Secretly I Think You Knew

Freezer Burnt Hearts

           

"Please, he's done nothing wrong, I left him, I didn't want to let him...." Sherlock started.
"Why would you care!? You've caused pain before, you've killed the ones you claimed to love but there is no such thing as love Sherlock, it's an illusion, it's a sin!" Mycroft exclaimed.
"Why do you hate it so much, you've been loved, you've loved before, our parents..." Sherlock started.
"OUR PARENTS WERE FOOLS!" Mycroft exclaimed, smacking Sherlock's head down with the umbrella so that he collapsed onto the floor once more. "Love drove them to madness, love drove them to insanity."
"They died in a car crash!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"That's what you think because that's what I told you! Just like how our dear uncle packed up his things and left us." Mycroft snapped. "Our idiot parents, those absolute barbarians, you think you know what love it, it's a myth! Humans only love because they know they will be loved back, they are greedy, selfish, and once a person can't provide them with the pleasure they seek they simply leave them behind. You were too young Sherlock, you were just a baby when it happened." Mycroft sighed.
"What happened?" Sherlock exclaimed, hating his brother's habit of talking in riddles.
"Our father had an affair!" Mycroft screamed. Even though Sherlock had hardly knew his father or his mother, it felt like Mycroft had struck him in the heart purely with words. Sherlock was just a baby, and his father had an affair. Was Sherlock created with love, were his parents still in love when he was born? Or was he a baby born on greed, on a desperate attempt to rekindle a crumbling marriage? Was this why Sherlock's heart ached for any boy that showed him love, that merely paid attention to him? Was Sherlock so desperate for love now because he had received none since the day he was born? Sherlock could only lift his head before it was pushed down again with Mycroft's umbrella, not violently, just passively, as if he didn't want to see Sherlock's expression as he learned the truth. Sherlock was fine with this, if he couldn't see his brother's anger then his brother couldn't see his fear, his sadness, the tears that were still pouring out of his eyes. Somehow there were always more tears.
"He had an affair and our mother found out and she wanted revenge...I found all three, hearts carved out except for our mother, she slit her own throat...I was seven years old, you were crying in the living room, I was screaming in the bedroom, they were still twitching, their blood pooling over the carpets, I didn't know what to do, I WAS SEVEN YEARS OLD!" Mycroft screamed, his entire maniacal body shuddering with anger. "You wonder what happened to me, you wonder why; you wonder why I never trust feelings or other people. It's because they're swine, women and men they're all the same, no regard for the others they claimed to love, to cherish. I didn't deserve this Sherlock, I didn't deserve to watch my entire life spiral down the drain yet here I am. Here we are, and we can do nothing to change the past, only to ensure the future. We deserve to be loved but we shall not love back."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know, you always told me they died in a car crash!" Sherlock insisted.
"THEY WERE HIGH ON LOVE AND THEY WERE IDIOTS! IT'S DISEASE SHERLOCK, YOU'VE BEEN INFECTED!" Mycroft growled, grabbing Sherlock by the back of his jacket and pulling him roughly to his feet.
"We've all got blood on our hands Sherlock, you killed Victor Trevor, I killed our uncle, I think it's time you learned what happens when you fall in love, when you let your little heart wander." Mycroft decided.
"What are you going to do?" Sherlock asked, not daring to fight against his brother. Mycroft didn't answer; he just started to drag Sherlock along the hallway, down towards the basement door.
"No, don't...don't kill me..." Sherlock begged, but he had to admit, it seemed like the easy way out. It was the easiest way to avoid this pain, this suffering, death; it seemed almost inviting right now.
"I'm not going to kill you Sherlock." Mycroft insisted, ripping open the basement door and starting down the stairs, dragging Sherlock along like a dog on a leash.
"I told you not to fall in love, I told you they were evil, they'll break your heart, they'll leave you. What do you do? You go fall in love with Victor Trevor, you kill him. You go fall in love with John Watson but somehow he's different, he's special, John Watson is the one for you." Mycroft was simply muttering to himself as he pulled Sherlock down the wooden basement stairs, where the metal door was waiting, a cool draft emitting from under the freezer door. "And now what's to be done about that, I can't let him go, your heart will wander back, he'll wander back, and who knows how far you've gone, maybe you've kissed him, maybe he kissed you, maybe he went so far to take your innocence, how am I supposed to know, no one tells me anything anyway. What's to be done about that? What should I do about this little John Watson?" Mycroft mumbled, pulling open the freezer door so that the freezing air engulfed the two of them. "This is what's to be done about that." he muttered, throwing Sherlock into the freezer so that he landed in the semidarkness, collapsing onto the frozen floor, cowering and shivering in the cold. The door slammed shut before Sherlock could regain himself, jumping to his feet and rushing over to the door, banging on it and screaming desperately. His brother could do anything, his brother was loose, he was vengeful, he was violent and he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. John, John was sitting at home in tears, thinking nothing could possibly get worse, he thought he had hit the all-time low. Well, that might be until Mycroft showed up at his front door.
"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO!?" Sherlock screamed, banging harder on the door. He could see the silhouette of his brother standing outside the small window, not moving, not looking, just standing. Sherlock stopped banging on the door and there was an uncomfortable silence, for a moment the two of them just stared at the dark shape that was the other, through the freezer door.
"I'm going to have him over for dinner." Mycroft decided.
"NOOO MYCROFT NO!" Sherlock screamed, pulling on the handle, kicking the door, screaming. "MYCROFT YOU CAN'T DO THAT, MYCROFT I LOVE HIM YOU CAN'T...MYCROFT!" Sherlock screamed, but his brother had long since disappeared, up the stairs, leaving his brother to freeze, leaving him to slip in the frozen blood and to relive the tragedies of his past all while anticipating the tragedies of his future. Sherlock collapsed onto the floor once more; inching closer and closer to his company, inching closer and closer to who he knew might comfort him. Mycroft was going to kill John; Mycroft was going to make Sherlock kill him... Sherlock's limbs were frozen, his skin felt tight, he kept moving closer and closer until finally he made contact with something solid, lying on the freezer floor.
"Victor?" Sherlock muttered ever so silently. There was no response. "Victor?" Sherlock whispered again. No response, of course there was no response. "Help me." he muttered, pulling the frozen body closer to him, holding the icy corpse close, the only comfort he would have.
"Victor I need you to protect me, I need you to get me away from Mycroft. Can you do that?" Sherlock whispered. Victor's frozen body didn't move, it didn't speak, but his silence said a million words. Sherlock buried his neck on the blood stained stiff fabric of Victor's last outfit, the stench of dead flesh mixed with the smallest hints of Victor's very familiar cologne.
"Thank you Victor." Sherlock muttered. "I knew I could count on you."