John, come home -SH

Why? I'm at surgery. I can just leave work to entertain you all the time, you know. -JW

No, I need you to come home. -SH

Need me? Why do you need me? What, did you blow up another cat or something in the microwave? -JW

No. -SH

Then what? -JW

I was attacked. -SH

Oh my God! By who? -JW

By one of the gang members of that drug ring I have been trying to hunt down. -SH

Are you okay?! -JW

To be honest, no. Not really. -SH

I'm getting into a cab now. I will be home soon. How badly are you hurt? -JW

I don't know, but it really hurts. I am also finding it difficult to stay awake. -SH

Jesus Christ! Okay, stay calm and I will be there in less than five minutes. Stay awake, okay? -JW

I'll try. -SH

Good. -JW

John arrived at the flat and sprinted up the stairs, almost breaking his neck on the way up. He flew the door open, finding the place completely torn apart. The couch and chairs were flipped over. The large mirror was smashed into hundreds of pieces. With a bit of closer observation, he could see there was blood on some pieces of glass. He prayed it wasn't Sherlock's. He also notes that the skull was smashed and there was even more blood on the carpet. He curses.

"Sherlock, where are you?" He yells and hears a low reply from the detective's bedroom. He runs in, feeling his knees go weak. Sherlock was on the ground bloody, bruised, broken, groaning, moaning, and nearly in tears. The ex-soldier goes over to his friend and Sherlock looks at him with frightened and tired eyes. "Hey, Sher, I'm here."

"John." He says weakly, grabbing the blond hair man's jumper with his pale and bloody hands.

"Yeah, I told you I was coming. Come on, let's get you on your bed so I can check your injuries." With much groaning and struggling, he gets the shivering man onto the bed. Sherlock curls himself into a ball and John runs a comforting hand through his tangled curls.

"I am going to get a first aid kit, then I'll be right back. Okay?" All his friend does is nod in reply. He goes then returns quickly. Sherlock was still in the same place and position as before, which doesn't really shock him. He looks over his friend's body, getting a basic idea of his injuries. Sherlock had been stabbed several times. Once in the leg, another in his thigh, and on his back.

His nose was broken and his cheek had a deep scar on it. The bruises were mostly around his spine and chest. No broken ribs, but he had a large scar on his right side. Most likely from a heavy boot. The tip of his ear had been burned with a lighter and it has already begun to blister. He had a deep cut on his right hand, which would definitely leave a scar. Possibly forever. No other bones seemed to be broken, which was a good sign.

John was still angry though. No, he was pissed. He could feel a fire burning inside him. One that was about to burst and burn down everything. How dare someone break into his flat? How dare someone destroy the place he lives? How dare someone come in and hurt this man? How dare someone come in and hurt this man? How dare someone humiliate him? How dare someone break him then leave without an ounce of remorse or pity?

John wanted to yell and kill these men right now, but he couldn't now. He had to tend to Sherlock and make sure he was okay. John begins to clean and bandage up the wounds, while whispering softly to his friend. Sherlock just lays there, silently crying. The doctor thinks about his anger to prevent himself from shedding tears also. Finally he covers up the wounds and decides to ask Sherlock questions.

"Who did this?"

"Gang members. I don't know their names. They were wearing masks and gloves."

"How many?"

"Seven, in total."

"How long did this-"

"Since you left this morning. They were waiting for me to be alone." Sherlock answers before John even has a chance to finish his sentence. He suddenly feels a wave of guilt.

"Is there anything else I need to know?' Sherlock gives a nervous glance. "Tell me." John says firmly.

"They uh, they….." Sherlock suddenly stops.

"They what?"

Sherlock hesitates and takes a few breathes. Then he quietly whispers the next sentence. It was so low that John almost missed it.

"One of them raped me." John feels his heart drop to his stomach. He can't hide the shock and just sits there, speechless. The older man swallows uncomfortably. He finally finds his voice.

"May I uh, may I see?" Sherlock looks up at him, his eyes raw with tears and fear. John feels his heart break even more. The detective nods and John begins his observation. There was pretty severe bruising down there, but no bleeding. This was a good sign. There wasn't much more to do, until they ran tests at the hospital. If they could get perhaps a seman sample, then it would make it easier to catch these men. But for now, Sherlock needed rest. John gets him some pajamas to slip into and he tucks the broken man in.

He gives Sherlock something in water to help him sleep. John didn't like the idea of slipping something into an already jumpy man, but it was the best for him. The taller man doses off after a few minutes and John goes to call Lestrade.

'Hi, John, what do you need?'

"Sherlock's been attacked." John spits out.

"Oh God, by who?"

"Members of this gang he's been hunting down. Listen, I need an ambulance and some police officers here. Sherlock is sleeping, but he's a bit drowsy because I gave him something. This ought to make things easier for you guys." Lestrade sighs.

"Okay, thank. We'll be there soon. Stay put and watch him, okay?"

Yeah." He hangs up. John goes to wake the detective up. Soon everyone arrives and he puts his face in his hands. God, this was all his fault.