"What?" John said in disbelief. "How could he have done that? He was only at that house once and he never even went inside."
"I didn't say it was a credible defense." Lestrade lay the file in front of them. "What I think she and her solicitors are trying to do is throw out as many alternate explanations as possible to confuse the jurors. Remember, before they see any of the evidence they'll see a nice, kind older woman. That alone is going to make them skeptical. Throw in that none of the supposed victims have talked before now and the fact they only did so when Sherlock talked to them and you have enough to make them doubt."
"How much of what you found is in that file?" Sherlock asked, his voice indicating he thought they were spending too much time on trivial things.
"Not all of it, of course. Most of the photographs. We're still trying to identify the children in most of them." There was an awkward silence.
"Are there any identifiable adults in these photographs?" Sherlock tightly asked.
"No. There rarely are. These pictures were especially bad for that; lots of children doing sexual things to each other and some of children engaging in solo sexual activity, but only a few where there are adults you can see. Even in those cases it's someone's back or side. Nothing that can identify the person, never any distinguishing marks, much less a face." Lestrade pointedly avoided looking at Sherlock. "The images and videos found on the computer may be easier to track down. We've requested assistance from a place in the States that specializes in online trafficking of minors."
"Any luck with that so far?" John asked. Lestrade seemed to be doing his best to pretend Sherlock wasn't there, so John decided to be direct.
"Actually, yes. Some. A few of the images were originally traded online, on a password-protected forum. It was brought down in a sweep a few years ago, but several members, including some frequent posters, are still unidentified. Dr. Martin might not have been a member of that board - and nothing on her computer or laptop indicated that she'd been there at all - but she clearly knew some of the posters there."
"Please remember that K is a wealthy individual. She could easily buy hard drives, or even whole systems, and smash or otherwise destroy them before anyone could find them, on a regular basis." Sherlock deliberately stared at Lestrade as he said this. "I doubt if you found any of those items they would be of use, but a look at her credit card bills may prove helpful in that regard."
"We've requested them, but they haven't come yet." Lestrade began to shuffle through the file again.
"Do you think any of the children in the photographs were previously her foster children?" John had just thought of it now, but it seemed frighteningly logical.
"Possibly. Once again, we've requested the records from social services but they haven't come up yet. She hasn't fostered in several years so the records aren't as easily accessed." John could see Lestrade take a deep breath. "I'm not exaggerating when I say that Dr. Martin appears to have planned for every contingency. Even before seeing all this I suspected this K was clever and knew how to not get caught, but it still boggles the mind." He shook his head.
For some reason, hearing K called "Dr. Martin" always unnerved John. The thought that someone who had gone through the same training he had - and even worse, someone who regularly cared for children - could still be that sort of monster was hard to believe. Dr. Arthur had been racist, sexist, and arrogant, but John hadn't wanted to divorce him from their shared profession. He swallowed before speaking. "Since she used to work at St. Bart's, would you be able to go through the records there and look for anything? For all we know, some of the victims could have been treated by her."
"We should," Lestrade said. He shuddered before saying, "God. For some reason that's the thing that bothers me the most. Working constantly with small children, like a parade of potential victims."
"Where is She currently employed?" Sherlock had been silent for so long that John was startled when he spoke.
"A swing shift position in a clinic for the homeless and their families. It's specifically geared to address the additional issues that may come with living rough." Lestrade still didn't look at him. John wondered if he too could hear the capital letter in She. "She works there three evenings a week."
"Are you going to question any of the children treated there?" Sherlock seemed all business. Knowing how much anxiety even mentioning K usually provoked in him, John wasn't sure whether to admire or shake his head about Sherlock's ability to shut off whatever he was feeling.
"If we can get permission from their parents," he replied, still not looking at Sherlock. "By the way, Mr. Aherne called the Yard earlier today and he said that Moira wants to talk to you again this weekend."
Sherlock made a sound of dismissal. "Of course. Now that K is jailed and Moira knows she is truly safe, she's far more willing to discuss what was going on between the two of them."
"Did you already deduce that her brother wants to talk to you as well?" Lestrade looked smug as he revealed his trump card.
The bored look on Sherlock's face changed into one of surprise. "No. I did not." He sounded subdued.
After hearing that, Lestrade seemed significantly less triumphant. "He apparently mentioned it to his father. Said it was important."
"I'll speak with him."
"Good." Lestrade seemed eager to change the subject. "With all this that needs to be done, you understand it will be a while before any trial starts."
"Understandable," Sherlock replied flatly.
By now Lestrade looked decidedly uncomfortable, and he stood, taking the file from the table. "I just wanted to keep the two of you updated. I should be going." He didn't wait for a goodbye; he just walked out the door and down the steps.
John was somewhat relieved that he was gone. He knew that Lestrade would know better than to bring up the subject of the photographs with Sherlock, but he might try to bring it up with John. The mere thought of it made John remember their brief, awkward conversation the night K had broken into the Aherne's flat. On the other hand, that meant he was now alone with Sherlock again, and the thought of more awkward silence between the two of them wasn't much more appealing. He was wondering if he should turn on the television when Sherlock spoke.
"How many relationships have you been in?" Sherlock was clearly trying to use the detached way of questioning that he used on cases, but there was a clear note of emotion.
"Serious relationships? Or are you just asking how many people I've dated?" John tried to sound casual.
"Are the numbers similar?"
He dodged the question. "Somewhat. If you add no-strings-attached sex to that, the total is probably quite a bit bigger. Medical students like to party."
"You enjoy that." It wasn't a question, but Sherlock said it like it was a source of bafflement.
"Do you mean sex, or relationships?" He wasn't sure he wanted to start going down this road.
"Both."
Well, that certainly didn't help matters. "All of this isn't particularly specific. Can you at least think of one specific thing to ask?"
"Why do you enjoy that so much?"
That wasn't specific at all, but John realized then that Sherlock was trying to avoid saying certain words. "Are you asking me why I enjoy sex?"
Sherlock didn't actually blush, but he turned away so John couldn't see his face. "Yes."
"That's a complicated question," he said, aware he was stalling but truly not sure where he should begin.
"I have time."
"There's a lot of reasons. The physical sensations are certainly part of it." He paused to gather his thoughts. "I would have to say that's a major part of it. Not just orgasm, but the physical closeness, just touching someone skin to skin. There's emotional closeness, too. It's not always there, of course, but when it is it makes things feel better. That's what makes it pleasurable for me, at least."
"How do you feel afterwards?"
John hadn't been expecting a question like that. "Relaxed. Tired. Generally content."
"Not -" He cut himself off.
"Not what?" John asked.
"Nothing important," Sherlock said dismissively.
"It was important. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked me anything. In fact, you wouldn't have said anything in the first place."
"Drop the subject." He sounded so firm that John knew to push the issue would probably result in disaster.
"All right." He still felt the need to add: "But if you do want to bring it up again I'll be willing to listen."
That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Sherlock rose out of the chair with a look of fury. "You think it's funny, don't you!"
John blinked. "What?" he said in confusion.
"You and your three continents! I'll bet you just think it's hilarious! That's why you went on about how good it felt! You thought it was funny that I wanted to bathe in acid! You're thinking about how I just didn't know how good I had it!" Before John could respond Sherlock turned and stormed away up the stairs. He still hadn't been able to process what had happened when he heard the door slam shut.
Knowing that he shouldn't delay the conversation further, he headed up the stairs as soon as he realized what Sherlock meant. "Can I come in?" John said to the door.
"Go away."
"If you won't let me in I'll just talk through the door, you know."
"Do that."
"First of all, I didn't know that's how you felt. If I had known at the time I wouldn't think it was funny." John paused. He hoped that Sherlock would have made some response, but when he got none he went on. "Second, I wasn't thinking about 'how good you had it,' as you said. There's a world of difference between what happened to you and my own experience."
"Go away." Even through the door his voice was thick.
John decided that now was not the time to push the issue. "All right, I'm going back downstairs." His head was spinning. Part of him just wanted Mycroft to conveniently vanish K and make the whole stress of more evidence finding and the trial go away. Even if that happened, though, John knew that nothing that the case had stirred up would go away. Truthfully, it was a miracle that Sherlock had gone this long without collapsing. Maybe it was the fact that he was being brought face to face with his abuser as well as living with someone he was clearly interested in a relationship with, sex or no sex. As much as he wanted Sherlock to see a therapist about all this, he knew he couldn't force him. They were both too far on the rollercoaster at this point to get off.