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Rest Now my Little Solider.

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John came stumbling out of the bar with echoes of childhood memories sending him into chaos. Buried deep into the darkest chamber of his mind till they came running out in a wave. Toxic poisonous sludge burning him from the inside out. Running like a coward towards the nearest bar, his footsteps mocking him with an irony of the past. The burning of a drink turning his fear towards anger begging for pain to burn it all away. Cause even a soldier loses his wings.

6 months...

Sherlock was worried for John and that was saying something considering the guy barely paid enough attention to take care of himself. Sherlock was never perfect but he tried to get better at doing this at least for himself and John. But as Sherlock came to fall deeply in love with John and was constantly giving him his full attention and paid more attention to his mood and feelings. John gave him a heart he thought he never had. A warmth he never thought he needed and a real home filled with laughter and memories from arguments to sweet couply moments of intense love and devotion.

So when in the past few months John was a lot more bitter than normal something was clearly eating away at him. At first, he thought it was the plagues of war again but he wasn't having any nightmares. And he always had the thrill of the chase form Sherlock adventures so what was it. No matter what they did together or the countless times Sherlock tired to figure out what was going on form deducing to talking nothing worked. John always had a wave of intense anger underneath him. No matter what those warm cute jumpers told you. He was a soldier from a horrid past and a drowning middle. That was how it was like for Sherlock until they found each other two very different people helping to heal the other and mend jagged parts. The abnormal couple in all their odd little ways. They were both each other saving grace. And oddly enough balanced each other pretty well.

It drove him critically insane what was wrong did he do something to fuck things up? Was John not happy anymore? A million more questions swirled his mind till he finally had his answer. After the first bar fight and the way, John came home dead drunk rare incurrence considering ….. his family past. Usually after having a bit to much fun at the bar and enjoying his time hanging out with his mates. Even rarer when he did it to burn away everything.

Sherlock could tell what was wrong with John as soon as he came back. All the pieces clicked and everything became evident. By the way his clothes were torn and the grime of the city streets on his lower bottom. How could he not of seen it sooner. By the few pounds John lost as to not eating properly over the last few months. He was currently two sizes down from his usual weight.
He was just how Sherlock first found him slowly dying in a world he hardly cared for. But that all had soon changed when they got together the nightmares were less frequent and his hunger returned. It wasn’t until this first bar fight where he came back home pissed off drunk. Showing to be filled with anger before he went off that afternoon. Yelling to Sherlock he’ll be back.

Now he could clearly see it was there all along. The tension in his shoulders and the moment when he stopped eating. From the bags under his eyes to his irritated skin. It was the shame on his face when he began to sober. That confirmed it the hate and anger were towards his past; being redirected towards himself till it imploded outward.

He knew Johns past was tough evident by his alcoholic sister clearly having the same disease as with their drunken Father. But to what extent he didn’t know he just knew it buried deep. Deeper than either of them knew how to deal with. Except for this time, he couldn't help him. John wouldn't let him and they had huge fights over it that led him to spend the night with Greg.

Sherlock was at his wit's end till his brother Mycroft came in unwelcomed and gave him one.

 

( I rewrote this so it would sound more like from Sherlocks point of view I think I did good.)

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The talk with his brother was eye-opening to say in the least. Ageplay a way to get in touch with one’s inner child, to deal with past hurts and to just let go in a controlled environment where the inner child is safe to play, to love, to feel secure. A way to live a childhood with love instead of fear and abuse.

He could tell how much good it would do for John if he was actually interested. It’s a touchy subject just like the time they wanted to be lovers but didn’t know how to tell the other about it. So they just danced around each other till an intense case brought John to calling him daft for risking his life. Shouting for his heart how much he loved him and what a bloody idiot he was or both were for not saying anything sooner. It was an intense kiss filled with emotion and exactly what they needed to finally push the new dynamics between them.

They were never one for talking about feelings but that night they for once fully talked about everything. And quickly they fell into a relationship with each other becoming boyfriends to intense lovers. Sherlock didn’t want to do anything that could break that. He spent years falling in love with his flatmate he be damned if he ruined it now. But with the way things were going if he didn’t do something soon there relationship could take a huge toll plus suggesting something like this could set it all off completely.

How was he supposed to bring this up?! He spent the better part of several days in his mind palace. Dozens of thousands of scenarios came flashing through him trying to find the best solution with the least bit of consequences.

He didn’t mind taking risks but this was one he refused to make a decision on lightly not with his whole world on the line. He had to do something or that world wouldn’t last for much longer. So when a scenario came to mind with the least amount of peril he knew he had to bite the bullet and hope for the best. As much as he hates to say it to leave it all up to fate.

It was on a crisp Saturday morning John was off of work. And nice sleepy morning sex put him into a good mood. He made sure all that week he wasn’t insufferable and mainly just acted normal science experiments and composing. So when early evening rolled around and they were lounging about the telly. Him making rapid deductions about the characters and telling dirty bits of their lives. Hearing the laughter of John brought his heart skipping and made it that much harder to break the comfy atmosphere.

"John?"

"Mmm.. yeah?"

"We need a talk."

 

John sat up straighter more attentive and alert expecting the worst, “About what …? "

"Now before I say anything I need you to be open minded. "

"Ok."

"No!”, placing his hands on Johns shoulders looking him directly in the eye, ”I really need you to be open minded. "

John looked at him but said nothing his eyes turning icy like a solider.

"We always had issues of communicating are feelings so I wanted us to have a safe word for when we need a serious talk to discuss everything. We would drop everything or anything in the moment and listen to each other. It is critical for our relationship."

John looked shocked for a moment even surprised but then his face cracked and he smiled wide before laughing.

"Wow, Sherlock, I thought this was going to be serious and yes I agree with you that is very important for us considering last time. But man you made me worried- you know what it’s ok a bit odd since it’s you bringing it up and not me. Been meaning to for a while but never got to it. It’s nice to see you so ..."

"So what?"

"Caring sometimes I forget you have such a big heart underneath that genius brain of yours with that sharp tongue."

Sherlock was shocked he hadn’t even made it to the main issue yet it was all turning out better than expected. He loathes these fools tale but he didn’t want to jinx things quite yet.

He didn't know what to say for a few moments. Shocked by the sweetness of it all. He couldn't bring up the issues right now. Not with how happy John was today it's been a while since he saw a genuine smile on his face.

His face shown bright red as he softly chuckled, “Well John I'm sure I have you to thank for that."

"Hmm in the all the best ways?"

"Yeah."

They smiled softly at each other both surprised with today’s events.

"What should our code word be? Something that really speaks to how important it is."

"Hound should be suitable."

"Wh-"

"In for the case of Baskerville, we let fear and misjudgment guide us into… heated exchange words that still borrow deep; if we were honest with each other and just talked it out things would have been better."

"Right, that would have been way better especially with you poisoning my tea."

"Let it go, John, I only did it three times."

"For as long as I live I will neve- WHAT !! Three times the hell you mean three times."

"Not as important as of the issue at hand."

"Don’t try changing the subject Sherlock You bloody fucking cock if you—!"

"Hmph haha ah", Sherlock screeched and tried to avoid his boyfriends' infurious anger! He ran around the flat avoiding Johns rath and making a mess in turn. He got through the easy part now the real game was on.

Chapter Text

He should have guessed it wouldn’t have lasted, after the past few months of him dealing with his past.

He finally felt lighter as if he could breathe he had a surprisingly nice week with Sherlock that ended up being a really good day of his. He finally felt back to normal he was eating semi-normal instead of starving himself. His work at the clinic was going better than ever despite all the mundane things people get sick with. He finally felt as if he had some semblance of order in his life.

He should’ve known nothing good last forever.

He falls asleep as normal when the nightmare came. Instead of the hitters of war, he was back home facing his everyday monster.

The rank stench of alcohol reek from his Father breath. Early on he was crying over wetting the bed to his ma when his dad suddenly came home. Overally drunk and could see his weeping son beings, baby. Like a flash, he marched over and grabbed Johnny by the arm. Despite his screams of,

"I’m sorry! I promise I won’t do it again."

"What did I fucking tell ya about wetting the bed? Stupid piece of shit I’ll give you something to really cry about so next time this won’t happen again.

"Honey no, come on he’s only six it happens ever so often it was a mistake. "

The harsh slap could be hard all across the kitchen walls.

"I’m going to fucking teach this kid a lesson he’s fucking six! So him shitting and pissing on the bed should be over with I’m not raising some sissy!"

His mother just sat on the floor as he screamed for her.

All he remembers after that was the intense beatings and how it seemed to go on all night.

He woke up suddenly hearing his heart beat a mile a minute feeling just as scared as if his dad was right in the room waiting for him to scream. So he could beat him again for being a wuss, acting like a baby. He didn’t register he had to go until he was almost bursting. Barely managing to reach the bathroom before he pissed himself. A now common occurrence whenever he gets these nightmares. He suddenly feels a loss of control that terrifies him to no end.

Maybe that’s why he joined the army not only for the money it would pay towards his education but also to get away from his life. Of course, he traded violence with violence. But he make the same choice any day to get out there.

All day his skin felt like a live highwire. His office is like his very own coffin. Cramped small and little to no air. He was barely able to make it through the day as he felt his patience and sanity leave him. By the end of it, he was a tight little bomb ready to set off. He hoped he could make the day without a total meltdown.

He was so close, back at his flat with his boyfriend Sherlock nice and safe. He could make it without going to the bar to drown out everything. He wasn’t going to turn like his dead beat drunkard of a Father. He wasn’t going to run like a coward towards the newest bottle.

He almost made it, till he turns on the telly and began skipping between channels. He felt frozen as he accidentally landed on one. Instantly he was right back as a little kid being beaten by his Father for anything that came to mind. The image of a bulging middle-aged man screaming bloody murder towards his son; beer bottles around him as he beat him into an inch of his life.

John felt like that little boy no that little boy was him. He was being Beaton senseless all over again. He couldn’t move he couldn’t breathe he was stuck in the past. He couldn’t hear how he was breathing heavy or the way his heartbeat was racing. The world around him blurred and became dull till the screaming became louder and louder, it was deafening. He didn’t realize his body curled up into a ball and that he started whimpering; dry little sobs leaving his mouth begging for it to end.

He could feel the hand that grabbed his shoulder and how much it reminded him of his Father.

"Get off! Don’t touch me! DONT TOUCH ME!"

He barely recognized that it was Sherlock trying to calm him down. He felt like a wound up string he had to get out, he had to run!

He pushes Sherlock harshly away and ran, his feet turning him towards the nearest bar shame filled him over everything it burned. He didn’t wanna feel it anymore. He didn’t care what he did as long it made it all disappear. A pint burned the back of his throat as he kept more coming till he wasn’t that little boy getting beaten by his dad anymore.