FIC: Let The Future In. 2/3, J/L & L/OMC. NC17 (BBC Sherlock)

Title: Let The Future In
Author: Elf
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,000
Pairings: Lestrade/John, Lestrade OMC
Warning: Violence against children, domestic abuse, dub-con
Summary: How Lestrade's life has shaped him into the man he is today. Title from the quote "Now is time to open the door and let the future in."
Note: Written as backstory to the NannyWatson universe, created by emungere . Specifically relates to these posts on the blogs (read comments): Overtime, Overworked and Over here, Dramatic Tadpoles and Dissolutions, Discord and Displeasure.
Disclaimer: NannyJohn was created by emungere , based upon characters from 'Sherlock'. I own nothing.
Part One

 

***

 

"Greg! Oh my God, Greg," Nicky pushed her fringe out of her eyes and grabbed his face, tilting it up. "We've got to get you home – Mr Goodacre said the next time you got in a fight you'd be expelled! Come on, come with me."

 

He had managed to get to his feet, and she had slipped her hand into his and dragged him towards home.

 

Their Mum was, mercifully, out. Nicky made him sit at the kitchen table while she got a bowl of water and a roll of kitchen towel. She washed the blood from his top lip and chin, turning the water pink, then dabbed at the graze on his cheek. He hissed and tried to turn away, but her small hand held onto his chin tightly. "Stop! I've got to get you cleaned up before Mum or Robert get back."

 

She did a good job, he had to admit. Only the graze was really visible, by the end. He knew his nose was tender, and two of his teeth loose, but by the time he showed his face again later that evening, when his Mum was busy trying to feed Rachel, Danny and Sam, she barely glanced at him.

 

 

"Why did they pick on you?" Nicky asked, when she'd silently tip-toed into his room later that night, careful not to wake Danny in the next bed. "Does it hurt a lot?"

 

"No, I'm fine. And they didn't. It was just a fight. Jake was slagging us off."

 

Nicky nodded, lips pursed. "Don't take any notice of him, Orio. He doesn't know nothing." She rarely used his nickname, not unless they were with their father's family. He knew she was trying to make him feel better, show sympathy.

 

He just nodded. He didn't tell her that Jake actually knew too much.

 

Jake didn't speak to him again. But he clearly spread the word around. Greg ended up avoiding school altogether. He didn't care about the fights, but he did care when his little brothers were picked on and called queer, just because everyone now knew he was.

 

He failed his exams – didn't even bother to turn up for some of them.

 

He told his Mum he wanted to leave, get a job.

 

He didn't tell her why.

 

 

***

 

 

Plenty of them had left school. He was the only one who'd left home. And he hadn't exactly got very far. He was torn. He could easily get up to Bristol – or his dream of London - doubtless find work. But that meant leaving his Mum and Nicky. And, ironically, the reason he had gone this far was the same reason that he didn't want to go further. Derek.

 

They'd hated each other from the start. At first, he'd just put up with it. And told his Mum she was mad to let him move in. She hardly knew the man, after all. She'd told him he was sweet, and kissed him on the cheek (even though she now had to stand on tip-toes to). Told him not to worry, that Derek was a nice man – and there weren't many who were willing to give her a chance, not with him and all his brothers and sisters. She told him he was a grown up now, and needed to stop acting like a child. He was nearly sixteen; it was silly to keep up with this childish dislike of anyone she brought home.

 

Part of him didn't want to argue. He knew his Mum was lonely, and as much as he tried to help her with everything from money to taking care of the kids, she wanted – and deserved – more. He wanted her to find a good man, settle down. He just knew Derek wasn't that man. But he couldn't argue that he was 'nice', when he wanted to be. The problem was that after he'd had a few pints, he didn't want to be.

 

 

It was Nicky who kept the link between them all. She'd wait for him to arrive back after she'd been at school, tell him the news as they walked back to the village. One week in three, when she said Derek was working lates, he would go back home and see them all, help cook dinner and check they had everything they needed. Find out how much of the housekeeping money Derek had drunk that month.

 

His Mum always asked him to come back. He always refused.

 

He always offered her money. She always refused too. But he'd give it to her anyway.

 

 

Then, one evening, they arrived back together, Nicky opening the back door, still talking, to see utter chaos in the kitchen.

 

Greg grabbed her arm, pulling her back, stepping inside – at first thinking they'd been burgled. But then a familiar sound was audible from another room.

 

Shouting.

 

"Nicks, find the kids," he said, mouth dry, heart hammering in his chest. "Make sure they're okay."

 

He knew only too well how scary it was, listening to a fight.

 

She nodded, a jerky movement. "Greg, don't…be careful. Okay? Be careful."

 

 

He pushed the door to the front room open just in time to see a picture frame narrowly miss his Mum's head. He didn't have time to think, he just acted. Threw himself into the room, catching Derek around the neck, from behind, dragging him down, bouncing off the coffee table on the way to the floor, and before he'd even hit the ground struggling to get back up, get his hands free. An elbow caught him hard in the stomach, so he just grabbed, fingers digging into Derek's face - one slipping obscenely into his mouth - and he kicked out, freeing one leg, wrapping it around, trying to lever himself up.

 

Teeth clamped around his finger, a hand tried to go for his bollocks, so he twisted, shouting out a curse as he ripped his hand away, not caring that the teeth ripped through his skin. Then the fight was on in earnest.

 

Derek easily had the weight advantage, but Greg was strong, and fast. Derek was pissed, his movements uncoordinated, sluggish. When he made contact it hurt, but when he didn't Greg made him pay for it. He'd been in fights before, but this wasn't just about defending himself. This time he really wanted to hurt.

 

Finally, panting, bleeding, struggling to find his feet, he stood, and wrapped his fist in the front of Derek's shirtfront. He could hear his Mum crying, shouting at him, and he didn't listen. He dragged the man, falling over as he tried to move his bulk, but he didn't care.

 

They fought another three times before he finally reached the front door, shoving the man out onto the concrete step, and standing over him, shaking from the effort and the emotion.

 

 

The next day he was holding Sammy, trying to cook dinner for all of them, and persuade Nicky to check on their Mum - last seen virtually unconscious in her bedroom, but still swigging cheap cider from the bottle - when the doorbell rang.

 

He answered it, Sammy propped on his hip, pulling his hair.

 

"Ah, hello, we're here to see Mrs Weaver."

 

Greg didn't need to read the ID being held out to him. You could tell Social Services a mile off.

 

"She ain't in. Gone to see a friend. Don't know when she'll be back." He moved to close the door.

 

"We had a report, of a fight at this address. We need to ensure the children here are safe." The woman edged towards the door. He knew she was taking in every cut and bruise on his face, and he hated it.

 

"They're fine. You'll have to come back when she's in. I ain't got time to talk to you now," Greg did shut the door that time, and he could feel himself shaking again from the stress – from the fear.

 

"Mummy is here," Rachel said, appearing next to him, obviously having heard the entire conversation. "You lied." The tone was accusatory.

 

"Far as they know, she ain't. Sometimes you got to tell a little lie, when it doesn't matter. You don't want to have to get Mum out of bed do you? Down here to talk to them? They'd see the state she was in and they'd take you all away to live in a home for kids with no parents, right? And you'd never see her again. So sometimes, you got to tell a lie."

 

He'd believed it, all those years ago. And the way Rachel's face crumpled into tears, she clearly did too.

 

He leant down, still holding Sammy on one arm, and hugged her close. "But they've gone now, and we're fine. So don't worry, okay? Don't worry about nothing."

 

He stayed in the house for a month after that.

 

Derek came back twice.

 

Greg fought for his life. For all their lives. And when he wasn't physically fighting Derek he was fighting to keep everyone going. Getting the kids to school, making sure there was something to eat every night, trying to get their Mum up and out of bed and washed, no matter how drunk or hung-over she was. Fighting to keep Social Services from their door.

 

After the second time, when Nicky had settled the younger children she came back downstairs and found some ice to wrap in a tea towel for his hand.

 

"You don't have to do this," she said, quietly, not meeting his gaze. "It's not your job to protect us."

 

He gave a small smile, making the split in his lip ooze.

 

"Yes, it is," he answered. "Always will be. Got to stick together, Nicks. We're stronger together."

 

 

"Greg," his Mum said, as he forced her to eat some dinner, late at night. "How's school?"

 

He looked at her, wondering if he was doing the right thing, keeping Nicky, Danny, Rachel and Sam out of the clutches of the authorities. Sometimes he really questioned himself. Not that he would ever tell anyone. What else had she missed though? Where had she thought the money keeping the house running was coming from? Maybe they would all be better off with people who didn't spend weeks on end too drunk to notice what was happening around them. Maybe there would be some nice people out there, willing to take all four of them.

 

Probably not, though.

 

"Fine, Mum," he answered. It was the lie that slipped most easily from his lips. 'Fine' was all he ever was these days, if anyone chose to ask.


***

Part Three