A/N Hey My Lovelies!!!! So....This one is a little different...it's based off of the song Blown Away by Carrie Underwood....what makes this different though is that it is set in Oklahoma....The whole song is focused around a twister so I figured it was just easier to set it in Oklahoma rather than trying to make sense of a twister in England lol...Also...The link to the song I'm gonna include is a cover done, once again, by me!!! You guys seemed to like my last cover so I figured it would try again lol...TRIGGER WARNING!!! This does deal with physical abuse a bit....Enjoy<3

The storms in Oklahoma were bad, but they were nothing compared to Mr. Watson's temper. John always knew there was a storm coming when his father started complaining of a migraine. Unfortunately, with the migraines came the alcohol, and with the alcohol came the beatings.

John always tried to stay on his father's good side since his mother died, but it wasn't easy when the man treated him like a walking disappointment.

He tried to hide it, to keep people from finding out and calling Social Services. He could protect his little sister at home, he couldn't if they took her. People suspected, of course they did, but no one dared confront the elder John Watson. Don't ask, don't tell.

The only one in the whole town that knew the truth, that knew just how bad it was, was Sherlock Holmes. The youngest son of the richest couple in town, there was no hiding anything from anyone in that family.

John knew Sherlock pitied him, and he hated the boy for it. He hated feeling judged and pitied by a boy whose shirt probably costed more than Mr. Watson's old pickup truck. He could see it in the boy's pale eyes every morning John stumbled in, late to class, ratty t-shirts barely hiding cigarette burns and purpling bruises.

Why John was thinking of the pale boy when his father stumbled in, clutching a bottle in one hand and his forehead in the other, John would never know.

"Harry, go downstairs." He told his little sister, handing her the rest of the granola bar he had been snacking on and shooing her away. She didn't object, she knew better. Even at four, the child knew to fear that sight. He closed his books but didn't stand, his senses suddenly on alert. It was usually less than an hour after the migraine would start that the sirens would sound, signaling an oncoming storm. "Dad-"

"I saw you." John tensed, fear lancing through his body. "With that other boy, today." The drunk man lashed out, the back of his hand connecting harshly with John's cheek, sending him crashing to the floor. "You think I don't know? You think I can't see you're gonna be a fag? Just like your uncle." John cried out as his father grabbed his hair, dragging him to his knees.

"N-No, Dad you don't- you don't understand-" John tried to free himself from his father's grip, tried to escape the pain he knew was coming, but to no avail. "T-That was Greg. H-He's just- just a friend- he's moving-"

"Don't lie to me boy!" John grunted as he was shoved, his forehead connecting with the corner of the coffee table. A hand gripped the back of his neck and he was lifted to his feet, nausea and pain filling his body.

Sirens split the air, sending a fuzzy shock of terror through John as he watched a bolt of lightening split the darkening sky.

"D-Dad, the- the sirens-" He tried to warn the man, but he could see it was too late. Mr. Watson was lost in his migraine fueled whiskey rage. "Dad please! Harry-" His pleas were silenced as his father gripped the front of his throat tightly.

Panic filled him as he scrabbled uselessly against the hand that was slowly killing him.

He prayed Harry was safe as his vision started to fade and he surrendered to death. He prayed that whatever force was about to rain down on their small town, had the mercy to take this little corner of Hell with it.

Everything seemed to happen at once, a massive clap of thunder shaking the walls and the windows shattering in.

John's body connected with the floor and his lungs burned as air filled them. He coughed violently, clutching at his now-freed throat desperately as his brain scrambled to sort out what was happening.

A firm hand on his elbow sent fuzzy panic through him, making him squirm.

"John! John look at me!" His eyes focused on shocking silver ones.

"Sh-Sher-Sherlock?" It hurt to speak, and he lapsed into another coughing fit, forcing his eyes open when he felt himself being shaken harshly.

"John! Where's Harriet? Where's your sister?" His mind fought to clear itself at the mention of Harry.

"I-I sent her downstairs." Sirens were wailing and John could barely hear over the blowing wind and the sound of his house being torn apart around him.

"Get down to the cellar! Get Harriet safe!" He was spun around and shoved, sent stumbling away from the boy.

"What about-"

"I'll get your father. Just make sure Harriet is safe!" John nodded, racing down the stairs, screaming for his little sister. He found her, hiding by the cellar door, and pulled her in.

He waited for thirty seconds before going back upstairs.

Sherlock was struggling to drag his unconscious father towards the stairs.

The roof began to lift away from the house and John grabbed Sherlock by his waist, hauling the skinny boy away from the unconscious man and dragging him down to the cellar.

"No! What are you doing!" Sherlock screamed as John threw him into the dark hole, fighting with the door as the storm threatened to rip it from it's hinges. "John! Stop! I can still save him-"

"I'm saving Harry!" John screamed back as the storm nearly ripped the door away, taking him with it.

Pale hands gripped the handle alongside his own and the door started closing.

John caught sight of the roof disappearing completely just as the cellar door slammed shut.

Sherlock and John huddled close, Harry tucked safely between them in the farthest corner of the cellar, elbow wrapped firmly around a concrete pillar there. Harry screamed through the duration of the storm, though the sound was mostly drowned out buy the roaring storm.

When the raging wind finally stopped, John breathed a sigh of relief. Harry had passed out a short while ago, and John carefully checked over her for injuries before carrying her to the little cot his father had placed down there for these situations.

"Are you alright?" John turned his attention to Sherlock, noticing the bleeding cut on the pale boy's cheek. Sherlock tried to wave him off, but John wasn't having any of that and gripped his chin, inspecting the wound.

"It's just a scratch-"

"Yeah? Well I don't know how long we'll be down here, and I'd rather not have you dying of infection before someone comes looking for us." Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes, the cockiness that so many kids at their school hated him for showing through.

"That's absurd John, the likelihood of me dying of infection before emergency services arrive-"

"Fuck off, I know it's stupid. Not everyone is an idiot, you know. Despite what your posh ass might think." John snapped, still harbouring a bit of hate for the boy. He watched hurt and fear fill Sherlock's eyes, along with that thing John had labeled as pity.

"You aren't an idiot John, I wouldn't say that about you." Despite himself, John felt his cheeks darkening. He had never heard Sherlock Holmes say a kind thing about another person, ever. "In fact, I happen to think you're the smartest person in our class." It was John's turn to snort.

"Despite yourself, of course?"

"Well yes, that's a given." John laughed, shaking his head and looking at the floor between them. "Are you alright John?" A flare of anger flashed through John and he stood, putting some distance between himself and the other boy.

"I don't need your pity." He snapped, crossing his arms and sending the boy a nasty glare. Sherlock blinked up at him, looking thoroughly confused. "I appreciate you saving my ass today, but I don't want you feeling sorry for me-"

"Why would I pity you?" Sherlock asked, sending shock through John. "Pity is a baseless emotion that has absolutely no bearing on my opinion of you." John blushed and dropped his hands to his sides. "Anyone who pities you is an idiot, and doesn't deserve to know you." Sherlock stood, his insanely long limbs unfolding awkwardly. "Why would you assume I pity you?"

"W-Well- I-I mean, my- my Dad- you knew about-"

"I watched you play full-contact Football with two broken ribs and several severe cigarette burns on your chest and back. You deserve no one's pity, John Watson, but you deserve everyone's respect." John glared at a spot on the floor, trying to fight the overwhelming feeling of self-loathing that rose at Sherlock's praise.

Something occurred to him and he met Sherlock's eyes, searching for an answer.

"Why were you here? I mean, you live on the other end of town, why were you all the way down here?" Sherlock blushed darkly and kicked his foot awkwardly, looking embarrassed and as though he wanted to be anywhere but there.

"I-I was- I overheard you talking with Gavin in class-"

"You mean Greg?"

"Oh, is that his name?" John laughed and nodded, his opinion of the strange boy slowly changing as he watched him shifting his gaze around the room. "Well, anyways, I overheard you and him talking about who you were going to go to Prom with, and I-I thought- I-I mean-" Sherlock dropped his face in his hands and John froze as realization sparked through him.

"You- you're asking me to Prom?" John blushed as Sherlock nodded, still hiding his face. "Why? I-I thought you were seeing Irene Adler?" Sherlock's face contorted into a mask of distaste that almost made John giggle.

"Ms. Adler is a whore. She just wants to be able to say she fucked the school freak." Sherlock's eyes widened and he glanced towards Harry, who was still sleeping soundly. "Sorry." He whispered, making John laugh and grin at him.

"She's heard worse." John assured, stepping closer to the boy. "Why do you want to go to Prom with me?" Sherlock sent him another look that John would have interpreted as pity before this conversation.

"Because my mother is insisting that I attend, I'm gay, and figured if I was going to attend a dreadful party like that, I may as well try to convince the hottest boy at school to go with me." John was about to respond when something knocked against the cellar door.

"Is there anybody down there?" A voice filtered through the door and John felt a spark of relief.

"Yeah! There's three of us!"

"Any injuries?"

"Just minor scratches." There was a loud scraping sound as the emergency workers moved rubble from the door.

John grabbed Sherlock's elbow and pulled the boy close, wrapping his free hand around the back of the taller boy's neck and tugging him down for a kiss.

"If I'm not in prison by the time Prom rolls around, I would love to go with you."

"Why would you be in prison? Your father was killed in the storm. There was nothing you could do. The whole town knows what that man did to you and Harriet, no one is going to question you."

As the three kids were led from the wreckage, John could feel the weight of his neighbour's eyes. He wound an arm around Sherlock's waist and shifted Rosie on his hip. He glanced back at what remained of his home and felt a peace settle over his shoulders.

Harry was safe, his father was gone, and there were no more storms on their horizon.

There's not enough rain in Oklahoma, to wash the sins out of that house

There's not enough wind in Oklahoma, to rip the nails out of the past