Too Close to Holmes 14/15
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14 - Trials and Tribulations
It took another two weeks before Sherlock felt really able to manage without the cocaine, but, eventually, he started returning to his old self, throwing acerbic comments at Anderson whenever he saw him and silently preening under John's praise whenever it came. He still hadn't taken any new cases since Trevor's assault, but John was hopeful that, once the whole affair was over, the detective would be able to start putting it all behind him and ease back into his ordinary life.
Any progress towards putting the rape behind them, though, was derailed seriously five weeks after Sherlock had been attacked, when Mycroft came to visit.
Sherlock stared as Mycroft lowered himself into John's chair, saying nothing, but clearly troubled.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, sitting up to peer at Mycroft.
Mycroft hesitated. "Are you absolutely certain you want Victor Trevor to stand trial?"
Sherlock stared. "You know I hate repeating myself, Mycroft." He said irritably. "So, what do you want?"
Mycroft glanced quickly at John before continuing. "They want you to give evidence in Trevor's trial." He explained grimly. "With your reputation as a detective and the fact that you are the oldest and only repeated victim, it is felt that your evidence will hold great weight."
The room was silent for a moment while Sherlock stared thoughtfully, the tips of his fingers pressed against his lips.
"Okay." He said after a moment. "That's fine."
"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked, leaning forward to peer intently at his brother. "There is absolutely no obligation on you at all, Sherlock. All you have to do is say the word and Victor Trevor will disappear."
"I said it's fine." Sherlock snapped. "Don't coddle me."
Mycroft watched Sherlock for a moment, apparently deep in thought, before standing with a sharp nod.
"Very well." He said. "The trial starts at 9am on Monday morning. I will send a car to collect you at eight o'clock."
*
Mycroft's car pulled up outside 221b Baker Street, as expected, at precisely 8am the following Monday. Sherlock had not spoken all morning, and was looking alarmingly pale as he climbed into the back seat ahead of John.
He was silent throughout the journey to the court, not responding to anybody until, upon arrival, they were greeted by Mycroft and Elizabeth, who immediately pulled her youngest son into a tight hug.
"You'll be fine." She said, smiling tightly.
Sherlock nodded, glancing briefly at Mycroft, before walking determinedly up the stairs and into the court. John, Mycroft and Elizabeth glanced nervously at each other, before following the consulting detective into the court.
Sherlock was not allowed into the court before giving evidence, so John left him in the waiting area with Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan, who were also being called as witnesses. He made his way into the crowded public gallery with Mycroft and Elizabeth, looking curiously at the many other people already in their seats. It looked as though all of the other victims had chosen to come to the trial, a crowd of young men aged between about thirty and twenty with their partners and families, and John couldn't help wincing as he saw three pale, scared looking young boys sitting curled up against their mothers. There was no sign of Stephen Matthews, but John offered a small smile of encouragement as he recognised the boy's mother sitting in a seat one away from the one he had saved for Sherlock.
The beginning of the trial was, in all honesty, rather dull. It was just a summary of the charges - forty-nine counts of sexual assault of a child under the age of thirteen, twenty-four counts of rape of a child under the age of thirteen, one count of rape, and one count of attempted murder - and the opening arguments from both the prosecution and the defence. Finally, though, it was time for witnesses to be questioned, and John was startled to hear that the first to be called was Sherlock.
John watched, his eyes filled with tears, as Sherlock told his story, and he looked away only once, when a collective gasp went through the gallery as it was revealed how Sherlock had used himself as bait in order to catch Trevor.
John felt pride well up inside him as Sherlock sat tall and proud throughout his testimony. His face was worryingly ashen the whole time, and there were moments when his voice cracked and faltered when describing the ordeals he had gone through both as a child and again just a few short weeks earlier. At these moments, his eyes would flick towards John, who smiled and nodded supportively, before he would swallow, take a deep breath and a sip of water, and continue.
Finally, after an hour of questions, the defence barrister informed the judge that he had no further questions, Sherlock was allowed to leave, and the judge called for a fifteen minute break.
John jumped up from his seat immediately, rushing out of the gallery and into the corridor. Once outside though, he froze, realizing that he had absolutely no idea where to find Sherlock. He turned to face Mycroft, who had followed him out, and frowned in confusion as the other man simply pointed silently towards the bathroom.
Sherlock was just coming out of a stall when John stepped into the bathroom, cringing as the smell of vomit hit him.
“You ok?” He asked, watching as Sherlock splashed water from the sink onto his face and washed his mouth out with a handful straight from the tap.
“I need a cigarette.” Sherlock responded gruffly, his voice hoarse.
“Ok.” John said, following as Sherlock walked towards the door.
John and Sherlock stepped out onto the steps outside the court together, and it took less then five seconds for Sherlock to light a cigarette.
“Better?” John asked, burying the wave of disapproval that always emerged when he saw Sherlock smoking.
“Much.” Sherlock said simply. “That seemed to go on forever.”
“You were brilliant.” John told him. “Really, brilliant. I think that’s the bravest thing I’ve seen you do.”
Sherlock ignored him. They stood in silence for a few minutes, Sherlock puffing sullenly on his cigarette, until Mycroft stepped out of the doors, nodding to indicate that the trial was about to start again.
*
The trial lasted eight days altogether, eight days in which photographs of Sherlock’s and other victims’ injuries were shown to the court, Stephen Matthews appeared via a video link to give evidence, and Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan were required to describe in detail the scene they had face when they had found Sherlock after he was raped for the second time.
Eventually, though, all of the evidence was given, all of the witnesses had been questioned, and the jury left the court to consider the verdict.
Sherlock and John stood outside the court with Mycroft, Elizabeth, Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan while they waited for the verdict. John and Elizabeth wore matching looks of grudging acceptance as they watched Sherlock smoke his way through half a packet of cigarettes, while Lestrade stared longingly at the smoke curling out of Sherlock’s mouth, chewing viciously at a whole packet of nicotine gum.
Luckily for Lestrade, it didn’t take long for the jury to reach a decision, and they were called back into the court after just three quarters of an hour.
Sherlock sat between John and his mother in the court, each of them holding one of his hands tightly. Mycroft sat on Elizabeth’s other side, looking uncharacteristically pale and nervous. They watched with the other victims and supporters as the foreman of the jury stood and read out the verdict.
It took a long time, as the judge asked for the verdict of each charge individually, but, eventually, after nearly an hour, the seventy-fifth verdict was handed down, and the trial was finally over. Victor Trevor was found guilty on all charges, and sentenced to life in prison.
The onslaught of noise from the gallery was overwhelming as some cheered and applauded the verdict, while others simply burst into relieved sobs. Sherlock was silent, though, and John, Mycroft and Elizabeth also remained quiet, watching carefully as he stared, wide eyed and white faced, at Victor Trevor as he was taken away.
*
John opened the door to 221b Baker Street slowly, waiting for Sherlock to close the front door before starting to walk up the stairs into their flat. He sighed deeply as he dropped down onto the sofa, staring at the blank television screen as he processed the day’s events. It was over. Victor Trevor was going to prison, and he would never be coming out again.
“Are you ok?” He asked as Sherlock sat down next to him.
“I’m fine.” Sherlock replied, staring at the skull on the mantelpiece. “Glad that’s finished.”
John nodded, still staring at the television. He opened his mouth to offer a cup of tea, but his words were stopped before they had formed when Sherlock suddenly launched himself across the sofa and started kissing him fiercely.
John froze for a moment, his eyes wide, before Sherlock pushed his tongue into his mouth, and he found himself kissing back.
They kissed for several minutes, John’s hands moving from Sherlock’s hair to stroke up and down his back and sides and back again, before Sherlock suddenly stilled, a startled gasp echoing through the otherwise silent room. He jumped to his feet, backing away from John in a panic, staring at him, horrified, his face ghostly white.
“Sherlock?” John asked, standing and watching the other man cautiously.
“I’m sorry.” Sherlock blurted out, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. “I tried… I thought I could, but I can’t.”
“It’s ok.” John said calmly, holding his hands up in an attempt to pacify Sherlock. “You don’t have to do anything.”
“It’s not ok!” Sherlock snapped, growling irritably. “I thought I could just get it over with and that would be that.”
“’Get it over with’?” John repeated, stunned. “Sherlock, sex shouldn’t be something you just get over with!”
“I know that.” Sherlock said. “But we used to be fine before all this happened. I thought if I just got the first time since him out of the way, I’d be alright and you’d be happy.”
John gaped. “Jesus, Sherlock.” He said, taking a deep breath. “Don’t you get it? I bloody love you. I don’t care if the only sex I get for the rest of my life comes from my own right hand and I end up wanking ‘til my bits drop off. As long as you’re safe and happy, I’m happy.”
Sherlock watched John with wide eyes, his mouth set in a thin, confused little line. “You love me?” He said in a small, unsure voice.
“Yes.” John told him firmly. “I love you, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t really, really want to do. We’ve got all the time in the world now. It’s over.”
Sherlock dropped himself back down onto the sofa, and, detecting an imminent breakdown, John sat down next to him, pulling him into a close embrace.
“It’s really over, isn’t it?” Sherlock whispered, his voice cracking with unshed tears.
“Yes.” John confirmed as Sherlock began to cry. “It’s over.”
“What do I do now?” Sherlock asked, his whole body shaking as he started to sob.
John smiled, pressing a gently kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head. “Now we try to put it behind us, and start to move on with our lives.”
EPILOGUE