Author's Notes: Sorry guys, I stuffed up all the chapter numbers. I've since fixed it. Hope y'all enjoy this one!

John was in the bathroom for seven minutes and thirty-two seconds, give or take a few seconds. Sherlock had an elementary idea as to John's toilet habits. He was rather sure that this particular time John wasn't taking care of any bodily wastes. No, to him the obvious conclusion was that John had awoken with an erection and had gone into the bathroom to relieve himself. Sherlock never bothered with such mundalities as masturbation. It was simply too time consuming, when there were other, more pertinent achievements to be had. He had managed to coach his body into simply not responding to erotic stimulus. That was, until he met John Watson. After that, he would occasionally awaken with a morning erection. Sherlock managed to 'think it down' rather effectively. Since the attack, he felt utterly dead, down there. As much as he enjoyed the kisses and cuddles of their fledgling relationship, he simply feared that he would never be able to respond sexually to John.

The toilet flushed and the tap of the bathroom sink ran. Sherlock closed his eyes. John walked over to the bed and climbed in. Sherlock could sense extreme awkwardness, leeching off John. He wondered what the doctor thought about, when he masturbated. Was it him? An indignant part of him thought it better be. But then, another part of him knew this was unfair. He couldn't give John what he wanted.

Said man rolled over, pressing his front against Sherlock's back and wrapping an arm around his waist. Soft kisses rained down on his temple, his ear, his cheek, before John lay his head down. There was something hard in John, despite the teddy bear exterior. Here was a man who blew a hole through an old man dying of a brain tumor. Sure, as John put it "He wasn't a very nice man." But the fact was that John was suffering from no ill effects whatsoever from blowing apart a dying man's chest. Sherlock felt safe, when John was near. Here was someone who would give his life for him. He recalled the scene in the pool with Moriarty, John jumping on the villain's back, shouting at Sherlock to "Run!". Sherlock admitted to being rather stunned. Apart from Mycroft, who dutifully 'worried' as a brother should and their dear mother, no one else in his life acted as though he was anything more than a brilliant brain. But John somehow edged past that. John burrowed deep into his soul, laying him bare. As much as he wanted to shun away from what happened the night before, he also longed to grasp onto it, to exalt in the conflicting emotions coursing through his body.

Light rain pattered the window pane, signaling the end of the rather comfortable weather of the past few days. He longed to stay in bed a little longer, but knew it wouldn't last long. Soon, Mycroft would arrive, bearing new developments on the Toll case. That was what he referred to it as. It wasn't his case. It was the Toll case. Logically, he was well aware that he was indulging in a rather a bit of denial but then, what was wrong with that? Really, who really wanted to admit they'd been forcibly penetrated? And by such a moron as Toll? If he was going to be forced by anyone, at least let it be someone with whom he had an equal footing with, someone like, say, Moriarty. It simply added to his humiliation that Toll could gain the upper hand.

He could hear Anderson's voice echoing in his head.

"Now you're saying you'd rather be raped by Moriarty, because at least he's equal to you in terms of intellect. Yep sociopath."

No no, I'm not saying… I don't know what I'm saying. I just… I want it to go away.

He felt the agony build in his being, sludgy bile filling his veins. It hurt. It hurt so much. He didn't think he could feel such emotional pain.

Stop it! Disconnect! You don't need to…

He choked back a sob. He'd been hurt. He'd been alone and in terror and pain and no one had been there to save him.

And Toll had just laughed.

"Sherlock, it's ok." John's soothing voice. Fantastic, he thought sarcastically, now I've woken John up with my ridiculous maudlin thoughts. Soft fingers went through his hair. "It's ok. I'm here."

Sherlock shuddered, trying desperately to hold back the torrent of emotion threatening to spill over.

"It's ok to let go." John said.

No, not Sherlock. He wasn't going to let go. He refused. Toll wasn't going to beat him. Toll wasn't going to make him weak.

He took another deep, shuddering breath, deliberately composing himself. He turned over and kissed John, slow and lingering.

See? Nothing wrong. I'm fine.

John, however, was not easily fooled.

"Want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine."

John's expression was carefully neutral. He nodded.

"You look positively delectable this morning." Sherlock decided to change the subject. It was true. John's hair was all stuck up in the air in the cutest way.

John's expression showed that he was perturbed Sherlock wasn't going to elaborate on his pains. Sherlock ignored it.

"I really should take a shower." He climbed out of the bed and yawned, glancing back to where John had sat up to stare at him. He held the most lovingly dumbfounded expression.

"What is it?"

"I usually don't say this about… anyone, really but… god you're beautiful."

Sherlock froze. A mocking voice coming back to him.

"Thank you, beautiful. That was special."

He felt his entire body go cold. "Don't say that."

John's face suddenly went rigid in a frozen expression of fury, before it smoothed out.

"Toll said it to you, didn't he?"

Toll, Sherlock thought absently. It used to be Toby, now it's Toll.

"Yes, after, what were the delightful words you used last night? After 'fucking me until I tore all up inside.'" He achieved the intended effect. John visibly flinched. "He thanked me. Called me beautiful. Said it was special."

"Damn it! Sherlock, Toll was intent on humiliating you, shaming you. I'm not even going to go into the different levels of sick that man is. And that fact that he's made you rethink everything about who you are…." For a moment, the darkest of wrath entered the usually serene brown eyes, and then was gone. "This is me saying it. And I'm saying it because you are beautiful, ok? Sometimes I find myself just staring at you, just absolutely dazed…" He broke off, looked away, his cheeks turning pink, perhaps realizing he'd said too much.

Sherlock had never really considered it. He was aware he had looks enough to twist some people (Molly) to his bidding. But true beauty? It was a concept beyond his deductions.

When does it end? When am I finally able to delete Toby Toll from my memory?

Time. Time upon time upon time. He didn't want to wait for time. He just wanted the man gone. No longer wanted to taste him, smell him, touch him, hear him… feel him.

He felt like he'd never be clean.

"I'm going to take a shower." Sherlock signaled an end to the conversation.

###

Moriarty was either too cunning or too stupid to respond to Mycroft's threats. The first text came merely hours after the interior car conversation. He was rather perplexed as to how Moriarty had his mobile number. The message was very simple.

How is your plan proceeding?

Then came four more texts, all bearing the same general concept. Mycroft didn't bother to reply. Moriarty didn't concern him. His concern was, and always would be, Sherlock.

Then, as he arose the next morning, the message content changed.

Watch out for John Watson.

Mycroft wasn't sure how to take that message. It could be a threat. John Watson was in danger. Or, it could be that John Watson was the danger. In his knowledge of the doctor, he would presume it to be the former. But then, why would Moriarty care for the well-being of John Watson? He clearly only liked Sherlock, in so much as he played the game well.

Mycroft decided to ignore this one, as well. He wrapped on the familiar door. It took a moment to recognize the man who opened it.

"Mycroft Holmes." He held out his hand. "I'm Sherlock's brother."

"Oh." The man shook his hand. The grip was strong, sturdy. "Detective Anderson."
"May I…?"

"Of course." He stepped back to allow Mycroft in. He took off his coat and placed it on the coat rack, placing the umbrella beside it. He could sense the man appraising him, comparing him to his brother.

"So it would appear that Lestrade took Toll's threats towards Sherlock seriously. That pleases me."

"How did you-?" Anderson began but was silenced by a look from Mycroft. He took his case over to the kitchen counter and placed it down.

At that moment, Sherlock made an appearance… from the stairs leading to John's room. He glared at Mycroft.

Yes, brother, I'm sleeping with my housemate now. What of it?

Sherlock sauntered off towards the backroom, noticing, but making no comment on, Mycroft biting down on the inside of his lip, hard.

Damn it! He would expect this from Sherlock but John? He seemed to at least have some sense.

Mycroft was suddenly aware that the other man was looking at him.

"Everything ok?" Anderson asked.

Mycroft smiled, clenched his fists, digging his nails painfully into the flesh of his palm. "Yes, perfectly fine. Ah, John!"

The lighter haired man now clumped down the stairs. The uneasy glance he cast towards Mycroft confirmed his fears.

"Mycroft."

In the background, the shower ran.

"I have some very interesting news to impart but first, I feel we should wait for Sherlock. In the meantime, would you put on the kettle, John?" He enacted a smile that had no warmth behind it. John glanced at him with knowing expression, something flashing in his eyes. A sense of arrogant entitlement.

Mycroft dug his fingernails deeper into his palms.

You may be sleeping with him but he is my brother. I told you not to mess with him!

Still, it was undignified to argue in the presence of others. John turned away, headed for the kitchen. Mycroft busied himself by taking out the various newspapers from his case.

Within a few minutes, he was seated at the kitchen table with John beside him, both sipping their tea in awkward silence. Anderson stood by the door.

Sherlock came out from the other room, rugged up for the day, hair wet from the shower. John looked at him and something eased in his face, a look of such love and adoration that Mycroft almost succumbed to letting go the fact that he was having sexual relations with his brother.

Sherlock stomped into the kitchen and filled a mug of his own before moving to the table to sit beside John. He seemed very at ease with the man, which reduced Mycroft's anxiety, a little. If John was forcing a sexual relationship this early on, then his brother would not be as at ease with him. He recalled Moriarty's warning. Was this what he was talking about? John had been friends with Toby Toll. Perhaps he wished to continue where he left off-

No, he couldn't get ahead of himself. He could only stick to facts that he knew. And the fact was that John was clearly initiating a relationship merely days after Sherlock had been sexually assaulted. As much as Mycroft was not a violent man (like Moriarty, he had others to do that kind of work for him) he had to control the urge to throw a punch.

Instead, he reached into his case and pulled out the newspapers bundled inside.

"The Telegraph ran it on the front page." He slammed the newspaper in front of them. Anderson walked over, from the window. The headline read 'Alleged Rapist Working as London Detective'. The sub-heading read 'Irish politician suicides over rape'. Mycroft watched Sherlock and John avidly reading the article. He had already perused it. They had done everything he hoped for, even going so far as including excerpts from the diary and interviewing Damien's wife. They could not, however get a statement from the station that he worked at. Only stated that he had been forced to resign. They didn't name the perpetrator, however.

Mycroft took out another newspaper, this one 'The Sun'.

"A spy in their ranks found out that 'The Telegraph' had the scoop and they didn't want to be outdone."

The Sun's headline was, as usual, more glaring. 'Rape and Suicide Scandal!' They not only named Toll, but placed a large picture of him on the front page. Underneath was a smaller picture of Damien O'Toole.

John whistled. In the background, a mobile phone went off. Anderson reached into his pocket to answer it.

"Yes, sir." He went into the other room.

"I commend you, Mycroft." Sherlock picked up the 'Sun' newspaper. "This has gone beyond exposing Toll."

"Where's he, now?" John asked.

"That's the concern. None of my people can find him. And if they can't find him, then he really is in hiding."

Anderson came back into the room. "It's hit the media." He switched on the television, to an advertizement on toilet cleaner. Frowning, he turned the channel to the news channel. A photo of Damien O'Toole was being shown on the screen.

"He just… changed." A woman's voice said. It cut to a pretty, nervous looking blonde. She twisted her hands together as she spoke. "I knew something was wrong. I just didn't know what to do."

"Lestrade says they may have to hold a press conference. The phone's been bombarded with calls all day." Anderson said.

"It worries me that he's out there, somewhere." John frowned.

"Turn it off." Sherlock demanded. Frowning, Anderson reached over and switched the television off.

"It will be old news in a day or so." Sherlock said. "But, for now, it's a good feeling to know that Toll has been exposed for the cretin that he is."

John was rereading the newspaper again. "The Sun isn't going at all easy on his colleagues." He glanced across to Anderson.

"Working with a rapist, why would they go easy on them?"

Anderson flushed, turned to face the window.

Sherlock stared at Toll's grinning photo. Mycroft knew what he was thinking.

It still doesn't change what happened to me. Still doesn't take away the pain.

Mycroft was at a loss as to what to do. Sherlock was unwilling to receive his aid. He had never felt more helpless.

No, not entirely. There was one thing that I can do.

"I will take my leave. John, could I have a few words?"

"Ah, sure."

Mycroft waited until they were down the stairs, out the front door and in the heated interior of the car until he spoke.

"You will desist right now."

John folded his arms. Classic defense posture. "Desist what?"

"Don't act coy. I saw Sherlock coming down from your bedroom this morning."

John's eyes turned hard as steel. "That is none of your business."

"Sherlock is my brother. That makes it my business. I'm telling you to stop, right now. Believe me, you don't want to suffer the consequences."

"You don't scare me." The truth was, he didn't look the least frightened.

"Perhaps I could appeal to your reasoning. Sherlock cannot possibly be in a sexual relationship right now. Surely you know that."

Something undid in the eyes then, a thawing of the hardened countenance. "If you must know we haven't done anything."

"Don't lie, John. You've done something. You must remember who you're speaking to." He'd already deduced it, earlier that morning.

John sighed. "We've kissed a little. Cuddled. Slept in the same bed. That's all."

Mycroft searched his face. He was telling the truth.

"Believe me, I'm not going to pressure Sherlock. In fact, he always initiates. I would break every one of my other fingers before I hurt Sherlock."

Mycroft's eyes swept down to the bandaged finger.

John closed his eyes, deciding something in his own mind. He swallowed. "If you must know, we… love each other."

Perhaps his laughter was cruel but it came out unbidden. "I know my brother. Sherlock can't love anyone."

The hardness appeared in his eyes, once more. "Then you clearly don't. Sherlock can and does. He simply hasn't allowed himself to feel it before now."

John believed what he was saying. Interesting…

"So, you truly believe that you are both in love. How delightful." He added deliberate irony to his words.

"To be honest, Mycroft. I don't care what you think. I'll admit the timing's not great. But it's been building for some time now. And I truly don't care for the accusation that I would force Sherlock into something he wasn't one hundred percent willing to do."

Mycroft searched his face, looking for any hint of guile. It was open and honest.

"We're on the same side here. We both want what's best for Sherlock." John said.

"You truly love him, then?"

John affixed him straight in the eye. "I truly love him."

Mycroft felt some of his resolve weaken. Here was a man willing to lay everything on the line, his reputation, even his own life, for Sherlock. Because he truly was in love with him.

You poor poor man.

"I believe you."

John nodded. His eyes were still like flint. "Are we finished?"

For now, Mycroft could add no more to the conversation. It appeared they were at an impasse.

John departed from the car without another word.

###

John concentrated on putting his key in the lock without punching the door. The sound of the engine signaled the car moving away behind him. Good, it saved him from the impulse to give it a good kick.

He turned the key and stepped inside.

Damn Mycroft interfering-

"John Watson." Mrs. Hudson stood, as usual at the bottom of the stairs. "Can I speak to you?"

And leave Sherlock for any minute later with Anderson? Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, they'll kill each other if I don't get back up there soon.

"It's important." She signaled into her apartment.

John should have used his instincts, honed to perfection after years of being a soldier. The problem was that his mind was too full of Mycroft and wishing to tell Sherlock about it, to be aware of anything else.

I'll just go see what the hell she wants, if only to shut her up.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson?" He managed to fix a smile to his face, as he stepped into the apartment-

To two very familiar faces, stepping towards him.

"I'm so sorry, John. I'm so sorry. They said they were going to hurt me."

John swung out, catching one across the face. He groaned, staggered back. The other tried to grab his arm, swing him towards him. Mrs. Hudson cried out. John rammed his elbow into his midriff.

"Mrs. Hudson, run!"

Only, she stood where she was, panicked look on her face, legs frozen. The one he had punched in the face grabbed hold of Mrs. Hudson, jabbing the syringe at her neck.

"Don't hurt her. I'll give you one warning." John felt calm, despite his rapid pulse.

He felt a sharp prick in his neck and turned around, slamming the other in the nose. It was too late, however. He flung the syringe across the room but the drug was already taking effect.

"You won't get to Sherlock", he said, groping at the chair beside him, trying ineffectually to make it towards the door.

"Yes we will." Goon one grinned. "He'll come to us."

John swore as they injected Mrs. Hudson with the substance, and then threw her weightless figure down, as though she was of no consequence.

"You bastards!'

"How's the finger?" Goon two laughed.

He collapsed to the floor, the entire room now spinning.

This is turning out to be a really shitty day.

###

John and Mycroft departed the room. Both Anderson and Sherlock awkwardly watched the door. Sherlock knew exactly what his interfering brother was going to say. He also knew John well enough now to deduce that he wouldn't give in to Mycroft's persistent overprotection.

There was a very awkward silence. Sherlock walked over to the table and picked up the newspapers, bundling them together. He could sense Anderson's pity. It only strengthened the anger coiled in his stomach.

"How long is it now, since you've seen the children? Three months? Four? Was the affair with Sally worth it?"

It worked. Anderson's expression changed, became stonier.

"What? You think being raped would change me into a different person? I don't need protection Anderson so bugger off."

"Let's get this straight. I'm only here at the behest of Lestrade. He says I stay. So I stay."

"How loyal of you."

"You're right. I still think you're an arrogant bastard."
"Ah, so the name calling starts. And you're an idiotic sycophant."

"This is childish." Anderson turned away.

"You started it." Sherlock murmured, folding the newspapers and walking them over to place them on the coffee table.

"Why didn't you report him?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're a consulting detective. Why didn't you report DI Toll?"

Sherlock felt his innards freeze. He did not want to be having this conversation, with Anderson, of all people.

"I hardly feel that is any of your business."

"There's a rapist on the loose. A rapist from our station. It could have been cleared up a lot earlier-"

The freeze was starting to affect his outer extremities. He felt his hand start to shake.

No, no not again.

The lack of control, over his own body.

"You've learnt, haven't you? You've learnt not to fuck with me!"

He felt the coiled anger in his stomach unfurl. He suddenly cried out and launched himself on Anderson.

"Sherlock!" Anderson put up a hand to protect himself, as Sherlock rammed a fist towards his face. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and twisted, spinning him around and pushing him back.

"What are you implying? That I wanted what happened?"

"No, I'm just-"

"You're a detective. You know the statistics on reported rapes-"

"I'm not blaming you Sherlock, I just thought, as a fellow detective-"

Sherlock laughed. "So, you're saying I should have reported it, as a person involved n law enforcement, is that it? Why on earth would I do that? So the whole station can have a laugh at the freak taking it up the ass from one of their DIs."

Anderson flinched. "Of course not! We would never-"

"Really? Oh come on, Anderson. You must be loving this, right now. The arrogant freak finally gets brought down. The sociopath doesn't report his rape because he's too ashamed of what happened."

Something changed in the expression then. Anderson winced, as though physically cut. "Sherlock, don't-" He began, softly.

"I'm sure you'll tell the others. Tonight, over a beer, you can all have a laugh about how I just lay there and took it, while your DI rogered me. You can tell them all how he tore me up with his massive penis. About 10 inches, erect-"

"Right, that's it, shut the hell up, Sherlock!"

Sherlock laughed once more. "Don't you want to know the details? Want to hear how he handcuffed me to my own desk-"

"I don't know how the hell that John Watson puts up with you." Anderson muttered but Sherlock caught it.

"Leave. John. Out of this." He warned.

"Ok, ok. Look, Sherlock. I promise you. None of this will leave this room. And I'm certainly not loving what happened to you. We don't get along but I wouldn't wish that upon anyone. I don't find sexual assault the least bit funny."

Sherlock longed to humiliate him more but found he no longer had an outlet. He simply felt very tired.

"Your DI Toll did. He seemed to find my humiliation hilarious."

"Well he's a sick bastard."

"You liked him."

"So did John Watson. So did Lestrade. We didn't know him. Sherlock, we're all on your side here. What he did was wrong. And we'll find him and punish him for it."

Sherlock had a strong suspicion that he wouldn't be found. Or rather, that someone else would find him, first. Most probably, Mycroft's men.

A subtle beep signaled his mobile going off. He located it in his pocket and opened it.

Ah so it starts.

The message was very simple.

I have a surprise, lovely one. Two, in fact. Meet me at the old paperback mill on canary road. You'll find it open, M.

Sherlock looked out the window. Mycroft's car had left but John had not come up the stairs. He inwardly sighed.

Damn you, Moriarty! Why is it always him? I would come anyway, you fool!

But then it came to him. Insurance.

He didn't think that he would have too much trouble escaping undetected from Anderson.

Tbc…

More AN-

Anon- I like constructive criticism, helps a writer. Then there's just putting down a writer's work. According to your review I 'need help' with grammar, spelling, and settings. Ironic, considering you wrote 'speak' as 'speek' and that it could 'use a good editing'. ('Use some good editing' perhaps?). Also, if you relook at chapter 5, you'll see Moriarty rips off the masking tape and John spits out the gag before talking. Regardless, I've fixed up the 'dollars' (agreed, that was a very stupid mistake of mine). As for the other errors, I don't have a beta and therefore am more likely to make minor errors, even though I do reread through every chapter a few times to try pick up any of these minor errors.

Fluffiebunniekins- Toll is def going to appear next chapter.

Anon- I agree about Anderson. I think he's actually rather clever in the series. He knew about rache being German for revenge. Interesting theory about his broken marriage.

Slashie-Hope you liked the little bamf John in this chapter.

FRANKENSINWENTMAD- Thanks! Coming to the climax now.

Simallyher- Sad but true-we do hurt the ones we love the most. Damn human nature

Ultraviolet128- Thanks! It's great to know Sherlock's IC.

Sournois- lol. Agreed I think they should write in the delightfully talented Mr. Cumberbatch as Sherlock yelling to John 'I fucking love you' 'I want you John'. 'make love to me John' 'take me John' ha ha. They prob won't do it though. Shame

Tanya13- thank you so much! I can't bear to have them be angry at each other for too long…

Doctorcoffeegirl- Hope you like this one.

XMillieX- Lol. Thanks so much! Yeah Lestrade is fun to write. Difficult, but fun.

London Girl- Thank you so much! Agreed- it's a very sad fact of life that not many rape cases are even reported. Male rape, even less so. It does make me upset.

Soapiefan- I agree. Sherlock is used to being in control, the 'strong' one. I don't think he'd readily admit being vulnerable.

Elgraves- I like to think that John just lets his temper get the best of him, at times. Particularly when it comes to Sherlock…