Thanks for all of you readers and reviewers! I appreciate you all :)

Chapter Warning: Vague descriptions of rape/ sexual abuse

The rest of the day Sherlock kept to himself, but he seemed to move lighter, to have a weight off him. John hoped that was the case; if Sherlock needed a little more attention to make him feel cared for then he could do that. He was still surprised; surprised that Sherlock wanted attention and affection from him of all people. He was so closed in on himself; and yet part of him had wondered all along if there wasn't a deeply sensitive person trapped within Sherlock. It was obvious now that there was. For the first time in weeks, John felt positive. He felt like they were starting to get somewhere. Sherlock was starting to discuss the abuse he'd suffered, reaching out to John for help…..John was beginning to feel that healing might actually be possible after all.

It was late evening, after dinner when John suggested that he and Sherlock go for a walk. To his great surprise, Sherlock actually agreed. It was the first time that Sherlock had put clothes on and left the flat the entire time that he'd been at home.

The sun was low on the horizon and the air cool as they walked down the street. There was silence between them as they walked but it was a comfortable silence. It wasn't until they had reached the park and sat down on a bench, watching couples walking by and children playing, that Sherlock finally spoke. "So how many more days do I have?" he asked.

"What?" John asked in surprise, not knowing where it was coming from.

"The hospital" Sherlock said, pulling his coat around him. "I know that I'm going to have to go back soon…..when is Mycroft going to take me back to the hospital?"

John looked out towards the families in the park to avoid having to look at Sherlock. "At the end of the week" he said. "But you know…you're doing so much better he might be persuaded to let you stay a little longer"

Sherlock laughed skeptically. "Don't waste your breath trying to argue with Mycroft" he said. He looked down at the ground. "Besides…..now that I've got my memory back, they'll no doubt want to question me. Possibly convict me…I could very well be doing time soon."

John looked down at the ground. It was a possibility but John hoped sincerely that it was not going to happen. Surely the courts had to see that Sherlock had been in a completely unstable mental state and couldn't be held responsible for what he had done. People had gotten off on less evidence before. "They are going to want to question you, Sherlock, but it's going to be okay…you can't possibly be held responsible for what you did. It wasn't you"

Sherlock let out another bitter laugh. "I'm sure the 'it all went black, I don't remember doing it' argument is going to go over real well" he said sarcastically.

John sighed. "It'll be okay Sherlock…..it has to be. I just….it wasn't you. That'll be obvious in the end" he said.

Sherlock and John sat on the bench in silence for a long time; John didn't even notice Sherlock's change from somewhat calm to panic until he was jumping up from the bench and running towards the direction of home. "Sherlock!" John called out as he got up, hoping Sherlock would stop but he didn't. It wasn't long before Sherlock left John far behind and he could no longer see him ahead.

John ran as fast as he could manage back to Baker street, climbing the stairs quickly. When he got into the flat he found Sherlock on the verge, if not teetering over the edge, of having a panic attack. He was sitting on his chair, sitting on his feet, hands pressed together but shaking. He was breathing so fast that John was afraid he was going to hyperventilate.

"Sherlock, hey…..calm down a bit" John said, kneeling in front of Sherlock's chair. If anything, Sherlock's speed of breathing increased.

"Listen, Sherlock, calm down. Slow down a bit" John urged, needing to calm him down before he found out what in the world had caused this. "Look at me" John said, tilting Sherlock's head so that he was looking at John. "You need to slow down a bit….breath in…breath out…..breath in…breath out….."

Sherlock's eyes were panicked but he followed John's breathing instructions and after a few minutes his breathing had slowed down to a normal pace. Once it had, John let go of Sherlock's head and gave him a smile. "Much better…." He said encouragingly. "Now, Sherlock….can you tell me what just happened in the park? What brought this on?"

Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment and his breathing increased; he closed his eyes and managed to calm his breathing down again. He swallowed a few times, turning pale, before he was able to open his eyes and look at John. "I saw him" Sherlock said almost in a whisper.

"Who?" John asked.

"Him" Sherlock said in a hiss of a whisper. The way his voice cracked and the fear in his eyes told John all that he needed to know.

"Sherlock, he couldn't have been there" John said. Technically, Garret could have very well been there but the odds were not good. If Garret valued his well-being at all, then he would stay very far away from John. "You had to have been seeing things"

"I wasn't!" Sherlock said, his eyes widening with panic. "I wasn't imagining it, it was him!" He began to pull at his hair and John became alarmed; Sherlock was supposed to be getting better, not panicking to the point that he was imagining Garret was actually a present threat to him.

"Okay, calm down…."John said cautiously.

"You don't believe me!" Sherlock said, still grabbing his hair and panicking. "He was there, he was! He was looking right at me! What if he comes here?"

"He doesn't know where you live, right? You never told him?" John said asked. He needed to calm Sherlock down before he began full-on melt down.

Sherlock shook his head. "I didn't tell him….but he's not stupid….he can figure it out if he wanted to" he said looking at the floor. John grabbed Sherlock by the arms and made him look at him. "You're going to be okay, Sherlock" John said strongly. "I won't let anything happen to you, okay?" John was fairly sure that Sherlock was imagining this whole thing, but he still wanted Sherlock to know that he was safe. Whether the threat was real or not, it was very real to Sherlock and he needed to feel safe.

Sherlock's eyes were sad as he looked at John. "It can't happen again….I'm not sure I would be able to take it" he said softly.

"What?" John asked. Sherlock seemed like he wanted to say something but he seemed stuck.

Sherlock put his hand over his eyes. "I can't ever see him again….." he whispered. "I saw him last time because….Because…I thought he…..cared for me…now I know he doesn't…..he really doesn't….because he…he…" Sherlock pulled away from John, curling up into a ball in his chair, tucking his head towards his knees as he pulled them up.

John could barely hear Sherlock, and he maybe wasn't supposed to, when Sherlock finally spoke again. "He raped me"

…

Sherlock's head felt strange; he tried to formulate thoughts but it felt like they were suspended in his head. Almost like his head was jelly and the thoughts couldn't push through…..he couldn't recall having taken another hit of drugs…..but he must have. He felt so strange and slow. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, his thoughts stuck before he realized he was cold. He could feel gooesbumps forming along his skin at the chill. It felt like his skin was exposed; his eyes didn't feel like they could move enough to open and look. It didn't make sense…..he was sure that he had had clothes on, right? Why on earth would he have taken his clothes off? He forced himself to think quicker but it was difficult. He couldn't remember the drugs slowing him down this much before…..what was the problem?

Sherlock tried to roll over from the position that he was in but found resistance; his arms and legs wouldn't move. He tried harder to move, but still found that he was unable to do so, stuck on his belly. Shaking his head as if to dissolve the fog that he was in, he finally managed to open his eyes. He felt immediate panic when he opened his eyes and he couldn't see anything; his eyes were covered, but why? Blindfold? He hadn't been kidnapped or anything….had he? No….but what other reason could there be for this?

Sherlock forced his senses to work better; think, think…..feel…..what is going on? His eyes were covered by something, must be a blindfold. He couldn't move his arms or legs…..something strong held his wrists and ankles. It felt rough like rope; okay…..tied to something. He felt softness under him, like a bed. Tied to a bed then…

Sherlock was now fully panicked when he realized what was going on; he viciously fought against the ropes that held him, quickly feeling pain shooting through him. The bounds were not giving away at all and he felt terror start to close his throat. He felt like screaming or crying but he could hardly breathe let alone do those things.

"You really shouldn't fight it, Sherlock…..you'll just hurt yourself"

Sherlock's stomach rolled, tasting bile in his mouth when he heard Garret's voice, very close to his ear. "What…..what are you doing?"

Garret was quiet for a long time; an uncomfortable silence passed in which all Sherlock could hear was the cracking of lightening and pounding of thunder outside of the house as a storm raged. "Sherlock, you're a smart boy….I shouldn't have to explain this to you" Garret said.

Sherlock bit his lip, trying to think his way out of this; only it didn't appear that there was a way out of this. The bed creaked as he felt Garret sit down beside him. He felt a hand on his back and gasped slightly as Garret ran his hand along Sherlock' back. Sherlock shivered and he knew that he was completely exposed, his skin completely bare. Normally such a touch wouldn't have elicited such a reaction, but now, tied and completely deprived of his sight, knowing his clothes had been removed without his consent, made his gasp catch in his throat. It turned into a sob that couldn't quite make it out but was obvious to Garret. "Sherlock, surely you're not going to cry? Like a little boy?" he said a touch of condescendence on his voice.

"I'm confused….as to why you're doing this? Untie me; take this thing off my face." Sherlock demanded. His voice sounded quiet and hallow to himself.

Garret's hand went to Sherlock's head, rubbing along his hair. "That's not going to happen…..it's obvious the purpose of this, is it not?" he asked.

Sherlock's breath was coming out in quick gasps. "I know why you are doing this….but why are you…..forcing me?" he asked.

"I thought you might be a little reluctant" Garret said, his voice coming from somewhere close to Sherlock's ear.

Of course he'd be reluctant….this wasn't what he had wanted. Sure, he had not even expected to stay all this time he had; he hadn't expected to try to forge a relationship with Garret. He hadn't wanted to do the things he'd done and tell him everything he had. His feelings had made him do things that he was confused about this week. But he was sure that he didn't want to do this. "I don't want to…..do this" Sherlock said. "Please stop"

"Sherlock….this can't all be about you" Garret warned.

"What?" Sherlock asked in panic.

"Sherlock, you've had what you wanted. All this week I've comforted you and gave you what you wanted. A relationship is about give and take…..You have to give me something too, you know"

Sherlock' stomach dropped; he had thought that things would be different now. He wasn't sure exactly why he thought that but he thought that but he had. When he had been a kid he had expected this sort of thing; he did things Garret wanted to get things that he wanted. But now, as adults, he thought things could be different. "C-can you….untie me though…..take this blindfold off?" he asked, his voice small. He felt like he was being brought back to his childhood when Garret was so much more powerful than him and he was powerless to stop things from happening that he didn't want to. If this was going to happen, he wanted to be able to not be completely helpless at least.

Sherlock felt a shift on the bed and was alarmed to feel him behind him; silent tears began to fall out of his eyes under the blindfold. "No…..I don't think I'm going to do that" Garret said. "I like you this way too much"

Sherlock's tears became no longer silent as sobs escaped him. Garret pressed down on him so he could whisper in his ear. "Shhh….don't be so dramatic, Sherlock. You act like you've been such an angel when we both know you haven't been. Now stop that crying, you're not a child"

Garret's voice was so condensing, so hurtful. The weight of what this fully meant crashed down on him. All week he'd thought they were becoming friends again, healing the hurt that Sherlock had suffered after he left. When really all he wanted was this….and since he wasn't a child anymore and couldn't force him the way he used to, he used his drugs against him and tied him down. It was Sherlock's own fault; he shouldn't have come here. It was stupid….he was never stupid.

Sherlock bit down his tears til they were silent, listening to the tumult of the storm outside as pain shot through him so severe he didn't know how he could manage. Fighting against the bounds despite the fact that it did no good, the pain that filled him was so bad that he wanted to die. The physical pain was only a small fraction of the pain; the emotional pain and shame was much worse.

Sherlock kept his eyes shut under the blindfold, for once glad it was on him so he couldn't bear to see this happening. The only thing that kept him going was knowing eventually this would be over. He had to make it back to 221b…..to John. John kept him holding on.

….

John walked on shaky legs, barely making it back to the sitting room before his legs gave out on him. He went to his chair and practically fell into it, staring out the window, his eyes frozen stunned. Somehow he managed the strength to help Sherlock to bed, practically carrying him; he was just glad that Sherlock had accepted the sedatives when John suggested it. He had given Sherlock a hefty dose, hoping it would keep him sleeping for a long, dreamless. He was so hysterical about thinking he'd seen Garret, he needed it.

John kept staring out the window into the darkness of the night, knowing he should cry or throw something, get sick….anything. But he felt no movement in him to react. For weeks, months, he wanted to know what had happened to Sherlock. And while he had known it would be difficult to hear, he'd never anticipated how hard it would to hear, especially from Sherlock's own lips. The sadness that caused him to sob, the fear and pain in his eyes…..it had ripped John completely apart. It was no wonder Sherlock was in the mental state that he was; quite surprising that he wasn't worse off than he was.

Anger rose in John like a force he couldn't control, coming in waves and bursts. Garret was a monster and he deserved to be dead. He deserved to die a slow, painful death.

He had to do something, he thought as he gripped the arms of the chair. He had to do something. A second later he was on his feet and walking towards his bedroom, digging in his closet for the new hiding place he'd found for his gun after Sherlock's episode. Rage filled him, making his ears pound and his heart skip. He smiled as the cool metal of the gun touched his hand, making him feel so much in power. He was up and on his feet, moving toward the door quickly. It was only when he reached the door that he stopped.

John looked down at the gun in his hand, his other hand paused at the doorknob. What the hell was he doing? Was he honestly thinking about going after Garret? That was possibly the stupidest thing that he could possibly do. John walked back over to the couch and plopped down, setting the gun beside him. He put his head in hands and looked down. Within two days of meeting Sherlock, he had killed a man to save him. That didn't mean, however, that this was the answer here. Sherlock was in a life-threating situation then; though his mental state was in jeopardy now, he wasn't in danger of death. Not to mention he had gotten away with it then because no one knew he was there. If he went to Garret's home and shot him, there was no way that he would get away without getting caught. Even if he could, Sherlock's problems wouldn't disappear because Garret was dead. The emotional damage would take a long time to heal; Sherlock might never be the same. John wasn't sure what he should do next, but he knew that this wasn't the time to do something rash.

John heard a soft, whimpering sound coming from Sherlock's room. It was quiet enough that John was sure that he wasn't awake, but John still made his way to Sherlock's room. John walked into Sherlock's room , Sherlock clutching the pillow and whimpering. John knelt down beside the bed and shook Sherlock gently. Sherlock's eyes popped open as his arms gripped John's shoulders. "John" he said slightly breathlessly. "Stay with me"

Sherlock was looking at him with a panicked expression as if the worst thing on earth would be for John to leave. "Okay…..okay" John quickly said, climbing into bed beside Sherlock. Sherlock turned around so that he was facing John, eyes open half way tiredly.

Silence passed for a long time, Sherlock staring at John. John found the quiet uncomfortable. But more than that he felt like Sherlock was waiting for John to do or say something though he had no idea what. He said the one thing he could think of. "You know it wasn't your fault Sherlock…..none of it was your fault"

A moment later Sherlock buried his face in John's shirt; John couldn't tell if he was crying or not.