John was balancing his confusion with his fury. He had felt a wave of relief when his friend had unwaveringly stated it was not in any way coercive, although the teacher/student dynamic had made that highly suspect. Now, he was discovering it was not only coercive, but probably months away from an automatic rape conviction.
"John. I know what you're thinking, John, but remember, this was me." John grit his teeth. Unfortunately, he had no problem remembering that. "I was not your typical thirteen-year-old. I was close to my current height, more or less the same build, already had a knowledge-base stronger than most adults and was actively seeking out new experiences. You can erase your mental picture of a vulnerable teenager."
Barely a teenager, John thought.
"I tried to convince the priest of that, but there was really no point. He kept insisting I had no control over the situation. I couldn't make him understand how it really was...how I am. You know better, though."
The absolute last emotion John had expected to feel when a friend was confiding having been molested was anger at the survivor. He tried to shake it off.
"Of course you were brilliant at thirteen, Sherlock. No one could ever say you weren't. But you were not emotionally mature at thirteen. That is a different type of wisdom. There was a complete lack of balance of power. There is no way you could make an adult do things he didn't want to do."
"He wanted to. I wanted to. People want sex. I wanted to understand that better. Besides, power...control... is, perhaps, overrated in this instance."
John felt an emotion he was at a complete loss to describe. God, once he had longed for something like this. To hear Sherlock Holmes actually talking about losing himself to sexual pleasure, about a lack of control being a very good thing indeed, but it was framed in the context of a thirteen-year-old Sherlock being completely manipulated by an adult.
"How did you meet this complete and utter fucker?"
FILL 4/? Confession (past child molestation)
"John. I know what you're thinking, John, but remember, this was me." John grit his teeth. Unfortunately, he had no problem remembering that. "I was not your typical thirteen-year-old. I was close to my current height, more or less the same build, already had a knowledge-base stronger than most adults and was actively seeking out new experiences. You can erase your mental picture of a vulnerable teenager."
Barely a teenager, John thought.
"I tried to convince the priest of that, but there was really no point. He kept insisting I had no control over the situation. I couldn't make him understand how it really was...how I am. You know better, though."
The absolute last emotion John had expected to feel when a friend was confiding having been molested was anger at the survivor. He tried to shake it off.
"Of course you were brilliant at thirteen, Sherlock. No one could ever say you weren't. But you were not emotionally mature at thirteen. That is a different type of wisdom. There was a complete lack of balance of power. There is no way you could make an adult do things he didn't want to do."
"He wanted to. I wanted to. People want sex. I wanted to understand that better. Besides, power...control... is, perhaps, overrated in this instance."
John felt an emotion he was at a complete loss to describe. God, once he had longed for something like this. To hear Sherlock Holmes actually talking about losing himself to sexual pleasure, about a lack of control being a very good thing indeed, but it was framed in the context of a thirteen-year-old Sherlock being completely manipulated by an adult.
"How did you meet this complete and utter fucker?"