Chapter 3:
When John comes to, he's lying on Sherlock's bed. Sherlock lays beside him, dressed all the way now in a soft white cotton shirt and his crimson dressing gown. The hem of his lounge pants legs is wet. John figures this means that he'd fallen into his medical cleaning solution or against the shower's control and Sherlock had gotten splashed fishing him free.
"Terribly sorry...I had no idea you'd react that way." Sherlock has decidedly laid himself closer to the window. He looks down over London, eyes dancing in the moonlight. John shifts to look at him more directly. His face is grave with sorrow. Something John has never noticed on it in their life together before his apparent suicide.
"Well, how'd you think I should've reacted, mm? You just told me something profoundly terrible. It's one thing for a man's best friend to be butchered by his ex and he finds out about it. It's completely another for that to happen to said best friend on said man's behalf." John feels like he might faint again. Sherlock shakes his head ever so softly, raven curls fanning against the pillow he's propped so he's not completely lying on his wounded shoulder. John feels his heart in his throat. Only now he wonders how they got here. It occurs to him that this dear man has struggled with his dead weight all the way back to the bedroom and has at last collapsed from exhaustion after a no doubt god awful time of pain induced insomnia. John feels he may start weeping. Sherlock is a much better human than the doctor ever gave him credit for.
"Wait.."Sherlock's brow curls in outright confusion. He turns to face John, eyes dancing in the light from a taxi brushing softly down Baker Street.
"How do you mean I'm your best friend? You've got all sorts of friends and all of them are better people than I am certainly." Sherlock's grimace brings home to John how to truly he depreciated Sherlock in former years. John reaches a hand to Sherlock's face. Sherlock is even more confused than he has been this entire night.
"Um...No...No, you see...There are friends who call you and take you for drinks. Friends that may have better conversational skills and all that rot. Then there are the kinds of friends that build a home with you and throw themselves on the edge of an assassin's knife to keep you living longer…"John is in tears again, but they fall much more calmly now. Sherlock's face ever so softly shifts from consternation to vulnerable realization.
"I should have...perhaps...made you aware of that...more tactfully?" Sherlock grimaces. John laughs.
"Sherlock...Tact is not something you possess. It's totally okay." John takes Sherlock's hand. He wants to lean in and hug him again, but he's almost too dizzy to move.
Sherlock leans back against the pillow, letting John hold onto his hand which still trembles from pain. He stares at the moon washed roof, blinking in complete amazement. John feels Sherlock counting his fingers by moving each one once and moving on to the next then as if he's trying to make sure they are real, truly placed over his heart. John smiles at that waiting for him to speak.
"People would talk if they could see us." Sherlock smiles. John lets out an exaggerated huff.
"Tomorrow the papers will say I married you and we had mutant sociopath babies." John smiles. Sherlock's face twists in bewilderment.
"Right…Well now, I don't intend to have any babies with you, Doctor Watson, real or imagined." Sherlock looks sidelong at John. John feels like he's going to be sick although he manages a laugh. Something in Sherlock's eyes says he's barely grounded by John's hand and barely distracted by the stupidity of their banter.
"It...I hope you know that it's rather silly you are so upset by what I...what I did. In her torture lab, I mean. It was...You know, it was fine...I mean, I'm...um...alright." Sherlock's lips tremble with the fib. John shakes his head.
"No, you're not. Stop that." John gives Sherlock's hand a firm squeeze.
"That's what I'm supposed to say though, isn't it? Isn't that easier to hear than asking me how it all happened?" Sherlock tilts his head. John sighs.
"It's not easier to hear if it's a polar opposite lie." John leans heavily into his half of the pillows. He feels faintness coming on yet again.
"I...I don't know if I can...If I can talk about what happened." Sherlock's eyes are wide now. John nods.
"We don't have to do it now if you don't want to." John smiles.
"Oh no, I want to. But in all honesty, John, I'm not alright. She wasn't the only one you know. The thing that made it worse was that it happened on serial repeat and Mycroft let it happen because he-he didn't approve of my friendship with you. Thought it was a liability to his operation. So, when the case had to do with you, he pulled out. And so one lab, one that your lady friend ran, was only one of more like 30 run by Moran's finest hired guns each." Sherlock looks off. John blinks. He wants and needs to be strong for Sherlock, but he's not sure that he can. What in God's name does he mean he's been in 30 torture labs in the minus 3 years he's been gone?
"If talking about it, helps you understand it…"John's voice dies in his throat. Sherlock is subconsciously shivering all over again. He stares out the window, swallowing deeply.
"I...I think...I think my mind may be broken. It will be like one of Hercules' trials fixing it." Sherlock smiles sheepishly looking away into space. John nods and rolls him over, nudging him closer until he can wrap his arms around him and press his forehead to his own.
"Okay, this is ridiculous. We look ridiculous. Still...If we start small...Something like this. This is a quiet place. It's not like anyone will know about this conversation or how completely pitiful we look. You can...You can tell me if you want. But you don't have to. It's your choice." John swallows.
"I don't remember everything. The first time I was captured on purpose as a sort of diversion. The second I was given up for dead by Mycroft's men. The last time was an auction. I bought you more moments of life by agreeing to more bizarre forms of torture. Which...um...Which I did until I could solve her ploy and stop her connections from taking you out. Since it involved national security, Mycroft brought me back in to finish the job…"Sherlock feels safer held like a child. He begins his painful story, haltingly, limping like the slaughterhouse lamb. John holds him afraid if he doesn't he will melt.
They'll be like this until morning though neither man will notice so caught up in the tale are the both of them.
