This time when John took his hand he didn't flinch, somehow realising that John wasn't going to hurt him.

"Sherlock, we need to get you out of here, into the house so we can get you clean and I can stop the bleeding from some of these injuries."

Sherlock just stared at him though the darkness. John squeezed his hand hating how vulnerable the world's only consulting detective looked.

"It's really bright outside. You're going to be photosensitive after all this time in the dark so... Do you trust me enough to put these over your eyes?" John asked holding a black silk sleep mask up. Sherlock looked at it with wide eyes and began trembling again.

"Right. Okay, well, it is bright outside so we're going to have to do something... Maybe sunglasses if you keep your eyes shut? I don't want to hurt you Sherlock"

This time Sherlock gave such a small nod, that if John hadn't been scrutinising him so closely, he would have missed it.

John slid the glasses out of his pocket and handed them to Sherlock. He then reached over the quivering man and slipped his arm under his shoulders to help him sit up. Then, when Sherlock had the glasses on he murmured "I'm going to pick you up now, take you inside and try to stop this bleeding "

He stood up and lifted Sherlock into his arms. He tensed and John made small smoothing noises no daring to move until he relaxed.

John walked back over to the back door feeling that the distance felt much shorter when he new Sherlock was alive. He could feel Sherlock shake and whimper as they came into the light and with a start realised that the man had pressed his face into John's shoulder and scar.

"Oh Sherlock..."

Opening the back door he walked into the bathroom and gently laid Sherlock against the side of the bath, starting to run it and shutting the blinds and the door, leaving the room in a dusky sort of darkness.

While the bath was running John had gently started to strip Sherlock murmuring useless words of comfort just to avoid the silence which was threatening to become deafening.

"I need to see your wounds Sherlock. I can't help you otherwise. If it's too much I want you to tap the floor; you probably can't talk yet"

John ever the sweet, caring, kind considerate man he was, understood that after everything Sherlock had been through, his lack of speech was his way of coping, his only offense against that bastard!

Sherlock for his part just lay there; completely helpless. He hated it. Not because he thought John would hurt him like... him... but because he was used to being in control of himself- his body was only transport after all.

As John stripped his clothes from his thin, battered form he sighed with momentary relief as the befouled, feculent, grungy clothes were remove and tossed into a corner. He trusted John. Especially when he was in doctor mode, he was his doctor. The only one to whom he would consent to being examined by- unless of course he was in imminent danger of death. Now didn't count. He needed John like he needed air.

He could have given John a list of injuries and tests that needed to be done of course, but somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to talk. In the end that had been his last offence. He couldn't fight, no; he had been too hurt to do anything like that. But he would not give in and scream. He just couldn't give the bastard that. And it had driven him insane. Because, really, before then, him claiming he was insane was the same as Sherlock claiming to be a sociopath- simply mechanisms the genius intellect had put in place to protect itself.

John was murmuring again, about how it would be all right, he was safe now, there was no need to worry, John would be there to help through it all, it wasn't his fault, was all useless to him really,

It was his fault. He had accepted the challenge. He had failed, and he wasn't really safe yet because although Moriarty was in Mycroft's custody he was sure, there were other members in the web. However it was comforting to know that John still cared, still wanted him to be safe, and that he maybe even had started to love him. Sherlock was dreading that conversation.

John had stopped talking as he tested the temperature of the bath and deciding it was warm enough, warned Sherlock.

"I'm going to lift you up again now, and put you in the water. It's only shallow, don't worry, and it's only lukewarm, although it'll probably feel scalding. I'm sorry..." He petered out as he heard his voice catch on a sob.

Sherlock felt John's hands on the small of his back and under his knees and flinched instinctively by now. But John didn't stop; instead he just lifted him and placed him in the bath so he could sit up against the side of the tub. He was right, it was scalding. But it felt refreshing, this new kind of pain. Cleansing instead of tarnishing.

John was pouring jugs of water over his abdomen, gently wiping over his body with a soft flannel until he was clean and all that was left were his genitalia, face and hair.

"Do you want me to wash your hair and your face and your privates or do you want to do that yourself?" John asked quietly, not wanting to break the fragile trust Sherlock appeared to have placed in him.

Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes and on seeing his friend's expression darken with an emotion so raw it reverberated in Sherlock he nodded once.

"O-okay"

John rinsed the flannel again and gently, ever so gently began to cleanse Sherlock's genitals. His eyes never left the doctor's hands, not quite trusting this not to be another ruse and that he wasn't going to be hurt again. The army doctor did the job quickly and efficiently, trying not to cause Sherlock anymore distress and forcing himself to not look at the colour of the water- a sickening mess of swirling red, pink and muddy brown as the water washed away.

Then he started rinsing his hair, angling Sherlock's face so the water wouldn't run into his eyes of his face. Glancing around and looking for some shampoo he saw some of the make he uses on his own hair and squeezing some out into his hand he began to massage it into Sherlock's limp, mangy hair.

When Sherlock first felt the hands he had sat up tense and afraid, but John didn't relent but just started murmuring again and Sherlock allowed him to relax into the touch as his new tentative trust built. Of course his subconscious knew that John would never hurt him, but unfortunately he couldn't quite convince himself of that fact.

There was warm water running down his head and neck- John must have finished.

"Okay, now I'm going to lift you out of the water onto the mat so I can dry you off to treat your injuries- tap again if there's anything your uncomfortable with."

While John busied himself finding more clean towels, Sherlock catalogued everything he had deduced so far about John in his absence. The slight shadowing under his eyes meant that while he had slept the 6 minimum hours he required-someone had forced it though (probably Mycroft-Lestrade wouldn't be stupid enough) - it hadn't been good. There were more grey hairs mixing in with that sunny blonde that only John ever seems to capture. There were more lines around his and across is brow,. He had lost weight too; the clothes he wore were just a little bit looser than before, and the red baggy jumper didn't quite match the blue jeans and brown shoes. Conclusion: John was worried. About him. Even through the current worry and sadness currently residing in his eyes, there was a faint hint of relief, presumably because he had been found. He wondered why. He had certainly never been a particularly nice person to John, just bringing the adrenaline to his life. That wouldn't account for the depth of emotion though. Conclusion two: John was worried because he cares about him. Sherlock.