We're starting to get into the darker themes of the story now. Please let me know what you're thinking!
Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, kidnapping and rape.
The case was a difficult one. Girls of the age of fourteen went missing in the middle of the day. Four days later they were found, dressed impeccably, looking like they were sleeping. However, when you removed the dresses, each girl had bruises, burns and evidence of multiple sexual assaults. It was enough to make even the strongest of men queasy. Even Sherlock looked affected, John noticed.
It had been three days ago since the kiss, and the call from Lestrade. Sherlock had yet to sleep, but he would soon as they were standing in the hospital. The consulting detective was getting hugged and thanked by the parents of the little girl he had found. Sherlock had managed to find the rapist and murderer, when no police officer had an inkling of where to start. Everyone was singing his praises. Sherlock, however, was kicking himself for not finding the poor child quicker, but only John could read that in his show of indifference.
"We've tried to speak to her, but she's not talking. We regret to inform you that there is evidence of sexual assault. We have called a psychiatrist and she is going to need a lot of support from now. The main thing you need to do is get her to talk to someone." The doctor said in a compassionate tone to the parents and Lestrade.
"I can try talk to her?" Asked Lestrade. After having their worst nightmares confirmed, they were in no fit state to talk to anyone.
The women reached out for Sherlock's hands. She was shaking, but the look she gave the detective was strong. "C-can you talk to h-her?" She cried. Pleading Sherlock to help her.
Sherlock looked like a deer caught in headlights. "I-. I-".
"I don't think Sherlock is the best person." Lestrade tried to joke, saving Sherlock from the pleading.
"No, it's ok Lestrade. I'll speak to her." Sherlock said determinedly. With a squeeze of the mother's hand, and a nod towards John and Lestrade, Sherlock walked into the private hospital room alone.
"You're going to let the freak speak to a victim?" Donavan screeched towards Lestrade. "Are you out of your mind?"
"It is the parent's wishes. Please lower your voice, or go back to the yard, Donavan. You are causing a commotion." Lestrade said through his teeth. He had to admit, he wasn't very happy with the idea himself, but he couldn't deny the parents anything they wished after everything.
John stood back, astonished that Sherlock had agreed to talk to the child. The detective hated children, and he definitely wasn't the most gentle with his approach. John just prayed to god the younger man proceeded carefully with the victim.
The girl on the bed was awake, and sat with her legs hugged to her chest. She looked curiously at the man who had entered. She recognised him as the man who had found her only hours ago. She may not know him, but he had saved her. She knew she could trust this man.
Sherlock sat down on the plastic chair, making sure he wasn't too close to the little girl so she wasn't crowded.
"Hi there. It's Lottie isn't it?" Sherlock began tentatively. He kept his voice low, but comforting. He was rewarded by a small nod off the little girl; however, she tightened the grip around her legs as if to protect herself.
"I hear you don't want to speak to anyone. And that's ok, I wouldn't want to right now either." Sherlock said honestly. Lottie widened her eyes in disbelief; shocked at the fact this man didn't want to grill her for information like everyone else.
"I'm Sherlock. I'm not a police officer, but I did help them find you." Answering the girl's unspoken questions. "You're very brave, Lottie. I know all the thoughts and the hurt running through your head right now are trying to tell you that you're an awful person, but you're definitely not. We know how brave you are, ok?" Sherlock comforted. If anyone were around to see the man converse how he was now to the little girl, they wouldn't believe it was the same man. They would question how the usually insensitive bastard knew exactly what to say to her.
"I-" Lottie started, shocking herself by speaking. "Everything hurts." She whispered, looking away from Sherlock and trying to hide the tears falling down her cheeks. It was obvious she was not only talking about the physical wounds.
"I know. But it won't be like this forever, Lottie. It's going to take some time, and some days it will feel like nothing has changed, but you'll stop hurting. I promise." Sherlock soothed. He pulled a few tissues from the box by her bed, folded them and then placed them beside her, taking care not to touch her even slightly.
"I'm so scared. I know I have to tell people about it, but I feel like if I can keep it inside it didn't happen. Is that stupid?" She confessed, still speaking in no more than a whisper.
"Most definitely not stupid. I know it feels that way though, Lottie. But do you know what?" He asked, waiting for her to look up at him again. "Keeping it in will make it hurt worse." He said knowingly.
The little girl trusted the man completely. "If I tell the policeman, will he disappear forever?"
"I'll make sure of it, Lottie." He promised.
"Then I think I'm ready." She said with more strength, trying to give Sherlock a smile. Picking up the folded tissues, the young girl wiped her face as Sherlock stood up and went to the door.
"Lottie is ready for you Lestrade." He said, his voice betraying none of the emotion he felt.
Lestrade, John, and especially Donavan all looked at Sherlock like he had just grown three heads.
"How?" Lestrade asked, perplexed. Donavan did not look like she could even form words. And John looked, Sherlock couldn't believe it but he looked, proud?
Sherlock just shrugged, letting Lestrade into the room to take the girls statement. He was about to leave when the little girl called after him.
"Sherlock? Will you stay and hold my hand?" She asked. The look on Donavan's face was priceless.
Looking at only Lottie, Sherlock nodded and sat back down on the plastic chair and placed his hand upright on the bed. Lottie reached over tentatively, finally allowing herself to put her smaller hand in his.
"I'm ready." She said to Sherlock.
"How did you do that?" John finally asked.
They had just got back to the flat, it was almost dawn, but neither man cared. John had made them both a cup of tea before relaxing into his chair. It had been a long four days, and they finally had some time alone. The soldier was the only one not to question the detective relentlessly. The whole of Scotland Yard were beside themselves; the sociopath had managed to get a young girl to open up and give a full statement, a statement that was sure to ensure the kidnappers imprisonment. Whilst John was shocked, he was the only one who had seen anything close the compassion he must have shown to the victim. But he was still shocked. Very shocked.
"I just said what she needed to hear. Lottie decided to talk herself. She's a strong girl." Sherlock said, passing off any responsibility and settling down in his own chair opposite the doctor.
"You're amazing. You know that right?" John insisted. This was unlike many of his previous compliments. There was a fire behind John's eyes the detective had never seen. They had stolen glances throughout the case, and it finally dawned on the two men they were finally alone.
"What is this?" Sherlock asked, uncharacteristically unsure of himself.
John knew straight away what the younger man was talking about. In that moment it felt like the last four days had not happened, and they were back in the moment of their first kiss.
"I do not want us to lose what we have already, but I would like us to explore the… romantic side of our relationship. But only if that's still what you want too?" John said steadily. He knew he would have to take the lead of this, Sherlock seemed woefully inexperienced in the area, so it was up to John to be truthful and lay his feelings down on the table.
Sherlock looked slightly shocked by his admission, and John felt a sick feeling gather in his stomach, worried that the detective did not want the same.
"I would like that too." Sherlock said softly.
"Well I guess that means we're still partners then." John said, not hiding the relief in his voice. Not that he could ever hide anything from Sherlock anyway.
"I just need you to know something, John, I am not good at things like this. I have spent years suppressing my emotions, and I need you to know this isn't going to be an easy ride. I am an 'insufferable git', as you once said. I'm going to run off, barely eat, and completely misjudge all social niceties that one should abide to in relationships." Sherlock confessed.
"Sherlock, you already drive me up the wall on a daily basis, and I'm still here, and I still like you for it." John smiled, diffusing the tension that had built up in the room.
Both men sat in a comfortable silence after that. Sherlock retreated to his mind palace, just as he always did post-case, and John lazily read the local newspaper. Somehow it wasn't odd, even though they had deep discussions about their relationship not seconds before.
They finally retired to their bed's early afternoon. When John woke over sixteen hours later the next morning, he found Sherlock curled up beside him, even though neither man had been plagued by nightmares that night.
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