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Guilty Pleasures	By : CodyMThomas Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 8168 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or content associated with BBC Sherlock, I am merely playing with them for my own amusement and make no money from this fic

Chapter List
- 1-Guilty Pleasures
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-Chapter 12
- 13-13
- 6
- 7
- 8
Anderson POV

He hates the git, true. Anderson is the first to admit it that he can't stand the pompous, arrogant sod who thinks death is a game, acts like murders are better than sex, and that finding out a crime involves a serial killer is like finding an extra prize in his cereal box. But even still, what Anderson sees right now he doesn't even wish on Sherlock, he doesn't wish it on anyone.

His mum was abused by his father, and he's studied injuries, forensics is his life's work, and so he knows, he just KNOWS that the horrid looking crescent-shaped bruise, semi black eye, with the small cut in the center on Sherlock's face that was revealed when he took off the mask and the plaster fell off with it, wasn't from a fist, and with the lack of marks on his knuckles, if Sherlock had been hit, he didn't fight back. He remembers with vivid clarity the night his father had backhanded his mum in the face with a vase, and the day after it looked startlingly similar to what Sherlock's face looks like now. Then he saw the man reach for his coat and the bruise around Sherlock's wrist, his skin so fair that it was showing individual finger marks, made him gasp.

Sherlock was being abused. It finally made sense, the annoying bids for attention, constantly trying to prove his importance and self-worth, the ridiculous coat and scarf even in summer, the... the split second guilty look in John's eyes when he came out of the room and flinched at seeing Sherlock's face...

No. Anderson didn't want to believe it. He LIKED John, the man had a noble streak a mile wide and was so damned kind and helpful, and he managed to rein in Sherlock...

It felt like a whole stone slammed into Anderson's stomach. Everyone had noticed that Sherlock's behavior had changed drastically after John arrived. So many people were relieved about it, swore up, down, and sideways that it was so much better this way, begging John to keep it up because it made their jobs and lives a bit easier. Begging him to... oh gods.

No one cared to know how he did it or what their relationship was actually like, and John had insisted they weren't a couple for the longest time. If anyone was to be suspected, everyone would have immediately thought that Sherlock would be the one abusing John, the sociopath with no conscience or regard for human life. No one would suspect John, he didn't have a hint of guile or that 'leading a hidden life' vibe. Then again no one had suspected his father either, the highly respected civil servant, the perfect family man with the devoted wife and two children, the man with the bright future in politics.

"If you test the victims insulin and adrenaline levels, then check for steroids, THC, and LSD, you will save your department a lot of time and money." Sherlock, who was examining him like he was under a microscope, stated as if he were merely commenting on the weather, before he pulled on his coat.

Anderson couldn't stop himself, he was angry, he couldn't let this lie, this was one issue he just couldn't stand silence on, that's what let it continue unchecked. "I thought you were some sort of mixed martial arts, boxing, street scrapper. You took out five armed men on your own once, I SAW you! You could have fought back, you don't have an excuse, why the hell didn't you fight back?!"

Because he'd only been a child at the time, and his father's fists were nearly as big as his head, and fighting back only made it so much worse for his mum and his sister... But this was SHERLOCK, the man who lived to defy, and fight back, and prove everyone else wrong damn the consequences, the man who would argue with GOD because he felt he was beneath him, or wrong about something, and yet he hadn't fought John. And if someone who had proven time and again that he was so far above the rest of the mere mortals had fallen into the same damn trap, what hope did that leave for the rest of them? It made Anderson feel like a scared little kid all over again.

"Whatever you are referring to, or trying to think about in that infernal place you dare call a brain is entirely inaccurate, and you would do well to dismiss it before you hurt yourself."

But Anderson wasn't afraid of Sherlock, not at all. "Your plasters came off with the mask, but it's too sore for you to notice them gone right? So what's the story, you tripped by the table, slipped in the shower and hit the soap dish, walked into a door, turned into the corner of an open cupboard? My mum had a mark just like that once from the edge of a ceramic vase, after my father hit her in the face with it. She told people it was the car door when she had bent down to fetch her dropped keys. So what's your excuse? I'm dying to know."

"It's called rough sex Anderson, you should try it sometime, it's highly liberating. I fought the handcuffs and clipped my own cheek with them, end of story."

Anderson hated the fact he hadn't seen it, when he KNEW what to look for, the coverup, the denial, the defense of their own abusers... Anderson felt sick. He wanted to punch John, throttle him, make him feel what it was like to be helpless before someone else, not in defense of Sherlock, but because John had fooled him. Anderson had trusted him, liked him, and now... now he wanted to shoot him with the man's own gun.

He grabbed his gear and shouldered it roughly onto his back.

"Sure you did, that's why there are finger marks on your wrist instead of cuff abrasions, and why John looks so guilty instead of embarrassed. How many times has he apologized so far? Because John would NEVER hurt you, Sherlock, he CARES too damn much, you know that right?"

And he pushed through the two of them, shoving hard into John with his shoulder and near sending the shorter man falling down. Good. John hadn't denied a word of it after all, and he refused to be afraid of John.

Anderson had work to do, and he needed to get lost in his work for a bit, he needed to feel strong and brave and useful in there, helping find the person who killed those people, collecting data and evidence to put them away for life.

Just like he'd put his father away by setting up the video recorder in the living room and taking pictures of his mother's injuries when she wasn't looking, with a mini camera his aunt had given him for Christmas. He had snuck out in the middle of the night after a really bad row when he was ten. He took the tape and roll of film to the police station four blocks over and asked them to please save his mum because he was too little, and his dad had bloodied her up real bad tonight and she wasn't moving. His collecting evidence had saved his mum's life. They'd put his father in jail, his mum was taken to hospital for two months, and had to go to counseling for a few years. Once she was all better she got a divorce and pressed as many charges as possible, and she won because she'd had the evidence.

Evidence was the most important thing. People could say anything, but it was the PROOF people actually needed in order to see who was telling the truth.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Guilty Pleasures