Chapter 11

A/N: I finally got the pleasure of watching someone read this story for the first time. It was the most rewarding thing in the world.

"I wanted to stay, I'd stay all night investigating or at least working the case, but well…" Lestrade bounced the young boy on his knee, John was barely awake.

"It's quite alright Gregory, Sherlock is clever-"

"But he's just a-"

"Even as a child. He's probably already planning his way back if he hasn't gotten away already. It wouldn't be the first time." Mycroft's head lolled to the side of the hospital bed. He had broken three ribs and badly sprained his wrist.

Lestrade narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean by that?" he recalled the two children that had been kidnapped from a boarding school, a case Sherlock had solved with dire consequences after seeming to know just a bit too much about the crime.

Mycroft sighed; the memory was painful. "When he was 7… well, our parents hadn't paid too much attention to him as he grew up." His eyes glazed over for a moment. "I was at Uni by then… I- I didn't know until after the fact."

"Go on."

"I'm sure it was an accident. Father did get an awful lot of mail those days." His defense seemed faulty at best. "When the ransom note went unanswered they tried to call-"

"He was kidnapped!? And you didn't even know about it!?"

It felt like a knife twisting in his gut- "I'm sure his absence just slipped their minds! He does spend countless hours sitting in silence after all…. But… yes. He was." In an incredibly rare act of nervousness, Mycroft bit his lower lip.

"How long was he gone for?" Lestrade couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sherlock. Kidnapped when he was 7 and no one had paid any notice. No wonder he was a sociopath. No one cared for him, why should he care about others?

"We got him back- unharmed I should add."

"How bloody long?"

The reply was mumbled and sheepish, "Nine days."

Lestrade leaned back in his seat in utter shock. "Nine fucking days."

"Mr. Greg." John's eyes fluttered open from his nap. "Dun say that."

Frowning, Lestrade gently pet the back of his head, supporting the small frame with his other hand on John's back. "Sorry."

John rested his head onto the DI's stomach.

" 'Croft is right, Sherlock's smart… but he needs our help." The small voice was muffled by Lestrade's shirt.

Mycroft looked the boy over, noting the fond manner in which Greg held him. "What do you plan to do with him?"

"Not sure. Can't just dump him at his flat though and you're spending the night here in case of a concussion. You uh, wouldn't happen to know of anything to turn him back would you?"

"Not off the top of my head. I'll be looking into it of course."

"Yea, good. Erm, well… John?"

John looked up, eyes half closed. "Mhm?"

"Tired? We can have a nice kip at my place if you like."

John nodded and laid back into the taller man.

"He has no use for you now of course." That dreadful hiss of a voice teased. "Do you remember him? How you use to impress him? Not any more of course, not without your brain."

"John doesn't care about that."

"Oh?" Moriarty forced his face mere centimeters away from Sherlock's. "I suppose he likes you for your charming personality and social skills then?"

The tiny detective cringed.

"Hit a nerve did I?"

"What do you want with me?" He tried his best to puff out his small chest.

Moriarty smiled- never a good sign. "Can't deduce it for yourself? Tsk tsk, you've lost your touch. You could always ask you little friend."

Cora covered her face with her small hands to escape his gaze.

Not just beatings and neglect then. Psychological torture? But Cora was no one important, she came from a middle class family according to the news paper. Neither parent held an important job or position. She was likely taken at random due to convenience of opportunity.

Moriarty watched him carefully, "Watching your tiny mind whirl is fascinating. I could grow to like this even."

"Not going to kill me then?" Sherlock drawled.

"Dull, I've already done that. I'm going to take your innocence away instead."

Sherlock cocked his head, not sure if he fully understood what he was saying. Small gasps and sobs came from the shuddering girl next to him.

Defense wounds. Bruises. Short skirt. More bruises... very high on her legs...

He returned his eyes to the psychopath, unaware of his expression.

"Not my style. But the kidnappers that helped me obtained you do have a price after all."

It was half an hour since Greg had tucked John into his own bed, making him look that much smaller. He lay flat on the sofa, hands bracing the back of his head as he stared at the ceiling. "Bloody kids." He whispered to the room. "They're both bloody kids." This was beyond acceptable. He needed his consulting detective plus one back. Though, they did have their charm.

A scream broke his concentration and immediately the DI feared the worse as he jumped up and raced to the bedroom. Panting as he hovered in the doorway a moment seeing John was still there and not in immediate danger.

"John?! What is it? What's wrong?" He approached the bed after flipping the light on, only then realizing the boy was still asleep and fighting fiercely against the sheets. "…John?"

A smaller scream escaped him and the detective began to lightly shake his form. "John, wake up, come on. It's just a dream."

John jolted straight up, eyes wide in fear.

"Shh, it's ok. It was just a dream."

The former army doctor's hand instinctually reached for his left shoulder. "I was back in Afghanistan."

Lestrade could feel the chill creeping down his spine. "Does that… happen a lot?" The thought of a young child with PTSD from the war was highly disconcerting.

John nodded, "Sherlock plays the violin at night- it helps." His voice was stoic and very much that of the adult Lestrade was familiar with.

'He's remembering.'

Small eyes looked up at the DI, chin slowly starting to quiver.

'no no no, don't do that…'

"He's all alone." The trembling child's voice was back, fat tears falling onto his cheeks.

Greg crawled into bed next to him, holding the small body close. Situational awkwardness be damned, John need him and he was sure as hell going to do his best to be there for him.

'Please find me soon John.'