Disclaimer: As ever I don't own Sherlock.

Chapter V

Mary struggled to keep up with Sherlock as the detective made his way through the corridors of Scotland Yard. Finally he came to a halt as he found the object of his search. Detective Inspector Lestrade was in a deep conversation with one of his sergeants as he was approached or to be more precise descended upon by Sherlock.

"What the fuck?"growled the detective.

Mary cringed at the use of the swear word. She didn't remember her husband's best friend ever swearing. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to stoop to them now and even more so not to recognise that this reaction would hardly help his efforts towards getting back on the case.

"Come now, Sherlock, don't go making a scene," Lestrade spoke finally in his most fatherly tone as he laid a soothing hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

It didn't escape Mary's attention that all eyes were on Sherlock now. The detective seemed to gain some awareness of Donovan and the rest of the Yard staring at him as well as he tried to regain control once again. He did not however quite manage to drop the stiff posture and didn't seem to be fully in control of his body language, Mary noted. He shook Lestrade's hand of his shoulder and was about to speak as Lestrade interrupted him.

"Come with me," the inspector motioned to Sherlock and Mary and lead them both to one of the Yard's interrogation rooms. This conversation was to be resumed behind closed doors.

Before Lestrade even managed to close them however, Sherlock was already in his face: "So you are my brother's lap dog after all, Detective Inspector. Why else would you kick me off the case?"

Lestrade didn't even flinch at Sherlock's odd behaviour: "Sit down," he told him calmly.

"No," Sherlock crossed his arms in front of himself like a petulant child.

"Sit down!" Lestrade repeated, this time putting more force behind his voice.

Sherlock huffed but did indeed drop down to the chair next to the one which was already occupied by Mary.

"You've got only yourself to blame for being kicked off the case, Sherlock," Lestrade told him. His expression which was one of calm and genuine concern back out in the corridors of the Yard turned to what could have passed as anger mixed with disappointment.

"How?" Sherlock didn't seem to understand.

"Don't play dumb with me Sherlock," Lestrade got out the words through his teeth as he threw a sheet of paper in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock's brows furrowed in genuine confusion. Mary's heart sank as she read the information and connected the dots. It all made sense, she supposed, it would explain why Sherlock had been acting out, why he even seemed to lose control of his emotions lately.

Lestrade waited for Sherlock's reaction with arms crossed in front of his chest.

Sherlock's eyes darted from the top to the bottom of the page.

"Well?" Lestrade finally interrupted the silence.

"This is...wrong," Sherlock answered lamely.

"You bet it is. We had a deal, Sherlock."

"That's not what I mean," a hint of frustration found its way to Sherlock's voice.

"What do you mean?" Mary tried to help him to find the way to whatever it was he had to say.

"Lestrade, you said we had a deal. And I have not broken in, not in a while. I'd be lying if I said there weren't times when I was tempted, but I haven't touched anything. Not in the last year."

The last year, Mary thought. The one year since he came back from the dead and was reunited with John, the months in which he had devoted himself to protect the three of them. Even if it meant that he could not allow himself to give in to his cravings.

"You have to believe me, Lestrade," there was a note of plea in his voice.

"If I didn't know you were such a good actor, Sherlock, I'd almost believe you."

"I don't have to act. I keep telling you, Lestrade, I AM CLEAN," Sherlock exploded.

It was about time to take the situation into her own hands, Mary decided.

"Greg, could you please give us a moment?" she pleaded with the inspector.

Lestrade sighed, but as most men he couldn't really resist Mary's pleas. As Lestrade left Mary stood up and sat in the chair across from Sherlock.

"What's this, then? An interrogation?"Sherlock scowled.

"I suppose," Mary conceded nonchalantly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

"You haven't been taking drugs."

"That's not a question."

"No, it's not," Mary agreed and continued: "But your brother doesn't want you on this case very much. He'd even go as far as fabricating a toxicology report."

"You've connected the dots, I presume," Sherlock muttered, but his eyes didn't really meet Mary's.

"Although he has very strange ways to do it, Mycroft's aim seems to be protecting you more often than not."

"As if I needed protection from that arrogant sod," Sherlock once again gave the impression of a petulant child, who convinces you that they can make it without the auxiliary wheels on their bikes before proceeding to the imminent fall.

"We're beating around the bush here, Sherlock."

"You want me to be the one broaching the elephant in the room? I thought you were smart enough to have made the connection."

"I have," she confessed and felt a strange sensation in her stomach as all the implications finally dawned on her. She had the suspicion ever since she confirmed that the drugs weren't at play in this case, but up until now there wasn't enough time to fully comprehend it all.

Sherlock fiddled with his fingers nervously before he grabbed her hand perhaps with more force that would be advised for a man of his built while touching a pregnant woman.

"Look at me, Mary. A few months back you told me that you'd do anything in order for John not to find out about your past. This is the same, Mary. John can't ever find out about this."

"Why?" Mary wondered, her husband wouldn't be anything but understanding in Sherlock's case, unlike her secrets, this wasn't in any way Sherlock's fault.

Sherlock let go of her and put both of his hands under his chin.

"Because he would go on connecting dots which should never be connected. Trauma shapes the kind of people we are, that's how our dear John Watson thinks."

"I might not agree with it, but I won't go on telling your secrets, I swear."

"Good," Sherlock nodded and his face was suddenly overtaken by a faraway look. The one that his features took when he was trying to recall memories stowed away long ago, wandering the rooms of his mind palace, uncovering the tops of long closed boxes.

"I wasn't very popular among my classmates and peers, you can imagine," Sherlock started: "well that's not quite precise, I happened to be the favourite punching back for a few of them. Most of them were older than me as I skipped a few classes. And they loved picking on the smart ass scrawny little kid. Then, suddenly there was someone who seemed to care for me deeply, to understand me even. Instead of all the verbal abuse I usually got from adults there was someone who had only praise for me. Imagine how that felt. It started innocent enough, a teacher having a genius student over for extra lessons. It was not uncommon amongst teachers at the public school I went to, so it didn't ring an alarm bell. At the beginning he'd just be playing with me, not regular games, the experiments I loved so much. And I thought maybe that was what having friends was like. Then one day he asked for a hug. I did not like being touched even back then, but I complied. Here was someone who was ready to accept me for who I was, so what was one hug compared to that? What a silly little boy. Everyone with an ounce of a brain would have known that hugs would not be enough for him."

Mary tried not interrupting Sherlock during his story, but she felt complied to intervene at this moment: "How old were you, Sherlock?"

"Ten."

"You were so young, you couldn't have known."

"Oh, I beg to differ. I had a pretty complete understanding of human anatomy and had acquired enough encyclopaedic knowledge about sex at that point. At least on some level I knew what he was doing was wrong. But I liked having a friend too much; I could survive a bit of touching if I could keep him. But then he went over the line when I turned eleven. Apparently I was old enough to move on from touching. He didn't seem to count on me going to the school nurse with my injuries. But someone must have warned him because he disappeared from the school before the principal got wind of it. Mycroft has been trying very hard to find him and get rid of him. Unsuccessfully so far, I must say. Mummy had a bit of a breakdown when she found out about the whole thing."

A bile was rising up in Mary's throat. Sherlock had recounted the whole story with his usual cold demeanour, there wasn't even a slight quiver in his voice as if the hurt little boy was someone completely else long abandoned in the depths of his memories. But Mary knew that he wasn't quite alright. The way he dived so deep into this case, the nightmares, the attack on the teacher and his reaction to being kicked off the case. Then she felt a stab of pain in her heart as she contemplated that Sherlock's lack of wanting a partner might have been connected to these events.

"Oh, Sherlock," a few tears slid down her face as she took Sherlock's hands into hers. She wasn't surprised to find a slight tremor in them, even though Sherlock tried very hard suppressing it.

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"This is exactly why I didn't want John to know. Making connections where there are none. The incident I just told you about has nothing to do with my lack of interest in sex. Just as your motherless childhood has nothing to do with you becoming a hitwoman. I'm not the man who I am today because of him."

"Of course you're not," Mary agreed, although she could not put her whole heart into it: "Why did you even tell me all this? It's unlike you."

"I know all your secrets, so it's only fair that you get to know mine," Sherlock smiled: "No, scratch that, I'm lying, I only told you so that you could give the short version to Lestrade."

"Why?" Mary frowned. Sherlock wouldn't give up this secret just to be put back on the case, would he? Only if...

"You think it's the same guy."

"Yes."

"Sherlock, Lestrade isn't any more likely to let you work this case if he knows all this than he is if he believes that you're on drugs."

"Oh, but he will."

"How come?"

"Because you'll convince him that I'm the only one who can catch this guy, Mrs. Watson."

"We're all just chess figures in a game you're playing to you, Sherlock, aren't we?"

Sherlock considered for a moment: "Maybe."