. A week and I emerged, emaciated and covered in my own excrement because I couldn't hold it that long.

"He took me to the bathroom, shoved me in the tub and held me underwater until I nearly passed out. When I was decently clean I was wrenched from the tub gasping and crying and dragged into his room." Here Johns cold voice stuttered, the only indication that he felt anything. A few people looked green in the face; Anderson had already made his run to the bathroom. Sherlock stood stoically by John, refusing to remove his hand from the doctor's head.

"My father set me on the bed, wrapped me in a blanket. Kissed me, hugged me. Then he told me. . . He said 'Johnny-boy, can't you see how much I love you? I love you so much that I can hurt you even when I don't want to. I love you so much I can punish you when you need to be punished. This is what happens when little boys tell on their daddies. This is what happens when little boys don't listen. I love you so much Johnny-boy. It's very bad when you tell on daddy for loving you.' Then my father grabbed the back of my neck, 'if you tell on daddy again, I will kill mommy. I will kill Harry and I will take you to a place that no one could find you.'"

In the oppression quiet every one could hear one of the younger cops retching into a trashcan. There was an array of emotions in the room. Horror was common. There was anger, rage at the man who hurt John as well as anger at the officers who did not do their job. Some, mostly women, had tears on the cheeks and in their eyes. The older veterans had nothing but disgust on their face, as if the y had been forced to swallow worms. John and Sherlock were both expressionless.

There was a soft clatter of a chair as John stood up. He and Sherlock walked out of the silent room. A minute later Lestrade told everybody to go home and many spent the rest of the night staring at the TV blankly with a stiff drink in their hands.

A week later the duo returned. Donovan apologized. It was sworn that no one would talk about it again.

Two weeks later Hamish Watson was found dead, violated roughly with a wooden stick with nails and beaten to dead with a bat. All the other inmates swore they did not do it. If Sherlock had been there he would have noticed the guard who still had residual blood on his hands. A guard who happened to be very good friends with London's DI Greg Lestrade.

0O0~~~~~0O0

SO there it is. Hopefully I won't get too many flames for this. This is like the fifth dark story that I have written. I don't know what that says about my personality, but oh well. I know it is rather short for my taste, but just deal.

All I can say is don't judge me too harshly for this,

Puppy-on-crack.