Beautifully Broken

"Dear, don't say a word." A brown haired woman, forty years old, whispered to her ten year old son as she reached the kitchen. The tiny blonde boy giggled and nodded his head, he didn't fully understand why his mother was whispering her words or why she was telling him to be as silent as he could. The woman strained a smile, unshed tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

"Where are you?" A deep and rather raspy voice said in a sing song manner, the boy was about to run to where the voice came from. A tight grip on his wrist stopped him from making the biggest mistake of his life.

A mistake that could have killed him if it hadn't been for his dearest mother.

"Okay love, no matter what do not climb out of this cupboard." She ordered, fear clouding her voice- though she tried to hide it from her second eldest son. "Can you do that and not say a word?" She questioned, quickly looking over her shoulder as footsteps grew louder and faster, coming their way. He nodded his head, and crawled into the small cupboard, lucky for him their father was never shown that small bidding place.

That again saved the life of John Hamish Watson.

Unfortunately, it couldn't save him from being scarred for life by the scene that was about to unfold in front of his young eyes. His mother couldn't find her own hiding place in time, the man neared the door and she stood away from the cupboard. This way, the older male wouldn't look for where the beloved boy was hiding in. "I found you, Maria."

The man who entered the room was around thirty six, dark blonde, almost drown, hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to stare into your soul. His son carrying the same eye colour as the psychopath that stood in front of him. John grew up hating the colour of his hair and his eyes thanks to his father. "Brett, why are you doing this?" The terrified woman asked, stalling time so she could find a way out of this alive, the same for her only son left unharmed and living. "I don't think normal people would understand." He replied, the knife in his hand glistening under the ray from the broken light dangling from the ceiling

"You killed three of my children, I want to know why!" She screeched, anger and grief taking control of her then any other emotion. "Oh Maria, Maria, Maria..." He said, a sick smile on his face, Brett took a few steps forward and Maria took a step back. Creating as much distance between her and her husband as she could. "I'm one son short."

The boy covered his mouth with his hands as he watched through a small crack in the door, he held his breath.

His mother said don't make a sound.

Don't make a sound.

Don't make a sound.

Don't make a sound.

And John Watson didn't say a word after this horrible night.

"He's safe from you." Maria said angrily, she never thought that she would have to hide her son from his father. "He will never be safe from me!" The man lunged at the woman, who shrieked and shielded her body and head as best as she could. But what good was flesh against a metal knife? If she had survived she would have know not good at all. Brett stabbed her with all the energy he had all over her body, head, stomach, tights, everywhere.

The stab wound count was a hundred and nine on Maria Watson.

A slit throat killed sixteen year old Harriot Watson.

8 stab wounds killed fourteen year old James Watson.

And a stab to the stomach killed seven year old Emmett Watson.

And Brett Watson was killed by a self inflicted wound to the chest, right over his heart.

And John Watson? He was never the same after witnessing his mother murdered by his own father. He ran into his sister and brother's rooms, only to be greeted by horrific scenes and terrible heart ache.

Don't say a word. His mother's voice still in his head.

Don't say a word.

Don't say a word.

Don't say a word.

He didn't.

-+-+-+-+-

There was a loud knock on the door of the Watson residence the normal that followed the horrid bloodshed. The boy out front of the house got no reply but noticed the door was open, the seventeen year old found this rather strange.

"Harriot!"

The boy, whose name is Mike Stamford, made his way down the hall and into his girlfriend's room, a scream erupting from his lips when he saw the state of the young woman. Blood was everywhere... He didn't think a human could contain that much red liquid inside of their bodies. He ran into the other rooms, checking to see if they were okay. Each room he entered he felt more and more sicker by each passing moment. The last room he was to enter was the room of little John, who had grown on him like a brother.

He opened the room, expecting to see a blood filled room just like the other, only there was no blood to be seen. He could see the outline of a small body lying on the bed, blankets covering his whole body. "John?" He called out, moving closer as he received no reply, not even a single twitch. He let out a shaky breath, thoughts running at 100 miles per hour in his mind. What if he's dead? That was one thought. He could still be alive. That was another. Mike took a deep breath and pulled back the blanket gently.

The person , John, gasped in fear and curled into a ball, as if he was protecting himself from the outside world. "John, it's me. Mike." The blue eyed boy looked up, instantly jumping into the older lad's arms, shaking in fear and sobbing like there was no tomorrow. "Shhhh, you're okay, John. I've got you." The boy soothed, at the same time he picked up his mobile phone and dialed the police, tears of anger and sadness sliding down his cheeks.

"911, what's your emergency?" A male person on the other end of the line asked, a little bit of boredom could be detected in his voice. "14 Rockabye road. Th-they d-d-dead." Mike stammered, he could hear clicking of a key board in the background. "Police and Ambulance are on their way now, can you tell me if anyone is still alive?" The boredom was gone and replaced with a bit of concern for the person he was speaking to. "J-John W-Watson." The man said soothing words as Mike began to cry on the phone as he answered his questions. "Is he injured?"

Mike checked the now asleep boy in his arms, no wounds at all on his small body. "N-No. Shaken up." That was a terrible understatement for the boy, who was still trembling in his arms even as he slept. Mike doubted he would ever find a goods night rest after this. "How old is John,...?" The man on the other end of the line didn't know who he was talking to. "Mike, and he is ten years old."

"I'm going to stay on the line with you okay. Can you tell me if his parents are alive." Mike let out a shaky breath, closed his eyes as he got up and laid poor John on his bed since it wasn't covered in blood. "I d-didn't chec-" Mike stepped into the kitchen and he couldn't even finish his statement due to the scene in front of his. Phone still in hand, Mike ran over yo the sink and retched because of the amount of blood and the smell that began to occur. "Th-Their dead."

Everyone was dead apart from one broken child.

AN/ This has been stuck on my mind for a while, please tell me about any spelling mistakes and changes that should be made. Sorry it is a short first chapter. XxH