A/N: Sorry it took so long dears, but you have been a lovely audience! I have received so many favorites and follows and I just want to take a bow and say Thank you all so much for your support! I know that many of you are concerned that I will leave you hanging or stop writing, but I am here to tell you that unless God decides to take me early (I am praying he won't) this story will be completed! So don't worry! Last time I mentioned I am in need of a BETA if anyone is interested please tell me! I need one! Warnings for: Language, Gore, Blood, Torture, Angst, Feelings, Pain, and nastiness. If you are triggered easily by blood, gore or fear. DO NOT READ. I warned you, and it will only get worse. Please tell me if you want it more or less graphic? Too much? Not enough? I love hearing you feedback so please! Keep doing what you are! I will also take suggestions if you guys have any ideas for what you may want to see in the future chapters. Now, I may not use your idea so do NOT feel sad if I don't. I have my own plan for this story, but if one of you masterminds has a particularly good idea I just may use it and will give you credit for inspiration if you wish. I will do my best to post the next chapter sooner. Please enjoy.
~Lizzie
~~~~~~`o-o`~~~~~~
Mycroft screamed.
Startling everyone in the room, Alex who stared at the screen in shock and especially Sherlock who was frightened to his feet.
John was on his feet and by the older Holmes side, not knowing what to do but stand awkwardly and watch as Mycroft flew into a rage, bringing his fists to the wall with a loud bellow followed by a painful sounding crunch. He let his fists slide tiredly down from where they had hit, leaving two cracked large dents in the wall. The man's head lolled forward and he let it, not entirely gently, rest on the wall. His breathing coming in and leaving in short, shaky, shallow gasps as his shoulders jerked upward with each struggling breath.
Seeing his Brother, crawling on the floor, groping frantically for something he could hold. Something he could feel, have control and a tie to reality.
Understanding that his Brother was now more vulnerable than ever before made his entire being quake with nausea.
A sudden hand on his shoulder bought him back to reality violently, he gasped from the sudden overflow of thoughts.
John.
"Once again, my apologies for my undignified behavior." Mycroft self-consciously fixed his tie.
Just then he noticed all eyes but Sherlock's trained on him.
Worry.
Concern.
Understanding.
Pity.
And then those unseeing eyes, dashing about, desperately seeking something to see.
He felt a lump forming in his throat, but quickly swallowed it down.
No time for caring.
Caring is a disadvantage.
And now, Mycroft knew why.
Caring led to pain.
He settled back down in the chair, sighing long and softly, releasing all his emotions with it.
Much better, he had to be calm. For his Brother's sake.
All eyes, slowly left him and focused on his Brother who was at the moment slowly retreating to the far side of the room, stumbling and back pedaling away from the advancing Alex who was desperately doing his best to console the terrified man.
"Mr. Holmes, it's me, Alex. I am trying to help you. Please come here." He spoke low enough to be gentle but loud enough to be heard.
Sherlock backed even further, roughly slamming his back into the cold wall behind him; he gaped in shock and pain before quickly clamping his mouth shut.
Sherlock slid his good hand quickly over the surface of the wall behind him, searching for something, anything.
Alex crept forward, making enough noise to be heard so Sherlock could easily track his movements.
It didn't help.
As soon as Alex laid his hand on the Detective's shoulder, he flinched violently away from the touch and collapsed on the floor to escape.
Alex followed and sat on his haunches speaking softly.
"Mr. Holmes, there is no one else here, just you and I. Calm down, I am not here to hurt you. And I am sorry they did hurt you. Come along. I am going to clean you up a bit, I doubt you are comfortable."
After a moment's hesitation, Sherlock reached out slowly then quickly withdrew his hand when it found Alex's. He attempted again, forcing himself not to shy away.
"There you go, mate. That's it." Alex slid his hand up Sherlock's arm and to his shoulder and placing his other hand in Sherlock's.
"Now you are going to have to stand up, I'll help ya'."
Slowly and carefully Alex helped the Detective to his shaky feet, gently keeping him propped against the wall until he had his balance.
"Now I need you to walk forward a bit." Alex gave a slight tug and began to lead the reluctant Holmes closer to the hose.
Sherlock shuffled hesitantly, not completely trusting the man leading him. But this was the horror of being impaired; he must rely on the people around him to care for him.
And he hated feeling so obligated to follow.
Suddenly Alex stopped pulling and instead began lowering Sherlock to sit on the floor.
Sherlock tentatively reached out an exploring hand to find if there was anything in front of him, his fingers met a chair and he slowly pulled himself towards it, leaning on it heavily.
The exhaustion was kicking in.
Sherlock hadn't slept for four days now. He felt the sluggishness in his limbs, the heavy weights for eyelids, he wanted to sleep terribly but he couldn't for fear of being punished or the pain he was in.
He had almost drifted when a sudden trickle of water down his sore back bought him to.
A tad too quickly.
The lithe Detective bucked and arched his back painfully away with a gasp pulling from his open mouth.
"Sorry, Sir. Easy does it." Alex kneeled directly behind Sherlock and gently lowered his head back down to the seat of the chair, holding him firmly by the back of his neck.
"I have to clean you up or you will get an infection, doubt you want any of those." Alex finished with a chuckle before returning the trickle back to the mulch for muscle.
Shudders visibly racked the thinning man's frame, slowly becoming less and less frequent until Sherlock was able to withstand the light stream.
Alex tutted to himself, no matter how many minutes he let the water run over Sherlock's back, more blood melted to the surface, running down the ripped crevices of skin before pooling on the floor beneath them and winding like a snake to the drain in the middle of the floor.
He let the water trickle over his own hand in an attempt to clean it before gently placing it on Sherlock's raw back.
"Easy does it," Alex whispered to the man beneath his fingers that began to tremble with effort from holding back the pain.
Alex gently yet firmly ran his hand through Sherlock's skin, dislodging any tough debris and hoping to better clean the wound. The Detective held in the screams by biting his lower lip to the point of bleeding.
After what seemed like hours, the water was shut off and Sherlock leaned heavily on the chair in front of him, chest heaving with painful, controlling breaths. Sherlock sighed in relief knowing some of the remnants of that disgusting man were off him, his body felt less appalling and he settled slightly, a little bit more comfortable in his injured skin.
"I am going to dry you off now, Sir." Suddenly, a warm, clean cloth was draped over Sherlock's back and with gentle fingers was patted down to soak the rising blood.
A familiar voice made Sherlock lift his heavy head, "Alex, you need to put down pressure to stop the bleeding." The voice was strained with what sounded like pain and pity.
Sherlock's analysis of John's tone was cut short by a hard pressure to his back that forced a yelp from him, he couldn't suppress it and immediately collapsed to the concrete. Another shout broke free as he jarred his wrist, which now bent and twisted at an unnatural angle. John felt tears in his eyes as Sherlock curled in on himself, preparing to be punished for making noise.
"I am not gonna hurt ye' mate! Easy, I need to stop the bleeding." The Detective had turned his back away from Alex to avoid the unwanted touch.
Sherlock covered his face with his right forearm and his nudity with his left hand.
The poor thing still, in all this pain, is worried about his nudity in front of his friends.
John guessed it was mostly to hide from Sally.
Sherlock was strange in that way.
Alex cautiously crawled around to the quivering Detective's back and snaked an arm under Sherlock's, gently pulling the bleeding man to rest on his lap.
Sherlock stiffened as he was draped across what felt like a pair of legs, he was turned on to his stomach in quite an indignant fashion.
Alex carefully looped an arm across the Detective's shoulders and underneath his right arm, holding him down tightly before pressing the cloth down firmly with his right hand. Sherlock couldn't control the scream that was viciously ripped through his throat, nor could he control his kicking legs and arching back as he struggled against the painful hand at his flesh.
~~~~~~`o-o`~~~~~~
Sally turned and buried her features in Lestrade's shoulder; he stared unblinkingly at his collea- Friend, as he struggled against the man trying to help him.
Anderson, no matter how desperately he wanted to, couldn't turn away from that sight. Guilt and grief pulled at his heart for every nasty remark, every sneer, every terrible name he ever called Sherlock. He wished he could take it all back.
Mycroft blinked hard to push back the tears threatening to fall at seeing his baby Brother in so much pain. No, Sherlock was more than that to him, he was his baby. Mycroft had been the one to raise Sherlock when he could. A paternal instinct in him was boiling to the surface, all those years he tried to deny that one true fact. Sherlock was like a son to him. A best friend. A brother. Some big brother he was! Letting them take Sherlock, doing terrible things to him and this time, he was just as useless to him as he was as a child, when their Father was the abuser.
John knew this was necessary, the blood had to be stopped and the infectious skin cleaned. But that didn't make the process of watching in the sidelines and feeling useless hurt any less. To see Sherlock restrained and forcibly cleaned in his drugged, crazed, painful and blinded state made John wish it was him in that cellar and Sherlock safe by his Brother's side. John would give his life without a moment's hesitation just to die, knowing Sherlock was safe. John didn't want to imagine what punishment was ready for Sherlock next, especially since he had broken all of the rules. The soldier felt bile rising into his throat as he gazed at the struggling, crying, screaming, bloody man on the ground.
"Have you tracked the signal yet?!" John stood and quickly walked to the far end of the room where Mycroft's men were working to find the signal of the camera capturing the horror.
"No, sir."
John rubbed his face before returning to the screen to see Sherlock sobbing and quaking, kicking out and twisting in the other man's arms.
~~~~~~`o-o`~~~~~~
Sherlock was growing more difficult to handle by the second; he was slipping into shock from the loss of blood, his screams growing louder against his will. He knew the consequences of his behavior but his body wouldn't heed him, limbs lashed out and screams echoed through the room.
"That's enough, sir, easy, take it easy." He whispered.
Alex realized what he had to do, he didn't like the idea in the least bit, but knew it was the only effective way of getting the man to calm down or rather be stunned into silence.
Alex reluctantly leaned down close to the Detective's ear and roared, "I SAID THAT IS ENOUGH!"
Sherlock's entire body jerked before going rigid, his breathing hitched as he choked back a frightened sob: the only movement he made was a slight shivering in the freezing air.
He had successfully terrified the man into submission and it felt awful.
The looks he was receiving from the screen made him even more uncomfortable, what they must be thinking of him now.
But when he reluctantly looked up his eyes were met with those filled with pity and a sick understanding, if Sherlock continued the other handlers would come in and beat the shit out of him. At least in the tense silence, in the darkness behind open eyes, in the vice grip of fear Sherlock could at least be tended to.
Alex held the man to his lap firmly and continued to press the cloth to his back. How humiliating this must be for a full grown man to be draped over someone's knee, naked like a babe. To make the situation worse, the freezing air caused them both to shake and shiver.
Hypothermia was beginning to become a problem for Sherlock, he was already well into the mild stage. His features pale, more than usual, his blind eyes unfocused and darting. The Detective suddenly clutched at his stomach, turning in on himself till he lay curled around Alex's legs in what may have been the fetal position.
John held his mouth in a tight line; stage four of Sherlock's withdrawal was kicking in.
Alex stared down at Sherlock who had been quietly groaning in pain for a minute straight, a low rumble that eventually cracked off. Satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, Alex gently lifted Sherlock off his lap and settled him on to the floor.
He couldn't help but stare at the man curled on the floor beneath him: Bloodied and shivering in the cold Sherlock desperately looked for something to see but failed and grunted angrily. His legs kicked out against his control, muscles twitching and jerking at their own will. A wave of intense nausea rolled over him, strong enough to send him a torrent of headaches that stabbed and twisted sharply. The Detective gasped and curled in on himself in fear of being punished for the yelp that he had let escape. Swiftly, Alex made his way over and knelt by the young man rocking himself, just in time to lift his head as he vomited an arch of crimson blood. There was nothing in his system to be released besides blood.
Bit not good.
"Oh, easy sir! Calm down, take deep breaths!" But Alex's voice had been anything but calming, the familiar frightening tone sent Sherlock into a wild panic.
Rolling roughly onto his stomach he frantically and clumsily crawled away from the terrifying noise till his head bumped a wall, Alex hadn't been quick enough to stop him. Sherlock in frustration, exhaustion and pain flopped onto his side and waited. The moment Alex had fell to his knees beside him Mycroft spoke.
"Just tell us where you are! He needs our help. Please." John was concerned at how weak that once strong voice sounded.
"I would, Sir. I wish I could! But he is threatening my Family. I can't." And just like that, all their hopes sunk. It was seeming unlikely that Sherlock would come out of this alive.
Just then, as if on cue, two large male handlers stalked in and swiftly moved Alex out of their way. They loomed dangerously over Sherlock, both grinning madly and giggling as they watched the battered man at their feet quiver.
In the larger one's hands rested a metal collar, in his partner's a remote.
"About time this Bitch was collared."