Sherlock knew how to fight. He'd learned Judo. He knew how to handle himself while fighting assassins and professional killers. But these weren't professionals. They were from the streets, where there were no rules and ambushing was totally allowed, and encouraged. He'd just assumed that he'd be able to handle himself. Oh god he was wrong. He'd scream, but they'd gagged him. He'd fight or struggle more, but he'd already tried and there were six of them.
He screamed into the gag as the first man entered him. He'd known from the moment he rounded the corner what was going to happen, but he didn't know it would hurt so much. Sherlock couldn't stop the tears from flowing down from his eyes. Mind palace, mind palace, AAAGGGHHH! He screamed internally and externally. He felt as though he was being ripped in half starting at his asshole. Sherlock shook hard and settled heavily on whatever box they'd bent him over. He hid his face, trying to stop the screaming sobs.
Then, quite suddenly, the man was pulled away from him roughly. There was a sickening crunch followed by shouting and the hands leaving Sherlock's body. Sherlock had no strength to move himself or to turn his head. He lay there limply, sobbing uncontrollably. There were more crunches and thuds behind him, but he couldn't see what was happening. He sucked in several deep breaths, trying to calm his shaking body. It went quiet behind him and he tried to turn his head to look, but he felt fingertips flutter against his bare ass. He whimpered in a pathetically pleading manner.
He heard a voice, but his mind was too foggy to recognize the words or whose voice it was. He felt hands lifting at his feet and sliding something up his legs. He finally managed to turn his head back and see a blonde head behind him. The blonde was pulling his pants up around him, to cover him. The blonde was his savior. The blonde was always his savior. The blonde was his John.
John came around to look at Sherlock's face. He crouched down and brushed some of Sherlock's dark, sweaty curls out of his eyes. Sherlock hated and loved the look of sadness, pity and concern in John's eyes. He let out a choked sound, that was a sob trying to break free, but Sherlock not allowing it to. John pulled off the gag and caressed his face gently.
"Can you move, Sherlock?" he questioned gently.
"A minute," Sherlock whimpered out.
John nodded and continued running his fingertips along Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock gasped in a few breaths, trying to calm himself. It was several minutes filled with gasping and gagging sobs before Sherlock was finally able to speak and think halfway clearly.
"I thought I would be ok," Sherlock whispered.
"It's ok, Sherlock," John answered quietly, "I thought you would be ok too. You know that Judo or whatever it is. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you."
"You couldn't have known, John," Sherlock disagreed.
"Please, anyone who looks like you do," John rolled his eyes, "I should've known you would attract attention. Especially in a place like this. All these blokes haven't seen any fresh ass in who knows how long. Then you come prancing in with your high cheekbones, lovely curly hair, and nicely plump arse. It shouldn't have been a surprise. I should've looked out for you. That's my job."
Sherlock cleared his throat, pushing down the tears that threatened to well up.
"Damage?" he looked away from John as he said this.
"Nothing serious that I could see," John answered, "But you didn't like me touching you, so I didn't look too closely."
"Look," Sherlock commanded.
"Are you sure you want to do this now?" John questioned, gently.
"Look, John," Sherlock said in a firm voice.
John sighed and moved back around Sherlock. Sherlock shivered as John bared his ass and pressed his fingers against him. Sherlock forced himself to relax, so that John could look properly. John didn't stay back there long. He quickly checked and covered Sherlock once more. He came back around, resuming his crouched position.
"I think you have a tear, love," John said tenderly, "Not too serious. But you need a more thorough check."
"Why can't you do that now?" Sherlock demanded.
"First of all, it's unsanitary," John started, "Second, you're still seriously raw and an examination now would be incredibly painful. Third, you need a more qualified doctor to attend to you."
Sherlock pushed himself up from the stack of crates that he'd just now observed he was lying across. His arms wobbled beneath him.
"No!" Sherlock shouted, "Only you. I don't want anyone else."
John lifted up from his crouched position and reached a hand out to sooth Sherlock. He placed it on his shoulder and looked at the wobbly detective with a firm look.
"We're going to deal with this later," John stated, "After we get out of here. Today. We are not staying. Can you stand up?"
"Yes, but the case-," Sherlock started, but John cut him off.
"No!" he stated firmly, "If we stay, someone else will look at you. If you really only want me to do it, then we need to leave. Besides, I will not have you grabbed again!"
Sherlock debated for several moments and then let out a small sound between a growl and a whimper.
"Let's go home," he answered finally.
He shakily stood to his feet, wincing as the pain shot through him. John automatically put his arm around his waist to steady him. Sherlock leaned heavily against the shorter man.
"When did you last eat, Sherlock?" John questioned.
"I don't remember," Sherlock admitted.
"And when did you last sleep?" John probed.
"Two…maybe three days ago?" Sherlock answered weakly.
John sighed heavily.
"How much do you weigh?" John asked.
"What, why?" Sherlock said in bewilderment.
"Answer."
"Um." Sherlock looked sheepish, "155 pounds."
Suddenly, John bent at the knees and gripped Sherlock around the back of the knees. Then he lifted Sherlock in the air, which shocked Sherlock to no end.
"I've had backpacks bigger than you," John frowned at him, "We need to get you food and medical care right away. No wonder you couldn't fight them off, you silly man."
Sherlock wanted to protest, but John had already started forward with a determined look on his face. Sherlock decided that he probably knew best anyway, he was the doctor, after all. Sherlock felt his heart start beating hard against his chest. He frowned at himself for that. He chose to ignore the rising feeling of adoration and care that was directed towards John.
John headed straight for the warden, ignoring everyone who was wolf whistling at them. He looked straight ahead towards his goal. Towards saving Sherlock. Sherlock felt something lodge in his throat as he looked at John's face. He squeezed his eyes closed, determined to ignore the stupid feelings that were manifesting themselves. Not that it was the first time such feelings had come around, but now he was too tired to ignore the fact that he was blatantly in love with John Watson.