Ok, as declared by popular vote, here is Sherlock Holmes Jr.'s story. It was originally titled 'Ordinary People' until I heard the song 'No time for romance' by Simon Bowman and thought it would suit his character.
Now, this fic is rated M. I'm sure everyone remembers Mary Watson's attack in 'So Close.' Now, it start's off with Sherlock and the rest of his group rescuing Mary and Linda from that scene. Now, for those who've read the previous fic, you know what to expect. To those who haven't, please go back and read the Sherlock series up to this point. As you've noticed by now, they are numbered. This is the 6th story. If anyone is sensitive to this kind of subject material, just skip the italic print. I put it in a dream sequence, making it easy for people to skip.
As always, I own nothing except for the Holmes family, mainly, Tammy, Sherlock Jr., Linda, Scott, Alexander, John, William, Maria and Monica. (What a list!) Clark Reynolds, Lisa Walker and I will own Mary Watson Jr. until BBC releases season 4, and only if her name is Mary will I relinquish ownership.
Chapter one: Painful memories
Sherlock moved towards the front door, entering the room carefully. He nodded to the officers and they immediately entered the flat. He could hear a woman crying, no, it was Mary crying. Her sobs were heartbreaking when she suddenly screamed in agony. Her screams sent chills down his spine. He followed the sound towards the cellar and his heart almost stopped as he saw lying at the foot of the stairs his sister Linda, lying unconscious on the floor, blood pouring out of her arm.
He hurried down the cellar stairs, gun ready to fire on the first man to draw a gun. When he stood on the final step, he wished that one man did have a gun so he'd have an excuse to shoot them. For the sight, he saw churned his stomach violently. However, it wasn't the sight of his sister bleeding that caused him to feel sick. It was the sight of a completely naked Mary Watson being violated by two men on a table.
Her tied arms were thrown over one man's neck, while he was thrusting deep inside her. The second man had a hold of her head while he was forcing himself inside her back passage. Neither man had any shame. She looked so small and fragile with her body stretched between the two men. He could see by the look of pain on her face that they'd taken every small scrap of dignity that Mary Watson had held dear to her heart.
He fired his gun into the air and shouted. "Police!"
At the sound of his voice, her head had jerked up and what little color she had in her face bled out of her cheeks. But her face twisted into a look of pain as the man behind her released into her. Mary cried out and sagged forward onto her other rapist's chest.
Sherlock cocked the gun and pointed it at the man's head. "Get off her…NOW! Both of you!"
Sherlock's blood boiled as the man moved away from her. He was certainly fighting the urge to give him a castration via bullet. All the men, his friends here would swear that it was an accident. But due to the circumstances and his friendship with Mary, no one would believe it. He risked a glance at Linda; she was being helped by another officer. As near as he could tell, the only major injury was deep cut in her arm. Fortunately, it appeared that it hadn't cut her to the bone.
The other rapist pushed Mary's exhausted body away from his before spitting in her face. Mary began crying as several officers approached her. She began backing up, crying in hysteria. "No! Don't! Don't touch me!" She held her tightly bound hands in front of her, attempting to give herself a sense of modesty.
"Wait!" He said sharply to them, causing them to stop. He holstered his gun. "My sister needs help, look to her. I'll help Mary." He would have preferred to help his sister over Mary, but Mary didn't need stranger's touching her at this moment. He cursed himself for leaving his coat behind. He carefully pulled his long-sleeved white shirt over his head, unbuttoning it as he knelt down a short distance away from Mary's figure.
She turned aside as tears poured down her cheeks. "Don't look at me."
The shame in her voice had torn at his heart. He held the coat out in front of her bruised body, shielding her nakedness from him somewhat. "I'm not, Mary," she looked at him, despair in her eyes. "I'm looking at your face. I promise. May I put this on you?" Mary gulped noisily as she turned aside, giving him the faintest of nods. He placed his shirt over her, trying not to notice her virgin blood staining her thighs. He reached into his pocket for his knife. "I'm going to cut your bonds."
Mary nodded, but she didn't respond to him. He carefully cut the ropes that had been holding her hostage. She pulled her hands free and began to rub them. In her haste, she knocked his shirt down, again exposing her to his gaze. She gasped and covered herself instinctively. Her innocence made his heart bleed. He maintained direct eye contact with her as he held up his shirt. She turned her back to him and slid her arms into the shirt, buttoning it up.
"Sherlock?" He turned to see a friend of his, Neville Scott, holding out Sherlock's coat to him. "Here. We're looking for her clothes."
"Thank you." It was a new navy-blue suit jacket, but he didn't think twice as he wrapped it around Mary's shoulders.
He gently pulled her up from the ground and she began sobbing again. "No. No. No. No!"
"Mary, it's me." He said gently as he lifted her up into his arms. She cried as he held her close. He turned to the paramedics who were approaching with a stretcher. They laid it out and Sherlock laid her down on it. This position only caused her to cry harder. "Shh," he said as soothingly as he could. "it's all right Mary. We've got you now. They're not going to hurt you." Her breathing mounted as she began hyperventilating. "Hey, easy, easy." He took her hand and she looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror. "Look at me. Mary, you've been hurt. Please, just hold onto me and let them do their job. I'll be with you the whole time, I promise." The smallest trace of fear had vanished in her eyes. He held onto her hand as she was lifted up and moved towards the stairs where she could be moved to the waiting ambulance. "No one's going to hurt you while I'm here. I promise."
Sherlock sat up in bed gasping for air as his mind registered that it was a dream again. Again, that horrible dream. It had been a little bit more than five months and he'd still dream that horrible nightmare of the night that he wished he could forget. He glanced at the clock, it was 6:00, and his shift didn't start until 8:00. He pushed his comforter to the side and stood up. He went to his closet and grabbed a clean shirt. While he took after his father in style, he didn't take after him in color. He had his mother's brown hair, and his hair was straighter and lighter than his father's was. He preferred a variety of color; blue and green were among his favorites. He went into the bathroom and washed his face before getting dressed.
He went down to his parents flat, opened the door and stood there in the doorway, remembering a time when it had been buzzing, full of life and noise. He never thought he'd miss his mother and father's constant show of affection until mother had died, come back to life, only to sink into unconsciousness again. She'd been unconscious for two days and father hadn't come back home since then.
The dishes from the party were still there and he made a note to get John and William to clean up the flat. Father, when and if he came back, wouldn't be happy at the mess. He felt sadness once again overwhelm his soul as he remembered standing there helpless as his father stood there crying as they'd been told mother was dead. And he'd never forget the relief in his father's eyes as mother had become conscious again. Right now, waiting for mother to wake up was wearing on his nerves.
Deciding to go to Bart's and look at some microorganisms of some specimen's that he'd left there, he went down the stairs. Hearing the television set on in John and William's flat, he pushed the door open and saw both of them watching something.
Both their heads whipped around to look at him as he opened the door. He cocked a brow. "Mother never let you guys watch television until 6:00 PM. The rule still stands." They glower at him. "The flat upstairs need to be cleaned up. You two get a head start. Tell Scott and Alexander to help you as soon as they're up. Then make sure you're off to school on time."
"You're not our father." John snips.
Sherlock shoot's him a glare. "No, I'm not. I'm the man of the house while father is gone and you have to do what I say. If you have the time to watch television, then you can make time to clean up mother and father's flat while they're at the hospital. We don't want it dirty when they get back."
"If mother comes back." William mutters.
Sherlock fights the urge to smack him upside the head. "She will be fine. She's going to wake up, just you see."
"If she hadn't had those two, little-
He cuts off William's next words whish were probably going to be unsavory. "Your sister's names are Monica and Maria; you will address them as so. They were unplanned, but that doesn't mean they were unwanted. You saw mother, happier than she's been in a long time. She wanted them and you know if the choice had come down to choose between her life and theirs she'd have given hers up for theirs in a heartbeat." He inhaled, vexed to find his emotions running ahead of him again. "Now, I'm going to text Linda, so you make sure that you are working on the flat."
"She's not here."
"Where is she?"
"She left a few minutes before you came down here. Clark came by and they were out in the hall together. She was dressed and ready to go somewhere."
"Probably just wanted some time alone. I'll see you guys later."
"Where are you going?" John asked. "You don't start work until 8:00."
"I'm going into use Bart's lab. There's some research I need to do." John snorts. "You've got your work, I've got mine. Now, let's get to it!"
The boys did so, grumbling and complaining. As he shut the door, his admiration for his mother grew. How she managed to raise five boys and one daughter with father gone part of the time was admirable. He grabbed his scarf from the rack. He prepared to exit the building but stopped when he saw Linda and Clark, through the window, on the steps together. Clark had her wrapped in his arms tightly, swaying with her, giving her comfort and strength with his touch.
While he was prone to getting a tad envious of people's relationships, he hadn't let it dominate him. He was like his father at this age, uninterested in such a thing. While he would have liked to have someone that he could talk to or someone that he could be there for, he just didn't have the time for romance.