Sherlock had managed to stay awake since he'd awoken with John, but was fast fading, and seemed to regress further the more tired he was.

"Hello Sherlock," Mycroft greeted, in a tone that was almost... warm. John gaped a little.

"My? What're you doing here?"

"I believe you wanted to see me."

Sherlock struggled to try and sit up, but John held him down with a firm hand.

"Just lay down Sherlock. You need to rest."

Sherlock nodded to John, and turned his attention back to his brother. "Yeah. I don't like hospitals My. I want to go home," he pleaded.

"Soon," Mycroft reassured him. "You have to get a bit better first. Do you remember what happened?"

Biting his lip, Sherlock shook his head.

John's heart practically melted at the sight, seeing the young Sherlock expressed in the adult body.

"It's okay. You just need to rest now. Do you remember John?" Mycroft was choosing his words carefully, and that made John uneasy.

Sherlock squinted at him, struggling to keep his eyes open.

He nodded slightly. "But I dunno where..." he slurred.

"It's okay," Mycroft said, patting him on the shoulder. John saw him wince slightly. Typical, even as a child Sherlock wouldn't have been one to express pain. "Go to sleep."

Sherlock nodded, and curled imperceptibly around his touch. His breathing evened out within minutes and he was fast asleep.

Mycroft looked at John and they left the room, Mycroft's assistant not-Anthea staying in the room with Sherlock. John wondered what her name was today. She looked at him as he left and grinned, like she knew what he was thinking. If she worked with Mycroft, she probably did.

Mycroft got right down to it with the doctors, John mostly just standing back so he wouldn't get hurt in case things started flying. That what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, isn't it?

"What did the tests show?"

The doctor shook his head. "Nothing new. Nothing that would explain this. Physically, there is no reason for this kind of brain damage, so it's more likely that it's a coping mechanism as a result of his ordeal."

Mycroft gritted his teeth imperceptibly. "So you're telling me there's nothing that you can do, nothing that can be done."

"Give him time to heal, physically. Then you can work on his mental well being. Anyone who's sustained those injuries is guaranteed to have some emotional and mental issues to work through. When he's ready, I can recommend a couple of therapists-"

"No," John interjected, shaking his head. "He won't go to therapy. And anyone who's ever met him knows that you can't get him to do anything he doesn't want to."

The doctor nodded to him. "Still, I'll give you some names. You can't make him do anything, but it's good to know there are options."

"You still haven't answered my question." Mycroft didn't look pleased. "Why has this happened?"

"Mr Holmes, your brother has been through an extremely traumatic experience. From what I've been told, he was held hostage and tortured for nearly a month. Even the strongest of men can't endure that without some damage that can't be seen. His physical injuries are testament to what he's been through. My best guess is that he managed to hide the memories away from himself, almost even dissociate from them, in order to maintain his sanity."

John smiled sadly. "That was iffy to begin with."

"Thank you," Mycroft told the doctor stiffly, and headed back to be with Sherlock, for however long until the government started to collapse without him.

"I'll be right there," John told him. Mycroft nodded.

He turned his attention back to the doctor. "Sherlock often talks about his mind palace, a sort of memory device, and even mentions deleting things. Could that be what happened here?"

The man nodded. "Perhaps he's locked the experience of what happened away, but somehow managed to lock too much of it away. It's all a matter of finding the right key, but when he does, he may not be prepared for what else he finds."

John nodded. "Thank you. Really. Don't mind him; he's always like that," he said, referring to Mycroft.

"I've seen worse," the doctor laughed.

"I bet you have. I once had a man punch me." John replied with a smile. The memory was amusing now, but then, not so much.

"You're a doctor too?"

John nodded.

"Ex-army doctor." He shifted uncomfortably. "I'd better get back."

The man nodded to him. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

They both knew he'd need it.

Mycroft had gone by the time John returned, and Sherlock was still asleep. John did the same, drifting into dreams of horror and bloodshed, knowing all the while it could never compare to what Sherlock lived through, and what was now locked away in one of the recesses of his mind.

He hoped that things would be better in the morning.