(Major editing) It wouldn't take a consulting detective to see that I love you.

Chapter 28.

AUTHOR NOTE

Hey guys, here's a really dark chapter for yas!! :). Yeah this is gonna be horrible and I hated writing it. It's just kinda Sherlock's history and stuff. So like sorry if I like killed you mentally, but that's what people do! :). And if you guys don't like any of the kinda sad-ish stuff then I would advise not reading this. Thanks anyway, love yas BYEE.

'I was sitting outside, in our back-garden. These were the days when Redbeard was still around, before he got put down. I was playing pirates with him, running around the thick willow tree that stood almost dead centre of the garden. We both could play for hours on end, hiding behind the weeping branches, startling each other as we jumped out behind them.

This day was one of the darkest in my memories. It made me sick to my stomach thinking about it.

I was sitting on the grass with my back leaning against the crumbling bark as Redbeard and I read the old treasure map. I would explain the different places of the map and how we would steal the treasure as he lay beside me with his gigantic head on my lap. Although I was quite tall for my age, Redbeard was almost double the size.

We were just getting ready to set out on the adventure when my step-father called me inside from the back door. I held onto Redbeard as I walked, sheepishly towards the door that led to the kitchen. "Get in here" he grumbled at me. I carefully slipped past him, trying to smuggle Redbeard inside with me. Although he was house trained and very well behaved, my step-father wouldn't let his in the house. "Where do you think you're going you mutt ?" He spat at him, kicking him in the side as he whimpered, staggering back into the garden. I turned around quickly, giving him a look of sympathy.

After he slammed the door, my step-father placed a firm hand on my shoulder as he guided me towards a room at the end of the corridor. This room would usually be locked apart from when he would drag me down there.

Other times that he had done this I would try calling out for mother or Mycroft but they would never come, and this action would result in being slapped across my face.

There were warm tears stinging my eyes as we slipped into the room unnoticed. He threw me to the floor as he locked the door behind him. The tears began to slide down my face as I backed into the corner of the room. He would tower over me until my back hit wall, then he would pull me towards him as he spat everything under the sun at me. But that was just the start of it.

He would hit me over and over, causing bruises to form on my torso and arms, all the places that wouldn't be visible to others. He would pull at my clothes, ripping them off. Then he would whip my back with his belt, causing a surge of pain to rack through my body.

After he was finished beating me, he threw me to the ground so I was on my hands and knees. He undone his trousers as he walked over to me, almost making me get sick at the though of what he was going to do next. I felt very queasy as he bent down and thrust into me over and over'.