A/N: And now the real story begins!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Dollhouse, or any characters therein. I only own my OC.

- o O o -

The world started to come back from the darkness. The first thing that I felt was that I was laying down. On something soft. Not a bed, my head was propped up on something firm. A couch maybe, a leather couch. Worn, comfortable, pillows under my neck and head so that I wouldn't get a crick in my neck. That was thoughtful of someone. I tried to remember the last few days and found it sort of difficult. I only remembered snippets. I was tied up, and then two men. One tall, pale, dark hair. He had gentle hands, long fingers, but hesitant. The other was shorter, stockier. He must have had lighter hair because I couldn't remembering distinguishing between his hair and face. Either that or he was bald. His hands were different. Less nimble, but more detached, more sure of himself. Doctor, if I had to guess. I must have been to lots of doctors, to know how to identify a Doctor's hands. It bothered me a little that I couldn't remember more in the past, but I thought that was probably the same as all my fuzzy memories.

Those two sets of hands had untied me, had helped to carry me out. Out of where? Where was I that I needed to be rescued, that I had been tied down? Had I been kidnapped? Why couldn't I remember anything? I remember I had been cold. But that was all, it hurt my head to try and remember more.

I still didn't know where I was right now, so I tried to bring back the memories of the last few days. A sickness? Maybe. I remembered sweating, shaking, begging the men to let me go. Begging for I don't know what. Puking, a hand holding my hair out of my face. The one with the longer, dexterous fingers. His voice was deep, rumbling, soothing. Why was he taking care of me? Who was he? What was he to me? Did I know him before? Before what? My mind was going around in circles.

I remember at one point, the shorter one wanted to take me away, wanted to send me to a.. facility. For what, I didn't remember or know. The taller one refused, said it would be better for me where we were. Was I in a hospital? Maybe the two were doctors. Maybe one was a doctor and the other was related to me. Boyfriend? No, I didn't think that was true. And it didn't smell like a hospital. It wasn't cold or bright, or sterile like a hospital. It smelled like tea, toast, and faint hint of smoke. It smelled.. homey.

I floated further toward consciousness, and I could hear the voice again. Deep, velvety. I think he was arguing with the other man again. They were trying to be quiet though, thinking I was still asleep.

"She's almost through it, John. We cannot dump her in a hospital when she doesn't know what's been done to her. We don't even know who she is. No family, no ID, no missing person's fitting her description." The man with the deeper voice said. So the shorter one must be called John. Good, it gave my mind something to focus on. I tried not to move, tried not to change my breathing so I could focus on the voices and try to pull my mind out of the fog it was in.

"Since when did you care so much about anyone, Sherlock? I've never seen you like this before. What is it about her? Anyone else you would have let Lestrade take care of. She's not an experiment. She needs proper care. We shouldn't mess with withdrawal like this. And when you're bored of her, we can't just toss her into the street." The one called John countered, sounding frustrated and a little annoyed. He had a pleasant enough voice, though, but more hesitant, less confident, at least right now. "I agree, it would be tough for her in a hospital until she could tell people who she was. But they have proper facilities. They would be able to take care of her better and help her with her symptoms." John insisted after a moment of silence, his voice calmer, more persuasive.

There was a rustling sound.. I couldn't tell if it was papers or clothing. "John." There was pain in his voice, Sherlock's. That's what the other one, John, had called him. I now had a name to put to that voice as well. "John, you.. know some of my past. I understand quite well how difficult withdrawal can be and the consequences of it." Wait.. withdrawal? That's the second time they mentioned it. Why would I be in withdrawal? I didn't take drugs. Although the more I thought about it, the less sure I was about that. Until I remembered, in a haze, feeling a prick in my arm, and warmth. It felt good, even if I didn't know where it was coming from.

"You should have some sympathy as well, they gave you morphine for your shoulder, didn't they? Highly addictive." Sherlock pointed out to his companion. "No doubt you went through some withdrawal symptoms yourself." His voice was a little more firm, but he tried to keep it quiet. "We are more capable of taking care of her than a hospital. You are a doctor, you're qualified. She's almost through. We cannot give up on her now."

John sighed, his voice coming out muffled for a moment. Hands over his face maybe? "Alright.. alright. She should be coming 'round soon. We'll see how she is this time, and then go from there." He said, adding, "I'll make some tea." And then there were footsteps moving away.

I kept my eyes shut during the conversation, slowly becoming more lucid but wanting to listen to what they were saying since I had missed other conversations while I was out of it. Drugged? I could hear someone moving around, running water, and then someone coming very close to the couch that I was on.

"I know you're awake. You can open your eyes now." Sherlock's voice came gently from near me, and then a cool cloth was pressed to my forehead, and my cheek, making me jump a little in surprise. Slowly, I cracked open my eyes, blinking several times to clear the fuzziness and gunk from them. When I was finally able to focus, my gaze was met by a pair of beautiful, ethereal eyes that I felt pierce through me. The eyes were set beneath a flop of curly, silky looking hair, dark brown. A very handsome face, with high cheekbones and a cupid's bow mouth. He had a slightly odd look of concern on his face as he stroked the cool cloth over my forehead, which felt rather good.

"W-where.." I had to stop as I tried to talk, coughing a little and licking my lips, feeling like I had just spat out a million cotton balls. "Where am I?" I finally managed to croak out.

"Baker Street, London." Sherlock said simply as he watched me. His face shifted from one of concern to an impassive, emotionless face, shutting everything off with obvious practice.

"How.. did I get here? What.. happened?" I asked, still having an unusually dry mouth. The other man came into the living room area, and I finally got a clear look at John. Shorter, blonde hair, just going gray a bit, definitely stockier than Sherlock, broader, holding himself with a military air. Even though Sherlock was the one with the damp cloth attending me, it seemed awkward to him, and like John was the more domestic of the two, carrying a tray with tea on it. It was more than obvious that Sherlock was not used to doing anything remotely affectionate or caring. And yet here he was, wiping my face with the damp cloth. I must have looked a mess, and from the feel of it, I had been sweating and crying, or both.

"Not sure how you like your tea, but here.." John moved over with a glass of water, seeming to be intent on helping me drink it, but Sherlock took it from him before he could get too close. Basically snatching the water from John's hands as if he didn't want the older man anywhere near me. It was odd, even though Sherlock seemed not to think anything of it, as if it were perfectly natural merely because he was the closest to me. He was also stronger than he looked, as I soon found out as he slid an arm beneath my shoulders and helped me sit up enough to drink the water. He may appear to be thin and lanky, but it seemed that was merely because he was all muscle, with no extraneous fat. I drank all of the water, feeling as weak as a baby, and just vaguely gross, like I hadn't showered in a week. I just didn't know how accurate that was.

While this was happening, John gave a perplexed look at Sherlock, then cleared his throat. "We were hoping you could shed some light on what brought you here. Well.. I mean.. technically we brought you to Baker Street, but.. I mean.. before that.. what got you.. tangled up in that situation." He seemed to bumble around for words, which seemed to exasperate Sherlock.

"During the course of investigating a criminal case we discovered a ring of kidnappers who were focusing mostly on young, attractive women. Human trafficking, clearly. We discovered a warehouse during the course of our investigation that was a holding pen as it were, for their victims. Upon arriving, we discovered you there with three other girls. However, it appeared that you had been kept drugged, quite heavily. The others had not woken up from their initial drugging as the had been kidnapped, when we arrived. It is unsure whether they would have been similarly drugged as you were, had we left them there. We were not sure how long you had been there however, or how long you had remained under the influence of those drugs. You had no identification on you, did not match any missing person's reports. John identified the drugs as mostly morphine, which would render you unconscious but is also highly addictive. We concluded that they intended to get you dependant on the Morphine and then the prospective buyers would have something to ply you with. And from the state of your clothes and hair, it was obvious that you had indeed been there long enough that your body would crave the drugs and be somewhat dependant on them." Sherlock quickly cut in to explain, his tone almost sounding bored and slightly frustrated, as if this was a great burden for him to explain.

"Since we did not know your name or any family members, I insisted that you were brought back here. Withdrawal can be such a nasty thing. I.. have some experience in this area, and John here is a doctor. Not to mention he is intimately familiar with the effects of morphine. I insisted we take care of you until you were recovered and lucid. You have been here about a week. It will take much longer to fully recover of course, but you should be back to a state where you can function properly." Sherlock said simply, avoiding looking into my eyes for a few moments as he helped me finish my water, then laid me back down. It was about all I could manage to just stare at him, taking this all in, not remembering any of it, and just taking the glass from him to finish the water, though I still needed his help to stay in the upright position.

I felt a little clearer in the head after listening to the explanation, and after I had some water to wet my mouth and loosen the knots my stomach. "My name is Sofia Charles. I... was going to go out, I think.. I can't remember if I was at a club or a restaurant.. I remember having a drink, but I.. was there alone. I was dancing with someone.. so it must have been a club.. and then, someone came up behind me, the person I was dancing with seemed to know them, and... I felt a prick in my hip, then the world went upside down.." I tried to think of anything else, sighing a little, and shaking my head. I didn't even want to think about anything else for the moment, looking between the two men. "I can't remember anything else.." I admitted softly in defeat, Sherlock slowly lowering me back down to the couch now that I had finished the water.

"That explains the clothes we found you in. You see, John, I told you she wasn't a prostitute." Sherlock scolds his friend, sitting back to pick up his tea. Obviously they had been living together for a while, John knew how Sherlock liked his tea. A part of my brain idly wondered if they were a couple.

John's ears turned pink in embarrassment. "I hope you don't mind, we took the liberty to change you into something else, your other clothes were quite a mess. If it helps, I really am a doctor, an Army doctor. Still, I'd like to get you to the hospital and have someone do some blood work and more thorough exam once you're feeling up to it. We, well, I should say I, didn't feel comfortable doing any of that while you were unconscious and.. well, not in your right mind." He said in concern. He was concerned about what might have been done to me while I was drugged, no doubt, and I was trying not to think about that, to keep myself from panicking. But I couldn't help the slight hitch in my breath as my heart suddenly started pounding.

That was the first time that I looked down at my clothes. I hadn't realized I was wearing anything different. Looking down at myself, I saw that I was wearing a long-sleeved, button-up shirt that would have been more of a dress on me, obviously a men's shirt. I looked back up at John and Sherlock, then at my shirt. Most likely Sherlock's, judging by the size. Beneath that, I had a pair of shorts, looking more to be a women's styling, but they were a touch too big on me. Odd. obviously no women lived in this flat. A friend? Sister? My legs were bare, and it was obvious I had been held captive for a while, because I knew I had shaved before going to the club, and I could tell that my legs were less than baby smooth now. "Um... ok.. I.. I can't.. even remember my address right now. In fact, I can't remember much of anything before the club, or after for that matter. My ID was in my purse.. you didn't find it?"

"No." Came the simple, succinct reply from Sherlock. John picked up his teacup and shook his head a little, in obvious agreement with his friend.

"Here... try to sit up and eat something.. You've been here nearly a week without anything to eat, and only some water to drink.. I wanted to put an IV in, but you were thrashing so much that I didn't want you to hurt yourself. I'm afraid you're going to be extremely dehydrated." John finally said, his tone and demeanor changing, putting on 'doctor' mode, it seemed. This time Sherlock didn't interrupt him as he helped me sit up, he just stiffened a little, watching the two of us like a hawk. First, John handed me another glass of water, which I drank thankfully, then he brought back a smaller glass of orange juice and a plate of toast with some butter on it, holding them out to me. I just watched the two, uncertainly nibbling on the toast, my stomach cramping hungrily which forced me to eat the toast slowly and hesitantly sipping at the orange juice.

"What happens now?" I asked nervously in between bites as I looked between the two. Both were watching me carefully as if they weren't sure if I would be able to hold down the toast and orange juice.

"Well, now that we know your name, we can find out where you live and get you back to your life." John explained casually and simply as he sat back down, obviously thinking that that was the best course of action.. Sherlock had become quite quiet, just watching me with slightly narrowed eyes, examining me. At the mention of me going back home, his lips briefly turned downward in a small frown, before his expression smoothed out. His gaze made me feel more than a little self-conscious, but at the same time, I didn't sense any malicious intent from him.

Sherlock began to speak slowly, eyes never leaving my face. "I'm sure you're eager to get back to your old life, settle back into old-"

"No!" I snapped out, panic slamming into me hard at the thought of going back to my flat. My breathing quickened and my hands started to tremble. I couldn't help it, I couldn't even explain it. I just felt fear welling up inside of me at the prospect of going 'home'. Where was 'home'? I couldn't remember now, but something about it made me deeply afraid, an animalistic fear.

Both men stared at me in surprise at my outburst, Sherlock still close enough that he quickly took the small plate and glass from me before I dropped them. It was John who looked more concerned, getting up quickly again to move over and take my hand but only to take my pulse.. "What?" He finally said, not the most intelligent of answers, but I had clearly surprised them. He pulled my legs off the couch abruptly, so I was sitting properly, then he pushed my head down between my knees. "Ok.. it's alright.. take a few deep breaths, don't hyperventilate." His hand was warm on the back of my neck, his skin a little rough.

The panic was welling up in me and I was trying my best to tamp it down, following John's directions and taking slow, deep breaths.. "I.. I.. no. Don't make me. I don't.. I can't.. Please." I knew I wasn't making much sense right then, but my vision had gone slightly blurry and the panic was rising again.

It was clear neither man was used to dealing with a panicky female, and they both seemed distinctly uncomfortable. The couch next to me dipped, and from the slacks that appeared sitting next to me, I knew that it was Sherlock that had taken the seat beside me. John's hand left the back of my neck, and cooler, long fingers pulled my hair back a bit. Sherlock's hands, obviously. They were more familiar, and I had a vague memory slip through my mind. The toilet, I was throwing up, cook hands pulled my hair out of my face an stroked my feverish skin. And then the memory was gone.

"We've got a spare room here, I'm sure you can stay until things are sorted. Isn't that right, John?" Sherlock asked as he looked over my head at the doctor who had taken a seat on the coffee table across from me. Sherlock's voice was soft, but it was cool and emotionless like before, detaching himself from the situation.

At the suggestion, the panic slowly started to subside, and I sat up a little, slowly,, enough tht I could look from John to Sherlock, the reassurance that I might not have to go back to my flt going a long way to soothe my nerves. Since John had yet t answer, I looked at him hopefuly, looking between the two.

John smiled at me, obviously worried from the slight crease in his forehead from his brows drawing together just slightly. "Of course, yeah. We'll have to move a few things around to make it habitable, but yeah, of course you can stay here." He reassured me with a little smile, patting the back of my hand gently. It was awkward, and it sounded like John wasn't completely ok with this situation, or at least he was a little worried about it.

"Now that you've finished your toast.. I'm going to go run you a bath.. You probably won't have enough strength to stand up for a shower yet.. Will you be ok washing your hair?" His cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed pink brightly again with the suggestion, then he cleared his throat. "I'll arrange for that exam and maybe see about getting you some proper clothes while you're in the bath" John offered as he watched me.

Getting cleaned up and washed suddenly sounded like a marvelous idea. "I.. I don't know. Washing my hair in a bath is.. kind of difficult.." I admitted, blushing as I thought about it, and sounding rather ashamed, dropping my eyes to the carpet.

Sherlock continued to merely watch me, while John looked sympathetic. "Do the best you can, and if you need, one of us can help you wash your hair afterward." He offered, patting my hand lightly again. "I'll go run that bath." He said before getting up and heading into the bathroom in the hall, the sound of water pretty obvious.

Sherlock stood abruptly, his posture perfect, adjusting his shirt and suit jacket before he looked down at me curiously, "Let me help you." he finally said in his deep timbered voice that sent shivers up my spine. I nodded and slowly tried to stand, but my legs were too wobbly. Sherlock easily caught me, an arm around my waist, the other supporting me under my elbow. "Easy." he said softly. After I somewhat steadied myself, we slowly worked our way to the bathroom. John was surprised obviously to see us at the doorway and he smiled tightly.

"Here, let me.. three people is two too many for this bathroom." John said jokingly, reaching out and taking my arm from Sherlock, guiding me into the bathroom and seating me on the toilet. "There's a spare toothbrush for you here, towel and wash cloth are right behind you... Tub should finish filling in a minute. If you need anything, just yell, I'll try and find you some clothes." He offered, waiting for me to nod before he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Seeing the lock on the inside of the door, I was tempted, but then if I was really in trouble, they would have to break down the door and that wouldn't be good. I sat there for a moment before I turned to the sink and brushed my teeth thoroughly, finally turning off the tub water and shakily undressing before sliding into the tub carefully. It was a good thing I didn't attempt a shower, I was far too shaky for that.

- o O o –

A/N: Thank you for anyone who has read this far! I do have more chapters I may publish if there is any interest. I appreciate any reviews, but please be kind! Also editing some chapters to get my 'breaks' to work right.