Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hello, freak." Donavan sneers as I walk up to the crime scene.

"Ignore her, John." I shoot a quick glance at my shorter colleague.

"Right." He mutters, but not without sending a harsh glare in Donavan's direction.

"What does Lestrade need now?"

"He said it was a bank robbery." My eyes roll  at the thought of the case I'm forced to endure.  "Dull."

"If it's so dull, why are we here to solve it?"

"Because he wanted me to be there, or else he would revoke my crime scene privileges."

"I don't see why-"

"About time you boys got here." John is cut off by Lestrade rushing out to meet us. "We've been waiting all bloody evening." 

"It has been 10 minutes since I received your call." The feeling of irritation makes itself known as I glare at the grey haired man. 

It's after midnight, and I do honestly wish that Lestrade would have left me alone tonight.

After all, I was trying to get something important done. Furthermore, I'm confident that he and his group of idiots could have solved one case without me.

... No, that's definitely not me talking. He couldn't find the culprit if he culprit turned himself and all the evidence in. 

"Whatever." Lestrade snaps. "I need you to do whatever it is you do so we can all go home."

"You're late for a date, aren't you?" I say sharply. His clothes are nicer than what he normally wears, and his ring is removed. He must finally be over his ex wife. "No, wait, you left in the middle of the date, didn't you?" 

"Since when do you ask for conformation?" Lestrade looks desperate. "Please just help me out here."

"Fine." My eyes flicker around the scene and see some overturned trash bins, a couple lookie loos, and nothing else really for once. Perhaps, as much as I hate to think this, John may be right, I might need to rest a bit.

"Well?" Lestrade taps his foot impatiently.

 "Let me see the inside." Repressing the urge roll my head from side to side tiredly, I do what 'I do,' as Lestrade put it, and go inside to solve this mind numbingly boring case.

After I took a look inside it was quite obvious who the culpret was... there wasn't one.

The bank teller robbed the bank after taking out the security cameras, and from there he took what he could and then called the police claiming that the bank was robbed. I rather pathetic plan if you ask me, but since when do criminals ask for my opinion?

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be leaving now." Turning away from Lestrade, I start out the door. "Come along, John."

"Sherlock," John's voice is quiet. "I have to go home." 

"Then go home to Molly, give Rosie my love." Without so much as pausing, I continue going out the door without him.

If I don't hurry it will be impossible to get a cab at this time, so, my only chance is that the one that brought us waited as I instructed him too.

My mind wanders to the past few months events. John seems to have moved on from Mary, he moved in with Molly, and I believe it's 'platonic' but it may be more... and she somehow keeps John happy. At least she has enough sense to know how to take care of a child. Rosie, John and Mary's child, seems to get along with Molly. I just wish that John would have listened and stayed with me. I can help him too. I know how to take care of a child...

The street is fairly empty, other than the obvious crime scene. My stop is still a block away, the cabbie refused to get any closer, he thought he would be arrested or something like that; Serves his right for embezzling money from the cabbie service company.

"Of course, you didn't listen." I find myself scoffing. Loe and behold, that idiotic cabbie didn't wait... I didn't even have a chance to make sure John paid him. 

This means I shall to have to walk home... 

Curse you Lestrade, you just had to call me out into the bad part of London in the middle of the night, didn't you? You are going to pay, pickpocketing you doesn't seem like a cruel enough punishment. I'll sort you out later.

What am I worried about? I'm Sherlock Holmes, no one is going to bother me.

Wrapping my coat tighter around myself, begin the grueling task of walking home. Home being 221B Baker street. 

One turn two minutes ahead, then another few minutes down that road... or I could turn here down this alley, and then make left at the next alley and I'll be back to Baker Street a few minutes sooner.

Perfect, this is going to save time.

The soft sounds of footsteps catches me slightly off guard as I advance down the alley I just entered. This is the rougher area of London, I should be at least slightly cautious.

Cautious, what am I a John?

"Fuck off." Whipping my body around to face the person behind me, I do my best to act as tough and threatening as I can. One cannot afford to show weakness when confronted with an unknown opponent.

"Don't talk to me like that you bastard." The person, a man, steps toe to toe with me, he stands as tall as I am, no, he stands about an inch over me. 

"Then get the hell out of my way." My voice lowers into a snarl as I refuse to back down.

"I said-" He draws his hand back off and strikes me across the face before I have time to counter his attack; I stumble backwards a step or two before regaining my balance. "Don't talk to me like that." 

"Fuck. Off." Righteous fury rages through me as I punch him back, my heart is drumming in my chest as I feel him stagger back slightly from my blow.

"You'll regret that." The man holds a hand to his eye as he growls at me.

In barely two seconds he has me by the throat and is attempting to strange me, my back is pressed firmly against the alley wall, the man throttling me against it.

Darkness blots my vision due to lack of oxygen as I desperately try to fight him away from me. I need to get away, I must get free from his grasp.

A thought comes to mind, I quickly knee the man in the crotch. I gasp for air as he releases my throat, allowing me to breathe.

"Stay the fuck away from me." My actions are slower than they should be, my words are slurred, I appear to be unsteady on my-

I find myself on the ground, the man crouches over me, my body sprawled between his thighs.

"You seem to like the word fuck." His eyes blaze with fury. "Maybe that's just what someone needs to do to teach you a lesson."

Oh shit. I freeze in terror. He wouldn't... there's no way that he could... no... oh god...

"Don't you dare."

"Shut up."

"Get off!" I struggle against him.

"Shut up!" He takes hold of my head and bashes it into the ground.

A dim light causes me to open my eyes.

"Hmm?" My eyes burn, and I instantly close them back against the assault of the light; My head is throbbing... as is my whole body.

Where am I?

The smell is familiar... I reopen my eyes and look around.

Where am I?

The walls... I think I'm in an... alley?

Definitely an ally.

Am I alone?

Using my senses, I examine the area, there doesn't appear to be anyone accompanying the alley with me.

So, I'm alone in an alley.

Everything seems fuzzy. I'm certain that something happened, but what?

What happened?

Where exactly am I, what alley?

With my brain remaining foggy, I'm left to work from how I feel, thinking is yielding no results at this time.

What do I feel?

Cold... I feel cold.

Pain... there is so much pain.

Am I hurt?

It would appear that I'm laying on my stomach, as I roll over to by back a sharp pain shoots through my body as pressure shifts from my stomach.

Now I'm certain that I'm hurt, but what happened?

"Think, Sherlock, think." Mycroft's voice echoes through my head.

"What happened?" Allowing my eyes to fall back closed, I do my best to recall what happened.

Was there a person?

Yes, a there was a person...

A man.

There was a man, he attacked me... what did he do?

Another sharp searing pain shoots through my body as I try to sit up.

"Gah." I gasp in pain just to fall back on the ground where I was.

The pain is familiar... oh, god.

If I'm not mistake, and, god, do I pray I'm mistaken, I've been raped.

My stomach rebels at the thought that someone violated me again.

I turn to my side and retch onto the alley ground.

At least it's over...

At least I wasn't awake for it...

How will I identify my attacker?

How will I tell John what happened?

I won't.

A thought causes my mind to click into place. No one will ever know this happened. It didn't happen. I was mugged on my way home, we tussled, he escaped. I'm fine, nothing happened... I wasn't-... I wasn't... no one...... Nothing happened.

Mycroft... he might already know, maybe I could go to him and- Shit. I must have a concussion or something to even think about going to him for help.

My eyes scan over my body for any external injuries. Unfortunately, it's dark, and far to difficult to tell how badly off I am.

All I can truly tell without seeing is... well, that I'm nearly naked, my trousers are pulled down about knees.

My coat appears to be next to me, but my scarf is missing. 

Guilt and shame wash over me.

"You caused this, just think, if you had been clever and taken the safe path none of this would have happened.~" Moriarty tuts with a sing song tone, it rings around inside my mind.

"Shut up." I groan and hold my face in my hands.

This is going to be a long, and painful,  walk home.

Slowly but surely, I manage to make it to Baker Street. An added bonus, I make it without running into anyone, and double bonus, Mrs. Hudson is already in bed.

At the very least I don't have to answer to her tonight.

Once I'm safely inside my flat, I look at the time. 4:23 am.

What, I was gone from the flat for almost 4 1/2 hours?

How long was I knocked out?

Did anyone even know I was missing?

...If they did... would they have cared?

A low growl escapes my throat as I shake my head, internally cursing at myself.

I don't have time to worry about that, I don't care if they missed me or not...

I don't care if they missed me. I am a high functioning sociopath, I do not care.

The lump in my throat grows as I make my way to the bathroom.

I'm disgusting, I need to shower and check for... injuries. 

My clothing sticks to my skin as I peel it off.

Liquid, hmm... not a good sign, perhaps it's from the rain and not from blood.

Scars glint in the dim lighting as it shines across my pale flesh.

Serbia... If only John knew what really happened during that time.

"He would hate you." Moriarty whispers inside my head once again.

"I know." Out loud, I murmur, knowing I'm the only one to hear my words.

In Serbia my captures... forced themselves... on me numerous times. Why am I acting in this manner, now? Shouldn't I be used to it by now, why am I reacting like this?

My vision is marred by black dots as I step into the shower. The warm stream of water instantly turns red with blood... my blood.

A sob catches in my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can. Once more, the lump in my throat grows. 

"Crying?" Moriarty tuts. "Pathetic, you're stronger than this."

"I'm fine." The voice I hear hardly sounds like mine... I know it's mine, but I don't feel as if it belongs to me.

I'm filthy. His hands are all over me.

Intellectually, I know that after the first 30 minutes of scrubbing I'm clean, but there is an irrational part of me that wants that- that fiends hands off of me. I can feel him all over me.

I want him off, get him off, get him off!

The shower feels like a safe haven, but, it seems even safety can be turned. Once warm water runs cold, but I don't care.

I must get clean.

My skin is raw, bleeding, even, in some places. Yet, I chose to stay longer inside the shower until the water turns cold enough that I can no longer bear it in there.

Stepping out of the shower, I quickly put on some comfortable clothes and hope against hope that I can keep this to myself. I didn't ask for this, I didn't want this.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I make my way to the living room, where I lay down on the couch.

Tonight I'm not going to explore my mind palace, tonight I want to escape into sleep.

Tonight I need to rest, and for once, I actually close my eyes and do.

Chapter Text

"Sherlock?" A hand shakes my shoulder, and I jump awake from a horrid nightmare. 

"GET OFF!" I scream before realizing it's only Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock..." She looks taken aback, and slightly frightened.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson." Unable to smile, I attempt to explain some lie to the older lady. "I was doing an experiment. In it I'm trying to be more 'human' as John puts it."

"Worst lie ever.~" Of course, Moriarty is still haunting my mind. Can he, kindly, please, just shut up?

"Sherlock, you're already a great detective." 

"So kind of you to repeat a fact we all already know." Turning away from her, I lay back down on the couch despite the voice in my head telling me not to lay down. A small whimper of pain escapes me as pressure hits my backside, causing me to nearly jump back up, but my pride stops me.

"Would you like me to call John?" Her voice sounds worried.

"What for?" I close my eyes and steeple my hands.

"Well, you seem to be hurt."

"I'm fine." My voice comes across sharper than intended.

"Sherlock-"

"Really, Mrs. Hudson." My eyes snap open and I swing my legs to sit on the couch normally. A loud, and quite embarrassing, hiss of pain escapes me as a sharp shock of pain assaults my senses.

Mrs. Hudson scurries out of the room quickly and closes the door behind her.

Well that went well. I shake my head at myself and carefully rise to my feet. Waves of pain and nausea pass over me with each step I take towards the bathroom.

I need a shower.

Once again, I scrub my skin until the water is cold.

I want his hands off of me.

Why can't I get him off of me?

I wasn't even awake for the actual... why am I reacting this way.

Wrapping a towel around my waist and exit the bathroom. I should get dressed before John-

"Sherlock." John's voice gasps from behind me.

"John!" Jumping from fear, I spin around to face my blogger.

"What happened to you?" He has several emotions on his face fighting for dominance.

"What do you mean?" I back slowly towards my room.

"You look like hell, and you're covered in scars." Ah, anger it is.

"I was mugged on the way home last night, no big deal." My heart is pounding, but I force myself to shrug as if nothing is wrong. "As for the scars, I got them in Serbia." 

"What?" 

"The interrogators weren't very good at it, so of course they didn't get anything." I ramble uncomfortably. "They were crude and ineffective in their torture methods. To be quite honest-"

"Stop." John snaps. "Just, stop."

I clam up instantly. Did I upset John.

"Did I-"

"Save it." John turns and leaves the flat, slamming the door shut behind him.

I'm left standing there in confusion.

What did I do wrong?

Did I miss something?

How did I upset John?

Was it something I said?

Chapter Text

1 week later.

"Lestrade, if this isn't important I'm leaving." An hour after I was called, I finally drag myself to Scotland Yard.

"Pathetic, Sherlock, we both know you could have done better than that, don't get boring."

Why are you still in my head, Moriarty? Get out.

"Did something..." Lestrade seems hesitant.

"Ask the question and explain the case." I don't have time for this today. I was busy working in my mind palace.

Seconds later, John walks in. he seems to be fairly upset, at least I'm not the only one. 

"What?" John snaps, his clothes fairly wrinkled. Perhaps he's having issues with Molly? No, he looks well rested... perhaps, Lestrade woke him? That seems more-

"Ah, John." Lestrade rubs his neck with one hand, seemingly uncomfortable. "I needed you here to help if things get... difficult."

"Difficult how?" John ignores me, and speaks directly to Lestrade. John hasn't spoken to me since he saw the scars from Serbia.

"See, he know that you let that happen, he doesn't like you anymore."

I thought I told you to get out.

"We were called to a robbery on 6th street, and we watch the surveillance footage of the alley..."

My heart stops at the address.

Oh God, please don't let him tell John about a week ago.

"We were going back as far as the surveillance was saved, which is about two weeks. We needed to see who had been hanging around there, we can be smart and solve cases too you know, and-"

"Get to the point." John clenches his jaws, still refusing to acknowledge my presence. 

"We saw on the footage Sherlock getting raped a week ago."

"What?" John snorts, his face showing irritation. "This is a sick joke, that's is not funny, Lestrade."

Lestrade remains serious, uncomfortable, awkward, and silent.

"What-" John's face shifts to shock as he turns to me, finally acknowledging my presence. "Did some dick rape you?"

"John..." My brain freezes and I struggle to answer. "I-..."

"Sherlock, I swear if this is a joke." He takes a threatening step towards me, his face returning to irritation, which makes me back up slightly in fear. 

"John," My voice trembles slightly as I flinch from his threatening stance. "I- I."

"Pathetic, look at you."

Go away.

"You're a baby, you should just admit that you're a punching bag and stop flinching and being a drama queen."

Moriarty's right, as much as I hate to admit it, why am I reacting like this? Pull yourself together, Sherlock.

"God, Sherlock, why didn't you tell me?" John backs away slowly, as far away from me as he can.

"Nothing to tell." Forcing myself to remain calm, I attempt to regain my composure. "I was sexually assaulted a week ago, it's not a big deal." 

"God." John seems to be sick and horrified, maybe? I'm not really an excellent judge of emotions as I'm continually told. "That was the time you said you were mugged, wasn't it?"

"I lied." My eyes roll. "What was I supposed to do, say 'hello, John, I was raped again last night, how are you doing?'" Instant regret causes me to lock my jaw and glance way from him. It would seem that I want to talk back every word that I just said.

"Again..." John blinks, processing my words.

"John..." I hesitate. You weren't supposed to know.

"Again?" His voice raises. "You've been raped before, and never bloody told me?"

"I couldn't." It feels like I'm being threatened, but I'm not... what's wrong with me? "It was a long time ago." 

"Oh, yeah, well, how am I supposed to bloody believe you?!"

"Because I was there when it happened." An unexpected voice joins the conversation. John and I turn to see Mycroft standing behind me.

"Don't tell me..." I start, getting more upset by the moment.

"I invited him." Lestrade says.

"Why?" Defeat. That's this feeling, defeat and betrayal.

"Because he's your bloody brother, and he has a right to be here." Lestrade's voice sounds appalled, but it seems an unlikely emotion for him.

"I didn't want him involved." My voice lowers into a growl.

"Too bad, brother mine." Mycroft's face is hard and stoic as it always is. People call me a cold machine? Well, I suppose they've never met my 'dear' brother. "If it's any consolation, I made sure that your rapist was taken care of, permanently." 

"I don't need anyone's help."

"You were knocked unconscious, Sherlock." Once again, I find Lestrade inflicting his words upon us. We wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for him. "Did you even go to a hospital?"

"No need, now, I think I'll be leaving."

"No." Mycroft clicks his umbrella on the ground.

"What do you mean 'raped again'?" John is still caught up on that.

"As I hear far to many people say, 'let it go,' John." The words are disgusting in my mouth; I don't have time to deal with this today.

"Sherlock was raped repeatedly in Serbia while he was being tortured." Mycroft answers. "He was taken captive while he was dismantling Moriarty's network."

"Serbia... that's where you said you got those scars." John looks shocked and confused.

"What scars?" Lestrade tilts his head suspiciously. Everyone turns to me, John with anger in his eyes, Mycroft dethatched as usual and Lestrade... confusion maybe?

"Do I really have to show him?" I yell. "Come on, him too?"

Everyone stays silent.

"No." Crossing my arms over my chest, it would seem everyone in the room is on an opposing side. This is not okay.

"Show him." John commands.

"No."

"Sherlock, show him."

"No!"

"I swear, you're more trouble than an untrained puppy." Fury flashes in his eyes.

"I don't want to show him."

"Now." John takes another threatening step closer to me.

"Fine." I grit my teeth and quickly unbutton my shirt. Pulling it off, it leaves all the scars on my back and torso exposed. "Are you happy now, John?"

"God." Lestrade gapes at the scars adorning my flash.

"As I told John, their methods were crude and ineffective." Putting my shirt back on, I do my best to ignore how obviously my fingers are shaking as I re-button it. 

"Unless there is a case, I'll be leaving now." Five seconds pass with no answer, so I leave the room of men, slamming the door loudly behind me.

POV 3

"Why the hell didn't you tell us?" John turns to Mycroft, no longer attempting to hide just how disturbed and angry he is.

"All those scars..." Lestrade is still in shock. When did that happen? How... how did he make it out without severe PTSD?

"Sherlock's mission of dismantling Moriarty's network was supposed to remain top secret; You were not in the need to know." Mycroft says coldly, John may not believe it, but Mycroft truly has Sherlock's best interest in mind. After all, to inform John of every detail surrounding Sherlock's extended torture would mean betraying a fact not even Sherlock himself will admit.

"All you Holmes' are bloody inhuman." John snaps, more angry at himself than anyone. How could I have not seen that Sherlock was tortured? All those times I... what if I triggered him? Does he have PTSD? How long was he held? Why didn't he tell me? Despite all of John's plain question, the answers will never come easily.

Mycroft turns to leave. "You knew that when you moved in with Sherlock." John should know by now that we're not inhuman, we are above pointless emotion. There is a difference.

"I don't live with Sherlock anymore, this is not my fight." John straightens his shoulders, raising his chin defiantly as he glares at Mycroft.

"When you can say that to Sherlock's face than I'll believe it." Mycroft's eyes are cold, icy even. Really, john? 

"I think you underestimate me." John's voice rings with conviction.

Mycroft fully faces John. His expression hardening even more. "No, John, I overestimated you."

"What?"

John's question goes unanswered as Mycroft leaves John and Lestrade alone.

"He needs us." Lestrade sighs, ashamed that he never asked Sherlock about what happened in those two years. I should have known it wasn't a party... I knew... but I never imagined... torture?

"It's not my job anymore." John refuses to accept what has happened. It's just another game. Sherlock just wants me to play the fool. It's not true.

"You are his best friend." Lestrade's shoulders sag, his eyes full of sadness. "He needs you, John."

"He got Mary killed." It's a trick, it has to be. Sherlock wasn't tortures, there's no way. I would have known... but those scars... no, it can't be true.

"That was a long time ago, I thought you two sorted that out?"

"Obviously not, I want nothing to do with him." It has to be a trick.

"Fine, but just so you know those scars weren't just a price for taking the down Moriaty's network." Lestrade's voice is icy. Does John not care? Sherlock needs us. "Those scars were for you, too, John."

"Well, Sherlock traded in on our friendship when he got Mary killed." John storms out of the room, slamming the door just as Sherlock did.

For several moments Lestrade stands there in silence... almost as if he's in shock.

"Mary gave her life for Sherlock... Sherlock didn't have her killed." He closes his eyes and leans against his desk.

What is going on anymore?

Chapter Text

(POV Sherlock)

Two weeks later

"Brother mine." Mycroft's voice breaks me from my thoughts. I was in my mind place, dealing with things.

"What, Mycroft?" Intentionally I snap at my older brother. Can't he see I'm busy and don't have time for a this today? 

"The government has a case for you." Mycroft looks at me coldly, as usual. Why I expected anything different I'm not quit sure. We're the same in that manner, we're above pointless emotion.

"I'm busy." Keeping my eyes closed, I try to ignore Mycroft and his irritating presence. 

"You haven't left the flat since your attack, other than your short trip to see Lestrade." 

"What are you, my mother?" Jumping to my feet, I snarl every word in his face. "I'm. Busy."

"John hasn't been by to see you." He deduces.

"You've gained weight, at least five pounds." My words feel like acid on my tongue. It's difficult to force myself to speak, but I can't deal with Mycroft right now. he needs to leave... NOW.

"And you're on drugs again." He keeps his composure, other than a slight flash of anger in his eyes. 

"Fuck off." Turning away, I try to steady myself. My legs are wobbly, it would seem that I'm not balancing properly. Although, it's worth it if I can fix myself. I must make John proud, I must delete what happened, I must make it up to him... I must... I- I...

A lump forms in my throat and tears enter my vision; My shoulders slump, and it's as if a hole has been ripped into my chest. I killed Mary, and I can't bring her back... I would kill myself for real this time if it meant bringing her back, but it doesn't work that way.

"Where's the list." Mycroft's voice is still icy. I suppose that's pointless to note, considering he's the 'ice man,' as I've heard people refer to him as such.

"What list?" My voice catches in my throat and I try to push down these- these emotions that plague me. Make John proud. Make John proud. Make John proud. Make John-

"You know what list." His voice is like a harsh scolding from your mother, coming from him, however, it lacks the proper effect. 

"Chair." Despite my internal struggle between ignoring Mycroft or giving him what he wants, I cave.

"Come on, Sherlock, you're normal and boring like all the rest of them, here I thought you were interesting."

Get out of my head!

My ears pick up the scuffling of Mycroft's feet as he goes to my chair to retrieve the list of drugs I've taken. 

Honestly, it's not enough. I should have taken more. Much more.

"We're going to a hospital, now." Mycroft's voice rings with emotion. That's quite odd for him, I wonder why he's acting in such a manner... 

"No." My voice is strange to my ears. "I'm not going."

"You've taken to much, we're going if I have to drag you there myself." 

"Like hell, you couldn't move me if you tried." John doesn't need me anymore, my only life line is gone. He doesn't need me, I have no purpose anymore. What fun is living if I'm a useless dick. Mycroft won't miss me, Mrs. Hudson will be glad when I'm gone, Lestrade will struggle with cases of course, but... they won't miss me. Molly will move on from her feeling for me and be happy with John, and John... John hates me. There is not point in living here anymore in a world where John hates me.

The room tilts, moments later, I feel the carpet on my face.

Did I fall? My body doesn't register any pain... Faintly It seems like someone is calling my name, but everything is blurry and quiet.

Blood is rushing in my ears and everything is fading in and out of black.

"I know you're awake, brother mine." I think it's Mycroft, but everything hurts and I can't breathe. "You don't have to talk, just listen."

"John and Lestrade are in the waiting room, Molly brought you some flowers last night... you took to much, Sherlock. Everyone is worried about you."

"You excluded, of course." I cringe at my voice. It's broken and weak.

"Just like you.~"

Just leave me alone.

"Sentiment, brother mine." He remains detached. "I'm going to allow your friends to come back, I suggest you remember why attachments are dangerous." Mycroft's footsteps echo as he leaves the room.

Painfully, I sit up and try to look half like myself. If I can fake it for a little longer everything will be alright. Just a little longer... just a little... longer.

"Sherlock, thank god you're alright." Lestrade looks relieved. Not odd for him, but concerning. What did Mycroft tell them?

"What the fuck were you thinking?" John is angry, I don't want John to be angry. Definitely expected considering he hates me... but I would rather he not be angry.

Instantly, I shut all emotion off, put up walls against everyone and steel my expression. I am Sherlock Holmes, I wear the damn hat and I'm a fucking high functioning sociopath.

I don't care about anyone or anything, I will not be shaken by my fe-... John.

"John, you need to calm down." I hear Lestrade whisper. 

"I will not bloody calm down." John stomps up to the side of my bed and my stomach does a flip.

John will not hurt me, John is a friend. John will now hurt me, I'm safe. I'm not in danger-

SLAP.

(POV Lestrade)

Shock sets in as I realize what just happened.

John Punched Sherlock across the face. Anger blazes over the doctors face, and Sherlock looks frightened and hurt. It is painful to watch as every wall that he ever let down is put back up. All it took was one punch, and I feel bloody sick. 

"John, out." Grabbing the doctor, I grab to drag him out of the room before he can do anymore harm.

He struggles, but I drag him out into the hallway.

"What was that?" I'm still appalled at the younger man. "You just hit your best friend, for trying to kill himself?"

"He just wants me to beg for his forgiveness, it's all a bloody game to the cock." John clenches and unclenches his fist. Anger seems to be surging through him.

"John, do you not see him?" It's difficult to resist the urge to shake the younger man until he realizes what he has done. "This is no game to him!"

"Then you've been fooled by him." John steps away from me. "I'm sick of it, I will not play a fool in this game any longer." 

"Then you need to leave, now." Disappointment and anger flare inside of me. "To think that Sherlock is your best friend, do you know what you did in there?"

"Do you really think I give a fuck what you think about this?" Rage is written all over the doctor.

"No, I don't." Stepping away from him, I find that I cannot understand why he would treat his friend, who 'died' to protect him, in such an awful way.

John turns away from me and starts stalking away.

"Mycroft was right." I shout. "We all overestimated you, John." 

(POV Sherlock)

John will not hurt me, John is a friend. John will now hurt me, I'm safe. I'm not in danger-

It takes me a second to process what just happened. I've been punched before, but for some reason it always hurts more when John does it. 

Lestrade drags John out, but I hardly notice. Everything is a blur. 

John isn't a friend? No, he is... he's just angry and hates me. I'm still safe... I'm safe.

As much as I try to tell myself I'm safe, images of Serbia keeps flashing through my mind.

My hands curl into fists as I try to ground myself.

"Who are you?"

"What information do you have?"

"I don't know anything!" I cry in Serbian as a whip comes down on my back once again.

A small whimper escapes my throat as I try to shut the memories out. 

"Talk!" One of my captures pounds into me as I beg for mercy, calling out to any god that will listen.

"I don't know anything." I whisper and continue trying to ground myself. Nothing is what is seems, the walls look like my cell in Serbia, the air smells like the same musty compound, every sound sounds like my captures coming to inflict more damage upon me. 

"I don't know anything." My mind keeps my tongue working on repeat. Am I speaking Serbian? Am I talking at all? Where am I? Oh, God. Where are they? Who is screaming?

Screams of pain and aguish fill the air as my captures torture another captive. I'm left listening to their cries for someone to save them, their pleading whimpers and pain filled screams of horror as unspeakable things are done to them. As terrible as I feel for them, I'm more afraid of what they will do to me. The new captive was just a random stranger they are torturing for fun... but me? I'm a spy... a traitor as far as they know. The newcomer will have it easy, death by the end of the hour. But me? No, this is going to go on until I tell them what they want. 

Think of John, I have to return to him. If I give them what they want then John will die. Do it for John, live on for John.

Silence sets in as quickly as the screaming stated. The silence is more frightening than the sound. When there is sound, I know that I'm safe for the moment... but silence? I'm going to be tortured, oh god what if I break? John, stay strong for John... I can do this.

My cell door screeches open to reveal Mycroft in disguise along with some of my captures who have no idea what is going to happen momentarily. 

The torture begins, I have it down to a routine at this point, beating is always first, followed by a whipping with a very unforgiving whip, rape seems to always be next to last, torture is then ended by another beating, possible one other whipping is I've been even more unhelpful than usual. 

Today, today is different though. Rape is first. I scream this time, I never scream. Why am I screaming? I'm begging for mercy, begging and begging. I'm telling them that I know nothing. They never relent, they just pound harder, punch more... torture more.

Their methods may be harsh, unconventional, crude, and ineffective, but it still hurts like hell.

"Sherlock." I hear a voice I glance up, my mind still reeling with images of the past.

"I don't know anything." Slips from my mouth.

"What?" The face I see is that of a Serbian that I came to know as 'the thrash'

"No!" I jerk away violently. "I don't know anything." Oh God, I never made it out. I'm still in Serbia. Oh God.

"Mycroft." He hisses between his teeth. "Maybe I should go and get him."

"Who is that?" I try to save my brother. No, no, no, no, no, no. Oh, God. If there is a god out there please keep John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Greg safe. 

"You gave him up." 

"I don't know him, I've never heard that name until now." I lie and flinch as a blade is pressed to my skin.

"No lies." The blade digs in deeply. "Tell me the truth."

"I don't know anything." I scream as the blade is plunged into my arm. 

"You won't die, but by the time I'm done with you, you'll wish you had." 

Chapter Text

Lestrade's POV

"Sherlock?" I open the door into his room and find him in a... daze? Flashback? What do I call this?

Strange words are coming from Sherlock.

"What?" I'm so confused.

He jerks away, still speaking in another language.

"Mycroft... maybe I should go get him." I'm very worried about Sherlock right now.

Sherlock keeps looking around, flinching, and talking in the foreign language.

I'm at a loss for what to do, then Sherlock starts screaming.

"MYCROFT!" I yell loudly, instantly at Sherlock's side, trying to calm him.

Mycroft enters within seconds, yet doesn't look as lost as I am.

"He's screaming and talking  and- help me."

"Sherlock is having a flashback." Mycroft informs me calmly, he moves and sits on the edge of Sherlock's bed.

"What do we do?"

"Go get a nurse, he needs to be sedated."

"Alright." I quickly leave.

Mycroft's POV.

"I don't know anything." Sherlock keeps repeating, he's speaking Serbian.

"Sherlock, look at me." I speak to him, attempting to help him out of this flashback.

I just send Lestrade out, I'm concerned. What triggered this?

Lestrade comes back with a doctor and a nurse, quickly he's sedated and resting back in his bed.

"What happened?" Turning to Gregory once the medical staff have evacuated the room, I attempt to ascertain the cause for this situation.

"John... John hit him." He looks upset.

"What did Sherlock do?" Dr. Watson assaulted my brother? This shall be dealt with, immediately.

"It was like... well, he went into a daze, I got John out of the room as quickly a I could... what happened to Sherlock?"

"He was having a flashback from his torture on Serbia."

"Oh, god."

"It would seem that Dr. Watson triggered Sherlock."

"What can we do?"

"Stay here with Sherlock, I'll deal with Dr. Watson myself." My voice is cold. Dr. Watson has really messed up this time, I think that a little visit with him is overdue... far overdue.

Chapter Text

POV Sherlock

Everything feels strange. I'm awake, but I'm not awake.

I struggle against this feeling, I don't like it, I just want to wake up.

Wake up, wake up!

"Sherlock, I'm going to run grab a cuppa... what am I saying, you can't hear me." Is that Mrs. Hudson?

No, please, I don't want to be alone.

Where's John?

John?

John!?

Why can't anyone hear me? What's going on, where is John?

POV Mycroft.

"You asked to speak with me, sir?" One of my many staff members comes into my office.

"Close the door, and sit down."

"Yes, sir." He closes the door and sits in the chair directly in front of my desk.

"I have a task for you, it is of the utmost priority." My eyes are locked on the young man, he's been working for me for quite some time, but he has yet to perform meaningful tasks for me. "Consider this your final test."

"Test, sir?" He swallows involuntarily. No, not him. He can't do what I need him to.

"Leave, you aren't who I need."

"Am I fired, sir?"

"No, now leave me."

"Y-yes sir." He rises quickly and leaves as I instructed.

Pressing a finger to the intercom that allows me to speak with my secretary, I order her to send in the next man.

POV Sherlock

Finally, I force my eyes open and see someone standing in the corner of my room.

"Ah, you're awake." The voice is familiar... I recognize it, yet cannot place it.

Who are you?

"Don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to talk later, I'm sure your landlady will be back soon."

Wait, stay here, I need to know who you are.

"See you around, Sherlock."

My head is spinning with the possibilities of who it could be, but I can't think straight. Everything is to cloudy, I need to think. Why can't I just think?

POV Mycroft

Another one walks in, looking steadier and less nervous than the man before.

"Am I being fired?" He sits down after closing the door, I did not instruct him to do so.

"Not if you pass the test."

"I'm ready for anything." His eyes are cold, I recognize that look... but there's something else about him I don't like.

"It is in your best interest to be prepared." Standing up, I notice that the man is keeping a close eye one me, mirroring my movements subconsciously.

Attentive, semi-stable minded, but marriage issues because he's disloyal, there's lipstick on his collar. The same color my secretary uses.

She has been away from her desk more than usual.

They're having an affair = disloyalty.

"Out."

"Sir?" He seems takes aback.

"You are not who I need."

"All do respect-" He attempts to change my mind. Not big on orders. He will never do.

"I said leave, now or I will terminate your position and your marriage."

"Marriage, sir?" He doesn't blink, but he shifter his feet for the first time since entering the room.

"You're having an affair, I will not hesitate to tell your wife, no, your husband, if you do not leave immediately."

"I don't know how you know that, but-"

"You're fired, I'm sending someone to your house now."

"You have no right-"

"I'm sure your husband will be thrilled to know you're cheating on him, and with a woman none the less."

His face goes red and before I have time to say anything else he is out the door, leaving it standing wide open.

"Next."

"I need you to read this file, find him, and bring him to the warehouse."

"Where do I find him?"

"Next." I close his file and send him out.

"Twenty years of service in the government." I glance over a file as I speak with the last man who was selected for my elite staff.

"Twenty five, Mr. Holmes." Cautious of titles, or egotistical?

"What did you do during those 25 years?"

"Mostly being a body guard, I started out as a firearms instructor for... I'm sure you know who I taught."

"Name five people you are still in contact with from those times." He's right, and he seems confident in his abilities. Confident or egotistical?

"My commanding officers are the only ones."

Attachments aren't forged easily, yet once they are he is completely loyal.

"When was the last time you worked away from home."

"I'm single, sir, my home is wherever I'm stationed at."

Dedicated, seemingly loyal.

"You have a task... bring Dr. Watson to the warehouse."

"Will do, Sir."

"Should word get out about this, I know where to find you, Mr. Moran."

"Understood."

POV John

"How is Sherlock?" Molly asks from her seat on the couch, she's holding Rosie while I put together a playpen.

"He's Sherlock, being a dick."

"Oh." She seems surprised. "I thought you two were friends again."

"He lied to me, Molly." I glance up at her, urging her to understand. "He lied to all of us."

"I thought you worked that out..."

"Apparently not."

"What else?"

"What?" Slight annoyance flairs up inside of me as she continues asking questions.

"What are you not telling me?"

Mary used to do the same thing.

"Lestrade and Mycroft are on my case, saying that I should put the past behind me and fix Sherlock."

"Well, shouldn't you?" Her voice is soft. "He is your best friend."

"This is all a game to him, he's lying to everyone, and he's playing us."

"I don't think so this time, John."

"He is, I know him better than you, so shut up and leave it alone!" My voice is sharp as I snap at her.

Molly's face flashes with hurt, but she doesn't speak right away. "Fine, I'm taking Rosie and we're visiting Sherlock."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, we are." With that she grabs the diaper bag and turns to leave the flat, but pauses and looks back at me. "You're going to regret what you're doing to Sherlock one day." She slams the door behind her.

Why is everyone fooled by Sherlock? He's just being a dick and trying to make us look like fools.

POV Mycroft

Everything is set, all that's missing is Mr. Moran with Dr. Watson.

The watch on my wrist says it's 5:23. Thirty seven minutes until they arrive.

There is a chair sitting in the middle of the room, some ropes nearby ready to be used to restrain Dr. Watson.

He will hear what I have to say, and he will listen... or he will lose the ability to listen.

Chapter Text

Sherlock POV

Everything feels foggy and foreign, as if I'm stuck inside a sensory deprivation chamber. I'm fully aware of my surroundings, I can move, I'm fully conscious, but I feel... odd.

Nothing seems to make sense, I'm unsure where I am or why I'm here. The smell of my location indicates a hospital, but that doesn't seem right... I'm uninjured, correct?

Where's John? Amidst the chaos inside my head I remember my bond companion. Is he safe?

Surely I'm not in Serbia, perhaps I'm recovering from an illness...

Where's John?"

"How are you feeling, Sherlock?" Molly's voice surprises me.

"What happened?" My eyes are closed. When did she arrive; where am I?

"You- you don't remember?" Her voice is tense, as if she doesn't want to answer my question.

"No." What could have happened? Is John alright? What if he's injured...

"Sherlock, um... you- you tried to kill yourself."

"..." There are no words to be said. I tried to kill myself? Why?

"Sh-"

"Where's John?" Is he alright?

"He-... um..." She shifts in her chair, I deduce by the small creaking sound and her paused speech. "He went out to get something to eat, he'll be back later."

"Oh, good." Opening my eyes, I find myself unprepared for the bright lights assaulting my senses.

"You should- you should really close your eyes, Sherlock... you need to rest." It would appear Rosie is with her, not surprising.

"When can I leave?" Following her suggesting, I close my eyes, yet feel my shoulders and some various muscles remaining tense.

"You can't- they- Sherlock, they need to admit you to a facility for a few days- just to make sure you're safe and not a danger to-"

"Anyone."

"To yourself." She corrects. Myself? Surely this is a mistake, no one cares if you're a danger to yourself, they only care if it's other people.

"... I see..."

"Things will be fine, though- I mean, now that we know you have PTSD we can help you."

"Oh?" Who told such an atrocious lie? I do not have PTSD. It was Mycroft, wasn't it?

"... you haven't seen the doctors yet, have you?" Her voice quiets to a low whisper, almost as if shocked.

"When will John be here? I need to speak with him."

"..." Molly doesn't speak, which disturbs me more than anything else at this moment.

"Molly, where is he?" My eyes re-open and I sit up, breathing heavier and fearing for John's safety. "Did something happen to him, did something happen to John?"

"No- what?" She shakes her head frantically, tears in her eyes. "No, no, Sherlock, John's fine, he's just out for a bit that's all."

"Are you sure?" The heart monitor registers my rising heart rate and reacts accordingly by the annoying beeping increasing.

"Yes, I'm sure." Her words calm me. John is alright. John is alright.

Molly clears her throat, standing up and stepping to the side of my bed. "Now, you need to lie back down and get some rest."

"And John will come by later?"

Molly's face contorts into a look of pain for a split second, I cannot tell if it's real of imagined, but something seems to be troubling her. "Yes, he'll come by later."

Nodding slightly, I close my eyes and relax back into bed, listening to Molly's footsteps echo out of my room and away from me.

John is okay...

Why does it seems as if there's something I should be remembering?

Mycroft POV

5:57, three minutes until the grand meeting. It appalls me that I didn't do this long before now. Why didn't I see how volatile Dr. Watson has become as of late.

If he truly cares for my brother, be it in friendship of something more as I've often wondered, he will listen to what I say.

He will listen, and he will make a change. Otherwise, I don't see him remaining in Sherlock's future.

There are very few things that I insist upon when it comes to my brother, but having traitors and other unhealthy attachments is the number one thing I refuse allowing to continue.

5:58, two minutes.

Lestrade POV

Molly left a little bit ago... she said Sherlock was awake... maybe I'll go talk to him. Would he even welcome that?

"Boss, we've got a kidnapping." Donovan walks up next to me, making my leave my thoughts and worries alone.

"Not out division." My voice lacks its ordinary volume. I can't shake what happened from my head.

John... he doesn't care about Sherlock, what should I do-

"John Watson was kidnapped, Ms. Hooper returned to find him missing."

"What?" Mycroft.

"Do you want it or not?"

"How long has he been missing?"

"Not sure, she left him at their flat earlier and just now called it in when she saw he was gone."

"Let's give it a little time." You sneaky bastard.

"Sir?" She raises an eyebrow, obviously not agreeing with me.

"It's not been 24 hours yet, let's see if he just went out, was there a note?"

"No-"

"Then let's see if he comes back on his own."

"Alright." She leaves the way she came.

You sneaky bastard, I should have known this was what you planned for John.

Smart.

Mycroft POV

6:00, time for him to be here.

As if summoned through the door by my thoughts, Mr. Moran comes in man-handling a hooded John Watson.

Hmm, a hood... he doesn't know who took him.

Mr. Moran is more accomplished than I anticipated he would be.

"I swear to god, if it's you Mycroft." John curses as Mr. Moran ties him to the chair, leaving the hood over his face.

"Hood on or off?" Moran glances at me, waiting on my answer.

"Leave it, and leave us." I click my umbrella.

The door closes loudly as Moran leaves, now Dr. Watson and I are alone.

Fury seems to have decided to descend upon me, because all I feel towards this man is apathy.

In one swift motion I remove the hood from Dr. Watson's head.

"Now," sitting in the chair across from Dr. Watson, I push back these negative emotions to keep from killing him of the spot. "So, kind of you to join me."

"What do you want?" He snaps, obviously irritated. Good, the angrier he is the better.

"We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you, all you Holmes are bloody inhuman, I'm not playing this game anymore." He seems to be set in his thinking.

"It's disappointing to hear you say such things." I stand to my feet and walk circles around Dr. Watson, creating further anxiety and tension in him. Wonderful, this is exactly what I need.

"What do you want?" He keeps his indignant tone, anger still obvious in his very being.

"Let's discuss Sherlock, and what you did to him."

"Of course." He scoffs. "It's all ways about Sherlock, big brother to the rescue, big brother coming to sooth things over, well it's not going to work this time!"

"I agree." My tone changes to something much sharper than John is accustomed to hearing. To be quite honest, the unease on his face is very satisfying.

"So, can I leave, or are you going to sooth this over with threats that you'll never keep?"

"No." Putting my umbrella aside, I prepare for what is going to prove to be a very... personal discussion. "I never make idle threats; trust me, Dr. Watson, I have no intentions of soothing things over, ever again."

"Oh, am I supposed to be scared?" Pathetic, he's blinded by his mistaken thinking. He is not innocent, he hurt my brother.

"Perhaps you should be."

"No." He shakes his head, still not realizing the severity of his situation. "I shouldn't be."

"You are no longer protected by Sherlock, as you said before, you no longer live with him."

There is a flash of fear that passes over Dr. Watson before he masks it with anger. Excellent. "What, do you really think that I'm going to take him back?"

"No, I wouldn't let you take him back."

"You couldn't stop me." Ah, spite. He learned that from Sherlock.

"Is that true?"

"Yes." He holds eye contact.

"Oh, Dr. Watson." I sigh, even more disappointed in him. "This is going to hurt you much more than it is going to hurt me."

Chapter Text

POV John

"Oh, Dr. Watson. This is going to hurt you much more than it is going to hurt me."

The second the words leave Mycroft's mouth I come to a startling realization. He't not joking. He's right, Sherlock isn't a buffer between his brother and I anymore. The most important thing I learned while living with Sherlock is that nothing is to far for the Holmes.

I could die right now and no one would know I was missing.

No, no, Molly would know I'm missing, and Sarah from work would know I'm not showing up for shift. That doesn't stop Mycroft from killing me, though.

"I'm still not scared." It's true, I'm inconvenienced. I'm not scared, I spent more of my time scared living with Sherlock. I killed for that man!

"Pity, I assumed you still had some common sense, or at least some emotions to spare for our duration here."

"What?"

"Let's start with the day Sherlock died."

"Why?"

"The day he died he was sent to a facility to help him prepair for his departure to dismantel Moriarty's network."

"What type of facility?"

"Despite my protests, he left eary to see you and speak to you."

"Liar!" I growl, tugging at the ropes wishing to get my hands on Mycroft right now. "He never came to see me."

"He watched you at his grave, but couldn't bear to put you through more pain-"

"Fucking liar, you are lying!"

"-From there he was sent to Egypt, that was the first thread that could be pulled, from there he was sent-"

"What was involved in taking down the network?"

"-To a medical facility for treatment considering he was severely injured. I had doubts he would survive."

"How was he injured?" For a moment I feel ice cold. Oh god... I could have lost him for real, forever for real.

"Upon his release he was sent to a small village in Africa, he took up the ruse of being a teacher so he would be able to blend in easier."

"Are you going to keep ignoring me?" Irritation replaced the small ache of pain in my heart at hearing about Sherlock suffering so much. But this is all a trick, any second now I'm going to see him and he's going to laugh and call me an idiot.

"He avoided becoming injured there and his next two stops." Mycroft isn't even looking at me anymore, it's almost as if he's pretending I don't exist. "Both of which are classified and you're not in the need too know."

"Dick."

"Chose your words more carefully, every one of them will be used against you for the foreseeable future."

"What's that supposed to mean?" This does not look good.

"This isn't a friendly meeting, and I will not hesitate to end it prematurely."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"..." I'm silent. He's right, I know what he means. I'm going to die here if he doesn't get what he wants.

"That's when Sherlock went to Serbia. The most difficult and dangerous part of the web. On his initial breach something went wrong which resulted in his capture." Mycroft looks back to me, no emotion visible, but there is an underlying hint of rage. "He was held for nearly three months before I was made aware of his situation."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"During his time he was tortured with some on the most extreme methods."

"He told me they were crude and ineffective."

"Sherlock also told you  that his rape was no big deal, and he also said he was fine when he was strangled in a flat while you were outside yelling at him."

"What the hell was that?!"

"Shortly after you two met."

"... What did they do to him?" My throat and mouth are dry.

"He was tortured extensively. If I told you anymore I fear it would be to strenuous on your pathetic mind to even try comprehending what was done to him."

"Hey-"

"Don't speak, Dr. Watson." His eyes have a near murderous glint to them, it's definitely not a look I like. "It was careless of you to not recognize the signs when Sherlock returned."

"What signs?"

"PTSD, I assume you're familiar with the acronym.

"Yes, I am-"

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, just in case you've forgotten."

"I'm not the bad guy here, you are." I'm done with Mycroft's shit right now.

"Believe me, I intend to be the bad guy here."

Well, that backfired.

"I attempted to reason with Sherlock, attempted to convince him to return to a facility for rehabilitation before he returned to London, but he was persistent in his quest of regaining your undying loyalty to him. It really is tragic that he cares so much for you, yet you no longer care for him."

"That's not fair-"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, don't make me silence you."

"I'm not your pawn, I have my own thoughts and I will think them."

"Then keep them to yourself."

"I thought I was finally done with you two, but you just keep coming back."

"Mr. Moran." Mycroft calls someone. "I'll be needing a few things."

POV Sherlock

"Myroft?" My feet carry me slowly through the fields surrounding our house. "Mycroft?"

The sun is setting, and it's getting cold. Feelings I once identified with are returning to me, causing me to shudder in anticipation of the danger looming over me.

"Mom?" No one's here.

"Dad?" No one can hear me.

"Mycroft?" Where are they? "I'm scared, where are you?"

"You know fear is useless to us." Mycroft's voice rings out, but it's not his.

I approach the water and look down to my reflection. I'm a young boy, young as I was when life was easy, when the biggest thing I needed to worry about was whether or not Red Beard felt like playing that day.

"Emotion is dangerous, it will only lead to hurt."

"But why?" I look to Mycroft who is not by my side.

"Because feelings betray us, as do people. Attachments are dangerous, never let anyone get close enough to hurt you."

"Why?"

"You know why." With that, Mycroft leaves, walking back into the fog away from me.

"No, wait!" I try to run after him but I can't, it's like I'm stuck in quicksand. "No, come back, NO!"

But he doesn't come back.

"No, Mike, come back, it's dark, and I don't want to be alone."

Chapter Text

I'll make this brief.

I apologize for being gone for so long. I could explain all the reasons, but we'll leave it at I'm back now.
I'm getting started on requests immediately and I'm going to do my best to be more committed to updating regularly.

Chapter Text

So... I know I haven't posted in a while. I'm not dead, surprising.

I was, and am, in a very dark place, extremely suicidal, relapsed pretty bad, generalized shit.

Let's see if I can snap myself back to attention so I can write without crying.

I used to write as an outlet for my pain, which is where some of my earlier fics came from.(The Voice Is Me, Angles Can't Get Raped, Right? Wrong, It's Perfectly Natural, John, to name a few of the ones that hit home the most)

Point is, I am going to try my hardest to be more committed to updating regularly. I'm working on new chapters and updates for all of my fics as we speak, and I sincerely appologize for everything.

Yours truly, FandomPower

Chapter Text

(POV Sherlock)

Molly left a while ago, I know she did. I woke up alone.

There's a note by my bed, maybe Molly left it?

I reach and pick it up, curious as to what it could be.

Miss me?

My breath catches as I read the note over and over again.

The man who was in my room earlier... his voice... I should have recognized that Irish accent.

Moriarty is alive.

(POV John)

Pain. All I feels is pain.

Mycroft is ruthless, If I were to tally my injuries I wouldn't get very far, I don't have many but what I do have hurts like hell.

"John, I can't even begin to hurt you how you've hurt Sherlock." He shakes his head, pacing around me again.

My finger throbs; It's broken, Mycroft broke it.

The fact seems crazy to consider. He must have snapped. Why would he do that? I'm a good person, Sherlock just has everyone fooled. But I don't dare say that to Mycroft lest he take it out on me.

"Let me go, Mycroft." I hiss, as he stands behind me and pulls my restraints tighter. 

"I have no intentions of doing that for a long time."

"People will miss me!" A twinge of fear gnaws at my belly at the thought that he has all the control in this situation.

"Who?"

"Molly and Rosie, not even you wouldn't leave Rosie without a father." I laugh, knowing he isn't heartless. Cruel and unusual, yes, but completely heartless no.

He sighs and moves from behind me to stand in front of me. 

"Sherlock wouldn't want that." Trying anything I can think of, I attempt reasoning with him.

"Oh, so now you care what Sherlock wants?" A sick smile crosses his face. That's more frightening than his stoic nature and his futile attempts to scare me. "Dr. Watson, you will find my brother has feelings for you that even he doesn't understand. Feelings that cause him to go to the ends of the earth for you. I received word from the hospital that he was asking for you, can you believe that?"

"Liar."

"Oh, I assure you I'm telling the truth." I picks up a pair of pliers from the table and looks to my hand. "I suppose you don't need all of your nails."

"What, no?!" Instantly, I begin trying to escape my restraints, now absolutely terrified.

"Ah, I see you agree." He moves closer.

"NO!"

(POV Sherlock)

I need to call John. He'll know what to do. Moriarty can't be back, it must be a trick.

Quickly, I grab the phone from the table and dial John's number.

Ring-Ring-Ring

His phone sounds from inside my room.

"John?" I call out, "John, I need you."

"Mr. Homes, are you alright?" A nurse comes in at my shouting. "It's late, we can't be yelling."

"I need John."

"John?" She seems confused.

"Yes, John." I try to get up but find that there are to many wires in my way.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm going to need you to stay in bed." She acts as professionally as possible, at least I think she is.

"But, I have to find John."

"Why don't we call him."

"I did, his phone rang here!" I comply slowly, laying back in the bed.

"Maybe he's out getting some air?" She offers as she tucks me back in bed, checking all the wires to make sure they stayed in place.

"Yes.... He may...." Could he be out getting air? I don't know. I don't remember him being here. All I know is that Moriarty is alive, John isn't here, and I need him.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon." She smiles and offers a glimmer of hope for me to cling to.

"Yes, thank you." I wave her off.

Where is John?

She leaves the room, now I'm alone again.

"John." I moan, "Where are you?"