A/N: It's been a while since I've posted, so sorry about that. All the reviews and encouragement is much appreciated. My friend and beta "Proud to be an X-nerd" has kindly stepped up to co-write this series with me. We worked hard to merge are writing styles together to make it flow naturally. We do hope you continue to enjoy it!

One Step Back, Two Steps Forward

He had stepped out for twenty minutes, just long enough to get a change of clothes and food that wasn't the inedible mush that the hospital tried to pass off as a nutritious meal. Both boys had been asleep at that, so, Greg found it incredibly difficult to understand how he could have left a tranquil room and food that wasn't the inedible mush that the hospital tried to pass off as a nutritious meal. Both boys had been asleep at that, so, Greg found it incredibly difficult to understand how he could have left a tranquil room and came back to chaos.

Sherlock was a feral creature, screaming and snarling in unadulterated fear and rage, while John, likewise in frenzy, fought tooth and nail to keep the nurses away from them both. An orderly was using his much larger frame to force John back, reaching for the youth to restrain him. The blood running down his arms, showed the trouble he got for his efforts.

Once space was cleared from the smaller boy's bed, Greg could see what had probably set things in motion. Sherlock was secured to his cot by both wrists, with soft material binds. His frantic tugs for freedom didn't hinder his fight, as flailing legs struck out to find flesh and bone. The doctor was sporting a nice shiner, more than likely from Sherlock's feisty foot.

Greg saw red as he watched the hectic struggle for peace and order. They had waited until he was absent to do as they were instructed not to, much like rebellious children, and now they couldn't handle the consequences. Their actions weren't just affecting them either. He stepped fully into view and the room quietened as he watched the hectic struggle for peace and order.

"What in the world is going on in here," he demanded, even though he already knew. The medical personnel had the decency to look abashed. He stalked over to Sherlock and began to undo the bonds that held him, ignoring the teeth that bared in warning. "If I recall correctly, you were told specifically not to restrain him." He undid the other arm and inspected the mild cloth burns. He turned again towards the doctor, one he had not met before, who was most likely the current physician on duty, "When I left, both boys were asleep, so I know there was no cause for this!"

"With all due respect, Inspector," started Dr. Wesslyn, "I do believe in matters dealing with their health, that we are the experts, and-"

"You aren't supposed to go against patient wishes if there isn't a reason to, you arrogant sod!" John raged as he wrestled out of the orderly's loosened grip.

"John, language!" Greg admonished.

He took a deep breath, willing his anger to simmer down. Pointer finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, he counted to ten. "Get out, all of you. Unless it's an emergency or you need to check vitals, stay out. And I want you to contact Dr. Hannigan, she's the boys' doctor, and I don't want anyone else working with them at this point."

"Sir, you can't just-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?" The detectives badge on his belt caught the light as Greg shifted.

Teeth gritted, the medical professional responded, "No, sir." He herded his people from the room, and set about finding the requested physician.

Greg took a deep breath, keeping his back turned to the boys until he was sure he was able to wipe the anger and frustration off his face. When he turned around, he felt a pang in his chest at the scene playing out in front of him.

While he had been talking to Wesslyn, John had made his way over to Sherlock's bed, climbing up next to his friend. Sherlock had buried his face in John's neck, and was trembling in fear and passing adrenaline as John stroked a hand through the now tangled curls, his other arm held Sherlock awkwardly from within the sling. As Greg slowly approached the duo, he could hear John's gentle words of comfort to his friend.

"It's okay Lock... I promise it's alright. They're gone now... No one's going to hurt you. I won't let them." The last statement was said with an air of such fierce protectiveness that Greg had to hide a proud smile.

He approached the raised, sleeping cot, cautious, hands splayed out before him. Careful not to touch either of his traumatized wards, he offered what comfort and security he could from the short distance away. He was rewarded by trusting eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments, John's attention quickly returning to Sherlock's firm grip and shaking figure.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry that I left... If I had known," the lump in his throat protested the speech. A hesitant hand reached out, retracting at the flinch.

"Son, look at me," he tried, clearing his voice of the waver.

Sherlock, still fast pressed against John, shook his head. Greg sighed, frustrated. After all the time and effort he'd spent trying to gain these children's' trust, who knows how many steps back this event had pushed them.

John reached out, Sherlock whimpered as the fingers ceased their progression through his curls, to grab Greg's sleeve. Greg met his tired eyes, and was surprised by the small, encouraging smile he saw flitter across John's face.

"It's okay. Greg is here now. He's not going to let them bother us any more, okay?"

The DI was staggered at the vote of confidence from the older of the two, and let himself feel a little hope that maybe they wouldn't have to start all over. He spoke again to Sherlock, keeping his voice light and gentle. "Come now, lad, look at me, won't ya?"

John nudged his friend, urging the boy to obey, faith secured in their new protector. When Sherlock bade the command, eyes downcast, but attentive, Greg continued,

"What that doctor did was wrong; he had no right to treat you that way. Even though I'm sure his intentions weren't cruel, it still was. I'm going to make sure that it doesn't happen to you again, you understand?"

With a slow gravity that did not fit with his young age Sherlock looked up and nodded his head. His eyes searched Greg's with an almost desperate appeal to them, as if he was silently begging the DI not to be lying. It hurt Greg's heart to guess what they must have been through for this little boy to carry so much distrust and sorrow.

It doesn't matter, Greg thought fiercely, No matter what has happened to them, I'm going to make sure it doesn't ever happen again. With this silent vow, Greg took a deep breath and turned his full attention back to the boys.

~SLLC~

Dr. Hannigan apologized profusely for several minutes for her colleague. She assured the group that she would speak to the chief of staff on the matter and guaranteed that everyone on the list to work with the boys were well aware of the situation. Nothing else like that would happen again. Though she tried to apologize to both John and Sherlock, her words were met with cold acceptance by the former, and an almost vicious sneer from the latter.

Greg was happy the boys had forgiven him so quickly, but it seemed that continued trust did not extend to any of the hospital staff. He couldn't blame them to be honest, but he could see where it was going to become an issue. They'd cross that bridge when they got there though.

Dr. Hannigan informed them that the psychiatrist on staff would be stopping by to see them some time that day, after lunch, and that if they were feeling up to it, they would be allowed to take a walk around after their session. John and Sherlock were quite overt with their displeasure and protests, however, the physician would not be swayed.

"Its standard procedure in cases like this," Dr. Hannigan told Lestrade later, after pulling him aside. The two of them were observing the boys as they argued over what to watch on Television while John tried to get Sherlock to eat his carrots and Sherlock kept sneaking them over onto John's plate.

"This is hardly a "standard" case though." The DI said, trying to keep the sullen edge from his voice. He knew that this was the right thing, but he couldn't help worrying that this might frighten the boys, and he was loathe to do anything that would make them uncomfortable so soon.

"The exact circumstances? No, perhaps not. But children suffering from neglect and abuse? Sadly, that is, by no means, an uncommon occurrence."

Greg sighed, knowing he was beat. The gentle words of the doctor bothered him. Thinking about all the children she must have seen over time, in situations like this broke his heart. The idea that these two boys, so intertwined with one another, had been through so much, made him sick.

"Alright, I get it. Just... if either of them really starts to get upset..."

"These situations are seldom comfortable, Detective Inspector. If they were, no one would be averse to therapy. But I can promise you, if either of them truly starts to panic, then we will let them take a break."

"Will they be allowed to stay together for the session?"

"Normally I would say no, but I've told Dr. Spencer the circumstances, and she's agreed to hold the first few as 'group' or 'family' sessions. That will give the boys a chance to become familiar with her in a neutral environment and without worrying about one another."

Here Dr. Hannigan paused for a moment, obviously trying to phrase something in a way that he would be more open to listening too. Greg wasn't fooled. He hadn't been a copper as long as he had and not be able to recognize human reactions.

"Spill it, Doc. I'm not going to wither away if you hurt my feelings." He tried to keep his voice slightly teasing to show there weren't any hard feelings.

Hannigan smiled for a moment before becoming serious again. "Don't take this the wrong way Inspector..."

"It's Greg, Doc. I figure we'll be seeing each other a lot. No need for formalities."

"Greg then." Her tone softened, "Just don't go into this situation with a distrustful attitude. My brother is an officer, and I know how psychiatrists are viewed on the Force. But these boys need professional help. They need someone who can pinpoint what's been done and lead us to a treatment plan that will set them on the right track. Please... don't go into this with your hackles raised. Both of them will pick up on that, and I can promise you, if you are uncomfortable or hostile with Dr. Spencer, they will be too. If that happens, we won't be able to help them."

"I think you're putting a little too much stock in their opinion of me, Doc-"

"Kelly."

This time it was Greg's turn to grin. "Kelly. I don't think they are too concerned with my thoughts on most anything."

"Really?" The Doctor raised one elegant eyebrow and gave him a sardonic look. "May I point out that since the incident yesterday, even though none of the same nurses have been assigned to the boys, anyone who comes into this room is met with suspicion?"

"That's understandable after what happened..."

"It is. But the thing is, Greg, they didn't start acting like that towards the nurses until you did. You have been glaring daggers at any and all of my people who walk into this room. I've watched John on three separate occasions glance your way, see the look you were giving one of the aides, and his entire demeanor changed. He became closed off, uncertain and even more protective of Sherlock. As soon as that happens, Sherlock reads that energy, and reacts to John. Either he becomes withdrawn or starts spitting angry or hurtful words at whoever is there."

Here she paused, giving the shocked detective a moment to catch up. "Whether you know it or not, they are already following your lead. Make sure your actions and predilections don't take them down a road that will do more harm than good."

~SLLC~

The afternoon came too soon in Sherlock's opinion. The meal that was served was mediocre at best, and they pumped him and John full of different medications. He didn't like it one bit. It took the edge off the pain in his arms and hands, but it also made him feel unlike himself. It worried him that John was pleased to get drugged without question.

It wasn't long after they had been medicated that a gangling lady, dressed in a light grey dress with a wide black belt, sauntered into their room. A light knock announced her unwelcome presence and Sherlock was on guard in an instant. Her friendly smile and geeky black glasses didn't fool him in the slightest. He knew exactly what she was there for. John, however, appeared to be somewhat oblivious.

"Hello, boys," she greeted, tone overly chipper. It already grated on Sherlock's fragile nerves. He didn't like her. Her frames didn't fit her face, and her fingernail polish was chipped. Her blond hair was in a messy bun, and the disorderly appearance was like nails on a chalkboard to him.

She gave a sly grin in Greg's direction. "Hey dad, why don't you go and grab a coffee real quick. I'll keep an eye on the kiddo's for ya."

She winked at him to emphasize the hinted nudge, but he was still reluctant to leave. Neither boy seemed keen on his absence either, but he knew that they were unlikely to speak openly with him there. With great effort, and Dr. Hannigan's words still swirling around in his mind, he squeezed out of the room. He didn't go farther than outside the door; just because he couldn't be in there with them, didn't mean he was going to leave either.

"Your pops loves you something fierce, ya know? I don't think he's left you guys alone more than an hour at a time your whole stay here" she told them. Her unwavering smile eased a little tension in John. There was nothing threatening about the petite young woman. "I'm Riley Spencer, nice to meet you," her hand jutted out and her greeting ended more in askance.

"I'm John," uninjured hand met the young woman's with a firm grasp. "Greg's not our dad... but he does seem to care about us."

She looked towards the curly haired child, hand aimed in his direction. Sherlock pointedly ignored the gesture, tight lipped. Taking the hint she moved on, "It's nice of him to stick around to look after you then, huh?"

"Yeah, he's pretty cool. Not anything like most adults we're used to," John replied, seemingly mesmerized with the energy Dr. Spencer gave off. Sherlock gritted his teeth, glaring daggers between the two.

"Oh, and what sort of adults are you used to then?" She questioned, eyes masked with innocent curiosity. She could hear the younger boy's jaw clinch and was mildly concerned that he might break his teeth should he grind them any harder.

"Well, crappy, honestly. Most adults chase us away, or treat us like criminals or animals. Oftentimes they'll say mean things."

"Why do you think that is? You don't seem like bad boys," she inquired. She hoped that by using the plural form that it would encourage Sherlock to join in on the conversation.

"I don't know. We haven't really done anything that I can think of that would warrant that sort of reaction. I mean... we have stolen a bit, but only things we really needed!" He was quick to assure her. So focused on the female in the room, he didn't notice Sherlock's growing agitation.

"I see. Why did you feel you needed to steal? Did you feel unable to go to the police or any family for help?" She steered the chat into deeper waters.

"Well-"

"Shut up!" Sherlock exclaimed, slamming a hand against his ear and the other over John's mouth. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" His limbs flailed against their targets unintentionally with every shriek. "Don't you see what she's doing? Are you so blind that you willingly fall into her game!" He yelled, his betrayal fueling his anger.

Shocked by the sudden outburst, and pain in his lips, John lurched away from the attack. His own discontentment grew, feeding off of Sherlock's tantrum. The hurt showed clearly on the blonde's face and he went to calm his friend, but Sherlock wasn't ready for his ruffled feathers to be soothed.

Dr. Spencer rose to help, pulling at John to guide him away from any more bouts of aggression. Sherlock mistook the gesture for the young woman taking John from him and he wailed louder. His small form launched from the bed and onto John, preventing his presumed departure. Small hands clawed and clung and John howled in pain as Sherlock caught his injured arm, his jagged fingernails tearing at flesh and pulling at his damaged limb.

Greg barged in, followed by Dr. Hannigan, as the screaming increased in volume. Upon seeing the damage Sherlock was causing in his hysterics, Greg rushed to pull the child off his friend. A kick to his groin had the man doubled over and his grip on Sherlock released. Dr. Kelly went to aide Dr. Spencer in tending to John.

Sherlock ran to the bed and banged his fists on the metal railing, spitting fire and fear. John cried out miserably, powerless to stop his own cries or to help Sherlock. His muffled protests, when Greg and Dr. Kelly tried to usher John out, were mistaken for further sniffles, Dr. Spencer knelt down to Sherlock's eye level and placed her hand where the curly haired head was now setting a steady rhythm alongside his pounding fists.

"Stop," she called out to the two adults herding her other ward. Ignoring the sting in her palm and the keening, she continued, "John doesn't have to leave, Sherlock will calm down if he stays where he is." Returning her attention back to said young man, she asked, "Won't you, buddy? Can you use your words now, please?"

Fingers tugged at his curls and his right hand reached out toward John. Eyes swelled and overflowed and mucous stuffed his nasal passage and ran to the base of his lip; he looked unnaturally pitiful when he croaked the only thing that mattered. "John." His hand opened and closed, not unlike a toddler's version of "grabby hands".

With a gentleness that only John had managed before, Dr. Riley extracted the self-injurious fingers and accepted a Kleenex from her colleague. She cleaned up the marred features, wiping away the mess from his face as she murmured nonsense to soothe the child.

"Sherlock," John spoke from where he was leaning, exhausted, against Greg, his face ashen from the pain in his arm. Sherlock sobbed again, softer this time, still looking lost as he reached out for his friend.

"Sherlock, let..." John paused to swallow hard, swaying slightly. "Let her look at you, okay?"

Greg was kneeling next to the older boy, supporting his weight as John fought to stay upright. "John, lets worry about you for a minute, okay lad? Do you think you can make it back to the bed?"

John took another deep breath, swallowed, and then gave a minor shake of his head. Greg winced internally. For John to admit weakness, that meant the boy must have been in agony.

"Can we get him some pain meds, Doc?" Greg inquired, looking up where Dr. Hannigan stood next to them, very carefully examining John's arm.

Before the physician could reply, John cut in, "No. I'm... I'm fine. I don't need it." His voice was shaky and feeble. Something in that tone must have reached Sherlock, because the boy froze, going unnaturally still. His eyes went wide and locked onto John's face as if there was nothing else important in the world.

Dr. Hannigan knelt down to speak to John. "It's okay to relax, John; your body is too tense right now. It's not good for your arm. The medicine will help you calm down."

Again the blonde boy shook his head. "They make me sleepy... I... I need to-to be awake. Sher-Sherlock needs me."

"John," stronger now, the underlying waver did not go unnoticed. "It's ok...just, just let them make you better." The fragile facade barely hid the underlying misery and self-loathing. He raised his arms to be lifted to his bed, in hopes John would see and let himself be looked after. He almost controlled the flinch when someone that was not John touched him, almost. Dr. Spencer lifted him to the mattress and patted a bony shoulder.

John stubbornly continued to shake his head, but he did turn to Greg and in a small, shaky voice asked, "Can... can you help me over there?"

Greg sighed, understanding what John didn't say. With a care so tender it surprised himself, he lifted John into his arms and, reading the boy's mind again, brought him over to Sherlock's bed. He helped him lean back against the pillows, fluffing them up behind the boy so he would be comfortable.

Sherlock, with a desperate whine, buried his face in the covers by John's hip, curling away from John's out-stretched hand, and in on himself. Even in a state of guilt, he was still unable to go far from his friend's side. He needed John as much as he needed oxygen to breathe, and though he was sure John would be better off without his freakish tendencies, he was too selfish to set him free. He would just have to put forth a stronger effort to be better...better for John.

John, seeing his friend's torment, let out a weary sigh. While he was by no means a genius like his friend, John was a master in one field, and that was Sherlock. He knew what his friend was thinking as well as Sherlock knew the goings on of the people around him.

"Hey, Sher, I promise. I'm going to be okay. I'm just a little shook up. It's no big deal. Everything is going to be fine." John wished he could make his voice a little steadier, but the pain in his arm was making it so hard to think.

The mantra was the same every time. It never failed to make Sherlock feel worse. "It's ok, Sherlock." "It's not a big deal, Sherlock." all in that quiet tone, trying to not frighten the skittish mutt, with eyes that couldn't hide unease. It was all a lie. Nothing was ok about this and it was a very big deal! He had hurt John!

When he squinted an eye open, to peek over at the other boy, the half-moon indentions made his stomach roll. He did that, caused that pain, ripped into that flesh. Remorse sat heavy in his gullet, and he fought to swallow the rock at the back of his throat. The duvet shielded the renewed wetness, sucking in the salty tears like a sponge. He sniffled quietly and a hand drifted to clutch at the damp blanket so he wouldn't reach out for John. He couldn't risk hurting him again, especially so soon. Nope, he would keep his hands to himself, that way, if the urge overwhelmed him, the only one to get hurt was him, and that was okay. At least it was with him.

John looked up at Greg, who was still standing next to their bed, hand resting lightly against the back of John's neck. John had spent his life being yanked around by his neck, or having it grabbed in some effort to control or punish him. If there was one place he would have always thought he would hate being touched, it was there. However, as Greg stood there, his eyes filled with compassion and worry, John thought that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad.

Greg had no idea the thoughts of the young boy who was now leaning into his warmth. He only knew that these two children, his charges, needed help, and he meant to provide it. With a slight nod at Dr. Hannigan, Greg shifted so he could reach over John's legs to stroke his fingers through Sherlock's matted hair.

The first touch was met with a shuddering flinch as the smaller boy tried to inch away from the unexpected contact. Unfazed by the recoil, Greg continued to massage the tension away. Mentally patting himself on the back as the rigid form pushed back into the dancing fingers. Obviously Sherlock found pressure soothing. He filed that away for later use. Now he had the imminent issue of reconciling the kids, and Sherlock with himself.

Dr. Hannigan stepped up behind him, resting her hand briefly on Greg's shoulder, alerting him to her presence. Glancing back, he realized what she was doing and shifted over, letting his hand fall from John. He didn't notice the flicker of disappointment cross the tanned features.

Dr. Spencer slipped out as Dr. Hannigan bandaged the new set of wounds on John, already aware of how she was going to write her report. A list of treatment plans filtered through her brain, as she mentally crossed through the ones that wouldn't quite fit her patients. Whatever she settled on, one thing was certain, they would do it together. Individual needs would have to be tended to once the codependency was addressed. While John stood a chance to heal without Sherlock being there every step of the way, there was no way Sherlock would cooperate with any treatment unless John was part of it. For now, anyway, time and healing would change that, she hoped.

Once back at her office, she set about writing down different strategies and phoning some colleagues for ideas and assistance to set some plans underway. Greg had love and care covered, Dr. Hannigan and staff were fixing the physical wounds, and she was going to work on the mental and emotional. The road ahead was long and potentially bumpy, but if she had any say in the matter, they would reach the other end happy and healthy.

Let us know what you thought. We're both busy, but we're making good progress on more chapters in this adventure.