A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! Here is another chapter!!! Lots of emotional stuffs in this one....Good luck....I think there's only gonna be one or two more chapters after this one....and yes...the final chapter will contain smut ;) Enjoy<3

The cold wind bit through the too-thin t-shirt Sherlock was wearing. It had been three weeks since he last saw Victor. Three weeks since his last hit. He was clean, whatever Mycroft had done this time seemed to be working to quench the cravings.

But it did nothing for the pain.

He was kneeling before Victor's grave, his hands shaking as he methodically dismantled the razor he pinched from Greg's kit while he was at Mycroft's house.

He had loved Victor, and occasionally, he had been able to convince himself that Victor had loved him back. Victor was the only person to ever love Sherlock. The only one that had ever wanted him, and he hadn't even gotten to go to his funeral.

"I'm so sorry Victor." He whispered as he finally freed the blade from its casing. "I-I shouldn't have chosen John. God, why would you do this to me!" Sherlock screamed the last few words before slicing into his wrist. It wasn't deep, but not as deep as he wanted it to go. He tried again, still not able to push the blade deep enough to tear through the arteries. "Damn it!" His voice cracked as his hand spasmed, the blade falling to the cold ground.

"You know, he didn't love you." John Watson's voice came from behind Sherlock, startling the boy. "He may have said he did, made you feel good occasionally, but he didn't love you."

"Shut up-"

"He raped you, Sherlock. How many times did he force himself on you? How many times did he force himself inside you, only to numb the pain with drugs and soft words? That's not love Sherlock!"

"Then what is 'love,' John?" Sherlock snapped, jumping to his feet and sending the older boy a nasty glare. "What could a boy in foster care know about 'love?'" Sherlock stepped closer to John and let his mind run, words spilling from his mouth. "Who in your life has ever shown you 'love?' Certainly not your parents, they're the ones that beat you, weren't they? And judging by the way you reacted when Father snapped a few weeks ago, none of your foster parents loved you-"

"That's how I know!" John shoved Sherlock back, sending him stumbling back against Victor's headstone. "I have never felt anything but people I was told to love and trust, snapping my bones and shoving themselves into me no matter how hard I fought. The only thing I know about love is that I've never felt it."

"Then how do you know Victor didn't love me?"

"What makes you think he did?"

"He never treated me wrong-"

"He fucking raped you, Sherlock! How is that not wrong?"

"I deserved it!" Sherlock gasped as John gripped the front of his shirt and spun him around and shoved him against a tree.

His senses were overwhelmed with everything John Watson. The feeling of the shorter boy pinning him to the tree, his scent filling his nose.

"Don't you dare say that Sherlock. Don't you dare justify the actions of that man. You did nothing wrong. He manipulated you, made you feel less than human, just so he had someone to fuck and use when he wanted." Sherlock's cheeks burned with shame as this shocking boy tore apart everything Victor had made him believe. "You are brilliant, for fuck sake, you're fifteen and in the same advanced maths as me, and I'm a year ahead." Sherlock flinched at the soft brush of fingers against his cheekbone. "No one deserves to be treated like that." John let him go and backed away, shoving his hands into his pockets and blinking rapidly.

"J-J-"

"I killed my parents." John, voice seemed to catch in his throat and Sherlock felt his blood run cold. His family had been informed of what had happened to John's parents.

"B-But, the report said it was-"

"Murder/suicide. Pretty clever eh?" John laughed shakily. "Everyone knew he was a mean drunk, so they weren't really that shocked when I woke up to find them dead. It was good for mum, I was the only one who knew that she was as bad as him. Everyone who knew her thought she was lovely, so I let her memory be preserved." Sherlock should have run, should have fled from the murderous boy before him, but something had him rooted to the spot.

"Y-You killed Victor too." He whispered, feeling his chest constrict. John laughed and kicked at the ground, shrugging and smirking dangerously.

"Technically no. He held the gun in his mouth. He pulled the trigger. I just gave him the motivation." Sherlock stared at the ground, noticing that his wrist was still slowly bleeding, but not enough to worry about. "I know you're mad, but I don't regret anything and you can't prove that I did it."

"What if I go to the police?"

"And tell them what? That after you were brutally raped by Victor Trevor, your family's new foster kid broke into his house and forced him to commit suicide? They won't believe you, especially when Greg, Mycroft and myself all attest to the fact that you were in love with-" Sherlock closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to John's, pulling a shocked sound from the shorter boy.

John stumbled back, breathing erratically and tugging at his hair.

"Sherlock-"

"You killed Victor." John looked at him in shock, but didn't move away when Sherlock stepped closer, the instincts that Victor had honed into his brain kicking in. "Y-You saved me." Sherlock stopped before the shorter boy and fell to his knees, reaching for John's trousers.

He remembered that Victor liked it when he did this for him. He used to love making Victor happy like this.

He felt hands gripping his, tugging them above his head. He looked up, half expecting Victor to still be there.

He met the navy-blue eyes of a boy as broken as himself instead.

John fell to his knees and took Sherlock's face in his hands. It wasn't harsh, like when Victor would touch him, it was soft and kind and everything Sherlock didn't deserve.

"No, Sherlock. Stop that. You are worth more than some dirty blow job in the dark. You don't owe me anything. I did what I did to save you from a lifetime of abuse." Sherlock shook his head and tried to lean in closer to John, but was held at arms length by the firm arms of the shorter boy.

"P-Please- John I- I don't- I-I can't-" John pulled him into his arms as Sherlock collapsed under the weight of his emotions.

"He can't hurt you anymore Sherlock." John whispered, pulling the sobbing boy into his lap and holding him close. "You're free."