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In the months since Bella had first started dating her boyfriend Chad, Sherlock had come to a kind of peace with it. He knew his fears for his little sister stemmed from his own past. It was the same reason he didn't usually date. It was too traumatic for him. Bella had been spared a past like his, and she had the right to date if she wanted. She was sixteen.
And so Sherlock dealt with it. He smoked and painted away his feelings, and he smiled when Bella returned home from dates, instead of scowling. If he smiled, Bella talked to him. If he scowled, she ran straight to her room and, since it didn't have a door, she would drop something on the floor to make up for a lack of door to slam.
It had been so long, that Sherlock actually believed his fears were over-reactions and Chad was a good guy. The idea that he could be proven wrong didn't occur to him, but that very thing was about to eventuate.
Sherlock had been painting with his hands, a medium he used when he didn't feel like being separated from his pictures by a brush. His face was covered in dots and smudges of blue and yellow, and on the canvas in front of him a painting of a landscape was taking shape. The front door slammed and even before Sherlock could react, he heard footsteps headed up to Bella's room.
Quickly, he wiped his hands on a rag which left them still covered in colour, but dry. "Watson!" he called out, following her until he heard a banging on the front door. He froze there, in the middle of his apartment, wondering whether he should answer the door, or go after his sister. "Watson, are you okay?"
Another loud bang from the front door brought a wail from Bella's room and Sherlock's mind was made up.
He dashed into Bella's room, thankful it didn't have a door, though he did get momentarily tangled in her beaded curtain. He found his little sister curled up in a corner, her face buried in her knees. "Oh, Watson," Sherlock breathed, bending down to place his hand on her hair. "Bells, what happened?"
Bella just shook her head, and when the pounding on the front door sounded again, she stiffened under his hands. "Is that Chad?" Sherlock asked, his voice almost eerily quiet now. Rage was burning hot in his belly, but he remained focused.
Bella sniffed and she looked up at him to nod. She had a blackened eye. And that was all it took.
Sherlock leaned in to kiss his sister's forehead. "Wait here," he said, and then he took his leave of her. He strode to the door and the instant he opened it on the startled younger man, he slammed his fist into Chad's face. "How dare you?!" Sherlock screamed at him as the boy fell backwards and into the alleyway. "Get the fuck out of here before I motherfuckin' kill you!" Sherlock was usually a docile person, but he had suffered years of abuse and when he let his anger show, it was terrifying. Chad seemed to know better than to argue. He shuffled backwards, stood, stumbled, righted himself, and ran away.
"Fucking prick," Sherlock grumbled, moving back into his apartment and shutting the door behind him. He was going to call the asshole's parents and tell them what had happened to his little girl, but he had to get the whole story first. And before he worried about that, he had to make sure Bella was alright.
When he entered her room again, Bella was curled up on her bed. "Did you hit him?" she asked, her face interested even though it was still streaked with tears.
Sherlock nodded and then he slid onto the bed and held his painted hands out to her. When she fell against him, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "Did he hurt you anywhere else, Bells?"
When Bella shook her head, Sherlock felt something inside him release. Bella hadn't been sexually assaulted, and that was good. He wouldn't have been able to stand her going through that as well. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Tomorrow," Bella said quietly. "Can I sleep in your bed?"
"Of course," Sherlock said, kissing her hair. She had only stopped sleeping in his bed a few years ago anyway. And having her close would make him feel better as well. "I'm sorry, Watson."
Bella said nothing.
And so Sherlock dealt with it. He smoked and painted away his feelings, and he smiled when Bella returned home from dates, instead of scowling. If he smiled, Bella talked to him. If he scowled, she ran straight to her room and, since it didn't have a door, she would drop something on the floor to make up for a lack of door to slam.
It had been so long, that Sherlock actually believed his fears were over-reactions and Chad was a good guy. The idea that he could be proven wrong didn't occur to him, but that very thing was about to eventuate.
Sherlock had been painting with his hands, a medium he used when he didn't feel like being separated from his pictures by a brush. His face was covered in dots and smudges of blue and yellow, and on the canvas in front of him a painting of a landscape was taking shape. The front door slammed and even before Sherlock could react, he heard footsteps headed up to Bella's room.
Quickly, he wiped his hands on a rag which left them still covered in colour, but dry. "Watson!" he called out, following her until he heard a banging on the front door. He froze there, in the middle of his apartment, wondering whether he should answer the door, or go after his sister. "Watson, are you okay?"
Another loud bang from the front door brought a wail from Bella's room and Sherlock's mind was made up.
He dashed into Bella's room, thankful it didn't have a door, though he did get momentarily tangled in her beaded curtain. He found his little sister curled up in a corner, her face buried in her knees. "Oh, Watson," Sherlock breathed, bending down to place his hand on her hair. "Bells, what happened?"
Bella just shook her head, and when the pounding on the front door sounded again, she stiffened under his hands. "Is that Chad?" Sherlock asked, his voice almost eerily quiet now. Rage was burning hot in his belly, but he remained focused.
Bella sniffed and she looked up at him to nod. She had a blackened eye. And that was all it took.
Sherlock leaned in to kiss his sister's forehead. "Wait here," he said, and then he took his leave of her. He strode to the door and the instant he opened it on the startled younger man, he slammed his fist into Chad's face. "How dare you?!" Sherlock screamed at him as the boy fell backwards and into the alleyway. "Get the fuck out of here before I motherfuckin' kill you!" Sherlock was usually a docile person, but he had suffered years of abuse and when he let his anger show, it was terrifying. Chad seemed to know better than to argue. He shuffled backwards, stood, stumbled, righted himself, and ran away.
"Fucking prick," Sherlock grumbled, moving back into his apartment and shutting the door behind him. He was going to call the asshole's parents and tell them what had happened to his little girl, but he had to get the whole story first. And before he worried about that, he had to make sure Bella was alright.
When he entered her room again, Bella was curled up on her bed. "Did you hit him?" she asked, her face interested even though it was still streaked with tears.
Sherlock nodded and then he slid onto the bed and held his painted hands out to her. When she fell against him, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "Did he hurt you anywhere else, Bells?"
When Bella shook her head, Sherlock felt something inside him release. Bella hadn't been sexually assaulted, and that was good. He wouldn't have been able to stand her going through that as well. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Tomorrow," Bella said quietly. "Can I sleep in your bed?"
"Of course," Sherlock said, kissing her hair. She had only stopped sleeping in his bed a few years ago anyway. And having her close would make him feel better as well. "I'm sorry, Watson."
Bella said nothing.
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