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.
