A/N: Oh my lord I am so sorry that this has taken me so long to update. But here it is, the second to last chapter. But do not fret my darlings, the healing process will come, it will be it's own separate fic and should be out fairly soon after this is finished as I am actually working on it once again. Anywho hope you enjoy this chapter and as always feedback is encouraged
Water surrounded Sherlock and flood in through his mouth and into his lungs. He kicked his legs around, attempting to push up and out of the water to fill his lungs with air rather than the dark, cold water. There was pressure on top of his head, holding him down in the water, he was sure that he was about to die, this was it, this was the end, death by drowning.
He suddenly was pulled up and out by his hair and his lungs were quick to take in the air, coughing up the water that was lodging his air ways. Before Sherlock could fully recover he was dunked back into the water. He flailed around more frantically, kicking his arms and legs, grabbing at the hand that was holding him under. Sherlock quickly felt himself becoming more tired, his kicking becoming slower. He swallowed in a large mouthful of water before being heaved out of the water and thrown onto the ground. Sherlock coughed violently, trying to expel the water from his lungs. Moriarty wandered over to Sherlock and hovered over him, watching as he choked and coughed.
"Sherlock, you're pathetic" Moriarty said stonily, turning away from him.
"Please," Sherlock coughed out. "Please help me sir" Sherlock said, weakly grabbing hold of the edge of his pant leg. Moriarty turned back to look at him, crouching down to look at him. He placed his hand under Sherlock's chin, lifting up his head slightly. Sherlock coughed weakly and Moriarty shook his head but nodded to his two laggies to lift Sherlock up and haul him back to his room
John sat at the desk, papers strewn all around him, and sighed. Helping to plan a extraction of Sherlock proved to be more difficult than John had anticipated. A tray was sat down in front of him and he looked up, his eyes meeting Miss Hudson's.
"I brought you some tea and nibbles dear"
"Thank you" John said softly, forcing a smile out. Miss Hudson sadly smiled back, pulling out the chair next to John and sitting down in in, placing her hand on John's arm.
"Dear you know you don't have to do this, we all know how much you've been helping, Sherlock will understand" John closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose.
"I know" he said, exhaling. "But I want to"
When John woke the next morning from where he had passed out on the table at some point in the night he heard low whispers in the living room and turned around frowning. Mycroft was there, speaking hurriedly to Lestrade.
"Yes but I don't know what Sherlock's condition is like we don't know what Moriarty did to him in there his mind could be fragile, we must execute extreme precaution" Lestrade let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I understand that I just," Lestrade chose that moment to look up, his eyes meeting John's. Mycroft followed Lestrade's gaze and looked at John who sat up straighter.
"What's going on?" John asked frowning.
"Nothing you need concern yourself with" Mycroft said tightly. John's frown deepened and he stood from his chair, walking over to where Mycroft and Lestrade were standing.
"What's going on." John asked, his voice firmer. Lestrade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"We're worried about the state of Sherlock's mind and Mycroft is afraid of overloading his brain" Mycroft glared at Lestrade as he finished his sentence. John frowned, crossing his arms and licking his lips.
"I'm sure his mind is well intact" John said, a slight amount of anger in his tone.
"We don't know that, we have no idea what happened, we have no idea how Moriarty treated him in there" Mycroft said tightly. "I know you adore him and have the utmost faith in him but he is still human" John sighed angrily, tensing his jaw and gritting his teeth.
"So what are you proposing?"
"Well it would be ideal for you to lay low once we get there and for you to not look for Sherlock by yourself" Lestrade interjected calmly, causing Mycroft to clench his jaw shut and John to tense up.
"So you think I'm going to jeopardize the mission?" John asked defensively.
"Nobody said that John we just need to make sure everyone involved is exercising extreme precaution" Lestrade said, standing in between John and Mycroft as John made a move to close in on the older Holmes brother. "We will get Sherlock out exactly as planned as long as everyone involved sticks to the plan" John continued to frown but nodded all the same, deflating slightly.
Sherlock hadn't seen Moriarty in a few days and he was beginning to wonder if something was amiss. The last time Sherlock had seen him he had looked stressed though he would never admit it and would definitely never admit it to Sherlock. Sherlock sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall, shivering slightly as the cool temperature.
He had just started drifting off when he heard the shouting, the loud heavy footsteps, and the door of his room being slammed open. His eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet, standing on top of his bed. All the people in his room were covered in heavy gear and masks and they were all talking so much at the same time.
"We found him!" was shouted into a walkie-talkie attached to one man's shoulder. One of the men reached out for Sherlock to grab him and he jumped out of the way, refusing to let the man grab hold of him. It took three men to wrestle him to the ground and carry him up and out of the basement of the complex. They carried him to the ambulance, setting him down on a stretcher and held down his arms as the paramedics took a look at him. A short blond man ran up to Sherlock, standing in front of him.
"Sherlock" he breathed out, tears in his eyes. Sherlock furrowed his brow at the man. The man looked concerned, looking past Sherlock to somewhere behind him before looking back at Sherlock.
"Sherlock come on, don't play that game you know who I am" the man sounded just a tad unsure of himself and Sherlock shook his head. "It's me, John, John Watson." Sherlock shook his head more fiercely, pushing at the men holding him down and at the paramedics hands that were on his back.
"Sherlock," the man said, reaching out to grab for Sherlock. Sherlock made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that grew louder and turned into a scream. Tears welled up in the man's eyes and he turned his back, walking back towards the car he came in. He could still hear Sherlock screaming even after he closed the door.
8 Hours Earlier
There were far too many people in John's flat. Far too many people and far too many maps, busy putting the finishing touches on the rescue mission. John stood in the doorway of the kitchen, sipping his steadily growing cold tea. He was nervous, worried that Sherlock would be severely injured and would maybe not want to come home. He tried telling himself that, that wouldn't be the case but he had no way to know for sure. He watched with baited breath as the men in his flat began rolling up the maps, collecting their papers, jackets, phones, and pens, filing out in a fast but orderly manner.
Lestrade and Mycroft were the only two left and they escorted John to a shiny black Buick, pushing him into the back seat and debriefing him on the way to the warehouse where Sherlock was, the warehouse Sherlock was to be rescued from. John watched the men suit up as he felt his pulse quicken and his anxiety spike. He wanted to be one of the ones suiting up but it had been decided that it might be better for John to stay behind and wait. And wait John did for forty five minutes he waited until he heard the chime of the walkie and the crackle of the man on the other end, "we don't think he's here" waited for Mycroft's huffed agitated response of, "keep looking" waited that extra twenty minutes until he heard a somewhat cheerful cry of "we found him" and he waited with baited breath and heart in his throat for them to bring Sherlock out.
Now
John sat in the back seat of the Buick, rocking slowly back and forth. He hadn't recognized him. Oh god what did he do to him? John thought, letting a small sob escape his throat. He had looked awful John had thought at first. When they brought him out John wasn't even entirely sure that it was Sherlock. He was so small now, seemingly thinner than he had been before, his hair was long and hung into his eyes and he was still wearing the same clothes he had on the day Moriarty took him.
John shivered remembering how Sherlock only moments before had shied away from the brightness of the sun, almost fearing it as though it would hurt him. The door to the car was opened and John was snapped out of his reprieve. Mycroft slid into the seat next to him and sighed.
"They're taking him to Bart's and we're following in the car" Mycroft stated tiredly. John opened his mouth to talk but Mycroft, as if he could read John's mind, beat him to the punch. "We aren't sure why Sherlock had such a violent reaction to you as he seemed only a tad weary of my presence. After they examine his physical health they'll be running tests on the state of his mind" John nodded in understanding, leaning back in the seat, only just then realizing that the car was in motion.
John swallowed thickly before speaking, "will I be allowed to see him?"
Mycroft sighed, drawing in a large breath, "yes you may see him but be sure that he does not see you"
He almost looked worse than he had before now that he was under the scrutiny of the bright fluorescents of St. Bart's. They had bathed him, though John heard that was a trial as he had kept screaming and trying to bite the nurses, it looked as though someone had brushed his hair too. He was so small, even as he rested he looked so broken, looked to be in so much need.
They had run most of the tests already, he was underweight and malnourished, the doctors had said there was repeated injury to the rib cage and two of them were fractured, they had to rebreak two fingers to properly set them but otherwise there was no physical damage. John had overheard Sherlock's doctor talking to Mycroft about scars and the multitude of them.
Mycroft had hushed him and told the doctor that when Sherlock was ready to talk about them he would. John could see some of the scars, he had dark marks around his wrists, and odd jagged marks around his neck. John wondered again, though not for the first time, what Moriarty had done to him.
"Awful it's it?" Mycroft said, causing John to jump.
"It's so bad" John whispered quietly. "What happened to him?"
Mycroft sighed, "we might never know, he hasn't spoken at all, once they run the cognitive tests they're thinking therapy." John let out a shuddering sigh.
"Do you think he'll ever go back to how he used to be? Do you think he'll remember me?"
Mycroft sighed again, shaking his head. "Right now I don't know, it's entirely likely that he'll never be the same again, no one but him and Moriarty know what happened in there but whatever it was must have truly been a nightmare." John nodded, swallowing thickly.
"You should get some sleep" Mycroft said softly. John nodded, moving away from the room and walking slowly down the hallway
John laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep, he was far too worried about Sherlock. John sighed, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and padding downstairs into the kitchen. He wandered into Sherlock's room, grabbing Sherlock's belstaff before throwing on his own jacket and wandering downstairs and out onto the street to hail a cab.
Once in the cab he laid the coat across his lap, smoothing out the creases in the fabric. He rubbed the fabric of the lapel in between his thumb and forefinger until he reached Bart's. He stood in the elevator with the coat draped over his arm, tapping his foot impatiently.
He snuck past the nurses station and down the hall to Sherlock's room and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Sherlock asleep. He crept into Sherlock's room and watched him for a moment. His cheeks were sunken in and he was far paler than John had ever seen a person be. John sighed, walking over to the chair next to the bed and draping the long coat over the back before turning and heading home.