Author's Note: Thank You for being so patient, I have an idea of where I want to take the story but finding the time to actually write it is another matter all together. Please take the time to review it motivates me to write more.

What Effect We Have Chapter 7

John got out of the car that Mycroft had provided him with. There were a half dozen official vehicles parked around an old warehouse, an officer standing along the perimeter lifted the tape to allow to John in. There were no questions, everyone knew of Sherlock's attack. Donavan was standing outside the warehouse waiting for John; Lestrade was still inside with the forensics team.

"John." Said Donavan as he approached. "Everyone is inside."

John signaled for her to lead the way, he was physically and mentally exhausted but he knew that he had to see this. It would be the only way to understand what Sherlock had been though and only then could the healing process begin. He followed Sally in a pair of rusting metal doors, down a short hall, and then down a set of dark stairs to the basement of the warehouse.

"A couple of teens called it in, they were looking for a place to party when they found it." she paused. "I warn you, it isn't pleasant in there."

A group of forensic specialists dressed in blue jumpsuits wandered in and out of the dusty air illuminated by work lights they had brought in. When they saw John they stepped out of the way to allow him in. John did not hesitate as he entered the room but the moment he took the room in his stomach turned over.

Lestrade stood in the light of the window small window. He said nothing wanting to give John some time to process the scene. In the center of the room sat a high back heavy wooden chair bolted to the floor, with leather straps to restrain the person who was placed there, covered in stains that appeared to be more than just blood. The straps showed evidence of having been fought against; the width was the same as the bruises on Sherlock's wrists and ankles. Chains hung from the ceiling in the darkest corner of the room. A garden hose with a sprayer sat coiled in another corner water still dripping from the connection. He covered his mouth with his hand; the smell was putrid, like death and rotting flesh. Dark stains covered the floors and the walls, probably blood. Whoever had spent time in this room had suffered greatly at the hands of his captors. Everything he looked at tore at his heart.

"I called Mycroft because I knew you would want to see this."

"It explains a great deal." John paused. "The shower," he said pointing to the hose in the corner of the room. "Dining chairs with arms," he said indicating the chair in the center of the room.

"How is he doing?" asked Lestrade.

"Sedated," replied John.

"That bad." added Lestrade

John simply nodded.

"This is where he was tortured for information." said Lestrade pointed to a plastic bin by the entrance to the room."

John looked in to the bin, it was evidence, he could make out a cattle prod stained with blood, a leather whip, a piece of cane, a number of used needles, and a couple of vials of a commercially available drugs. The tools of torture, they matched Sherlock's injuries.

"We found another room down the hall that we believe was the room in which he was held when he was not here."

Lestrade started for the door, John followed him. They went nearly 100 meters down the hall to another room. A solid metal door with a heavy locking mechanism, reminiscent of a bunker.

"This building was used to make bombs during the war." said Lestrade answering John's unasked question.

Lestrade stepped to one side to allow John to enter this room alone. It was tiny maybe 3 meters by 3 meters, which explained his fear of confined spaces. This room was in no better shape, the same stained floor and walls, the same smell and it lacked windows meaning that once the door closed it was as dark as night.

"John, you okay in there?" asked Lestrade.

This broke John's trance, he was lost in his own thoughts. Years of service in the army and time on the fronts lines meant that he didn't have to use to much imagination to figure out what Sherlock's captors had done to him.

"Yes, sorry. I was just thinking." replied John.

John came out of room, the forensic team continued to work but they appeared to be almost done. John didn't imagine there was much life to find beyond that he tools of torture that they had already discovered. Hopefully Mycroft would be able to help Lestrade piece together the evidence to make an arrest in Sherlock's capture.

"I know how you feel, when I saw it I just couldn't help but imagine Sherlock strapped to that chair." Said Lestrade.

"John, why don't you head home and help Sherlock, I will call when I have more information."

John nodded, and turned to head out of the warehouse, he needed to breathe fresh air free of scent that didn't bombard his senses of the horrible scenes both past and present.

"Carson, would you walk Dr. Watson out please," said Lestrade.

XXXXXXXXXX

John sat in the back of the car as the driver drove him back to the Holmes Estate. What he had seen explained so much and it scared him, but it also gave him some much needed information to help Sherlock recover. It would take months if not years to help him and John knew that even then he may never be the person he once was. There was a long road ahead; John didn't know if he had it in him to go down that road.