"I'd Be Lost Without My Lover."

It had been almost a week sense John's feelings were set free but he was not sure how to feel about the situation. Sherlock said to Mycroft that John was his boyfriend and had even confirmed the fact with John when he had asked, yet nothing seemed to have changed. Sherlock was just as distant and empty, except for at night. John would always return to his own room, tired and confused after trying to get Sherlock to express his feelings all day. But at the same time every night he would wake up to find Sherlock curled up against him. He would smile and forget that their relationship made no sense.

"Why do we do this? This is not something our family does."

"Oh, hush now Myc. Sherlock and Cassandra have both found happieness in life and maybe some celebrating could help." John watch the two youngest Holmes snicker as mummy Holmes lectured Mycroft about why they were all celebrating Christmas together. He sat beside Jim Moriarty, the kid he still felt odd around, and watched the odd tensions run their course through each family member.

Quite obviously annoyed Mrs. Holmes encouraged the kids to do something for the evening. They had already eaten, even if only four of them ate, and had nothing left to spend their time on. So, after moments of contemplation John suggested they go watch a movie upstairs and make forts.

He soon regretted the now childish notion as he recieved a few awkward glances, but was relieved when Cassandra agreed, knowing that Sherlock and Jim would follow.

John and Jim were put in charge of building the forts, Sherlock was put in charge of snacks (even if he would not be consuming any), and Cassandra was put in charge of rounding up movies.

John spread two chairs about a yard or so apart from eachother, hiding the legs behind cushions and laying a comforter over the top. As he did so he couldn't help but notice the odd looks Jim kept giving him.

"Oie, John?" John reluctantly turned at the sound of Jim's voice.

"What?"

A sly smirk spread across the boys devilish face and his deep pits that he called eyes met John's.

"What's it like screwing Sherlock?"

John went bug eyed, his face heating up. Why was he so embarassed? He's just lucky enough that Sherlock acknowledges him.

"W-We. . ."

"Oh," he sang mockingly. "Sherlock's so shut in you haven't even gotten there yet. Well it has only been a week, but you want it bad."

John was about to shoot back a response when a loud crash rang out from downstairs and before he knew it his feet carried him flying down the stairs, along with Jim.

They froze at the corner of the wall, wanting to see the situation without interfering, but what they both saw was something they could never, would have never, even imagined.

Cassandra was huddled in the corner, blood dripping from her forehead. Sherlock was on the floor, hands and knees holding up his shaking and gasping form, a broken glass beside a mans leg, their father's leg.

Mr. Holmes was towering over Sherlock, a belt in his hand. John could hear the faint sounds of mummy Holmes sobbing outside and Mycroft trying to comfort her.

He had to repress a gasp when Sherlock turned his head just enough that the two boys could see his face. From above his right eye down to the lower left part of his chin was a big, red imprint of a belt that slowly changed from red to bluish-purple. John couldn't believe his eyes.

"Sherlock you know you can't disobey me," Mr Holmes' speech was slurred. He was drunk. "You aren't aloud to be gay. You aren't aloud to do drugs. No, no, no. You must be exactly what we tell you to be."

Eyes looked on in horror as he raised the belt over Sherlock's head again, and they all held their breath when Cassandra threw herself infront of her brother, blood trickling down her face.

"STOP IT!" she screamed, tears mixing with the blood on her face.

"Not you Cass. No no let your brother be a big boy now." He brought the belt down across her arm, causing her to recoil it in pain, but she did not waver from sheilding her brother. "He doesn't want you around." A smack rang out against the other arm. "You killed his only friend. That stupid animal just because you were jealous. You're a mut like it too!" One more swing, the leather slapping across Cassandra's face, sending her back into a huddled ball.

Jim and John ran to hide when Mr. Holmes went looking for more alcohol and once he was out of sight they quickly transported the siblings upstairs.

Sherlock was silent, huddled under the fort that John had built while Cassandra acted as if nothing had ever happened. Acted as if there was not a huge bruise and blood on her face. As if the leather and metal latch didn't leave gashes in her arms.

No one wanted to try and ask her about what had happened. They felt it would pull a trigger in her head and she'd crumble like dried up clay. The smile on her face seemed true but the pain and sorrow and anger in her eyes boiled and poured like lava out of a volcano.

John scooted under the fort with Sherlock while Cassandra and Jim argued over watching Star Wars or Indiana Jones.

"So that's the truth?" John wispered softly. He watched Sherlock's eyes stay locked to the floor, his breathing almost non-existent. The bruise had become a deep purple and there was a small cut where the edge of the leather must have opened his skin.

John wanted to reach out and touch him. To hold him and tell him everything was alright. He took a deep breath and swiftly, but gently, moved his arm around Sherlock's shoulders. He felt the boy flinch but slowly relax and turn his eyes to John's.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "That is the truth. That is why." Sherlock returned to silence and the look in his eyes showed he wanted to be left alone.

John let out a sigh and looked at the triumphant Cassandra. She had won the argument and was at the moment turning on Star Wars Episode III.

Nothing could dull the pained curiosity and anxiety between the four. No one wanted to talk about it. To think about it. To picture it. Everyone just wanted it to be ok. To never have happened.

They were all sitting in silence watching as one by one the Jedi were killed as Mrs. Holmes walked into the room.

She quickly made her way to Cassandra to check on her and see how bad her condition was, but Cassandra told her mother to worry about Sherlock first.

After giving up on trying to help Cassandra Mrs. Holmes made her way to John and Sherlock and couldn't help but smile a very sad smile. John had become a pillow for Sherlock. He was leaning back against a cushion and Sherlock's head rested on his chest. His right hand holding fastly onto a clump of John's shirt.

"He looks so exposed," Mrs Holmes wispered, looking to John with warm eyes. "Take good care of him please? He needs someone like you in his life."

John replied with a nod but stopped her before she could leave.

"This is the reason isn't it?" He wispered. "This is the reason your children are the way they are."

Her expression became sadder and she shook her head. "They don't deserve this. They are so smart and special. But this is the sad truth of how they became like. . .This."

John only looked down at Sherlock, brushing one of his curls away from his face before placing a kiss on his forehead.

He looked from Sherlock's sleeping form to the fake facade that was Cassandra's bubbly happieness. He wanted to see under the shells of these two. But most of all he wanted to know the truth inside Sherlock's head, and he was determined to get it.