Sherlock's POV

The door opened with a crash, slamming it against the wall as I stormed into the flat. My chest was constricting, my heart and my mind racing all at once. I kept clenching and unclenching my hands, swallowing for no reason. I slammed the door to my room shut with such a force it shook my framed periodic table poster on my wall. I was unrightfully furious. I was mad at the kidnapper for doing this to her; stringing her out, abusing her for years, making her flinch at even the sight of needles or John for that fact. But-strangely- also found that I was mad at her. Mad at her for not escaping and finding me earlier, for somehow trusting this person enough to get into a situation that which he had power over her in the first place. How could she have let that happen?! She wasn't an idiot as far as I could tell, but maybe for once I was wrong. Furious, I flung open my door and marched myself to the living room. John was standing closely to Asha, she had stripped off the waist coat and looked as though she was contemplating taking off her shirt. Her skin was flushed red, and beads of sweat were pouring down her face more than I had seen before.

"How'd he lure you in, huh?" I spat at her, her eyes quickly flashing to mine. There was a spark, but I ignored it. "Did he act like he needed help, hmm? Couldn't carry his groceries, looking for a shop, lost his dog?" I knew my tone was mocking and cruel, I didn't stop. "You couldn't see the signs? No gut feeling of this isn't right? Didn't your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers? Better yet, how could you not have figured out a way out of there? I thought you were smarter than that, but there you go John, I can be wrong-"

"Fuck you!" She spat, standing up, pushing me away from her with such a force that it nearly knocked me back. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, her fists clenched as her chest heaved with anger. "You think I fucking stayed because I wanted to? You don't know the half of it." She whispered dangerously. "I didn't escape until I did, because by then, I didn't care if I died. I had hoped that I would have frozen to death by the time anybody found me, especially him. I escaped because I was already dead inside anyways, so what did it matter if my body died long after my soul did? Do you know what kind of hopelessness it takes to muster that kind of strength so that you can simply die outside of your prison, so that he can't have to pleasure of seeing you die in his own little home?" She stood to her full height and was shoving a finger in my chest as she walked forward. Her walk was powerful, fueled by the same rage and the strength she had had that night. Asha was nearly frightening.

"But do you know what the worst part is?" She asked me, her voice a deadly whisper, a dark humorless chuckle following her words. "I was trapped for so much longer than you think. He had had me for years before all of this. I'd fallen asleep in his bed, lay tight against his chest, felt his lips on mine in the sweetest of touches. He had acted like he truly loved me, like he was normal enough to love somebody in such a way. He was my best friend and the man I thought I loved. I'd known him for years, and had never suspected him. He'd come home drunk every once and a while, get a little aggressive, but I never thought much of it. I could handle him then, I was strong enough to wrestle him off of me and put him to bed. Your right, I've lost a lot of that strength I had before all of this. But he started acting this way when he wasn't drunk. He'd slap me and push me against the wall. He'd act out these sick fucking fantasies, have me shackled to the wall in his fucking basement. And nobody knew, because nobody cared. We moved over to England, and even when we lived in the states I hadn't had many friends. He had made sure of that. My families dead, there was no one to notice my missing.

"So I'm sorry that I wasn't smart enough to leave him alone when I met him 5 years ago, I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to figure out how to escape sooner. I'm sorry I couldn't be a fucking genius like you. And by the way, my parents have been dead since I was a kid, have a good day."

And with that, she slapped me and ran out the door. The world spun and went quiet as John shouted at her to come back as she took off down the stairs and out onto the street. A deafening ringing in my ears did nothing to distract the pulsing of my brain and the racing of my heart. I didn't know if I meant to get that reaction out of her or not. She had exploded more than she had ever before, mustering up strength to even physically move me. Sure, I now knew how he had gotten to her and kept her there. But there was a disturbing feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me I hadn't wanted to find out like this. Not with her furious at me and leaving. No matter how hard I tried to swallow it down, I couldn't make the feeling completely disappear.

John reappeared in the door way, breathing heavily. He had tried to chase her down, but in her adrenaline, she had been able to easily out run him.

"What the bloody hell was that, Sherlock?!" He asked me, his face scrunched in anger. He was worried about Asha, no doubt, but he was also confused as to why I had burst out like that. Pulling out the results, I threw them at John.

"He had her on Heroin and Meth," I hissed at him, pacing now. We had to find her that was no question. But my head was racing still, refusing to slow down. John looked at the results and shook his head.

"Jesus," He murmured, rubbing his forehead out of exhaustion. There were a million things that I needed to do—catch and deal with Asha's capturer; I'd show him exactly what kind of wrath he had incurred from me. "You have to apologize to her." John said suddenly, as though he was reading the thoughts that were flying through my head. Were they really that visible on my face? I gave him a look and he returned it. "You know I'm right, Sherlock, that was wrong! That was the absolute worst way you could have handled the situation! She trusts you, and now you've gone and hurt her!" His last words stopped me mid pace. I had hurt her. She wasn't just angry with me, she was hurt. The scene from my bedroom flashed through my head.

"I won't hurt you, I promise."

I had promised her, but I didn't realize how much she was already relying on that promise. With a growl, I threw on my coat and quickly made my way out into the street.

Asha's POV

I stumbled through the streets and people. Goose bumps had risen against my arms, alerting me to the freezing winds that were whipping around me. I had left my coat back at 221B, but I didn't care. I had to get out; I needed to get away from the memories and the pain and him. I had slapped him before I ran out, my calloused hand making contact with his wonderfully cold skin. I hadn't meant to, it was just an impulse that I couldn't resist at the moment. He had made me so angry, so upset with myself…

The sweat covering my body was beginning to cool me down as I continued to walk dazedly down the street. I didn't know where I was going, I just followed the people. Snow began to drift down lazily, not having a care in the world if they ended up making someone slip or freeze. Some people gave me looks, while others completely ignored me. The more I walked the more my muscles began to ache and scream at me, causing me to slow to a crawl. My head grew fuzzy and I eventually stumbled down an alley. Slumping against the wall, I tried to slow my racing heart and warm myself up. The sweat had practically turned to ice, making me colder than I had ever wanted to be. Now I really was going to freeze to death.

People pushed through the cold, making their way home or to the shops. Nobody noticed the hairless girl sitting in the shadows of the wall. She wasn't crying or complaining; she was silent and contemplative. She looked cold, and hungry, but other than that she looked relatively normal.

My chest heaved and my heart raced as I stared at the wall in front of me. The withdrawal wasn't as bad as it had been before. I was handling it better this time, I hadn't begged for it in so long and I didn't plan to start that again anytime soon. A sad, small chuckle came to my lips. Well, at least he knows now. I thought to myself, shaking my head. When I thought of the detective, my stomach made a flip and my mind got a little screwy. For some strange reason, I felt safe around him. Even now, after he had said those things, after he hurt me when he promised he wouldn't—I still wanted to go to him and talk to him. Because he wouldn't look at me like I was just a victim, like the way john did sometimes. Sherlock knew she was the still the same person she was before he even knew her, and he spoke to her like he wanted to reach that person. And, deep down, I knew that he was just trying to help. He wanted to figure out everything he could to help me, even if he went about it the entirely wrong way. With the thoughts of the detective occupying my mind, I felt myself start to drift off to sleep. I knew that I shouldn't, that I should get up, force myself to stay awake and make it back to Baker Street. But the peacefulness of sleep and the stillness it brought was too inviting, and I let myself be carried off.