
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1407256.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson, Sherlock_Holmes_&_John_Watson, Sherlock
      Holmes/Jim_Moriarty, Sherlock_Holmes_&_Jim_Moriarty
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Jim_Moriarty, Mycroft_Holmes, Molly_Hooper,
      Greg_Lestrade, Sally_Donovan
  Additional Tags:
      Johnlock_-_Freeform, Smut, explicit_-_Freeform, Rape, Sex, Anal_Sex, Oral
      Sex, Dirty_Talk
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-15 Chapters: 4/? Words: 4073
****** The One Up Above ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     At 13 years old, everyone will receive the most important document of
     their lives, fittingly named the Thirteenth Document. On the official
     paper that was mailed to the household, it was regally titled with
     the receiver's full name and birth date. The Thirteenth Document
     revealed everything of the receiver's future from that day forward.
     It had everything from the simple, like what his/her 34th birthday
     would be like, to the nerve-wracking, like who you were destined to
     spend your life with. The One Up Above chooses your future, your
     fate, your life, and can change it at anytime he wants. His most
     selective decisions are who is going to be your Soul Mate. But he
     ensures to put special caution into choosing John Watson's and
     Sherlock Holmes's Soul Mates.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** The One Up Above *****
Chapter Summary
     But here he was, struggling with a boy called William Sherlock Scott
     Holmes. Everything about him seemed wrong and nothing worked. The One
     Up Above had received, literally, millions of reports on him. Most of
     them were negative, speaking of how inconsiderate and rude he was. He
     read all of them, yet none offered a clue as to what the most
     important aspects of William's future should be.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                               The One Up Above
                                   Chapter 1
                               The One Up Above
                                        
                                       ~
                                        
Most people would think that choosing someone's entire future after age 13
would be terrifying. Being in charge of someone's life, trying to make it a
good one? What if you screwed it up? Well, you could easily fix that by
changing their future again. But still, anything could go wrong. Horribly
wrong. Yet the One Up Above never worried about ruining a life. He was so
precise and confident in his decisions, mistakes were impossible. He would take
reports from people who knew the child before he or she turned 13, and base his
conclusions off of that. Some people were initially shocked when they first
received their results, but satisfaction was not uncommon later. The One Up
Above was perfect.
But here he was, struggling with a boy called William Sherlock Scott Holmes.
Everything about him seemed wrong and nothing worked. The One Up Above had
received, literally, millions of reports on him. Most of them were negative,
speaking of how inconsiderate and rude he was. He read all of them, yet none
offered a clue as to what the most important aspects of William's future should
be. The One Up Above had all the insignificant areas of William's future
completed: what name he'd go by (Sherlock, he had decided on.), future
personality traits (Same as childhood), 57th birthday (Small party with some
friends).... But the One Up Above was having an aggravating time trying to
figure out who Sherlock would belong with. For the rest of his life. The boy's
13th birthday was tomorrow, and his Thirteenth Document had to be mailed out at
midnight tonight. 
9:00 and he still didn't have anything. The One Up Above finally, reluctantly
moved on to his next child and decided he would return to Sherlock's document
later. Perhaps after more people he knew of, it would be easier to find his
Soul Mate. The next Thirteenth Documents he completed were as easy as the ones
before Sherlock. A Selma Ryder, Hannah White, Maurice Derrick, Melanie
Fields...John Watson. John Hamish Watson.
The One Up Above read through reports of John with wide eyes. Something about
him. Sherlock's Soul Mate, possibly? John was to be an army doctor,
Afghanistan, then to work at St. Bartholomew's Hospital as a physician. He had
platinum blonde hair and deep blue eyes, tanned white skin and a short figure.
John was amiable and tolerant, loyal and trustworthy. He was strong-willed and
sensible. Sherlock was almost the complete opposite. Rude and impatient, a
complete genius, protective over the ones he truly loved. Unique, unemotional.
The One Up Above had a feeling that John and Sherlock would change each other.
Perfect, he grinned as he wrote down "John Hamish Watson" under the last
category "Soul Mate" on William Sherlock Scott Holmes's Thirteenth Document.
Now it was up to them to find each other.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you so much!!!!!!!!!!!
***** John's Thirteenth Document *****
Chapter Summary
     He closed his eyes when he was about to read the next line, but
     placed his thumb where it would be. John opened one eye, then the
     other. He took his thumb off the concealed name.
                               The One Up Above
                                   Chapter 2
                             John's 13th Birthday
                                        
                                       ~
                                        
He was staring out his window, right at the paved walkway. It was 11:34 PM; 26
minutes until the day. John's 13th birthday. He didn't care about the small
things like favourites or birthdays included in his document. John only
wanted, needed to know who his Soul Mate was. The desperation clawed at his
sanity. He wanted to scream out, the anticipation was so great.
An official letter from the government, mailed one week prior to his/her
birthday, gave the exact time of which a child's Thirteenth Document would be
delivered. John Watson was one of the lucky few that had it right on his
birthday- the very second he turned 13 at midnight.
His parents knew he was up. Mr and Mrs Watson were to excited for their boy to
force him to sleep. Tomorrow was a school day, a Tuesday. John did not fare
well without his much desired rest. But at this point no one cared. The only
thing on their minds was the document. Though no one was allowed to know of an
individual's Soul Mate (could not be told unless two were certain they were
destined to be) John's mum and dad wondered. They hoped their step-daughter
would be pretty and sweet, and have lots of grandbabies for them. They smiled
warmly at the thought.
Time passed as if it wanted to tease John with how slow it could go. Painfully
slow, like a turtle. 11:41 PM right now. 19 minutes until the day.
He couldn't do anything but stare out the window, wait for the official
government worker to stride briskly to the Watson household, knock promptly, a
set frown on his face. He would wear a suit and be holding a letter, perfectly
handwritten by the One Up Above himself. John's parents would answer the door,
and the government official would ask for the presence of John Hamish Watson.
Then he would hand his Thirteenth Document over to him, and his entire future
would be set and in front of him. He would gaze at the government worker as he
walked away with the same imperturbable look he arrived with, even though the
receiving of a child's Thirteenth Document was quite arousing and a matter to
celebrate. Though ironically, hardly any of the information was allowed to be
shared with anyone, except if it directly affiliated him or her.
The government worker that actually arrived, at 11:59 PM, was a very tall male.
His dark skin and black suit made him almost blend into the night. John could
barely, but nonetheless, still spot him. He had the serious frown like imagined
and his gait was to the point. He looked like the kind that was not tolerant of
frivolity and ignorance.
At 12:00 AM, the official was knocking on the door, tinny raps of knuckles
against painted wood. Mrs Watson grinned ecstatically. She tried to keep her
face straight and answer the door without exuberance, but she could not.
"I would like the presence of John Hamish Watson," the official said blankly.
John's stomach filled with butterflies as he heard the deep voice speak clearly
into the house. His heart hammered and he felt a bit dizzy with the amount of
adrenalin coursing through him. His mother did not call him to the door. He
automatically strode to the front door.
He was short in comparison to the government worker, at least by a foot. His
serious demeanor and hard-set frown was intimidating. The immaculate letter in
his meaty hands did nothing to console John's anxiety. He could feel his body
wanting to tremble with euphoria, apprehension, fear, and a confusing
combination of relief and feeling tired. God he was starting to feel sick.
John's mother left the foyer so he could receive his Thirteenth Document alone.
The government official cleared his throat, his dark eyes boring into John's
skull with every passing second. "John Hamish Watson," he said. "The One Up
Above has requested that your Thirteenth Document be delivered to you at twelve
o'clock AM on August the seventh," he formally announced. "John Hamish Watson,
your Thirteenth Document-" the tall official handed John his document in
abrupt, swooping movements. "This official document, prepared by the One Up
Above himself, is your future. You are never to lose this document, nor are you
ever to share it with any other being. The only exception for this rule is if
the other being is  directly  affiliated."
John stared up at him with glazed eyes. He gingerly took the thick envelope
from the official's large hands and stared at the printer-perfect handwriting
on the back of it.
"You may open it," the official government worker said as he turned away to
leave.
John closed the door behind him and leant against it, staring fearfully at his
document. He touched the black ink that formed the letters of his name. High-
quality and expensive. He turned it over; the envelope was closed with a red
wax seal. John looked up from the letter, checking if his mother or father was
around. Parents of the new 13 year old found that the less pressure a child had
while opening their Thirteenth Document, the easier for them it was. John was
grateful for this common courtesy.
He slowly began to open the envelope, cautiously working the wax seal off. It
unstuck noiselessly. John could see the folded papers. He removed it from its
casing and let the envelope fall to the floor. "John Hamish Watson" in all its
glory faced the ceiling.
He took a deep breath before actually looking at his document. So dramatic, he
thought breathlessly. Then he stared down at it. His hands slowly unfurled the
papers from their resting position. There was the introductory note from the
One Up Above, quite impersonal. However, the rest of the Thirteenth Document
was personalised for each individual, carefully crafted with precision and no
mistakes to be made.
While it was quite standard to analyse each line, John skipped through the
stapled packet to the very last page. The Soul Mate line was the final thing
written into the document. Always one of the most important for every human
being.
Before that came the person's sexual orientation; for John it read "Bisexual".
He swallowed hard at this. So my parents may not get the perfect step-daughter
they always dreamed of. He closed his eyes when he was about to read the next
line, but placed his thumb where it would be. John opened one eye, then the
other. He took his thumb off the concealed name.
He nearly gasped when he read the name. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes," he
whispered to himself, touching the name gently.
***** Sherlock's Thirteenth Document *****
Chapter Summary
     He always had that suspicion he wasn't into girls. Never blinked an
     eye at them, yet a couple guys had caught his eye. He thought it was
     one of those experimental phases happening early. Now he was certain
     that he was attracted to men.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                               The One Up Above
                                   Chapter 3
                        Sherlock's Thirteenth Document
                                        
                                       ~
                                        
Sherlock's designated time was 3:17 PM. It was currently 3:14, three minutes
until his future was set. He hadn't worried like John. In fact, Sherlock spent
the beginning of his day as if it wasn't his 13th birthday and as if it wasn't
the most important day of his life. It wasn't like he couldn't come to terms
with it, or he was fearful, or he didn't want to talk about it. More of
carelessness for the entire, melodramatic process every 13 year old must
anticipate and suffer.
When Mrs Holmes saw her child watching telly two minutes before 3:17, she shook
her head, tsking softly. "Sherlock, two minutes till and you're hardly decent.
This is the day," she chastised him. "But I don't even know if I'll call you
Sherlock anymore," she laughed lightly.
Sherlock grunted. "Don't care."
At promptly 3:16 PM, a short female was walking down the pathway to the
Holmes's residence. She held the same perfect envelope that every 13 year old
received, only this one was especially for Sherlock. Then the sharp, three
knocks. Mrs. Holmes answered the door, quickly glancing back at her son, who
still watched television while his future was quite literally at the door. The
government official also took the opportunity to glance at Sherlock, muttering
in disdain to herself judgments and confirming preconceived ideas.
Everyone had heard of Sherlock Holmes, and they all had hardly amicable things
to say about him. 
"I would like the presence of William Sherlock Scott Holmes," she said, her
voice echoing in the house.
Sherlock winced hearing his full name. He loathed it with every cell in him.
Sherlock was a much better name to go by, so much more unique. He was the only
Sherlock in the world, probably, giving people good reason to remember him.
When Sherlock did not go to the door, the official sighed and Mrs Holmes
flushed in humiliation. Was her child really that ignorant and careless?
"Sherlock, come here, please," she said, a hint of exasperation threatening to
escape her feigned serenity. "And turn off the television. This is far more
important, dear." The "dear" was so strained and obviously infuriated.
He complied. The official stared impatiently at him, hearing the small sound
his leather dress shoes made on the hardwood. Sherlock's mum nodded curtly and
departed elsewhere in the household.
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," she began, in the same way the man had done to
John. It was the standard format for delivering one's Thirteenth Document. "The
One Up Above has requested that your Thirteenth Document be delivered to you at
three seventeen o'clock PM on January the sixth," she said. "William Sherlock
Scott Holmes, your Thirteenth Document-" the lady proceeded to place the
envelope in his hand. "This official document, prepared by the One Up Above
himself, is your future. You are never to lose this document, nor are you ever
to share it with any other being. The only exception for this rule is if the
other being is directly affiliated." Sherlock shrugged, to which the official
glared at him. "You may open it."
The government official took no time in getting away from the house. To no
surprise, Sherlock rained on her parade. He sneered, closing the door and
throwing the envelope on a table.
Then he sat right in front of the telly again.
 
                                       ~
                                        
Mrs Holmes had hoped that her son actually opened the envelope and looked on
it. But to her dismay, the letter was on the foyer table, untouched. She peaked
into the sitting room. Sherlock was perched on the sofa, watching something
considerably idiosyncratic for a 13 year old; it was a nature documentary,
apparently, based off of the opulent scenery she could see.
"Sherlock, my poor boy," she said softly. He was so different from other
children his age. His brother, Mycroft, had turned out... Fine-ish. Well he was
socially awkward and held the power of a despot, had a future position as a
minor part of the British Parliament. Unusually intelligent, snobby... Need the
list continue? Mycroft was not going to lead the conventional life every parent
dreamt of their child having. Oh, well. At least someone would be there to take
care of the weirder kids. The Holmes brothers, weirdest people in the universe.
Mrs Holmes walked to the sitting room, where Sherlock was. "Why don't you want
to open it?" she inquired gently.
"Because I don't care," Sherlock grunted.
"Don't you want to know who your Soul Mate is? Future career?" she offered.
His head suddenly shot up. Career. My career, he thought. "Mum, you're right.
I need to know what my career will be. World class genius, a violinist, or..."
he sighed mirthfully. "I'm so intelligent, just about every occupation is a
possibility for me."
His mother smiled, relieved that her son was finally eager. "Now don't get too
cocky," she teased.
Sherlock's smile fell, back to his apathetic, stern expression that showed no
signs of joviality from the seconds before. He tried not to show the skip there
was in his steps or the excitement of being a genius. When he picked up the
letter, he immediately ripped it open, unfolding the stack of papers to search
for the page that would state his job. He could look at everything else later.
But suddenly, a different feeling surged through him. He knitted his eyebrows
together in consternation. Sherlock slowly turned the pages to the very last
page, the last line in his Thirteenth Document.
"John Hamish Watson," he read quietly to himself.
 
                                       ~
                                        
He always had that suspicion he wasn't into girls. Never blinked an eye at
them, yet a couple guys had caught his eye. He thought it was one of those
experimental phases happening early. Now he was certain that he was attracted
to men.
"John Hamish Watson," Sherlock repeated, slightly louder.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you all so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! xx♥
***** Nightmares *****
Chapter Summary
     His hands, all over my body. "Look at all this smooth, pale skin," he
     had said, satisfied. He ran his hands down my torso."You're lanky,
     yet so damn attractive, you know Sherlock?"
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: Triggers for rape, skipping this chapter is recommended if
     you are affected by this.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
                               The One Up Above
                                   Chapter 4
                                  Nightmares
                                        
                                       ~
                                        
Nightmares. It's a memory that will stay in my mind forever. His hands, all
over my body. "Look at all this smooth, pale skin," he had said, satisfied. He
ran his hands down my torso."You're lanky, yet so damn attractive, you know
Sherlock?"
I wasn't scared. I don't feel fear. Yet Moriarty's lecherous stares were
foreboding. I knew what was coming next. My suspicions were confirmed when he
had began touching the back of my neck. He pressed himself against me, smiling
sardonically. Mocking me, such an intellectual person, finally being trapped.
And about to be raped.
He slowly stripped off his clothing in a teasing manner, as if I wanted to have
sex with him. Moriarty revealed his own pale skin, first his torso, then his
legs, then his penis. I swallowed hard, nervously taking glances at his member.
It was large. If he was planning to fuck me, it would hurt. And this was in its
flaccid state. When Moriarty removed the clothing below my waist, he was half-
erect. He kissed me softly. For a brief second it almost felt consensual and
like I wasn't just his sex slave. You hear in all the stories that the rapist
is rough and careless. Not with Moriarty. He touched me gently, yet it still
left invisible marks where his hands were. He held me like he would an infant.
I was a virgin, not quite ready to have intercourse, especially not with such a
maniac. But I've kissed. A girl called Julia cornered me in the bathroom when I
was only eight, and she kissed me hard. It was more like her smashing her lips
against mine and not at all pleasant. Julia told me that she liked me a lot and
then fled the scene.
And there I was in the loo again, being forced to do something sexual. Moriarty
opened his mouth slightly, forcing me to do the same. But the more he snogged
me, the more comfortable it felt and the more relaxed I became. Eventually, I
was willingly kissing him, our tongues sliding against each other, him
occasionally moaning when I would suck on the tip of his tongue. He nibbled on
my bottom lip, eliciting a small groan from me. But that was only the kissing
part. Moriarty wanted much more. And he was only 13.
I could feel his erection steadily growing pressing up against me. Mine was
also starting to defeat gravity. He rubbed them against each other; we both
groaned quietly. 
But then Moriarty skipped the rest of the foreplay and he got rather raucous.
He forced me to the ground, lying on the cold, uncleanly tile on my bare
stomach. He pinned me to the floor with a forceful hand, completely opposite of
the gentle touch he used to caress me just seconds earlier. "How should I take
you?" he'd said huskily. "No, I think I want you to bottom. That way I can fuck
your nice, tight arse and hear you squeal in pleasure..." he whispered
disparagingly. "...or in pain...."
I looked back at him, showing a mere hint of pleading. It was inconspicuous to
me at that point, but so blatant to Moriarty. "You're so delicious when you're
in this position...Completely under my control, at my mercy, looking so damn
fuckable. God I want you so bad."
I didn't move. I froze myself and prayed for it to be over with. I wasn't
scared, though. It wasn't scary. I just really didn't want to be raped.
"Too bad I don't have any lube," he sneered. "Look at the ground!" he yelled.
Moriarty twisted my head so that my nose was buried in the tile and I was
kissing the ground. I closed my eyes and tried not to breathe in the smell of
feces, urine, and the vague remnants of semen that the ground reeked of. "So
I'll just have to use my spit."
I heard him spitting a wad on his hand, which he then jabbed up my arse,
rubbing it inside. It felt extremely uncomfortable, as if I needed to use the
toilets and have a shit. He repeated this process of spitting then shoving his
hand up me three more times. Then I assumed he was lubing up his penis when his
fingers weren't inside me. Apparently this was the case; he moaned from rubbing
the saliva up and down his shaft. "I am...unh...so ready to...oh...fuck you,
Sherlock...." he grunted out.
A moment later, he had draped my knees on his shoulders and I could feel
something hard, wet, and spherical pressing against my hole. He thrusted in
quite slowly, but it still hurt. Moriarty was practically stretching me so much
it was painful. He was probably rupturing something, too. After he realised he
couldn't go any further he mumbled in frustration but still relished in the
pleasure my arse gave his giant rod.
Moriarty took no more time to sit there with his cock in my butt. He fucked me
hard, groaning loudly. I tried not to scream, god the pain was tormenting each
and every nerve ending. I felt and heard his testicles slapping against my
cheeks, his tumultuous streams of cussing and breathless groans. 
It only took him five minutes to come, didn't even bother to hold it out. He
gave short and shallow thrusts and came with a high-pitched cry. "Fuck, fuck,
Sherlock! You feel so fucking good...Fuck yes, fuck yeah! Fu-fuck...Oh my
fucking god!" His words were really nothing but incoherent speech and sentences
made up of the word "fuck".
He pulled out, panting with a now flaccid penis.
Sherlock awoke with a start. His cheeks were flushed, he couldn't tell if it
was arousal or embarrassment, and he was panting slightly. Is this what fear
feels like? he mused. It felt terrifyingly real, the nightmare, as if Moriarty
was raping him once again.
Three months had past since Sherlock turned 13. Only a month after that,
Moriarty took it a step further than just casual glances and forced him to be
his sex toy. Sherlock deduced that he was jealous of his Soul Mate. He'd always
wanted Sherlock, crushed on him since age nine. His revenge was raping him,
trying to give Sherlock the idea that his current Soul Mate wasn't as good as
Moriarty could be. While he could appeal the decision made by the One Up Above,
he would not get to choose his Soul Mate, the process was lengthy, and you had
to have known your Soul Mate for at least six months before an appeal was
allowed to be sent in. Moriarty didn't even remember his Soul Mate's name as
written on his Thirteenth Document. He didn't care, either. No one could be as
sexually and physically appealing as Sherlock Holmes was to him.
Everyone knew that Moriarty had an execrable mind, but Sherlock didn't believe
it until the rape. At first, when they were both about 10, he would look at
Sherlock and admire him, smile and wave in the halls, or even made small talk.
At that point, with Sherlock being the genius he was, he had already deduced
that Moriarty had a physical and sexual attraction towards him. Then at 12,
Moriarty started discernibly flirting with him. Compliments, lecherous stares,
more-than-friendly touches.
No one guessed he would have gone as far as to rape Sherlock. No one guessed he
would have gone as far as to rape him two more times after the first time.
Sherlock swallowed, remembering the agony and sounds of suffering he wanted to
make, but couldn't, because it would tear him down later and he'd cripple.
Sharp memories of his arse hurting for days afterwards, wincing every time he
did so much as move. Fury sent hot rushes through his skin, how dare Moriarty
use him and patronise him, degrade him as if he were worthless. But most of
all, there was a certainty in him. What he thought was fear before was just the
aftershocks of the nightmare. Now he had real trepidation. His heart pounded in
his chest and adrenalin rushed through his veins. What if it happens for a
fourth time? he thought, nearly gasping at the idea.
He also felt the need for someone. Like his Soul Mate. He didn't know what John
Hamish Watson looked like, or who he was, but for some reason, Sherlock had the
intuition that John was just right for him. He had never been so sappy or
sentimental in his life, but John...He was confident that John would be
nurturing and kind. And warm enough to console the everlasting shivers
Moriarty's touch had left with him.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry, this may be out of order with the next chapters, but I thought
     I would add this in just to make Sherlock slightly more human. And I
     promise there's only one more boring Thirteenth Document chapter,
     then I'll get real. Thanks so much!!!!!! xx♥
End Notes
     Okay so, sorry if it was confusing (there's a lot that needs
     explanation) and thank you for reading!!!!!!!! ♥
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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