Standing at the front door of the once-glorious-now-dilapidated Victorian house John felt bile rise up in his throat, never having felt more nervous. He mentally shook himself fingering the handle of the browning which had served him so well all these years and remembered invading Afghanistan, finding the strength to follow his gut instinct.
"3, 2...1 GO GO GO" And the yarders and burst through the doors to the semi detached searching.
His heart sank. It was empty. They had already moved.
Then he saw it.
The shed that no one had checked. It was entirely blacked out. Gesturing silently to Lestrade, John began to creep forwards towards the door, pulled it open and dropped to his hands and knees.
Here John paused; he'd come this far, he couldn't risk being seen now. Sherlock's life isn't worth the risk he thinks.
He starts crawling through the overgrown grass, ignoring the stinging nettles and the piles of dog dirt everywhere his one goal to get to the shed. He hears a noise behind him and starts towards his Browning but its only faithful Lestrade coming to help him. They're a few metres away now. One more step...
They stood up and opened the door a crack.
John lifted his chin and looked inside. His eyes adjusted to the absolute darkness. And took in the scene.
The shed was small, only about 3m wide by 5m long just the type used by gardener's tools in and shelter delicate plants in through winter, only Moriarty, or perhaps more accurately Moran or another of his henchmen, had mutilated it. The windows had been blacked out and every crevice which might have let light in had been filled in. The shelves which once must have held pliers and watering cans now held torture instruments- spikes, whips, corkscrews, blind folds, and electronic circuitry.
The floor of the small space was originally just mud-normal ground until now- it was covered in human faeces as well as rotting food and dead animals
The room was fetid. The stench of human waste, body odour, and blood was unmistakeable. It was so thick that John could barely breathe and could taste the strength of the horror.
John's attention was drawn to the centre of the room.
There, lying at the edge of the shed wall was Sherlock, lying face down away from john. He was lying naked pressed into the filth by Moriarty was also naked. And thrusting into Sherlock aggressively.
John, who had been standing at the door unobserved by either genius despite the light, saw red. He ran in.
He grabbed Moriarty's shoulder and threw him into the wall with the shelves full of torture implements, Lestrade, who had been waiting for John's lead restrained him, while John ran to Sherlock.
Sherlock had curled up into a ball and was shaking violently trying to shield his eyes from the light. When John approached he flinched and shrank even deeper into himself. John's heart broke then. Sherlock was his best friend and despite what Lestrade sometimes said, a good man. He didn't deserve this. No one did really.
"Shh Sherlock, it's me John. I'm here. I'm finally here." John said utterly distraught.
"J-J-JJ-John...?"
"Yes, it's me, I'm here now, I'm so sorry it took us so long to find you" to Lestrade he nodded outside and said vehemently "Take that scum away! Call Mycroft and see what he can do with it. Oh and Lestrade, might be an idea to clear the yarders away, leaving a patrol car.
Sherlock had uncurled slightly and was staring around in shock. He was bleeding an awful lot, Moriarty hadn't been gentle.
"Sherlock, I need you to be able to trust me. You're losing a lot of blood and I need to stitch some of your wounds. If you'd rather we could go to hospital?"
Silence greeted this. Sherlock was staring at him with wide eyes.
Realisation swept over John. Just because there was evidence of physical abuse didn't mean that there hadn't also been psychological torture as well.
Sherlock was frightened of him.
An even hotter surge of anger bolted through him and he saw Sherlock flinch again. He really was broken. It hadn't occurred to John that Sherlock could be broken- he was always so strong.
John softened his tone and reached out to take Sherlock's hand "Sherlock. I will not hurt you. I'm a doctor- your doctor, despite the rules. I'm here to look after you. I'm so s-sorry I failed you here and now," John's voice broke as it hit him, just how shattered Sherlock really was.