John tossed and turned in his sleep tormented by his dreams. The intensity of the nightmare finally jolted John awake. He gasped and tried to shake off the feeling he was being stalked. A knock on his door brought John fully into the present.
"John, are you alright?" Sherlock's muffled voice instantly made John relax.
John got off the bed and answered the door. Sherlock pushed his way into the room and searched John's face. Nightmares had plagued John ever since Sherlock had known him. "Are you having nightmares about Afghanistan again?" Sherlock tried to make his query nonchalant; however, the worry for John made Sherlock's voice slightly higher than usual.
John ran his hand through his sweat soaked hair. "The dreams weren't about Afghanistan. Demons were chasing me, horrible monsters with glowing eyes. Well, it all sounds kind of silly now that I'm awake." A loud crash of thunder rattled the windows of the flat, making it seem as if someone were desperately trying to get it. Lightening illuminated the room, making familiar objects look sinister and foreign.
Sherlock held out his hand to John. "Come back to bed with me. Why didn't you come in with me in the first place?" Sherlock's voice had an annoyed flat tone.
John sighed. "I got in late and I didn't want to disturb you."
Sherlock leaned his head to one side. "And this isn't disturbing me?" Another clap of thunder made John want to dive under the covers. Sherlock swatted John on the butt. "Get to bed John Hamish Watson." As Sherlock pushed open his bedroom door, his white Afghan dog Confetti nudged his way past John, jumped on the bed and burrowed his head under the covers. Each bolt of thunder brought a howl from Confetti that sent shivers down John's spine.
Sherlock jumped in bed and held the covers up for John. John willingly slipped in beside Sherlock. In a few moments John forgot his nightmare as Sherlock encircled him in an embrace. "John, where were you, tonight?" Sherlock murmured.
John hesitated before he answered. "I tried to follow Clare. Sherlock, there is something not quite right about her. I traced her as far as China town, and then she just vanished into thin air."
Sherlock stiffened. "John, please promise you will never do something that foolish again. Clare, is not what she seems, however, I don't think she means us any harm. Just the same John, please don't follow her again."
The sound of torrential rain and crashing thunder filled the room. "Sherlock, what aren't you telling me?" John asked softly.
Sherlock turned his face away from John. "Do you remember when Clare told us that her family had been killed and that she had been taken along with the killers and raped and used as a play thing? Well, John, that's when I made up mind that we should assist her. No matter what Clare became after her experiences, she is still a damaged creature that needs our help." Pain was etched on Sherlock's features as he turned back around to face John.
John studied Sherlock's expression for a moment and then the truth began to dawn on him. "Oh God, Sherlock, is one of the reasons you are emphatic to her cause, is that you know how she feels?" Sherlock answer me. "Have been…abused…raped?"
By this time tears were pouring down Sherlock's cheeks. "John, it doesn't matter now. What's done is done."
John ran his hand over Sherlock's back. "Sherlock, tell me what happened. I want to know." John continued to stroke Sherlock's back as he spoke to Sherlock as if he were a frightened child.
Sherlock drew in a deep breath. "John, when we first made love, I told you that I hadn't had sex with another person, willingly, that was true. I was raped in prison when I was in Eastern Europe. Mycroft put a stop to it as soon as he was able, however, he couldn't act too concerned lest he compromise my cover. That time wasn't too bad. The first time was the worse." Sherlock gulped and continued on. "I was fourteen and home for the holidays. My parent's had left the house on a weekend getaway and I was alone in the house with Mycroft and some of his friends. Mycroft left to get more beer and cigarettes and I went down to the kitchen to rummage around for something to eat. When I walked into the kitchen one of Mycroft's friends commented on how beautiful my curls were.
Another one stood in front of me. "God, he looks so fresh and sweet. I bet he's as tight as a drum."
The tallest of the six came over and grabbed me by the front of his shirt. "Well, there's only way to find out." They laughed as they held me down and ripped off my clothes, bent me naked over the kitchen table and each took a turn over and over again. They were like Sharks on a feeding frenzy, the more I begged for mercy, the more excited they became. When they were done with me they just left me there whimpering on the kitchen floor. I was in so much pain I could hardly move."
Sherlock was openly weeping by now. John held him close and shed tears with him. "What did Mycroft say?"
Sherlock sniffed. "I never told him. John, I was ashamed. For many years I felt sure I must have done something to deserve it."
John took an edge of the sheet and wiped Sherlock's tears. "My poor darling, Sherlock, tell me who they are and I will make sure that they will regret ever being born."
Sherlock shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. John, please make love to me. Make me forget them. Take me; let me feel you inside me. The deeper you penetrate me physically and mentally, the more I feel the memories that have branded me for some many years dissipate. John, you are the other half of my broken spirit. John Hamish Watson, you found me just in time and I will cherish your love all through this life and the next, forever, John, forever."
John kissed the tears that poured down Sherlock's face and began to caress his chest and stomach. John didn't want to be too rough with Sherlock after such a revelation and he was hesitant to touch him. Sherlock smiled and took John's hand. John's hand was shaking as Sherlock placed it in between his legs. John had never had such an intense sexual experience has he and Sherlock took each over and over. However, as much as the physical intimacy drew them together, it was the emotional bond that fused their souls as one. That night for better or worse Sherlock and John formed a bond that couldn't be broken by anything on heaven or earth.
The next morning Sherlock shook John awake. "John, I got a text from Lestrade, there's been a murder in China town, and John the only witness told the police that the murderer was a giant."
John hurriedly got dressed and ran downstairs. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Clare quietly standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Jesus, Clare, you scared the hell out of me." Clare smiled and John felt as if she could read his mind.
The cab ride over to the murder scene was quiet. Clare, John, and Sherlock each remained immersed in their own thoughts until the cab stopped. As usual John paid the fare. As John got out of the cab he was overwhelmed by a putrid smell. "God, what is that odor?" John said as he gagged and sat down at the curb.
Clare was the first to approach him. "John, you smell the scent of the Golem."
John gagged again and looked up at Sherlock and Clare. "The smell of the Golem?"
Clare's silver eyes appeared to shine a little brighter. "John, what you smell is human blood. That is the scent of the Golem."
John looked frightened. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Clare didn't blink as she stared back at John. "John, you are a Doctor. You have always been able to smell human blood. That is partly what influenced you to become a Doctor in the first place. Your contact with me has enhanced this ability. I will explain later when we are alone. Lieutenant Lestrade is coming over."
Lestrade came over motioning to Sherlock and John. "Hey, you two, the body is over here."
John wondered how Sherlock was going to explain Clare, but when he turned around she was gone. God, that was irritating. How did she do that? Sherlock brushed past John and began to examine the body. Sherlock bent down circled the body and sniffed, then stood up.
"Your witness is correct; the man who strangled the victim was at least 2.5 meters tall. As you can see the man's windpipe has been crushed. The bruising from the killer's thumb prints are in and down, which would indicate that he was much taller than the victim. Our victim was a baker judging from the faint dusting of flour on his hands, hence the fact that he was killed around 3am, which would correspond with the fact that most bakers start warming up their ovens at this time. The baker was also not the Golem's target. There is no sign of a struggle and judging from the cigarette butts on the ground and the yellow stains of nicotine on his fingers, this man had come out to have a smoke and saw something he shouldn't have. In another words he got in the way. What about the witness?"
Lestrade shrugged. "We got an anonymous call from a burner phone, so we have no idea who the witness is."
Sherlock chewed on the inside of his cheek. "We've got to find that witness." Sherlock grabbed John's arm. "Come on John; let's get back to the flat. I have an idea." Without another word Sherlock and John got into the next available cab and left.
Lestrade shook his head as they left. God Sherlock was annoying prick sometimes.
On the way back to the flat John's head began to ache. Everything seemed so bright, noises were amplified, and the smell of copper lingered in the back of his mouth. John barely let the cab come to a stop as he jumped out ran up the stairs to the bathroom. Sherlock and Clare looked at each other as the sounds of John's retching reached them in the entry hallway. Sherlock hurried up the stairs to the bathroom. The door was open and John was kneeling on the floor with his head over the toilet. He gasped for air as vomit poured out of his mouth and nose. Sherlock ran over, grabbed a washcloth, soaked it with cold water and sat beside John, bathing his forehead as John began to shake from the dry heaves. John tried to control his breathing, his stomach had begun to cramp and John curled up on the floor clutching at his abdomen.
Sherlock cradled John in his arms and held him close. Clare stood in the doorway watching them both. She paused and then spoke. "I know what ails Doctor Watson. The pain will soon pass. John your senses have been heightened, it will take some time for you to adjust. I can help you."
Clare kneeled down beside John and Sherlock, ignoring the puddles of vomit that soaked her knees. She took John's head between her hands and put her forehead and against John's. John's breathing gradually returned to normal. He looked at Clare in wonder. "The headache is gone. How did you do that?"
Clare spoke softly. "John, I need you to look at Sherlock and me and tell me what you see." John did as Clare instructed and gasped. Sherlock had a faint pink glow around his head; the rest of his body was lit with varying colors. When John looked at Clare he only saw a black glow.
John looked terrified. "What have you done to me?"
Clare shook her head sadly. "John, I have only helped you to control the pain. Your senses have gone beyond fight or flight. The colors you see are auras of each individual's energy levels. You are what we call a blood hound. I am not sure how, but somehow my close proximity has activated these abilities. As a Doctor and a soldier you are naturally predispositioned to take on these characteristics."
Sherlock held John in a tight, protective embrace. Whatever happened he would keep John safe.