John's POV

Sherlock returned to the living room after about fourty-five minutes. He didn't say anything as he sat down in his chair, the file held tightly in his hand. After passing it to me, he folded his hands and began to think out loud as I looked through his observations.

"Her kidnapper prefers young women in their twenties, with blonde hair and a slim build. He despises strength that could match his and any form of opposition. He most likely had an abusive mother, who only showed affection after she beat him. A bondage fetish, we are looking for somebody who loves the BDSM life style of Master and servant."

As he continued, I took a hard look at the renderings; the scars, bruises, where the frost bite had been. Sherlock had even taken the time to mark where birthmarks were, he was remarkably thorough. I had understood why she had been skittish around me to begin with, after Sherlock had explained it. But now, if I somehow resembled the kidnapper, I wondered how she could even be around me. She had been kept as a sex slave for three years, tortured by this sick bastard. People were sick; not all of them, but some of them were just terrible. A text brought me out of my wallowing thoughts. It was Molly, confirming that the lab was open and that she was there today, willing to do anything they needed. She was so nice, always-albeit begrudgingly sometimes- willing to drop what she was doing to help the two of them. Of course I knew she fancied Sherlock, but it was more than obvious that wasn't going to take off anytime soon. Sherlock trusted her, but did not find her attractive or appealing. However, he did seem to be handling Asha very well.

"If she's lost as much weight as you are saying, she's going to need to at least have some new clothes before we take her to Bart's." I remarked, finally putting down the folder and looking at Sherlock who was silently deep in thought. Without a response, he swept up, quickly pulling on his jacket and fleeing out the door without so much as a word. I jumped up and called after him, "Where are you going!?" He stopped and looked back, yelling,

"Shopping!" and he was gone.

I made tea for Asha and I, placing it on the table between the two chairs in the living room. She looked small huddled up in Sherlock's chair, the cup cradled in her frail hands. It was silent between us for a few moments, until she spoke.

"I don't hate you," Her voice was hardly a whisper, but when it was so often heard, you could pick it out of the air.

"I know," I replied, letting her do the talking.

"I don't mean to act like the way I did towards you. I know you aren't him; I've got no preconceived notions that 'all men are the same.' It's just, sometimes it's hard for me to believe that I really got out of there, and I see you and… I just get scared." She cut herself off, taking a drink of her tea. The silence resumed, but it wasn't awkward of forced, just quiet. She was keeping food down better now, so she was eating on a semi-regular basis. I set my cup down and looked at her.

"We won't let him find you again." I promised her, watching her as her head snapped up and she looked at me. She hadn't gained any weight, but there was a small light that flickered in her eyes sometimes. And now, it shone just a little bit brighter. She didn't speak, but she nodded and smiled, taking another sip of tea. The door slammed, making the two of us jump as footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. Sherlock had been gone for nearly 2 hours, without so much as a text. But that was how he was. He was ladled with shopping bags, to which he hauled to the couch and flopped them down. We stood up to see just what he could have gotten now. He stepped back and waived his arm over them; they were bags of women's clothing. Practically everything any one would need. Shoes, shirts, pants, even underwear. Her eyes were wide as she searched through the clothing. Looking back at the –was he grinning?!—detective, she stuttered and tripped over her words, trying to switch between oh my god, how and thank you. Sherlock stopped her with a hand on her shoulder,

"Go change," He said, handing her a large plastic bag. She nodded and almost ran off to the bathroom. I looked through the clothes in the rest of the bags. They were tastefully picked, not to plain or form fitting. The thought of Sherlock shopping for women's underwear brought almost a laugh to my face. Sherlock caught my smirk and furrowed his brow.

"I am capable of picking out tasteful underwear for the opposite sex, does this surprise you?"

"Yep"

Asha's POV

I carefully set Sherlock's clothes on the top of the toilet, neatly folded and tucked away. I had discarded my old underwear, throwing them away without another look, and quickly fished through plastic bag. I found a simple pair of black panties and a matching bra, fitting my new size perfectly. The pants were a dark wash fit and flare, sitting on my hips perfectly. There was a purple crew neck t-shirt folded on top of a knee length wool coat. But before I pulled on the coat, a pair of scissors and an electric razor fell out. I stared at it, how could he have possibly known? A hand came up to touch the bleached tendrils that fell down past my collar bone. It was so far from my natural colour, it was sickening. Taking my shirt off, I pulled my hair away from my head and snipped as close to my scalp as I could. Soon after, I was surrounded by a halo of pirate gold. The humming of the blades almost made me cry with joy when I plugged the razor in.

Slipping on my new Navy blue pea coat, I tied my convers and stepped out of the bathroom, making my way back to the living room.

Sherlock's POV

Asha returned 37 minutes after she had left, dressed in her new clothes. When I met her eyes, I gave her a small approving smile. Her head was shaved, a soft dark brown fuzz covering where the tangled mess of blonde had been. Her eyes were wet from crying, but were they tears of relief? Happiness? But they were also brighter than he had ever seen them. She looked bright, almost fierce, and confident. Still shy and a little reserved, but it was almost like she got a piece of her old self back.

"Thank you." She said, standing closely to me. I nodded my head and motioned to the door.

"I believe that we were on our way to Bart's?"

The cab ride was quiet, with Asha between John and I on the ride there. Her small hand was pressed tight against her thigh, but not tight enough to where her fingers didn't graze my thigh a couple of times. However subconscious, the action was strangely comforting. We arrived quickly, and made our way to the lab without any hesitations or hold ups. The lab was empty, thank god, so I got to work quickly. Pulling out needles and slides, I began to focus on purely the science. This was turning into an experiment, something I was far more comfortable with.

I set up slides to test for different drugs and chemicals. I would need to take just a few vials, nothing too much. But when I stepped up to Asha with the needle in my hand, she jerked back from me, tripping over the stool and landing on the cold floor. Fear flooding from her eyes to the rest of her being. She was shaking, a hand up to block her face as she stared back up at me. I looked at her, stopping in my tracks and holding out my hand.

"I just need to take some blood; I have to make sure you're okay." I spoke calmly, but sternly. She needed to let me do this; I had to see if any traces of the drugs were left in her veins. I grabbed her hand and sat her down next to me. John slid her coat off as I pulled her hand into my lap. She stared at me as I handled the needle, barely wincing as it pierced her skin and began to draw blood.

Hello everyone! Thank you for sticking with Asha this far, I promise you, it's about to get real interesting! Keep reviewing, It's what keeps me writing! A huge Thank you to Jhessika for keeping me motivated to keep writing! This wouldn't be happening probably without your support! Haha Until next time!