•Teenlock•Parentlock• If All Else Fails

17• Anger

HIGH FIVE 1K READS HELL YEAH BITCHEEEESSSSS

"Hey there! Mr Holmes the younger I presume?" The smiley child councillor asked a frightened child. Sherlock nodded his head and tried to shake the mans head, but his back was so badly burnt that it hurt to breath, let alone move.
"I'm just here to ask you a couple questions, okay?" He asked in a patronising tone. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Where's Myc?" He croaked.
"Do you know who set up the bomb?"
"Where's Myc?" Sherlock asked louder, pumping up his morphine.
"Was it your uncle?"
"WHERES MYC!?" Sherlock screamed, making all other patients jump. One young girl started to cry.
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Sherlock didn't sleep next to John that night. He longed for John's arms around him, but John wanted to be alone. Of course, Sherlock didn't sleep, and he had figured out the Bankshire case, but he just thought for a few hours. Was it possible Harrie was still alive? Could it be?
Sherlocks thoughts were interrupted at nine in the morning by the sounds of thumping coming from John's bedroom. Sherlock paced slowly down the hall, cautious of what he'd find in the room.
All of a sudden, a fist came through the wall. Along with a short cry of pain. "John?" Sherlock asked, holding the bloody fist that had entered (and exited) the wall. The fist opened and a loud, angry sob could be heard from John. "John!" Sherlock said, his heart racing.
"Sherlock!" John was crying hysterically. His eyes and face were scarlet red and tears kept falling from his eyes. His face was screwed up and his knuckles a dripped blood onto the floor. "Sherlock." He sighed, relieved.
"What... What are you doing?" Sherlock asked. He hated seeing his John hurt like this.
"I can't." John said, collapsing onto his bed. "Sherlock I can't do this anymore."
"D-do what?" Sherlock stammered. "John..."
"I can't grieve anymore, Sherlock." John said, exhausted. "I've done a day of it and I'm tired." He said.
"John, I wish..."
"Wishing isn't going to help!" John yelled. "Wishing won't help anything! It won't bring her back and it won't make me okay! Wishing is a Dick!" John screamed. Sherlock felt a tear run down his face. He remembered wishing to someone out there for everything to stop when he was younger. And in everything, he also meant his heart. John picked up a glass from his bedside table and threw it at the wall. It smashed into pieces and fell to the ground. "I fucking hate this I hate this I hate this i fucking hate this I hate myself." John chanted.
"John." Sherlock said, breathlessly. John took no notice and continued to through things at the wall. "John!" Sherlock yelled at him. John barely flinched. Sherlock didn't know what to do. He flipped out his phone and text Molly two words.
Second stage.
He grabbed John's shoulder and in hysterics, John punched Sherlock's cheekbone, knocking him backwards. "Oh my god Sherlock!" John yelled. "Oh my god! Oh my god I'm so sorry! Sherlock?"
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"And this is for lying!" Mr Holmes screamed at his youngest son, as he flew his fists into the eight year olds cheekbones. The boy fell to the floor, sobbing loudly as he watched his father try to shake the pain from his knuckles. "Oh shut up." The man hissed at his son. Sherlock choked back his tears and rubbed his cheek as he curled into a fetus position and wailed quietly while his mother emotionlessly took another huge gulp of wine from the large glass she was drinking from. Sherlocks burns began to sting, making his pain greater.
"M...Mycroft!" He cried out to his brother.
Mycroft sat perfectly still on the edge of his bed. He didn't want to be beaten. He didn't want his brother to be beaten either. Usually he would have raced down the stairs and hit his father right off his feet. But something changed inside the eldest Holmes brother the day the day the bomb went off. Something not very nice at all.
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"Sherlock! Sherlock? Oh my god baby are you okay!" John chorused. "It's me, it's your John, baby your okay, look at me."
Sherlocks eyes focused back into place and his breathing became more evenly paced. "What happened?" Sherlock asked, confused.
"You had a panic attack, or something?" John suggested. "I was so worried Sherlock! I'm so sorry!" Tears started to pour from John's eyes, both boys were surprised that he had any left! "Can you forgive me, my darling?"
Sherlock let out a breathless chuckle. "You are so stupid, John. Of course I forgive you." He said, pressing his head against John's.
"I hit you." John sobbed. "I'm a... An... Abusive boyfriend."
Sherlock gave an absolutely huge laugh at this. "John!" He grinned. "You! Abusive?" He smiled. "No way." Sherlock hugged John tight as he wept into Sherlocks burgundy shirt.

The couple lay in John's bed. It was midday, and after a lot of crying and angry words and swearing revenge, John had calmed down enough to let Sherlock order pizza. They ate the food ravenously, if you had the luck not to know- grief is hungry work. They sat around the television in John's bedroom, slumped against each other watching Doctor Who.
"Nine is my favourite." Sherlock commented through mouthfuls. John nodded in agreement.
"I like eleven." He said, his voice horse for obvious reasons.

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