Note: Here, on Tumblr and on AO3, people have pointed a few things out to me so I guess now is as good a time as any for a disclaimer so: I have absolutely no idea how things like this are dealt with at hospitals and such; I only know what I learn through vague research and watching every season of SVU.

Also, reading through the last chapter, I noticed a few grammatical errors that I'll have to fix when I get the time. I tried really scanning this one through but I still could have missed some.


Chapter Summary: Mycroft makes a promise to himself and Sherlock gets a feel for just how much everything has changed in the last few hours.


Chapter Two: Silhouette


John refused to let anyone touch him. Every time someone did, he ended up jerking away forcefully, resulting in him causing himself more pain. Sherlock stayed away for the first few moments, as instructed, but when it became clear that John had no desire to let anyone near him, Sherlock asked the nurses to leave the room for a moment and, to his surprise, they agreed.

"John," Sherlock started, taking a seat awkwardly next to him, the paper covering the vinyl crinkling beneath him as he did so. He wasn't entirely sure what to say here. The examination needed to be done. The faster it got done and over with, the quicker they could get back home. But John wasn't thinking logically. All he was thinking about was how everyone's hands reminded him of only one person. All he was thinking about was earlier .

"I can't do this." John whispered brokenly, saving Sherlock from having to continue his thought. "I just wanna go home."

Sherlock took a deep breath; closed his eyes. "I know you do, John. I know. But we have to do this first. We have to get through this so we know just how much damage has been done so they can treat you properly." John nodded. Or course he knew that. It was protocol, whether he liked it or not and the doctor within him was trying to make him appreciate the fact that the people treating him knew what they were doing. He told that part to shut up, though because he didn't care about protocol and specifics. He just wanted to go home.

"I know you're scared." Sherlock pointed out as John rested his head against his shoulder. "But it's all going to be okay. They're trained professionals; they know what they're doing. I'll be right here with you and it will be over before you know it." John tensed and Sherlock thought for a second. Maybe that was it. Maybe John didn't want him in the room with him. Maybe John didn't want him to know the details, see the injuries... "Unless you don't want me to. I can stand right outside the do-"

"No!" John took Sherlock's hand in his and held onto it tightly. "Don't leave me alone, please" he sounded terrified; as though Sherlock had been talking about traveling half-way across the world and staying for months. Sherlock snaked an arm around John's shoulders carefully.

"It's okay." he soothed, his fingers twirling through the hair at his neck again. "I'm not going anywhere. It'll all be okay." John nodded against Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock could feel a few hot tears start to soak into his shirt.

Giving John a few more minutes to prepare for what was about to come, Sherlock sat in silence. John sat up, avoiding Sherlock's gaze, he let out a shaky breath and gave a slight, almost invisible nod. Sherlock reached over and pressed the call button on the wall. The three nurses returned thirty seconds later. They asked John simple questions and walked him through the process of what they would be doing.

"We're going to tell you before we do anything, okay? As long as you cooperate, it'll be done almost as soon as it started." That was a lie. The would have to take their time carefully documenting every injury; every bruise and spot on John's body before they were finally finished and Sherlock knew that no matter how long it took them to do it, the process would feel even longer to John. It was the mousy nurse who had said this and Sherlock immediately didn't like her. She was young. Far too young for this field of work. He would have questioned her qualifications, but this was about John. John needed his attention.

He could tell John was fighting sleep pretty hard. It had been a long night, no doubt and the fact that he most likely had a concussion definitely wasn't helping that. He could also tell that the only thing keeping John from closing his eyes was the monster etched into the back of them.

John had undressed earlier, the nurses wanting to get him out of his cold, contaminated clothes as soon as possible and he was now in a hospital gown that was a bit too big on him and made Sherlock internally cringe. It wasn't a good look on John. But then, he supposed, it probably wasn't a good look on anyone.

They asked John to lay back, and he complied without a word, though Sherlock saw his eyes scream in pain as his body weight was put on his bruised, battered back. He was still clutching Sherlock's hand but Sherlock barely noticed it anymore. He stood by John's head and held his hand, looking into John's eyes because he didn't know where else to look. John stared back, looking without really seeing. The process was long, despite the nurse's earlier statement. John was completely silent through it all, though more often than not, Sherlock saw him gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw to keep from crying out. There were a few times when John closed his eyes, his body stiffening and hand tightening around Sherlock's.

Sherlock had no idea what he was supposed to do, but he went with doing what seemed the most logical. He bent his head, keeping it so close to John that their breath mixed when they exhaled. He spoke words of comfort into his ear softly. He suspected John wasn't really paying attention to them, but spoke anyway. Just in case. He supposed he should be paying attention to the comments the nurses were making, and on any other day, in any other case, he would have.

But this wasn't any other case with some stranger he would forget about a week later. This was John. And John needed him.

Then they were done with the major cataloging and needed to move on to John's back. Sherlock asked if it was really necessary and when the other nurse -a short haired, stout blonde- replied that it was he just told them to hurry up. It was almost five and he could tell John wanted to leave. Thinking about it now, John probably never wanted to come in the first place. Trying hard to be as patient as possible, he helped John sit up and then moved to stand in front of him, giving the nurses room to work. They stood behind John and carefully untied the first few ties of the hospital gown that was keeping them from seeing the injuries. Sherlock kept his eyes on John, not ready to see how bad they were. John tried to smile slightly as though trying to be amused, but it came out as more of a grimace that twisted in pain almost immediately when one of the nurses touched his left shoulder a bit too forcefully. He heard her mutter something that sounded too much like "dislocated shoulder" before moving on. They took pictures and Sherlock could hear the scraping of pencil against paper as they furiously took notes.

He knew a job like this had to be done carefully and thoroughly, but Sherlock just wished they would hurry up. By now, John looked as though he wasn't even aware of what was going on. His eyes were glazed over in a way that looked as though he'd zoned out; staring but unfocused. And then they were finally, finally done. They could go home now. Sherlock could get John home and in bed and then he could hunt down Lestrade and demand that John's attacker be murdered in the most cruel way possible.

Sherlock stepped out of the room first, closing the door lightly behind him. The nurses had some clothes that John could change into after he finished his shower. Now that that had done all the cataloging they needed to, John could finally wash every trace of the bastard off his skin. When the got home, he would change from the borrowed clothes into something more comfortable and familiar and then sleep.

He leaned against the doorframe, waiting. He figured now was as good a time as ever to try and contact Lestrade. Now that they would be leaving soon, Sherlock could devote some of his time to finding the bastard that put them here. He decided to call first, though he suspected the Inspector wouldn't answer so earlier in the morning. When his suspicions proved correct, he shot the man a quick text, hoping he would see how urgent it was.

A few more moments passed before Mycroft starting approaching him slowly. Hanging up his phone, he looked to Sherlock, expecting an update. "Well?" he asked, his eyebrows rising slightly.

Sherlock didn't look at his brother but found his mouth moving on its own, his brain apparently having absorbed the information without him paying attention. "He's not... critical. They're letting him go -not that I'd let them keep him here anyway. Bruises. Cuts. Scrapes. His head wound was deep enough to need a few stitches and give him a slight concussion. Wrists are bandaged up from the severity of the rope burns. Dislocated shoulder. His psyche has no doubt been wrecked as well."

Having seen something... uncharacteristic flash across Sherlock's face, Mycroft shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Sherlock-"

Sherlock's eyes darted to Mycroft's and stayed there, fixing him with a steely kind of glare that, for once, shut him up. He was silent for a moment, making sure to choose his words wisely before speaking again. "He's going to need help, Sherlock."

"He's got me." Sherlock snapped viciously, looking away again.

"You know what I mean. These things have the potential to be very traumatic. Hes going to need to talk to someone. A professional."

"We are not having this conversation right now. Mycroft, its been hours since it hapened, the last thing he is going to want to do is talk about it. Now, hes going to go home with me and sleep. Lord knows he needs it."

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest but at that moment the door behind them opened and John stepped out with the three nurses behind him. Sherlock immediately went to John, offering his arm as support. Seeing, or perhaps sensing, that they wouldn't get Sherlock's attention, the nurse turned to Mycroft to update him on things like medication before handing him some pamphlets that no doubt contained information on how to deal with a victim of tonights events and referred them to the "best of the best" for therapeutic help.

Sherlock led John out to the car as the exchange took place, knowing they weren't going to call anyone on that long list of names. He got John inside the car and closed the door, turning to see his brother behind him. "We'll talk later." Mycroft stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. Sherlock nodded and thought for a second, testing his next words out in his head first.

"Thank you." he said quietly, his voice sincere in every sense of the word. The mannerism sounded weird and misplaced coming from his brother's normally harsh tongue which is how Mycroft knew just how much Sherlock meant it. He's thanking me for showing up, Mycroft clarified to himself still struck by the words. For making him see sense.

Mycroft nodded, for once at a loss for words. "Take care of him." He stated, clearing his throat. The statement jerked him back to a while ago when he had told John the same thing. My, how the tables have turned.

"You know I will." Sherlock walked behind the car and opened the door, sliding gracefully inside before closing the door. Mycroft couldn't see anything within it, the black tinted windows blinding him from doing so. He watched it roll away before heading toward his own car, needing to finish necessary paperwork and contact people who could help.

He didn't doubt for one second that his brother would take care of John, but this was now a case and whether Sherlock liked it or not, Mycroft was getting involved.


When they had returned to the flat, Sherlock could tell all John was conflicted about going to sleep. On one hand, he was more than exhausted and hoped sleep would be a good method of escaping for a little while. On the other, though, he was afraid all he would see when he closed his eyes was a replay of the night's events. Events he didn't want to repeat. Sherlock was able to convince him to at least lay down, "Whether or not you actually sleep, you should at least lay down." He helped John change into his own clothes and into the bed before stating he'd be back in a few minutes. He headed to the kitchen to make a quick pot of tea, uneasy at leaving John alone even just for five minutes.

He returned to his room, where he'd put John so that he wouldn't have to climb another flight of stairs, and set John's tea on the bedside table before taking a seat in a chair next to the bed. They sat, silent, as John stared blankly out the window and Sherlock sipped lightly at his tea, more for something to do than to cure a thirst that wasn't there.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He could tell John wouldn't want to talk about what happened, but should he ask anyway just in case? Should he leave John alone to his thoughts? No. He wasn't going to do that unless John physically asked him to. He watched John for a few more moments before picking up a book he'd started readin a few days earlier. He figured he would read for a bit, try to kill some time. He glanced up at John every few paragraph's only to see that the doctor hadn't moved an inch.

"You should try to sleep." Sherlock said softly. He watched as John's stayed silent before registering that Sherlock had spoken. His eyes moved from the window and scanned Sherlock slowly before falling on his own clear eyes. He stared at him for a few moments, his blinks seeming to last longer than they normally would. Sherlock watched as John brought his bottom lip in between his teeth, chewing it nervously. Sherlock felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and immediately thought it would be Lestrade. He stood, "I'll leave you alone for a bit, okay?" I'll be right in the living room- call if you need anything."

John nodded and let his eyes wander back to the window, still silent.

Sherlock watched him for a few seconds before exiting the room. Closing the door softly behind him, he pulled out his phone and answered it. "What," Lestrade started before he could speak "on earth is so important that you need to call me at five in the morning, Sherlock? And then blow up my phone with texts every ten minutes afterward? You just had a case yesterday can you really not wait-"

"John's been attacked." his low voice was somehow heard by Lestrade even though the man had been near to yelling. He stopped abruptly.

"What?"

"Last night. He went out after we'd had a fight. Had some drinks. Left with someone and then... I don't know. he called me, I found him and we took him to the hospital. We just got back about an hour ago."

"How is he?"

"Physically? I guess it could be a lot worse. Mentally? I don't know. He's not talking to anyone but after the exam he had to go through it's highly understandable." Sherlock's voice was soft so that John wouldn't hear him and also because speaking the words again made him tired.

"When you say attacked, Sherlock, do you mean...?"

"Raped." the word tasted like poison on his tongue. It sounded displaced and lost coming from his voice and speaking the actual word for the first time that night made the reality of everything crash down on him at once. His throat suddenly felt tight and heavy. Fire prickled behind his eyes, threatening tears. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, counted to ten, trying to stay calm.

He heard the detective's sharp intake of breath on the other line. "Jesus, Sherlock. Who-?"

"I haven't asked and he hasn't said. I don't think he knows, or maybe he blocked it out. He seems to be in a sort of shock right now but that's why I called you. I need to find this bastard, Lestrade but I can't devote my full attention to a case and take care of John, too. I need your help." he supposed on a normal day he would feel embarrassed or ashamed to be asking for help with anything. But this wasn't a normal circumstance and the facts stood before him. John needed his help and his attacker needed to be found. Sherlock couldn't do it all. For what seemed like the millionth time hat day, Sherlock was reminded of just how much everyone 's place had changed. He was the one ordering John to sleep and seeking help on a case. He didn't know how that made him feel, if he felt anything.

"I'll try and see what we can do, Sherlock. Text me the name of the bar he was at and we'll start there. I'll come by later this afternoon so we can talk in person."

"Okay." Sherlock stated, nodding to himself. "Okay, yeah... thanks." Wow. Two thank you's in one day without John having to make him say it. And it was sincere.

Yeah, the tables had definitely changed.


End Notes: Yes, I realize Sherlock is OOC here, but 1- the story is an AU of sorts and 2- these circumstances are pretty extreme and I'd like to think even he would change a bit during them.

Hopefully, the next chapter will be up soon. I like these once a week updates and hope I'll be able to stick with them. In the meantime, thoughts and love are definitely appreciated and it's not a lie when I say reviews make me happy.