I don't understand why it's dark. When Room was dark it was for punishment, so why is World dark? I ask Somebody, but he just looks sad. I ask the police but they look angry. I hide behind my hair. Maybe when I stop looking at them they'll stop being real.

I'm in a car and the car has windows and doors. There are strip lights outside, but they don't stop the dark. When I get back to Room I'm going to be good always, because Room is always bright and Pa will smile more once Chain has gone. Maybe the Somebody will live with us in Room. I'll have to introduce him to Eggsnake and show him my school box.

People are talking but they're not in the car with us. They sound like they're on TV, but I can't see any pictures. I hear words I don't understand like "Hostage", "Helicopters" and "Media". Detective Lestrade says a bad word. The car goes faster.

"Doctor Watson, how did you get Mr. Magnussen to leave Jack behind?" asks Donovan.

I peek at the Somebody and I deduce that he's about to lie. "I threatened to call the police."

She sighs. "I want to know who the boy's mother is. I've never heard of a case like this before. Women being held against their will with a child, yes, but a man with a child? This is a first for me." She looks at me. "Don't worry, Jack, we're nearly there."

I hide my face in Somebody's jumper. He pats my shoulder.

The car stops making noise and we stop. I see a strange looking house full of light and there is light shining on the house from above. There are people and cars everywhere. The police tell us to stay in the car and they leave me with the Somebody. I climb over him and press my face to the window. I can't see Pa. I notice the man from before and I ask John who he is.

"I don't know," he says. "It's funny he's carrying an umbrella though. He almost looks too important to be here."

I watch the man as he talks to the police. They turn and point at me. The man and I stare at each other. He's a bit creepy. I feel like he's watching my with a thousand eyes. Even the umbrella has eyes. The whole World has eyes. I turn away from the window and I hug the Somebody. He smells like a million smells I don't know. He cuddles me and we wait.

The first thing he is aware of is the cold. His teeth chatter and all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. Peeling open his eyelids, he glances once around Room and notices a blurry shape sat on one of the chairs. He squints and groans, his body shaking in an attempt to fight off the pain. He curls in on himself, grits his teeth and tries not to think about why he's naked. They'd been violent before, but this time They'd taken it to new extremes. He reaches out slowly, aware of how every movement makes sparks of pain shoot up his arm and he pulls his T-shirt towards himself. Biting his tongue to hold back a scream, he sits up in one brief, jerky spasm and breathes heavily through his nose as he pulls his T-shirt over his head. Keeping his jaw locked, he tugs his underwear up the length of Chain and struggles to get them up over his hips. Once he's caught his breath he turns back to the figure sat in the chair with their back to him. She's alone. Sherlock gathers a length of Chain in his hands and tries to slide off Bed as quietly as he can, but can't hold back the sharp intake of breath as more of his injuries reveal themselves. She cocks her head to one side and doesn't face him as She speaks.

"I wouldn't try moving if I were you. Charles has gone to get the… ARGH!"

She can't finish her sentence as Sherlock runs to her and wraps Chain around her neck and heaves. He almost collapses to his knees with the effort and his hands are shaking so hard he's having trouble choking her. He doesn't hear the door open and is only aware of the older man's presence as he takes a fist to the jaw. His head clips the edge of Table and he hits the floor hard. He stares at Jack's School Box and Eggsnake. Desolation and horror flood him and grasp his heart. He's never going to see his son again. He's going to be nothing but a curiosity in Jack's mind and one day Jack will stop thinking about him. He's going to be nothing more than a question to which no one will know the answer. He'll be a cold case and a distant memory.

It bothers him more than he expected it to.

He closes his eyes.

Suddenly there's a bang and although it sounds completely wrong, he flinches, thinking he's just been shot. He's already in too much pain to care. He just wants it to end.

"Police, hands in the air!"

Yep, he's definitely dead.

"Oh, Christ."

Fingers press against his neck and tries to push them away. Why couldn't he just die? Was it too much to ask?

"He's alive! Mr. Holmes, can you hear me? My name is Detective Lestrade, everything's going to be okay."

Sherlock drifts.

"Sherlock, I need you to open your eyes. Can you squeeze my hand? Can you do that for me? Squeeze my hand."

Boring. It hurts too much.

"Sherlock, there is a little boy outside waiting for you. He's very worried. I need you to…"

"Jck," groans Sherlock, eyelids fluttering as he tries to focus.

"Your son is outside waiting for you. The paramedics are coming. I'm right here, okay? We've just got to get rid of the chain and then we can get you out of here. Squeeze my hand if you understand."

Sherlock curls his fingers loosely around the man's hand.

"That's good, that's very good. Don't worry, they're gone, you're safe now. Just take deep breaths." A hand runs through his hair. "You're alright, I've got you. Thank God, we've finally found you, after all this time."

Sherlock swallows with difficulty. "Where have you been?" he rasps.

"You were incredibly difficult to find. Jack knew what to tell us. Your plan worked perfectly. I'm just sorry we didn't get here earlier."

Sherlock cracks one eye open and glares up at him. "Idiot."

Lestrade lets out a shaky laugh. "Thanks a lot. Just don't move, okay? You really don't look too good. Just keep your eyes open and focused on me. Helps on the way." He turns as footsteps approach them. "We're gonna need the bolt cutters. Have you got them? Well done."

Someone tugs on Chain and someone screams. It takes Sherlock far too long to realise it is him.

"Careful! He's been through enough already, take it easy! Sherlock, it's okay, we'll be as gentle as possible, just squeeze my hand when it gets too much, yeah? How bad are his injuries?"

More fingers prod him gently. "I don't think anything's broken, but he's going to need medical attention."

"No." Sherlock tries to push them all away. "Jack."

"Bring in the stretcher."

"NO!" roars Sherlock, "I've been stuck here for thirteen years, you are not carrying me out, I'm walking out!"

"But, sir…"

"No," Sherlock grips Lestrade's shirt tightly. "I need to do this. Let me do this. I haven't had free will for too long, you will let me do this. If you carry me out, you'll give my son a heart attack, I need to reassure him. I can wait until later."

There's a long pause. Then Lestrade nods. "Alright, but I'm helping you. Let's get you up."

There was a loud clank! And Sherlock stares at his freed leg. A paramedic starts to unravel what's left around his leg. His skin is red and puckered and covered in blisters. Everyone in the room winces. Lestrade puts his arms under Sherlock's shoulders and helps him up. He sways on his feet and he stands mostly on one leg, leaning heavily on Lestrade. Everyone watches silently as they hobble their way to the door. Sherlock's breathing accelerates as they approach it, dreading this to all be a hallucination and the door would suddenly shut before he could cross the threshold. But nothing happens. He's suddenly in a corridor and he's not too sure what to do. He suddenly has a strange urge to turn back.

Instead, he breaks down in tears.

Lestrade rubs his back and keeps walking towards the exit, and out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock can see that the detective is shedding tears of his own. Sherlock can't deduce why. He just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other so as not to be carried out. After what feels like an eternity, they go up a flight of stairs, through a living room and they're facing the front glass doors.

Sherlock shoves the detective away and runs.

The door is already open and he finds himself outside. Outside. Cold air blows around him, bright lights flash everywhere, all different colours and even in the dark he can see a swarm of people turn to face him. The crowd goes quiet and they stare at him and he stares back, but where is Jack?

He half runs, half falls down the flight of steps until his bare feet are on soft and well cut grass. He runs towards the nearest person, vaguely aware that he's screaming Jack, where is he, where's Jack? His eyes fly from vehicle to vehicle trying to find his small boy, his brave boy, why are they keeping Jack from him? Until…

"PA! PA, I'M IN THIS ONE!"

A man a few years older than him struggles to climb out of a car and hold Jack at the same time. Army. Doctor. Sherlock runs and falls, his legs giving out, his injuries demanding care and attention, but all he can see is Jack, Jack's alive, he did it, he did it, he did it…

He rips Jack out of the man's arms and holds him close. There's nothing except them. He stumbles and sinks to his knees, his face pressed against Jack's hair. Lights flash around them. People try to get closer. An orange blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. He opens his mouth and takes a huge, stuttering breath. They've done it. They've done it.

He looks at no one as they're bundled into the car. The soldier gets in with them. Without a word, he puts Sherlock's foot on his lap and the paramedics pass him some bandages and then they're gone. Sherlock is vaguely aware that he may be going into shock.

Jack points at the man tending to him. "Pa, look. Somebody."

The man smiles at Jack and reaches out to shake Sherlock's hand. "John Watson. Glad to see you're safe. You must be Sherlock."

Sherlock wants to reply but Jack interrupts. "When are we going back to Room?"

There's an awkward pause. "We're not going back, Jack."

His heart sinks and Jack cries all the way to the hospital.