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Chapter Text

Sherlock sat in his chair, both feet on the ground as a little bundle of joy sat in his lap, his hands hold Rosie up, supporting her back. This is the second time John has allowed Sherlock to watch his precious child on his own whilst he goes out to work. And Sherlock made sure absolutely nothing happened, because he knew if he messed up? He'd lose John for good. So he spent every possible second with her.

Words could not begin to describe how much he adores this child, John's child. A literal copy of the man he loves and cherishes.

"Except this one is more adorable, aren't you Rosie?" He asked out loud, giving her a gentle shake, making her giggle once again. Oh how he loved her giggle. Sherlock then heard feet coming up the stairs and made a surprised expression to Rosie. "Is that granny Hudson?" He asked in fake excitement, watching the child's eyes light up with even more joy, and smiling even wider when she clapped her hands together, babbling nonsense. Sherlock just stood up, holding her securely against his hip as he moved toward the door, opening I just in time to see his sweet old landlady come up the final step. She raised her head at the sound and smiled brightly.

"Oh hello Sherlock! Look at you all smiling with Rosie." She pointed out, then awed at the two, Sherlock glanced between Rosie and Mrs. Hudson before stepping aside and leading his mother-figure to John's chair. He knew the poor woman's hip wasn't in perfect condition. He then sat back down in his own seat and moved Rosie back into his lap, her back now cradled against his front and right arm, knowing how she liked to see Mrs. Hudson. "So what have you two been up to?" She asked, smiling brightly and waving at Rosie, chuckling when she attempted one back, Sherlock meanwhile sat with a proud smile, knowing she was going to be a smart child.

"Oh you know, giggling about various things, daddy, bad people, Uncle Lestrade." Sherlock listed, watching out the corner of his eye as Rosie peered up at him at the mention of 'daddy' and 'Uncle Lestrade'.

But as Mrs. Hudson started to talk, Sherlock looked away from her and frowned hearing the front door open. Possible solutions were going through the detective's mind. Client? No, usually they ring the bell and wait for Mrs. Hudson to open the door. Mycroft? Obviously not, he wouldn't be so bold. What about Lestrade? Mycroft wouldn't have given him a key. Leaving John, but usually he would announce his return, and the footsteps moving around downstairs were off. None he'd recognised, leaving only one possible answer. Break-in. He glanced around the room, looking at all possible exits, completely ignoring the sound of Mrs. Hudson talking about someone she met in Tesco. 

OK, Sherlock had come up with five ways for Mrs. Hudson and Rosie to stay safe and hidden he played them through his mind to see the chances of success.

The first, the intruder comes upstairs, Sherlock rushes to give his landlady the child and rushes them to his room whilst telling them the plan, he then shuts the door and meets the intruder, he deduces him into humiliation. The intruder will probably attempt to fight him out of rage and Sherlock would bang his back deliberately against the door a couple times to give Mrs. Hudson a warning to rush to the bathroom before Sherlock falls into his room. Giving Mrs. Hudson a clear path out into the hall via the other door in the bathroom, and downstairs. But then the possibility of there being another intruder would cancel that idea out, so he shook his head and scrapped it.

The second, the intruder would come upstairs, Sherlock would hand Rosie to Mrs. Hudson and hide them in the main room whilst making sounds of a clumsy attempt to hide himself in his own room, pretending to accidentally slam the door shut out of panic, drawing the intruders attention to himself so Mrs. Hudson and Rosie could get away easily. Again the idea of another intruder cancelled out the idea. Sherlock quickly left his mind palace to listen to the sounds downstairs, by now he'd say the intruder is looking through Mrs. Hudson's apartment. He knew she had nothing valuable to take and even if they did, he'd replace it. OK so, he had time, so retreating back into his mind he went through his other options.

The third plan was simple. Hide Mrs. Hudson and Rosie in his wardrobe and hope they don't find them. But that would fail due to the fact that the wardrobe is everyone's first choice of a hiding place and would be immediately checked.

The fourth plan was for Sherlock to just fight them head on, leaving Mrs. Hudson with Rosie in his room, unharmed, but the plan would likely fail. Even though Sherlock considers himself a decent fighter, he doesn't know how many there are, all he can hear is the one but it is possible that others are waiting outside. By the sounds of the footsteps downstairs he can tell the man is almost twice his size in bulk and maybe a couple inches taller too, yet if there were people outside, he didn't know how big. Which was an extreme disadvantage. So Sherlock scrapped it.

Sherlock then was left with his fifth and final plan. And with a creak sounding from the first step, he knew this one had to be done. So retreating from his mind, he looked at Mrs. Hudson and stood up, holding Rosie close. 

"Right, Mrs. Hudson, although I'd love to hear more about your dear friend, we've got to be absolutely quiet, ok? Now come with me." He whispered to her, watching as she stood up and held onto his arm. Silently, they crept up to John's room, Sherlock making sure his landlady didn't step on any creaks.

Once they made it past the door, he sat the poor woman on the chair in the corner of John's room, her face having paled and she looked terrified, he handed her Rosie. Then got up to leave, only for her to grab his wrist.

"Aren't you staying with us?" She asked, he simply shook his head and gave her a gentle smile.

"Don't worry Mrs. Hudson, I'll make sure they don't come up here, just don't open that door no matter what you hear, ok? I'll knock once before opening it ok?" He reassured, then smiled again at her nod of understanding before leaving again, shutting the door behind him. Then crept back downstairs and took a book off of the shelf, sitting himself down to pretend he was the only one there.

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Mrs. Hudson sst on the chair with Rosie in her arms, she looked down and smiled, rocking her gently to sleep. She knew Sherlock would keep them safe, but that's not why she's terrified. She's terrified because she knew that Sherlock would quite literally throw himself in harmes way in order to shield those he cares about.

She listened as she heard Sherlock's voice through the floor, couldn't tell what he was saying due to the muffling, but heard the deep hum she knew was his voice. She jumped however, when she heard a grunt and a sound similar to fighting. She covered her mouth and prayed to whatever god that someone would come and help her poor Sherlock. 

She the had to close her eyes in fear and cover Rosie's ears when she heard Sherlock give a short cry of pain, trying not to listen to things breaking over the apartment, Sherlock's pained whimpers and sobs and the intruders grunts and groans.

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5pm and John was finally finished. Another painful day of people coming in with the flu, or a badly stubbed toe. He just wanted to come home and rest for at least a week. Opening the door, he didn't realise how quiet it was, just closed it behind him then trudged up the stairs to his and his friend's apartment, he opened the final door and his tired eyes widened in shock and anger.

The place was a mess! Things were broken! His chair tipped over, books scattered, things in the kitchen shattered! John's instant reaction was to look for his daughter, thinking Sherlock had thrown a tantrum he feared for his daughters safety. He looked around the apartment and didn't see his flatmate nor daughter anywhere.

"Sherlock! I swear to god if you have done anything to Rosie I will fucking murder you! I finally trust you enough again to watch Rosie and you go and pull a stunt like this! Never again! I'm fucking sick of it!" He screamed, and was about to march up the stairs to his bedroom when he stopped at the bottom, staring at the figuer lying at the top, by the door. "Sherlock!" He yelled, his face contorting into anger as he stormed up the stairs.

The detective in question jolted awake, then yelped in pain, causing John to freeze and take a closer look, seeing how Sherlock's clothes were rumpled, which was something the younger man never let happen. He noticed how his hair was a mess, but more importantly, he noticed the blood covering the detective.

"Oh shit! Sherlock!" He cried, darting toward the man, trying to look over him. "What happened mate, talk to me!" He begged, then stared in confusion when Sherlock whined in pain as he dragged himself up the last couple of steps, then sat up enough  to knock on the door once then tried to stretch his arm out to reach for the handle, but the breath he  held in finally escaped, blood spattered out of his mouth with it as he finally slumped. John heard shuffling past the door and opened it, seeing Mrs. Hudson holding q sleeping Rosie in her arms, without another thought he ran over to check the two of them.

"No, no! John! We're fine! Sherlock hid us up here! Go and check on him!" Mrs. Hudson protested, John then froze once again. Turning back to his flatmate who was now unconscious, he went over and picked him up, carrying him towards his bed and placing hik on top of the covers. He sent Mrs. Hudson downstairs with Rosie, then went to fetch his medical kit to patch Sherlock up.

__________________

Sherlock woke up the next day, an extreme pain pulsing inside of his head, aches all over his body and a sharp ache particularly in his lower back, but he couldn't remember why... despite the pain, Sherlock opened his eyes. Blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the lighting, then looked around. He wasn't in his room, yet he was met with the familiar smell of John, just much stronger. So he deduced he was in John's room. He heard someone clearing their throat beside him and he flinched, causing the aches to sharpen making him cry out a little. Turning his head he relaxed instantly at the sight of John sitting on the edge of the bed. He sent a warm smile the other man's way, getting a regretful one in response.

"I'm sorry." John said randomly, Sherlock only just tilted his head slightly, silently pleading for John to continue. "I should've been here, to help you, to stop them. What they did to you is disgusting. And I came home and actually blamed you for what happened at first, thinking you put Rosie in danger with another one of your tantrums." He explained, but that seemed to trigger something inside Sherlock's mind palace. Letting him remember what happened, the joy, the intruder, the pain. All of a sudden the aches in his body made sense. And yet he couldn't help but worry.

"What about Mrs. Hudson? Rosie? Where are they? Are they alright?" He asked frantically, rushing to sit up and momentarily forgetting about his injuries, only to be rudely reminded when another wave of agony crashed into him. John, his doctor, blogger and solider. Forced him back down with a soft chuckle.

"Yes Sherlock, they are fine. Perfectly safe and unharmed, because of you. Thank you." He said to the detective, a warm genuine smile on his face. Sherlock looked at him, tears welling in his eyes and he sniffled slightly, smiling back to stop his lip quivering. He hasn't seen that smile on John since before he jumped, and seeing it now seemed ethereal. It warmed his heart so much it spread through out his body, easing the ache, loosening his muscles and letting him relax fully into the mattress. What made this moment even more surreal was when John moved closer and wrapped his arms around him, being mindful of Sherlock's state, he moved behind him and pulled Sherlock into his lap. "You still shouldn't have been raped though Sherlock. You didn't deserve it, not for the first time or any time." John whispered sadly to the younger man, giving him a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Sherlock only froze.

"You knew?" He asked, wanting to understand how the doctor knew of his virginity.

"I found out when I was going over your injuries, I had to- I had to clean the blood away, help with your tares. Only a man who has had his virginity torn from them can end up with tares like that. And I'm sorry I couldn't have stopped it, it's not meant to be like that Sherlock." John now sobbed to him, breathing erratic as he cried, Sherlock just lie against John, feeling himself cry too.

Both men just sat there on the bed, the younger being held protectively by the other as they sobbed. 

But soon, they calmed down, John went to pull away but Sherlock pulled him back, letting out another soft wince.

"Don't go.. please, not yet, at least." Sherlock said quietly, his voice hoarse from the crying, John just nodded yet called for whoever to come in when he heard the step creak outside his door. Both men turned to fave the door as Lestrade walked in with his tow minion behind.

"I swear, I expect to see a body everytime I come here. No doubt the freak will leave us one eventually." Sally piped in before Greg could question why Mrs. Hudson called him. John then shot up, ignoring Sherlock's sounds of disagreement, he stalked over to the Sergeant, his mood making it as though he was towering over her.

"You dare stand there and say that! You think you're everything don't you? Hm? You expected to see a body? Well how about this? If I hadn't come home when I did, then it would've been Sherlock's body you'd be investigating!" John screamed, watching as Donovan backed down slightly.

"Why's that? Because he OD'd?" Anderson asked with that stupid nasal sound in his voice. John couldn't stand it. He went over to the man and punched him square in the face, smiling at the satisfying crack his nose made. Greg just looked at the two before stepping away from Anderson to get a proper look.

"Come on Anderson!" He huffed, "Can't have you keep falling everywhere, public would start to think that Scotland Yard are just a bunch of drunks." Greg excused, then ushered Donovan out with Anderson before shutting the door and turning to John and Sherlock. The doctor gave a nod of appreciation before going back over to the man lying on the bed, who was bandaged and whimpering for John to come back, too tired to form sentences anymore. The detective inspector cleared his throat.

"John? What happened?" He asked quietly, watching as the doctor said back into his previous position with the younger man, holding him close and running a soothing hand through the mass of dark curls letting Sherlock fall asleep, Greg noticed how Sherlock also had a fist full of John's jumper in one hand, holding it like how a young child would cling to their parents when they're terrified and seeking safety.

"Well, I came home from work and saw the place was a mess, I went looking around and eventually found Sherlock on the stairs outside the door. I was about to have a go at him, when I realised he was hurt. I tried to help but at the time he seemed more focused on the door so I opened it and found Mrs. Hudson and Rosie in here, safe and sound." He paused as Sherlock groaned a little, John then rubbed over his side, watching how Sherlock tensed the muscles there, so he massaged them to loosen them, which would ease the pain. "I picked him up and brought him to the bed to clean and patch him up, then asked Mrs. Hudson what happened. She told me how she came up and started chatting with Sherlock, even told me how gentle and playful he was with Rosie, but then she noticed howbhe zoned out, she then told me that he took her up here, ordering her to keep quiet and not answer the door, that he'd open it after dealing with the intruder." John then stopped again and gulped. Greg just moved across the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

"It's alright mate, you can stop if you want to." Greg offered, but John just shook his head and tensed his jaw.

"No, I've got to. Greg, I patched him up, I saw what they did! They- shit! They fucking raped him!" John exclaimed, keeping his voice quiet for Sherlock, Greg just froze at the statement. Rage and pity dwelled within, he wanted to catch the bastards who did this. Then make them pay, surely it'd be overlooked if Greg had 'no other choice' than to fire and kill them.

"Sick bastards!" Greg growled, then stood up and went to door. Stopping for a second. "Don't worry, John. I'll find them and make those fuckers pay." He swore, then left. He jogged down the stairs onto the ground floor, meeting Anderson and Donovan outside.

"So what was the excuse this time?" Sally asked, cocky grin back in its usual place.

"Shut the fuck up and get in the car. I don't have time for your shit." Greg ordered, watching as she coward down once again and get into the back with Anderson climbing in next to her.

Chapter Text

Mrs. Hudson quietly walked around the building, not wanting to startle her poor boy. After the break-in she constantly checked to make sure the doors were locked before making her way upstairs to bring the boys their tea. But that didn't help. She knew she was scared for a reason, scared for Sherlock for a reason. Because he was suffering, not so much from physical, but from the mental aspect on things, and she wanted to do nothing more than to charge up those steps and hold the precious man who she'd grown to care for and adore like a son, hold him in her arms and take all of his pain away. Kissing his head and rubbing his back, letting him curl up and sob his fears away.

And yet she knew that that's not how Sherlock works, she knew how he liked to fight his battles himself, thinking he's protecting everyone by keeping them in the dark. But what he didn't know... Is that both herself and John had caught onto the slight flinched when they entire the room quietly and make a sudden noise, or the slight recoil when one of them place a hand on his shoulder. John even told her about how they'd gone to a crime scene and Sherlock actually stayed at his side, not moving further than a step away from John, and even at the step away he kept glancing back at the doctor after scanning over the multiple faces surrounding him. They even caught onto how Sherlock showered nearly three times as much and slept five times less than usual.

But as Mrs. Hudson prepared a couple mugs of tea to take upstairs so she could sit with Sherlock. She thought about how the situation had brought them closer together in a horrid and unimaginable way, she felt guilty for even thinking it. But due to John's protective nature, he refused to go to work and leave Sherlock alone, not worrying so much about Rosie as he realised the day of the break-in that she was in the safest hands, she also picked up on how Sherlock seemed more agitated and jumpy when he was gone. So she'd gotten in contact with Mycroft. (The older Holmes had dropped by one day and handed her a card with his number incase anything ever happens) And sure enough the older Holmes looked out for the younger and had a car placed outside everytime John left the building alone, knowing that his own presence would be pushed away. So Mrs. Hudson elected herself to come and keep the raven-haired-menace company, at least until Greg was free to offer better protection. She still hung around though, enjoying the little smiles Sherlock gave when he spot a wrong detail in his method of catching criminals.

She made her way up the stairs, forgetting about the creaking step due to her thoughts being away. Earning a frightened gasp from the boys apartment. Her wise heart dropped, knowing that she'd made a mistake and continued to go at the pace she started at, opening the door and walking in to find Sherlock rushing back from his room, his eyes wild and frantic, tears streaming down his face, only to break down at the sight of his landlady as relief washed over him.  

She set the tray of tea down and rushed to him, being mindful of how he flinched but quickly recovered and settled himself against her. She just held him close as he cried, running a hand over his back whilst whispering sweet things to him, only to melt when she watched Sherlock bring his knees up against his chest as he sat on the ground, and how when she went to move he only grabbed her cardigan and tugged her back, looking up at her with a look she could compare with a terrified child, so she responded by holding him tighter.

"It's alright dear, I've got you. What happened to you was horrid and it will never happen again. I'll make sure of it." She whispered, hoping that it would cheer him up with her determination and he'd come back with a retort about how she's too old and fragile. Instead it was something she'd pray never to see again, as the man looked up at her once again, sniffling slightly, fresh tears waiting impatiently to fall over the edge of his bottom eyelid. His hands clinging to her.

"Promise?" His voice was so quiet, so broken, so not Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson looked into his hopeful, tearful eyes and gave a gentle smile, nodding her head, confirming her words were true. Observing as Sherlock's eyes brightened, the teats spilling over as he smiled, small sobs still leaving him as he lowered his gaze and curled against her again.

"I've got you." Was all she said back. And it was enough.

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Greg pulled up outside of 221B, he let out an exasperated sigh, running his hand over his face. He'd been working none-stop since the accident. Been looking at recent break-in cases and going through criminal lists to try and find men who matched the description Sherlock gave him. But ended up with nothing. Yet he wasn't ready to call it off, he needed to find those men, John even skipped work most times to come and join him on the hunt. Shaking all of that away from his mind, he shut off the engine to the car before getting out and locking it, stuffing the keys into his pocket. He then walked up to the black door and knocked a couple times, listening to the sound of quiet movements beyond the door. He then watched as Mrs. Hudson peered her head out.

"Ah, Greg! Do come in!" She greeted with that same cheerful smile as always, stepping aside to let the man through. The DI always had a soft spot for the woman. "I must ask you dear, to keep it down a bit when you go up there. I accidentally gave Sherlock a fright earlier, poor thing, he was terrified and wouldn't let me go. I eventually got him to lie down and now he's asleep on the sofa. Rosie is asleep with him. Let me know if you need anything." She informed, then made her way to her own living space. Greg just nodded at the now empty space and crept up the stairs, missing the older stairs completely.

Once in the room, he immediately saw Sherlock on the sofa, but he wasn't sleeping line Mrs. Hudson said he was, no. He was sitting up, facing the empty room and rocking slightly. Greg knocked on the door to the apartment and noticed how Sherlock seemed to snap back to reality, eyes darting toward him.

"You alright Sherlock?" He asked, noticing how the younger of the two just looked away by lowering his gaze and turning his head.

"I was alone..." He mumbled, Greg sighed softly.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Look, how about we cheer you up yeah?" That seemed to catch the man's attention. Greg smiled and pulled up a chair in front of Sherlock. Sitting himself down and opening his arms. "Go on, deduce me. I've even tried to make it harder for you." He chuckled, then watches as a familiar spark ignited within blue irises, changing their colour and adding hues of green and grey as they scanned over his form

"Well, last night you forgot to charge your phone, meaning it was dead by the time you woke up this morning, missing your alarm. Due to the fact you were late, your rushed around this morning, shaving, dressing, even breakfast. You then got to work and and drank a cup of coffee, you didn't like it though so you let it get ice cold on your desk, for lunch you decided to stop off at Greggs, getting a sausage roll and an iced pastry. Once finished with your food you didn't go back to the office, no, you went somewhere else. Somewhere different, most likely work related and are therefore trying to track down the men who raped me and broke into my home." The world's only Consulting Detective deduced. Greg sat in absolute shock.

"Ok, for starters. Spot on! And how??" He asked, his mind not functioning enough to think of anything else to say.

"Well it's quiet simple, the rumples in your clothes suggest that they are clean, yet were not ironed, which could either mean you are extremely lazy, or just didn't have time. The miniscule scabs across your jaw, barely noticeable to anyone but then again I'm not anyone. They suggest that you rushed your shaving, as you usually have little to no injury from shaving. Meaning my earlier observation of the rumpled clothes was due to the same reason you had the marks of a rushed untidy shave. You were late. Why? Because your phone died, how do I know. Whilst you were rushing around you stuck your phone on charge and took it off again when you left, setting it on silent to reserve what little battery you managed to charge. This is obvious because usually by now you'd have a text from either Donovan or Anderson asking where you are, yet your phone never went off. The coffee at work? I could tell by the slight hint of it in your breath when you talk, too little to have been a full cup and hidden by other smells indicating that you had it this morning when you  arrived at work. The Greggs? Well, as I said your breath smelled of other foods after your coffee, but also the faint unique smell of a Greggs sausage roll, the iced pastry I deduced off of the crumbs the icing left on your jacket collar, also a couple on your sleeve too. Where you went after work, well I've been to the office, and yet you don't walk in with that 'office' scent hanging off of you, it's a different scent one I have never encountered before. Therefore meaning you've been out, but you're not one to just go for a walk. Meaning you were out for a reason, and due to you being my elected handler I'm assuming it's because you're trying to hunt my attacker." Sherlock finished, Greg just sat even more stunned (though he didn't show it, half as much). "Now tell me, what did I miss?"

"Alright, I'm not your 'elected handler'. I'm your friend who will not stand by and let these bastards get away with what they done." He told the younger, his voice assertive. Staring at Sherlock he noticed how he'd shocked him with his words, yet his features softened a little, a small smile appearing. In a matter of seconds however, Sherlock's stunned state disappeared and his usual monotonous facade was back up.

"Thank you, Greg." Sherlock offered, voice just barely above a whisper, but it caused the silver haired man to smile nonetheless.

Oh yeah, Greg was definitely going to catch and kill these guys. Of Sherlock can remember his name? Then he's no doubt shaken up, and it takes a lot to get Sherlock shaken.

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood with John, eyes scanning over the crime scene, the latest victim was last seen at a club before they disappeared the night just gone. He coughed up his deductions all whilst holding onto the sleeve of John's jacket, by his elbow so no one would notice unless they stood behind. He'd found that the other man didn't actually mind and even offered to hold his hand if it gave the younger of the two some comfort. But Sherlock politely declined, or he'd thought so, instead he just stared, bewildered. Then kissed him and left the room, waiting patiently by the front door. Not daring to leave without John with him. 

But as he continued to rattle of not-so-rather obvious facts about the killer when someone grabbed ahold Sherlock's arm and pulled him away from John. Both men turned to see that it was Anderson.

"Why are you holding onto him like that? What are you afraid he'll run off to freedom if you let go?" The idiot spoke up, sarcasm soaking every word. Sherlock just shoved him away and brought his arm to his chest, like Anderson had hurt him, but due to the minority of the group actually liking him, three of the larger officers surrounded Sherlock as apparently he'd assaulted one of theirs. The familiar sensation of dejavu had overridden the consulting detective's senses. Soon images flashed before his eyes of three built men cornering Sherlock, their eyes hungry and lustful. The horrid feeling of fear that he'd grown used to lately had sparked within as they all grabbed him, he tried to keep quiet due to the two upstairs, but it was impossible. The beatings were manageable, so was the method of being kicked and shoving around the room, hell even when they shoved him onto the broken shards of glass! But when they finally decided to wasn't enough and decided to pleasure themselves using his already broken body as their toy. That was what gave him nightmares at night, what made him fear being alone. And that is why this situation was blown way out of proportion.

Because when one of the officers grabbed his arm, Sherlock cried out, terrified. He then looked around for John but couldn't see him behind them. So he ran, forcing his legs to take him away from the crime, away from the officers, away from danger. He heard John's call to him, begging hom to come back but he couldn't.

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Mycroft was walking down the corridor, just out of government meeting, when he phone went off. Quickly pulling the device from his pocket, he saw John's name for the caller ID. Then gave a smug grin as he answer.

"Hello-"

"Sherlock's done a runner, I can't find him anywhere Mycroft."

"What happened." The older Holmes demanded, making his way towards the exit whilst speaking.

"We were at a crime scene, one of the officers pushed him away from me, so out of shock he pushed back. But because most of them are dicks, three of their largest officers backed Sherlock into a corner. I could hear him having a panic attack but before I could do anything he bolted. Mycroft, I wouldn't be calling if this wasn't urgent." John explained, the man in questioned just hummed, then mouthed to his assistant to get even car they had searching central London for Sherlock.

"Don't worry John. Keep searching, I've got men all around who'll be helping you, we will find him." He spoke calmly, then hung up and almost jumped into the car, telling his driver to go around London. Like hell was he going to sit around at a time like this!

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Sherlock was sitting on the ground, back against a brick wall, head on his arms which were folded round his knees. He doesn't know how much time had passed, but it'd started raining. Hard too. So here he was, the great Sherlock Holmes was sat curled up in some alley, soaked to the bone with rain still coming. His body shaking but he couldn't tell if it was from the still lingering essence of fear, or because of mild Hypothermia. He realised how stupid he was to run, his mind too much of a scramble to find his way home, so he just sat and escaped to his mind palace.

Some time had passed when he came back to reality, but he knew something was wrong when he had to struggle to come back. His shivering had stopped and felt himself get extremely tired and an alarming rate. Meaning there was a possibility of him now at the stage of moderate Hypothermia. The rain, thankfully, had stopped. But where he sat there was a large puddle, he just couldn't be bothered to move.

During his haze, he could've sworn he heard footsteps rushing his way. Nah, he thought, impossible, no one knew where he was. But the hands grabbing him had startled him, his eyes opening, letting him see a blurry yet familiar figure in front of him, hands checking over him and taking his temperature. Then he heard a voice.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled. He watched the his younger brother's eyes came into focus, then watched as they looked over and recognised him.

"M-... Myc?" He asked, voice slurred as he struggled to stay awake. The older brother looked toward his car, nodding for the men inside to carry Sherlock into the car whilst he got in himself. Then proceeded to do something that he'd never admit to. He held his little brother close, turning the heater up in the car and giving Sherlock his coat after peeling off his other one. The car didn't drive off until Mycroft gave the ok, but his focus was on his family at the moment as he held Sherlock against himself, rubbing his arms like how he use to when they were children. Soon feeling Sherlock shiver and cry, curling into him more.

"It's alright, nothing is going to happen to you, brother mine. I have got it all under control, no one will ever think to look your way after I'm finished." He promised, hushing his baby brother with another hug and smiling softly when he felt the younger man nod against his shoulder. "Now let's get you home." He offered, nodding to his driver who knew exactly where home was.

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John paced the main room of 221B. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade were watching him.

"I've got to go back out there." The ex soldier muttered, making his way towards the door. Mrs. Hudson sighed and shook her head.

"It's going to be fine John, you can't go out there at this hour! Sherlock had probably just gone to see his brother is all. He'd no doubt be dropped off any minute." She guessed, mostly to throw water over the bubbling pit of worry within. But just as John was about to answer, the doorbell went off, everyone tensed and looked at eachother, before John darted out of the room and down the stairs. Nearly taring the door from its hinges, but instantly moved aside when Mycroft walked in with Sherlock at his side, one arm slung over the older brother's shoulder. John coming round the other side to help get the detective up the stairs.

"What happened?" John asked, Sherlock now safely in bed, thankful that Greg had seen the situation and took Mrs. Hudson downstairs immediately. The older Holmes was sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed as the younger was curled on his side, now in clean, dry pyjamas. He was facing Mycroft and the man of government had let his brother cuddle up to his arm. John honestly found it too cute to be jealous.

"Well, after I got off our call. I got my driver to take me around London to try and find Sherlock as well. As you can see I have, but he was found in an alley, on a street he's never been down before. In the moderate stage of Hypothermia, don't worry," He cut in, noticing the doctor tense, about to spring into action. "I brought it back down to mild in the car. Then I brought him home." Mycroft explained. Glancing down at his brother who frowned slightly in his sleep, holding onto his arm more and found himself smiling fondly. Then realised and cleared his throat, preparing to get up. "Now, doctor. I trust my brother is in good hands, now if you would be so kind as to take my place as I need to be leaving." He said. Pulling his arm away and leaning down to Sherlock's ear.  "John will look after you brother mine, I was wrong about him, you can trust him." Then stood straight again and headed for the door.

"What? No Mycroft!" John called, following after him. "You can't leave now! Sherlock will never forgive you if you do!" To this, the older Holmes only smile.

"Oh I wouldn't be too sure of that Dr. Watson. My brother is capable of many things, some could even be seen as miracles. Now, till next time." He finished, then walked out the door, leaving John standing there. 

But a quiet groan of "Jaaaaaaawn!" Got him into action of running back to Sherlock, and lying on the bed. Letting the detective cuddle up to him to warm up some more.

Chapter Text

Sherlock lie in bed. His hair a mess, his body surrounded by warmth, John's arms around him, holding him close, protecting him. But then he heard a creak in the hall, and John's arms began to feel like they were holding him down, the warmth started to disappear as the icy claws of fear tore its way passed it, squeezing around his chest, creating less space to breathe. 

The sound of his breath triggered memories of the men surrounding him, each taking their turn, each panting like dogs as they violated him. Sherlock scramble out of bed, the covers surrounding his body felt heavier, as though it were a body on top of him. One of their bodies. He turned to face the godforsaken piece of furniture, his back against the wall in the corner, his vision blurring from the tears in his eyes, but he blinked them away to get a clearer view. His chest felt like it was burning as fear tightened its grip on his lungs. A small, weak whine left his lips with each short breath. All leading up to the scream he let out, as though he could let all his pain, all his fear and all his fucking hatred out with a single breath. But as he stopped, his throat sore, he realised it wasn't enough.

The sound however caused John to shoot up from the bed. Instantly awake, he turned to Sherlock and moved over to him, falling off the bed for a second before getting back up and kneeling in front of the younger man.

"Sherlock? Love? What's the matter?" He asked, looking over him. Once he saw there was no injury, he cupped Sherlock's face, lifting it so he could see those beautiful eyes.

"I'm sick and tired, John..." His broken voice spoke, all walls he'd built up had crumbled, exposing himself to the man before him. He lowered his gaze. "I'm sick and t-tired of feeling like this.." He continued, his voice beginning to tremble along with his lips, as his eyes started to water again. The younger man swallowed the saliva that had collected in his mouth as a result of the overwhelming urge to cry. "Of feeling so scared all the time... O-of having to keep you by my side, or have someone babysitting me constantly. I feel like a fucking burden!" He explained, having to swallow back another load of saliva as the urge grew stronger. A few tears escaping from his eyes, but got held back a couple of seconds when he sniffled, the air holding the drop in place, almost pulling it back up. "I just don't want to feel like this anymore John... I don't want to remember the pain everytime someone touches me. I don't want to remember the sounds they made when someone sighs. I don't want to remember how they pinned me down everytime someone stands in front of me." More tears fell from his eyes and he sniffled again.

"So please... John..." He started, looking up at the doctor. "Help me get rid of this fear... Because I can't do it alone, I don't know how to get passed this. But you? You were a soldier. You're strong, brave. And I'm not asking you to give that to me. But I'm asking you to be brave enough to help me replace the memories with you." He begged, tears now flowing freely. "Because it's you... I want to feel excitement everytime you touch me. I want to remember the sounds we make everytime you huff in annoyance. I want to remember how you held me and made love to me everytime I stand beside you. Because you were the one who was meant to take it John. They didn't take anything from me, instead they took away something I had promised to give to you." When Sherlock finished his speech, John just sat there, staring at him. Then blinked and leaned forward, kissing him passionately, every now and then he applied a little more pressure incase Sherlock doubted his love. When he pulled away, he softly grabbed his arms and looked into those hopeful, vulnerable eyes.

"Sherlock, I will help you. But just because you asked doesn't mean I don't love you, christ! You can't even begin to imagine how much I love you. From your annoying experiments, to the way you can out-talk the devil himself and everything in between. Including the way you smile slightly when I make you a tea without asking, or how on days when you're in a good mood, you seem to have more of a spring in your step and don't disappear that much in your mind palace. I love you, Sherlock Holmes. And I will, with great honour and pleasure, show you what it's supposed to feel like." He promised, gently lifting the other man up from the ground.

Chapter Text

Sherlock heard John, his heart fluttering with each word, so much he thought he was having a heart attack. He felt John's arms snake round his back and under his knees, lifting him up. But he still yelped in surprise, he definitely underestimated how strong John actually was, as the man had little to no struggle, that or he was hiding it very well, in that case the man deserves an Oscar.

He looked at the ground as John moved away from where they were crouched against the wall, Sherlock's heart fluttered with something he could only described as a mixed cocktail of love, passion and excitement with a hint of fear. He looked back at John, staring into his eyes. He couldn't believe this was actually going to happen. a warm buzz of lust creating a contrast against the empty pit of doubt, doubt about if he was ready, if John would leave, if he wasn't good enough, if John would come to realise how disgusting Sherlock is and leave the apartment. But when the older man looked back at him and gave him a warm smile, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as the action made the buzz flooded into the pit, filling it, getting rid of it, and he unconsciously mimicked the action, causing John to chuckle. When the detective realised, he felt the heat, the buzz had created, rise to his cheeks and he tucked his face away under John's jaw, silently taking in his scent and storing it in his mind palace as it seemed to relax him almost immediately.

John then stopped and set Sherlock down on the bed, listened as the other man bit back a yelp of surprise, giving away that he escaped reality whilst John was carrying him. He pulled the younger man off of him, leaving him against the mattress as John stood to admire him properly. Taking in how Sherlock stared back up at him, face pink from embarrassment, arms limp on either side of his head whilst his knees were bent, feet planted against the mattress. John then lent down and captured Sherlock's lips with his own, lowering his torso against Sherlocks and listened as the man below him took in a shaky breath.

Sherlock tried his absolute hardest not to panic, not to writhe and kick out of John's grip, but his limbs couldn't stop shaking, his arms going over John's shoulders, hand clasped to wrist, yet he couldn't hold on as the shaken worsened. Then all of a sudden, John wasn't kissing him. He opened his eyes to find his newfound lover staring at him with concern.

"Sherlock, if you're not ready-"

"No!" Sherlock cut him off, then realised and cleared his throat, trying again. "No... please John, I can't go on like this." He pleaded, watching as the sparks of lust lit up his eyes. But he remained slow, caring. As he rest his body against Sherlock's, softly grinding his hips down, earning a soft whine from the younger man as his arousal spiked. His soldier run gentle fingers through his hair, gripping it only just to tilt his head back, giving John more access to his neck.

"It's alright love, I've got you. You're safe with me." He whispered as Sherlock tried to hold back a small moan at the sensation of his erection growing. Then proceeded to 'let go'. As he escaped to his mind palace, memorising every feeling and sense the other man left him with. Storing it away for later. Every soft moan and grunt John let out was filed beside the lists of compliments John spat out to him during their time together. Every pleasant burn his hands left on Sherlock's skin, the way a single touch would drive him absolutely mad. He stored it all away. And unfortunately in doing so, he'd lost track of time. Because when he came back to reality, they were both undressed, with Sherlock further up the mattress and John between his thighs. His ass in John's lap. 

The other man muttering sweet nothing's into his ear as he rocked against Sherlock, his hands rubbing up and down Sherlock's sides. The detective just lie there, listening, moaning, whimpering and keening. Wanting more of the warm buzz, thirsty for pleasure, greedy for John. But then he heard the soft order to relax, felt the chill once hands left his sides, heard the cap of a bottle open, and witnessed as John lowered his hand between his legs, then felt the older man massage his entrance. The slight shock and the bolt of ice cold lubricant against his sensitive skin sent a wave of something similar to pleasure through his body.

Sherlock looked into his eyes, and saw nothing but love and affection in return as he felt John push his finger past the ring of muscle. Earning a hiss from the detective. Which forced him to throw his head back and closed his eyes, nails digging into the skin on John's shoulder blades as he felt John begum to thrust the finger, slowly adding more. During this time, Sherlock began to document certain things, like how John would hold back the need for his own pleasure in order to make sure Sherlock was comfortable, and how he was constantly being caressed by the older man, whilst having sweet promises whispered into his ear.

As Sherlock was filing away these important facts, he was abruptly torn away from his thoughts when he felt something prod against his ring of muscle. He opened his eyes to glance down and see, and when he saw John lining himself up, he froze, the warm buzz turning into a freezing pit as the figure above him began to look like the man who he wished never to see again. Glancing back up to the face, instead of John's warm smile and loving eyes, it was the intruders malicious grin and predatory glare. Sherlock flinched back into the mattress, closing his eyes, shaking, whimpering, trying to get the image of the man away, yet it was as if the image had burnt itself into his mind.

"Sherlock!" He heard his name being called. But no one was there, no one to help him. Only himself and the intruder. He had no one there to help him, to stop him getting assaulted a second time. "Sherlock, it's me! It's John!" That made Sherlock freeze, he then opened his eyes and quickly glanced around, his pace of breathing slowing back down to normal again as he finally felt the cool of the room hit his overheated skin.

"J-john." He choked, then held onto the man who had now sat Sherlock up, in his lap. The younger of the two just wrapped his arms around the other, burying their face under the other's jaw.

"What happened? Are you alright? We can stop if you want to?" The doctor offered, quite content with waiting, he would wait forever if it came to it. He just wanted Sherlock to feel safe, especially in his own home. He tightened his hold on he poor man as he stifled a sob. "Hey... it's alright Sherlock. Nothing will happen as long as I'm here, I promise you." He whispered to Sherlock. In return, Sherlock felt tears running down his face as he held onto his soldier more.

"I-I can see him... everytime I close my eyes John, he won't leave me alone! I don't want to see him! I want you to be there, not him! I-I just-... I can't-..." He whimpered, tears rolling freely down his face, closing his eyes again in an attempt to stop the tears, only to see that face again.

But then he felt John's gentle touch on his chin, softly tilting his head back to be able to lightly kiss his lips. The detective gasped gently, then opened his eyes to once again see John staring back, the warm buzz returning when he noticed as the love and adoration for him mixed with his lust, creating a beautiful colour in John's eyes.

"Then look at me, Sherlock." John said, his voice heavenly. "Don't keep your eyes closed, just look at me. Focus on me, and I will try my hardest to make his face disappear." Sherlock listened to what he said, noticing the hint of anger at the end, making the younger man think whether or not John was talking about helping Sherlock mentally, or by physically removing his fave from the world. Either way, it excited the detective. The buzz growing stronger, as well as his thirst for pleasure, want for satisfaction, need for John. He nodded at his doctor's words, keeping eye contact as he felt John's length push into him, the burn of the stretch made Sherlock's body react by grabbing onto John harder.

Soon however, the doctor was all the way in, the sudden intrusion left Sherlock in shock. His mind fighting on whether he should panic, or embrace how John hadn't moved yet, letting Sherlock adjust. With shaking limbs, he decided to embrace John's generosity. Leaning up to kiss the older man, starting off as a simple peck before quickly gaining tension. Sherlock felt John move his hips slightly and couldn't stop the moan that escaped him. Causing both men to freeze.

John looking down at Sherlock with a proud smile, whilst Holmes looked up at Watson whilst his face was dusted pink from embarrassment. Yet the doctor never laughed, he only kissed Sherlock again and began to pull out before thrusting back in, creating a steady rhythm, one which Sherlock found himself enjoying very much as he lie witness to all the glorious frowns John made, or how he lowered his head and gripped his hips, even how he liked his lips and closed his eyes. It left an aching want inside Sherlock, a want to satisfy his John, a want to see John lose control and have him completely. Which powered his pleasure more, causing the newfound heat between his legs to grow harder, causing him to moan once again as he felt John trap his erection between their bodies, throwing his head back and making the mistake of closing his eyes, getting too lost in pleasure.

John noticed how his lover was shaking more as he kept thrusting, noticed how his partner panted, not in pleasure but in fear, noticed how his one and only had tears running down his face. Then realised why, as he saw the skin of his eye lid, covering those beautiful irises. John realised Sherlock couldn't see him, but saw someone else, and decided to take it away by placing a gentle kiss over each eyelid. Smiling as he watched Sherlock relax instantly, opening his eyes again and smiling back before John thrust particularly hard into one area, causing the younger man's eyes to open wider, his pupils copying the actions of his eyelids as they enlarged too, his mouth falling open and let out the most erotic moan John had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

The sound itself could've made John finish, but instead he held back and kept going at his original pace. Sherlock though, he'd had enough. So he pushed against John with all that he had, flipping the man onto his back as his straddled his hips, the entire time he made sure John hadn't slipped out. 

Only in that moment, however, did Sherlock remember how inexperienced he was, therefore unsure of what to do. But after looking down at his soldier, after running his hands over that muscled chest, he done what felt right. Rocking his hips back and forth, working his way up to bouncing on John's lap. He also realised that this seemed to be his new favourite position as he felt John inside him, reach much deeper. He even saw a slight bulge in his lower stomach, feeling proud at the fact that it was John giving him that bulge, yet also guilty as it showed how malnourished he really was. He ignored for now, though, and decided to speed up his bounces in order to distract John too.

The doctor lie there, his hands on Sherlock's hips, his feet planted on the bed, as Sherlock rode him. He watched as Sherlock reached behind, holding himself up by gripping John's thigh, leaning back ever so slightly and showing off his beautiful pale torso as he reached his other hand up to grip his own hair. Letting out another throaty moan. John groaned in unison, not wanting to moan incase he blocked the sound of Sherlock's melody. He then watched as Sherlock tipped his head forward, slouching slightly as John began to thrust up into him. His eyes closed and brows knitted together, John then realised Sherlock had retreated to his mind palace. Soft moan still escaping him.

The detective walked the halls of his mind palace, then came across one room where the wood had faded and darkened, the door was locked and he heard the memories of the break in from the other side. The sounds of his and John's love-making followed right behind him, swarming him, caressing him just like John did. So with a heavy sigh, he unlocked the door and let these new memories with John flood through the now open doorway. Destroying most of his nightmares, the stronger ones were still present. And just as he was about to finish the job, a wave of warmth and euphoria swept him away, snapping out of his mind palace as he watched his own orgasm unfold his mouth hanging open with his eyes wide as white streaks of their pleasure now painted across John's front. He watched John staring at him, then cried out when he felt the other speed up, now pounding into him.

John watched as Sherlock came, his expression similar to when he discovered the painting was a fake, and thrived at how his eyes rolled back as he bit his bottom lip when John sped up. Climax soon approaching. But what made him come even quicker was what Sherlock had moaned out.

"Yes John! John! Show me. Show me what it's like to be loved, John. My John, my soldier. Come on soldier! I know you're close!" He said, as he came back to his senses, beginning to bounce again, skin now pink with blush due to overstimulation. He then stared John in the eye, same glare as those poor victims of his deductions. He then slowed his movements, now just grinding his hips against John, ever so slowly. His gaze only intensifying. "And don't think for one second to pull out John Watson, for I want to feel you. All of you. So I suggest you fuck me like it's the last thing you'll ever do." He growled, causing something primal to stir inside John, as he sat up and lifted Sherlock up, throwing him back down and without giving the younger man time to think, he shoved himself back inside. Going at a brutal pace, going harder at the sounds his detective made. 

Soon, however, he thrust into Sherlock, and kept pushing deeper as his sudden orgasm took him by surprise, earing a soft cry from the younger. Who then relaxed and panted, John moaning and groaning softly, riding out the waves of orgasmic bliss before flopping down onto the detective, head on that warm chest which held the scar his old wife had left behind. After kissing over the scar and pulling out of Sherlock slowly, he was about to lie next to him when a pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him in a passionate kiss, he of course responded eagerly.

"Thank you... for helping me John, I-I can't see him anymore... everytime I close my eyes. He's gone, I can only see you." Sherlock whispered after he pulled away, John was met with a teary smile, then smiled back.

"It's alright, love. I'll always be here for you. I'd be lost without my detective." John reassured.

"And I my blogger." Sherlock confirmed, wiping his tears and giving John a smile he'd never shown to anyone, a soft smile full of love, full of passion, full of heart. Their own, unique confession of love having been engraved on the front door of John's half of his mind palace. And in that moment Sherlock knew

This is what love felt like, this is the high he so craved yet could never achievr through drugs or cases, this is John Hamish Watson. And he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Chapter Text

Sherlock woke up to an unfamiliar sensation, unfamiliar warmth. He frowned just a fraction, taking a deep breath as he became more aware, he then gronaed slightly, the scent of John filling his nose, causing his lips to stretch into a smile. The detective arched his back, similar to a feline before he snuggled back into John's side, nuzzling against his neck, resting down to fall back to sleep, listening to the alluring voice that promised to drag him back into pleasant dreams. But just as he was about to slip off the edge of consciousness. Then the bloody phone rang, fear sparked withing at the sudden noise. Only for a strong, comforting arm tightened around his waist, an arm that can only belong to John.

"It's alright love." The older man reassured.

Of course it's alright, it's only a phone. Sherlock thought, but didn't say anything, instead just raised his head and kissed John, the gentle peck of his lips earning a smile from his soldier. A disappointed moan left his throat when John leant across to reach his phone from the bedside table to answer the call.

"Hello Greg, yeah it's me John." Sherlock listened to the quiet mumble of Lestrade through the phone. "Yeah, he's awake but being stubborn and not getting up at the moment," The audacity! Sherlock thought. 

"Why'd you call?" John asked, smile present on his face as he watched Sherlock frown at the response he'd given. It went away, replaced with an expression Sherlock often called his 'captain' expression. He then realised Greg had went quiet, waiting for a reply. "O-oh.. right. Thanks for calling. I'll tell Sherlock now." He listened to greg say goodbye before hanging up.

Shrelock's eyes narrowed, trying to deduce why John was looking at him the way he was. His expression grim yet angry, with a hint of relief. Meaning he'd recieved news that calmed him yet angering him at the same time. Which there wasn't much to anger him, leaving only one possible solution. It was news about his own attackers. The thought made Sherlock visibly shiver, lowering his head and hiding his face beside John's neck. 

Now he was filled with something familiar, fear. The only warmth he felt were from the tears in his eyes, he curled his fingers into a loose fist and lie it close to his mouth, over John's chest. He sniffled slightly, blocking the memories by asking the question of the moment. 

"When are they questioning them?" His voice cracking. John's hand now just a pressure moving up and down along Sherlock's tricep. 

"Tomorrow, thought it best to get it done quickly." 

"I'm going." 

"Sherlock-" John tried to protest, really not thinking it the best idea.

"No, John. I'm going. I need to see them pay. So no matter what you say, I'm still going, nothing you can do will change my mind. But I know it will be a lot easier for me to do this if you're there with me." The detective forced out, moving away to look at John properly. Seeing him conflicted, one hand, he wanted to tell Sherlock no, force him not to go, yet on the other, he knew Sherlock was right. That whatever he done or said would reach deaf ears, and so he chose to agree and go with him. Earning a smile, which could only be admired for a few second before Sherlock decided to cuddle up to him again.

"Good, now lie back down, I was comfy." Sherlock muttered, causing the doctor to chuckle and do as told. The detective hummed in delight as the got back into their original position, snuggling impossibly closer to John, listening as the older man drifted back off to sleep. All whilst he lie there, tracing shapeless patterns onto John's chest with a finger, as his pupils tightened to pinpoints with fear at what was to come.

Chapter Text

The cab pulled to a stop. The morning sky, grey. Sherlock stifled a yawn, the only give away was the water gathering in his eyes, which could also be mistaken for tears. Yet he knew today was important, knew he'd rather die than miss today. Although, as he stepped outside the cab, shoe meeting curb, skin meeting crisp air, ears meeting the now clear sounds of London's busy streets. He removed himself entirely from the vehicle John following close behind, after paying of course. 

The reassuring pressure of John's hand on his back, also used to keep him upright, brought back clups of the night before. The quiet frightened sobs as Sherlock's emotions finally got the better of him, the kind, gentle hands holding him close to the embodiment of strength. The loving whispers in his ears as the waves of fear calmed. He'd scoff right now but the familiar bubble of cramped up panic was blocking his throat. Yet he looked at John, the man beside him who'd survived much worse, who has had more trouble in his life than necessary, all because of him. And yet John stayed to help him, after everything he'd done to the poor man. He let his appreciation show as his lips stretched into a smile before he began walking.

Yet as they got closer to the doors, the ball of pent up terror had grown, it took all of his power and will to force it back down as the two were met by Lestrade at the door.

"Sherlock-!"

"I want to question them." The youngest of the three cut in, the DI was about to object when Sherlock gave him a mournful look which would break every heart there. "Please, Greg, let me question them. I-I need to know... why?" He pleaded, watching as Greg glanced at John, who gave little else but a reluctant nod before the DI sighed and gestures for them both to follow. Filling them in on their names, where they come from and where they work, also about which of them had families. John never really listened though, just stared at the man he loved as he nodded, listening, yet as the doctor saw into Sherlock's eyes. He could see then clouded over with transparent fear.

"Alright Sherlock. The head of the group is in there. I assume he's the one that..." Greg trailed off, not able to finish of the sentence.

"Good." Was all Sherlock responded, and everyone prepared as though he was about to go in, yet in reality. All he did was turn to face John. To everyone else, his gaze was hard and merciless, to John, it was a quiet plea for reassurance, for protection. And as John noticed a single tear trail from those beautiful multicoloured eyes, he sighed softly. Smiling kindly at Sherlock, nodding his head for him to go on, glancing at the door, for the go ahead. Yet Sherlock remained. Silent as a corpse, still as a statue. His eyes trained on John, the only movement was when he mouthed the word 'please'. 

The doctor instantly knew what it meant and without a word to Lestrade, walked to the door, holding it open for Sherlock as he looked into the room, seeing a single desk with a man handcuffed to it, chair looking too small for him.

Makes it easier for me. Was all John could think once he noticed the steel restraints on the wrists of this sorry excuse for a human being. Sherlock entered. sending him a quick glance and an almost scared smile as he sat opposite, John took his position behind the glass, on the left. Both men staring at the convict.

"Well if it isn't the famous Sherlock Holmes." The man cackled, his voice hoarse, showing clear signs of smoking, whilst his body was large, lots of muscle, lots of fat too. Flannel shirt faded and torn slightly. The excessive hair covering his body could've had anyone fooled into thinking he was a bear. His skin had a dark tan, yet dirty. "I honestly was disappointed when I met you, heard you were a great detective who could outsmart anyone, yet, if I remember correctly... you were pretty easy to handle, and the only smart thing you done was to stop fighting." He taunted, "But ohh... the sounds you made..." 

John felt his skin crawl in utter rage as he listened, yet just as he was about to move into the room, Sherlock raised a hand to keep him in place as if he sensed him through the door. He then leant forward, placed his arms on the table and held his hands together by intertwining his fingers. His head tilted a fraction, and John knew what he was doing and smirked.

"Hmm, I can only imagine what you'd give to hear the sounds I make when I'm actually enjoying it." Sherlock purred, playing along. The man opposite growled in a possessive tone, responding eagerly to Sherlock's flirtatious smile. He then leaned back into a more comfortable position, with his left leg crossed over his right, clasped hands resting on his thigh whilst leaning against the back of the chair. 

"Exactly as I thought." He muttered. The man just frowned and tilted his head.

"Oh yeah? Well, what is it princess?" He sneered, John having to remind himself that Sherlock has this under control and not to attack the sorry fuck in front of the detective. But as John looked closer, he could see Sherlock's leg bouncing, meaning he's uncomfortable or scared.

"Well it's simple. Your line of work you need to be a 'big strong man' in order to do the heavy lifting. Your friends often joke around about women they slept with, or their wives and girlfriends, often whistling at a young woman as they walk by. Yet you all complain about the amount you get paid, so you fell back onto breaking into people's houses, stealing important things and selling them to make a little extra." The man scoffed and Sherlock cut him off. "Ah but there's more. You secretly have an interest in men, yet don't want to be mocked by your friends who decided to join you in your crime. So whilst they looted the house, you raped the men, whilst another raped the women. But when you broke into my house you raped me, yet there was no woman, so after forcing your friends to join in by telling them to imagine I'm a woman you found it easier to enjoy yourself more." Sherlock finished, both him and John looked at the criminal with a smug smirk, thinking they'd cornered him. Only for the man to just slam his hands against the desk, catching the detective off guard, making him jump slightly, his facade gone and now he looked terrified as the man leaned over the table. 

"Oh I enjoyed it alright, and the only reason I didn't come for you again was because I was on the run." He growled, somehow leaning closer, he then moved his arms away from the table, cuffs not attached. They were never done up! John realised, then realised how much danger Sherlock was in as the man yanked a switch blade out of his pocket, holding it at the detective who had scrambled away from his chair. The memories he thought he'd gotten rid of with John somehow cane back full force. Sending him into a panic.

John then knew there was nothing else to do but charge in there, kick the back of the man's knee, forcing him down, then slamming the point of his elbow into the back of the man's head, where spine met skull. Knocking him out and hopefully killing him. A quiet sob filled the now silent room, turning John's focus to Sherlock, who was sat in the corner, under the window with his knees tucked into his chest, arms in his lap, face paler than usual and eyes wide with absolute terror. Multicoloured irises staring up at him.

"J-John?" His sweet, quiet voice spoke. The kind doctor just smiled and nodded. 

"Yeah Sherlock. It's me, see? I kept my promise." He whispered, as he moved over to his detective, crouching down and gently pulling Sherlock away from the corner and into his arms, where the taller man curled up and fit perfectly against him. Holding onto him whilst sobbing.

"H-Home..." Sherlock sobbed, John placed a loving kiss against raven hair as he nodded.

"I know love. I'm gonna get us home, don't worry." Then glanced at Lestrade who'd walked in with a couple of other officers to drag the man away. "Greg, can you give us a lift?" He asked, quickly offering to pay for petrol. But Lestrade politely declined the offer as he helped them to the car. Both John and Sherlock getting in the back, Holmes lying across them back seats with his head resting on Watson's lap. 

"Is he alright?" Greg asked,  suddenly breaking the silence, making Sherlock's grip on John's shirt tighten slightly. Soon relaxing when John run his fingers through those soft, silky curls.

"Terrified." He answered, then remembered the man getting up and- "His cuffs weren't done up. Greg, this wasn't an accident." There was a firm nod from the DI, paired with two hands gripping the steering wheel harder in anger. 

"I saw, meaning one of the officers are on their side, uncuffing him and planting that blade on him just before Sherlock arrived. Don't worry, as soon as I get back I'll be finding the men I left him with beforehand. We will get this sorted John, don't worry." Greg reasoned, the muscles in John's jaw tensed as he kept his mouth shut tight, giving a single nod of affirmation before looking back down at Sherlock who had closed his eyes, sleeping.

"It better get done soon. I hate seeing him like this." John said softly.

Chapter Text

I should've guessed. Jesus can't the man catch a fucking break!? John thought as he sat on the sofa, Sherlock sitting beside him, close to him, so close in fact that their thighs were against eachother. Whilst Mycroft made himself comfortable in the chair that belonged to none other than Sherlock, completely ignoring the detective inspector who stood at the door making sure the situation remains as calm as possible. The silence leaving an uncomfortable ringing in everyone's ears. John then thought of how they got here.

Greg stopped the car outside 221B, he then turned in his chair to see John and gave hims a friendly smile.

"I mean it mate, we will get this sorted for Sherlock. If you ever need a hand with anything, just give me a ring, yeah?" He reassured, John nodded, smiling back, then gently woke the sleeping detective to let him know they're home. John couldn't help but smile as those magnificent eyes opened and focused on him, then moved away and Sherlock groaned weakly, seeing the black car parked outside. Already knowing who owned it made the situation even worse. Greg seemed to have noticed the reaction as he offered to come inside as well, John agreed,  ever thankful for the man he could call a friend. 

Sherlock took in a small, shaky breath, causing his brother's head to turn and face him. The consulting detective felt oddly uncomfortable, he just wanted to- no. Needed to be close to someone. He could already feel himself losing control of himself, slipping back into the fragile mess he was after the break-in. Suddenly he was torn from his thoughts, causing him to slip further even quicker when Mycroft spoke.

"So how was the interrogation? Brother mine." The interrogation? What- Sherlock's mind had already blocked it, locked it away with the rest of his memories, but seven simple words broke down the barriers, even after being fortified with the help of John. He felt his head heat up and closed his eyes, the warmth and pain, fear and shame escaped through his eyes in the form of tears. He then looked up, seeing all eyes on him. But he didn't care, he just reached his hands out toward his older brother, tears blurring his vision, not letting him see the confused expression which flashed across his baby brothers face.

"Myc!" Sherlock sobbed, the last threads of rationality slipping away as the memories swarmed him, memories of earlier that day and of the incident. They weighed against him, tipping the scales against his sanity. He was then overcome by a child-like need to have the reassurance of his older brother, who he looked up to like a god when he was younger. The older Holmes immediately got up and went to hug the man he still saw as a little, curious child who he'd protect with every part of his being.

John watched the scene unfold, too worried to be hurt at the fact Sherlock called for someone other than him. He was mostly shocked at the fact the older Holmes actually came over and held his little brother. He heard soft whispers from Mycroft, too quiet to know exactly what was said, yet John could tell they were reassuring words. He also watches as Sherlock sobbed into his brother's shoulder, clinging to him like a lifeline, letting it all out. He knew to stay back and not ruin the moment, so he silently stood and went into the kitchen, gesturing Lestrade to come with. They both waited until they heard both the Holmes brothers make their way to Sherlock's room. They then continued to wait for a little while, the only thing shared between the DI and the Doctor were worried glances. When soon, q single set of footsteps returned from the bedroom, bot Greg and John walked back in to see Mycroft sitting back down.

"Now Sherlock's in bed. We can get to the reason I'm here. It would benefit you both to sit down." Mycroft spoke, his uncaring, vacant tone a complete contrast to  the grim expression he wore.

Oh boy. John thought.

Chapter Text

Greg and John both sat on the sofa, staring at Mycroft. Waiting impatiently.

"Now, as I believe, one of your officers gave Sherlock's attacker the upper hand. Am I correct Detective Inspector?" Mycroft asked, already knowing the answer. The fact that Greg just nodded caused the older Holmes to smirk. "Whilst you were on your way over here I had men apprehend those in your custody as well as the officer and they are being sent to a secure location as we speak." He finished, John stared at him. He couldn't begin to express how thankful he was, but just as he was about to speak, Greg cut in.

"Wha- How?" Good point. John thought, he then watched his lover's brother stare directly at Lestrade.

"Because no matter how good you think your department is, detective inspector, you did not catch the entire team. You see, when some common idiot decides to mess with Sherlock, they cause issues with me, and in turn. The British government. I had men sweeping the city since I found out what was going on, found one of the intruders and interrogated him myself to get the information I needed. Unfortunately, the man knew little to nothing on the whereabouts of his 'colleagues' so I chose to let Scotland Yard do its job. However, the man I captured had been hiding away with all the evidence. All the videos..." Mycroft trailed off, his smirk now gone and replaced with closed eyes and head pointed down, as if to try and repress a memory. "I looked through the tapes, many of the victims were female, only a few male. I watched to try and identify the other men, track them down. But stopped when I reached my brother's video." John had to be a fool not the notice the way Mycroft's voice cracked at the final word. He felt his stomach boiling in anger.

"Which is why I'm here. My method seem to do little to get what I want, so I'm requesting the two of you to... assist me. John? As you quite proudly claim, you were a captain in the military. So I would like you to assist in the interrogation of the men. Let me know whatever you need, I'll have my men get it for you. Oh, and, don't worry about holding back." Mycroft reassured, then his attention was back onto Lestrade. "I need you there, Detective, to take statements from them during John's interrogation. If you want to 'help out' a little, well, It must have been whilst I coincidentally turned away." He explained. His demeanour changed from the newfound pride, to one of regret. 

"However, I regret to inform you both that Sherlock will have to come as well." He spoke gently, taking in the detective's expression of shock and the doctor's expression of anger, he then continued before either could speak. "Trust me when I tell you that I wouldn't have said so, unless it was absolutely necessary to his recovery. You see, my brother, he has the idea that he can only trust a few people, yet will not tell them anything. Which is why in times like these, the effects are much more... dramatic, shall we say. Yet as stubborn as he is, he will still try to fight most of it on his own. Accepting little help unless he has no other choice. So what I'm hoping the outcome will be when he comes along, is that he will see that you both care, that you both a willing to help him and therefore give him the security he desperately needs in order to recover. Both mentally, and physically." Holmes explained. Yet John stared at him, fingers curling into fists, yet he understood his reasoning. Then something stuck out, something Mycroft said which had unsettled him.

and physically. What did he mean by that?

"Mycroft, what do you mean by physically? He's perfectly fine. I've been making sure of that." He defended.

"As much as I admire your courage, patience and strength to put up with my brother Doctor Watson. I do not, however, admire your intelligence nor your capability to observe. During that little 'incident' earlier on today, it seems Sherlock did not get away unscathed. The man you so violently took down had managed to catch Sherlock with his knife beforehand." John saw red.

"AND YOU DIDN'T THINK TO TELL ME BEFOREHAND?!?!" He roared, then shot up, darting to his room, grabbing his med-kit then charging down the stairs into his lover's room, seeing Sherlock lying in his bed with, what was clean, pyjamas on. A patch of blood soaking the left side, a little blood still seeping through. Sherlock face was pale and clammy, hair a mess and lips losing their colour. He rushed forward and turned the younger man onto his back, ignoring the weak attempts to get him away as he tore open his kit and yanked out the equipment he needed.

Lifting up the shirt carefully, he saw that the wounds was in fact a stab, yet it wasn't deep enough to be fatal, would need a couple stitches though. He thought. Then set to work.

___________________

Half an hour later, John walked out of the room. He'd finished his task of mending Sherlock 15 minutes ago, the other 15 consisted of him sitting by Sherlock's side, running his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead softly. 

Mycroft stood and looked at John.

"My sincere apologies John. I didn't tell you knowing the fact you would've went to him and not listened to what I had to say. However important it may have been, it was selfish nonetheless. I'll see myself out." He said, then gave a final nod, then walked out the door. Greg having said nothing just followed behind. Leaving John to clean up his equipment, wash his hands and head downstairs to get a peak at Rosie who had been staying with Mrs. Hudson before he went to bed. 

He knew he had to go, he knew he wouldn't be able to rest, knowing he had the opportunity to hurt those that harmed Sherlock if he passed it up. He wasn't so sure about Sherlock going himself though.

I'll sleep on it. John thought to himself as he returned upstairs, brain on autopilot and aiming for Sherlock's room, lying in bed beside the now treated and clean detective. The doctor sighing softly as he felt a warm body press up against his own, arm wrapping over his middle, legs entangled into his, head on his shoulder, face in his neck. He knew he'd do absolutely anything for this man. And with that, he fell asleep with his decision subconsciously made.

Chapter Text

John woke up to an empty space beside him on the bed. His hazed panic was however extinguished when he heard the shower going. So with a huff, he heaved himself out from under the comfort of the pillow and blankets, he went to join Sherlock in the shower, of course yawning loudly to let him know he was there, as to not frighten him. Yet, as he opened to door and saw the detective under the stream of steaming water, he noticed how his ribgcae, hip bones and shoulder seemed to to be more prominent. How his stomach had suck in slightly and how his arms and legs looked too thing to be able to carry him and not break. Sleep now gone, drowsiness a memory, his mindset switching to professional, to doctor, to caretaker, as he advanced toward his patient, ignoring the confused look sent his way, He then proceded to sit Sherlock down in the bath, and finished cleaning him up, washing that expensive shampoo out of his hair and literally lifting him out once finished.

"John, What are you-"

"Sherlock, don't." John cut him off, holding down his arms when he tried to push John away. The doctor was pissed, pissed at himself for not noticing sooner, for letting this get as bad as it has. Yet he let the anger get to his head, not realising what he was doing until he noticed Sherlock staring at him, eyes wide, fear masking betrayal and pain. It took the ex-soldier a second or two to realise the reason. Once he did he let go of Sherlock as though his skin had burnt him.
"Shit! Sherlock, no, I-I didn't- Fuck!" Sherlcok hadn't moved, just kept staring, frozen by fear. "Sherlock, I'm sorry, so... so sorry. I- Looki, I noticed how much weight you'd lost, and I was angry at myself for letting it get this way, for not seeing it sooner. And I got lost in my head, but I would never do anything like what they did Sherlock." He reasoned, hoping to get across to the man before him.

Sherlock's eyes focused on him again, then he gulped and nodded, a light tremble going through his body.
"J-john...?" He asked, trying to change the subject, hoping that to get John's mind off of it, his own too. He noticed how his blogger had hummed and looked up at him. "Bedroom?" He asked, his voice still quiet and slightly shaky, his fear threatening to consume him, yet he still fought to keep control. Resisting the flinch when he felt John's arms round him, lifting him up bridal style and taking him to the bedroom, setting him on the mattress before heading off to get him some fresh clothes.

_______________________

Sherlock sat in his chair, his mind empty, John was sittung in front of him looking troubled, a slight tilt of the head had drawn a chuckle from his doctor.

"Go on, what do you deduce this time." He asked, Sherlock's eyes went wide for a second at the fact he'd been spotted. But then he started thinking about the possible reasons, yet no matter how hard he tried to think, only one thing came to mind.

"You're trying to break the news to me that you want to leave." He replied, then watched as John's expression fell from humorous to shocked. "You were stresses with trying to deal with..." How could he put it into words? "Me... even before what happened I was a bit much, but now I'm too much. Our night together was solely a way to comfort on your end and when Mycroft came round the other day, he obviously gave you news that was even more straining, yet when you saw me this morning, in the shower. That was the last straw, so the best option for you is to leave, yet you hesitate for the reason of my well-being. I can assure you John, I'll be... I'll be fine..." He spoke, tears welling in his eyes as he spoke, he fought off the lump in his throat, ignoring the wavering in his voice and resisted the trembling of his bottom lip, in that moment he decided to look away from John and cleared his throat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I could do with a nap." He knew it was ridiculous, not that long ago he'd gotten up out of bed, he just needed a reason to leave the room. So as he got up from his chair, keeping his head down as he strode toward the closed door that separated him from his sanctuary of pillows and blankets. A hand grabbed his arm, making him freeze. Shit... He thought.

"Now Sherlock,I'm not going to lie, you are a lot to handle, but that's why I love you. I've never met anyone like you, I've never admired someone like I do you, I've never loved someone like I do you, that night we spent was not just a way to comfort you, it was because I love you. And what Mycroft told me and Greg, yes it did add to the strain, because even though I get to beat the living shoot out of those who did this to you, you have to be present at the time. And yes, seeing you this morning shocked me, but I would never leave you. Not before, not now, not ever. Unless you want me to leave of course. Other than that? I'm staying put." John spoke, slowly moving his hands around Sherlock's waist, cuddling him from behind. Kissing his left shoulder blade before resting his forehead there. "Please believe me love. I would never leave you, you may think I'm strong and brave, but that's only because I have you. I'm strong for you to keep you safe, I'm brave for you when you get concerned. Without you? I'm weak, I'm terrified, I'm truly alone. Because no matter how hard it is to believe, John Watson doesn't exist without his Sherlock. And I quite like my life, so don't push me away, don't hide, and for God's sake don't ever doubt my love for you again." He reassured, feeling warm, slender hands rest on his arms, he felt the body within his arms tremble, heard the quiet sobs and pulled away to turn him round. Looking into those beautiful eyes, he saw true, pure love. A foreign yet welcomed look in the eyes which had revealed so many truths.

"I'm sorry John. I'm sorry I doubted you. It was wrong for me to assume you were like everyone else in the past. Don't get me wrong, I've never had a relationship like ours, but I was close to people. They all left eventually though." Sherlock explained, after calming himself down. He then held John's face in his hands, then lowered his own head slightly to rest their foreheads together. Silence filled the room as the two shared a moment, a moment filled with love and compassion, a silent confirmation that Sherlock will stop hiding, and a whispered promise that John will hold him together the entire time. But soon Sherlock broke away. "Now, what was this about you getting to beat up the bastards that did this to me?" He asked with a smirk.

"Uh, yeah... mycroft caught them... all. He wants Lestrade there for their confession, me for interrogation, you to witness... I didn't know whether to or not, not knowing whether you'd feel comfortable seeing them all again." John explained honestly. His concern turned to worry however when Sherlock smirked.

"Well, you're right that I'd be uncomfortable. But that'd be if I was left alone with them. If you're there I'll be alright. And you interrogating them? My my Captain Watson it seems you have yourself an audience." The detective purred, cheeks tinting pink as a blush washed over his features. John couldn't help but chuckle.

"You said it yourself, they all love a soldier." He purred back. Only for Sherlock to laugh.

"Don't be silly John, it's a sailor. But you're an exception I suppose." He mocked. Making both men laugh heartedly.

___________________

Sherlock and John sat in the back of the famous black car Mycroft loves to send for them. Hand in hand, fingers intertwined, shoulders together they anxiously awaited the arrival to their destination. On the way, another car had pulled up behind, following them. The car an exact copy of the vehicle they say in now, leaving John to believe Mycroft had picked Lestrade up as well.

After a while, he glanced at Sherlock himself, who was looking out the window, watching buildings go by a gentle squeeze of his pale hand caught his attention as those aqua coloured wonders were aimed at him. The doctor gave a reassuring smile, understanding that Sherlock was feeling tense, he could tell by the way he bounced his knee slightly, so he wanted to let his non-sociopathic lover know that he was with him all the way, so he had nothing to fear.

"You ready?" He asked, a feeling that they were coming close to their destination being too strong to ignore. Sherlock just remained silent. Saying he'd be fine with John there was true, but... now it was actually happening? He didn't know whether or not he could trust his earlier judgement. John saw this mental debate and decided to act on it. "Could be dangerous." He teased, using the same words Sherlock used on him to lure him into this world of adrenaline, criminals and danger. Of love, loss and new beginnings. Into a world with Sherlock Holmes via a simple message.

"Right with you." The detective confirmed, grinning with pure passion and love, grateful when he picked up on John's antics, making sure himself to hint at how he remembered John coming right back to Baker Street after his message. And so, now the cars have stopped, the both got out the vehicle, having to unclasp eachothers hands(much to Sherlock's dissatisfaction), before quickly linking them together again outside, where they met there dearest friend Greg Lestrade before looking at the tall, abandoned factory Mycroft had taken them to. A deep breath left all three men before they made their way to the entrance, made their way to Sherlock's freedom.

Chapter Text

The doors opened, revealing the one and only Mycroft Holmes. And quite recently, Sherlock had realised he'd found his older brother's presence calming and slightly safer. Bringing him back to fonder memories. Of stormy nights and how he curled his little scared frame into a ball under the covers, hoping that the monster who howled and growled, causing the clouds to flash with white would go away after not being able to find him in his hiding spot, yet it never did, and warm tears flowed from his eyes as easily as the sobs from his mouth, but no matter the time. 'Myc' would always walk into his younger brothers room, crawl onto the large bed and pull his baby brother from his hiding spot, holding him close and sheilding him from the window with a promise of safety and peace when he woke up in the morning. And Sherlock's mind would always calm knowing that his older brother was there to help him, and as if some untold spell his brother cast had worked, the storm would pass by morning. 

John looked at the two brothers, smiling slightly when he saw his lover visibly relax at the sight of someone he'd trusted his life with (even if he never admitted to it). Yet when the older Holmes looked in his direction, the soldier squared his shoulders and stood straight, wiping the smile from his face and clearing his throat.

"Doctor, I trust that you are ready?" Mycroft asked, his tone the same as it always had been, except there wasn't the sharp edge to it this time, instead it was rather casual, or hopeful?

" 'course. Lead the way and hopefully this will be done by dinner." He joked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. He knew his attempt succeeded when he saw the corner of those cupid bowed lips curl up at the corners.

"Very well, follow me and I'll show you the room." Mycroft dismissed, then began walked off, his umbrella hanging over his forearm as always. John watched as Sherlock followed then turned to Greg who watched the two ahead of them. 

"You alright mate?" The question seem to knock the Detective Inspector out of whatever trance he was locked in, as his eyes locked onto John's.

"Wha-? Uh- Yeah, nah I'm fine. Just- I'm worried about Sherlock seeing those guys again. You know? Like what if he sees them through the glass and it all comes back to him?" Greg admitted, John nodded, he knew how he saw Sherlock as a son, picking him up out of a drugs den and giving him cases to keep him clean, sometimes John would wonder why he hasn't just adopted him at this point. But as he looked up at his friend, he placed a hand on his shoulder and shook it gently.

"I spoke to Sherlock beforehand, he said that as long as we're there, he'd be fine. But if anything does happen, I know, for a fact, that Sherlock trusts us, so no matter how bad it gets, for him, all he'll have to do is let Mycroft know then he'll call us out, ok? Or you can stay with him and make sure he's fine whilst I do the dirty work." He joked at the end, noticing the Inspector's slight chuckle was enough of a reward to him.

"Yeah, alright, I'm sure they'll have speakers for me to hear the confession anyway. Cheers, John." And with that, the two men followed after the Holmes brothers down a corridor, ending with a single room. It was there that Mycroft had stopped, back facing a large window behind him, which viewed the room behind the door. John watched as Sherlock purposely avoided looking through the window, and suddenly, the doctor in John had went quiet, his calm, caring nature forgotten as the soldier took over. Seeing his partner acting so out of character, seeing him look to the ground out of fear. It churned John's stomach, a man so brilliant and loving shouldn't have to cower down to a group of men so pathetic that the only way to get attention was to hurt others. In that moment John knew it would end with people coming to drag him off of this guys body. Yet none of these thoughts had shown on his expression, after so many years with the worlds only consulting detective, you pick up a few things, for instance. John had learnt how to keep a straight face whilst his mind was going haywire, obviously his skills were not as good as the detectives himself but, it was a start. 

Speaking of the detective, John walked over to him, noticing how his chest moved up and down with each breath, slightly quicker than usual. He then reached out slowly, hooking his finger round Sherlock's, pulling Sherlock's hand into his own, causing the younger man to look up at him. Those magnificent eyes, usualy so full of curiosity and intelligence now stared at him with doubt and pure, unfiltered fear. And it was wrong. On so many levels. But ignoring his thoughts, John smiled gently at him, giving a soft squueze on Sherlock's hand.

"It'll be alright Sherlock. After today you'll never have to worry about any of this again." He whispered to him, not caring if anybody heard him.

"B-but... I'm not brave... Not like you." Sherlock whimpered, and John;s heart sank at the sight of tears welling in Sherlock's eyes. "I-I think we made a mis-...mistake John... Can we go home?" John found it a battle of a lifetime to find the courage to deny his lover. Yet knew this final push was needed to help him.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. we have to stay and finish this. Here and now, then we can go on living our lives. We can go home, get Rosie from Mrs. Hudson, then clean her mouth out from all the sugar Mrs. Hudson has spoiled her with," A smile caught John's lips at Sherlock's teary chuckle. "Then we can all sit in the living room, curled up on the sofa, watching crap telly and you can deduce who is who's father on Jeremy Kyle. Yeah?" He promised, closing his eyes when Sherlock done the same and leaned forward, resting his forehead aginst John's. "And don't worry about being brave... I've got some bravery to spare... here." He whispered, then kissed Sherlock slowly, feeling that beloved spark of warmth and passion build as their lips connected. Mentally smiling when he felt Sherlock hold onto him and kiss back eagerly.

A minute later they pulled away from eachother, looking into eachother's eyes, Sherlock's smile returned.

"Thank you John." He said quietly, then sniffled and stood to his full height, letting go of his soldier, as said soldier moved toward the door. John then stopped as his hand wrapped around the door handle, he glanced back at his lover, the wants-to-be-intimidating brother and the Detective Inspector.

"Wish me luck. Greg, remember to keep a listen out for the confession ok?" He asked, then watched to nod of confirmation before heading in, eyes instantly locking onto the bastard that sat there.

"Oh..." The fat fuck laughed. "This'll be fun! What are you gonna do mate? Are you the bad cop?" He asked, his mocking tone only fueling John's rage. And without a word John just walked over, rasied his fist and slammed it down onto the mans cuffed hand, cracking a couple delicate bones. The man cried out and John proceded to wrap his free hand around the mans throat, squeezing as hard as his could, watching with a sick kind of satisfaction as the mans face turned red, his veins began to bulge and his eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of his head.

A minute later and John let go, standing back as the man gapsed and choked on air.

"W-what the *cough* ff-fuck!?" He cried.

"No!" John spoke calmly, standing with his feet shoulder width apart, and arms crossed over his chest, and that dealy smirk on his face. "I'm asking the questions here. You answer truthfully? Well, I'll make sure it doesn't hurt as much. However, if you lie to me, and trust me... I'll know. You'll be begging for death, a bit like how your victims begged when you raped them." John explained.

"You sick fuck! You're gonna get revenge huh? Rape me too so I know what it feels like?" The guy screamed. John just stood and watched before chuckling.

"Oh GOD no... Three reasons why. One, I may be mentally ill, but not that kind of ill. Two, you're just fucking wayyyy below my standards, and Three?" John got close enough to whisper in the mans ear. "Because what I'm going to do is leave more than mental scars, you're going to wake up every moment for the rest of your miserable life in pain and agony after i dame every nerve in your body for the rest of your sorry life. I'm going to tare your nails from your body as well as rip out those teeth you've used to mark so many fucking people. I'm then going to strap you to that table over there and keep you awake to watch as I cut into your body and ruin your ligaments, muscles and bones with my bare fucking hands, because a creaure like you doesn't deserve mercy, after all, I found it rather fitting as you didn't give your victims mercy. The pain of it all with ruin your mind, ruining every thought and meory you ever had and after I'm done? All you'll ever know is pain, you'll never remember your name, your age or your last fuck. Understood?" John finished, stepping away and watching as the man had shut his mouth, face now pale and head now moving into a nodding motion. "Good. Now I want you to give me the full story of all your victims." John said, not really listening as the man immediately began speaking, instead he looked toward the table which held a bunch of tools Mycroft had rather generously provided him with before looking up at the window, staring at his reflection, knowing Greg was taking down the confession, knowing Sherlock was exactly behind his reflection, staring, acting brave. He then turned backk to the tools and was picking which one to use when something said had caught his attention.

"Then the most recent one I'd enjoyed the most, god his cries were pornagraphic. He was magnificent, his hair, body, mouth. It was like a fucking model! He was amazing, and when i saw him again at the police station! I would have had him again right there, infront of everyone. Shown them how perfect he was, but his fucking blogger got in the way!" He spat. Good, John thought, guess he can't recognise me in the dim light. 

"And uh, what was this guy's name? The victim I mean." He asked and he picked up a blacksmiths hammer off of the table and turned round to face the man.

"Oh, how could I forget! Sherlock Holmes!" He chuckled, seeming as if he'd completely forgetting the situation he was in.

"Oh! You know what?" He asked, peeking his prisoners interest. "I haven't introduced myself, might as well as it's not like you're gonna tell anybody is it?" He asked sarcastically, ignoring the mans confused expression. "I'm John Watson, you may know me actually, as the 'fucking blogger' that got in the way." He said, listening to the quiet whisper of 'oh shit'. Then swung his arm round and landed the hammer right onto the guys other hand. Ignoring his screams. "Now, what people seem to forget, quite easily too, is that I'm not just a doctor. I'm a fucking soldier of the royal fucking crown!" He yelled as he kept abusing the hand with the hammer. Soon after he'd finished, out of breath. "But, I suppose it also is quite ironic actually, because, speaking of Sherlock. The first day I met him, I was told to run, because one day, he'd be the cause for a murder. Yet that very night, I was the reason there was a body on the ground. Because, just like you, they wanted to hurt him. Only, you think you're lucky enough to have gotten away with it." John said, then let out a laugh. "But you haven't in the end have ya?" He asked, then swung the hammer down onto a kneecap, listening to it shatter with a sick grin on his face.

The scream that tore through the room had churned the stomachs of those outside but John remained hateful. 

Greg watched from the behind the glass as John carried on shattering bone after bone, he then glanced at Sherlock and froze when he saw his expression. Never had he seen Sherlock with such a dark look on his face, he unintentionally gulped silently, watching as the younger Holmes' mouth flinched into a small subtle grin as the man screamed again. Greg then glanced at Mycroft and saw how he was watching his brother too. And just as they were about to ask if Sherlock was OK, he spoke first.

"Is it.. possible for me to go in?" He asked, looking st Mycroft, smirk and all had gone from his features, the older brother stared blankly before nodding and stepping out of the way, watching as Sherlock walked to the door and opened it, Greg turned and watched as John stopped, chest rising and falling from his efforts as he stared at the door. Brows knitting together as Sherlock emerged from behind. Tool being dropped onto the floor as the good doctor once returned and made his way over to Sherlock.

"What are you doing in here? I thought it'd be safer if you were outside." John explained. Sherlock just chuckled, heart filled with love, trust and lust. But he knew not to act on his emotions right now.

"John, how could I possibly be in danger? Have you seen what you've done to him?" He asked, John noticing a glint of something off, something dangerous in Sherlock's eyes, so he turned to face what was left of the man he'd beaten. How the blood pooled and the coppery scent churned his stomach, how bones seemed to glow in the light as they peaked out from mutilated flesh. He noticed how the body barely moved and how there were no signs of life at all. And yet, as John looked at the copy of the monstrosities he'd been haunted by from the war, he couldn't help but feel proud. "Now, my dear Watson. Why don't we find the others? And you can show them just how much they've messed up." Sherlock whispered into his ear. The doctor felt a chill go up his spine but didn't show it. Instead he looked down at his hands, which were getting sticky as the blood dried, and in doing so he caught sight of just how dark his blue shirt had gotten from blood. He then realised that what he done was wrong. That he went too far, but at the same time a quiet whisper passed through his mind. Telling him that the man infront of him deserved it, that they all do. For hurting Sherlock, leaving him scared, plaguing his mind with nightmares. And those thoughts took over, replacing the food doctor as he looked at Sherlock and smiled a little, grabbing his gloved hand and leading him out the door.

"Where are the others?" He asked Mycroft.

Chapter Text

"They're just down the hall." Mycroft responded almost immediately, watching as John gave a single nod before marching down the corridor with Sherlock close behind. "What have I done?" He questioned.

"You've given a soldier a new crown to defend. John was let out of the army before all of these changes Mycroft. He's still the old 'I'll defend the crown and my country with my life'... yeah ok, he was a doctor and saved lives. But let's face it. He's taken more. So if he's like that about someone he's never met because he's getting payed? Imagine what he's capable of when defending someone he truly loves and admires like Sherlock. Sees the kid like he's royalty." Greg sighed.  And Mycroft only regretted his decision more.

"Yes, and this will be a first for Sherlock, having someone like John defend him. I can only hope for the sake of the country that Sherlock doesn't get let that kind of power get to his head." Mycroft thought aloud. Earning Greg's attention.

"Do you really think so little of Sherlock?"

"Doesn't everyone think that way of their younger siblings?"

"No. At least my kids don't, anyways, Sherlock is the most kindest person I've met. Yeah, he may not show kindness like everyone else but it's there. He may not be all smiles and gifts, but he does care. A couple years ago he knew I was trying to patch things up with my wife and told me to change my shirt because it looked like I was having a midlife crisis. Don't get me wrong, it kinda hurt. But I changed it and he was right, Sherlock has the biggest heart. Did you know after solving every case he never took the credit? It was only after John blogged about it that his name became public. But even still, when he got clients he never took payment, just helped. Said the thrill was a new high but I know the kid just wants to help, to be important to someone. So if you really think he's going to let this power get to his head, then you're wrong Mycroft. If anything, Sherlock will try and get John to help others more." Greg spoke with a frown, and Mycroft only huffed and shook his head.

"God I hope you're right." Was all he said before he headed back where they came. Leaving Greg to chase after Sherlock and John... wherever they'd went.

___________

After following the echoes of men's cries and pleads, he finally showed up to where the two had run off, only to cover his mouth and gag as he watched John stand proudly over Sherlock as the detective bent over one of the remaining men, whispering to him and driving the knife deeper into what Greg can assume to be his lung. 

"What-.. what are you two doing?!" He asked, once the initial shock passed. Both men turned their attention onto the DI and Sherlock stood up, giving Greg a chance to see the full body of the man he'd just killed, he noticed how blood was pooling by the legs and saw the glint of a knife jn the same area and could only assume the worst.

"He got free, went to attack me again. John stopped him, showed him how very painful it was and let me give the final blow." Sherlock explained as if it was nothing, he even brushed off his hands as if it was a job well done all whilst John grabbed the ankles of the body and dragged it away somewhere, out of Greg's sight.

"Yeah, slippery bastard. We got him though. Where's Mycroft?" He asked after returning by Sherlock's side. Greg just stood there. Staring at them and praying Mycroft wasn't right and was hoping their story was true, no matter how disturbing.

"H-he left.." Was all he was able to manage, then Sherlock tilted his head.

"You scared..." He deduced. John tilted his head too trying to figure our why and Greg gave everything he had not to bolt. 

"Uh yeah, pretty hard not to be when I just witnessed that." He brushed off. Hoping they'd accept, which they must have as a single nod was given back and a wave goodbye as the two left.

"God I hope I'm right." He whispered, leaving shortly after.

_______________

Life at 221B has been a lot different since the incident. 

Yet after Sherlock had his revenge, he'd been thriving! Granted he still can't do certain things on account of panicking, but he's trying. Now though, he knows that John has his back, making him all the more confident. 

His relationship with Greg has somewhat become more of a father/son dynamic but honestly? Sherlock loves it, he feels more secure and safe than ever with the love of his life on one side and the man who guided him away from bad habits and into the line of detective work on the other. He knows he can be a bit much, with all the wariness in public around others or even when people circle around him, but that makes him ever more grateful that he has Greg and John. They even started going to the pub every weekend!

Mycroft had visited a view times to 'keep tabs' but Sherlock deduced it was because he was concerned. Which he appreciated, there has been a couple times where he has needed him, his pride will never allow him to admit it though.

And as Sherlock sat in his leather chair, starjng at the gold band on his finger, he never felt safer.