The first time John woke up was when he heard noise coming from downstairs. It sounded like a howl of pain. He blinked in the early light of dawn and he listened further. He suspected that it was Sherlock, and headed downstairs. It could just be a nightmare, but even if it was one it was a bad one.

As he passed by Sherlock's room the sound got louder and without thinking about it he opened the door and headed inside. To his astonishment Sherlock was wide awake. In fact, not only was he awake, he was shredding what looked to be a pile of bedding with a knife. He was standing naked in front of a chair the bedding rested on as he slashed bits of the pile with long, furious swipes. Every few seconds he made the same howl. John debated whether it was best to just let him work out whatever he was doing or to intervene. He finally decided that any intervention needed to be low-key and simply said, "Sherlock?" in a normal sounding voice. It didn't quite snap him out, but Sherlock turned to face him, eyes still filled with fury.

"Get out. Get out now," he snarled.

"Not until you're calmed down," John stated calmly. "But if you're really determined to tear those sheets to shreds, wouldn't it be better to use a pair of scissors?"

That was enough to snap him out; Sherlock blinked and seemed suddenly aware how strange he looked naked and attacking sheets with a knife. He took a dressing gown from the floor and hastily tied it around himself. He was slightly pink, and didn't look John in the eye.

"I can understand why you're angry, but is this going to help?" John hoped he sounded gentle.

"I have to do something," Sherlock replied, looking at the floor.

"You're not even getting angry at the right person. It should be her you're furious at, not yourself." He knew that for Sherlock this was more than just anger at what had happened. Obviously he had difficulty reconciling his own physical responses with the fact John kept telling him he was not to blame. It was shame, really, shame at the fact his body continued to show he was not in control. She had convinced him that he was at fault and all this did was confirm that.

"You know perfectly well that She's not the one who's making this happen."

"Yes she is. First of all, you wouldn't be dreaming about her if you'd never met her. Second, if you met her but she never did anything to you, you might dream about someone else, but you wouldn't be so disturbed about it. She is the one who set everything you feel about sex into a tailspin. You're not wrong, bad, or evil for having sexual feelings. She is the one who warped them, and none of this makes you less of a victim." John purposely chose the word "victim" because he knew that Sherlock saw himself as anything but, all to avoid placing any responsibility on K. Sherlock looked so uncomfortable with this that John decided to quickly change the subject. "If you need help destroying those, I can get some scissors," he volunteered.

"That won't be needed," Sherlock responded, still looking uncomfortable.

"If you don't want to destroy them more, you can just throw them out. It's not – "John caught himself before he finished with "something you can control". While it was true it was also not something Sherlock was ready to hear.

"I think I will go back to sleep," Sherlock said after a minute or so of uncomfortable silence.

"Just so you know, if you wake up feeling that angry again you can tell me about it. I don't mind being woken up and it seems like a better thing to do than shoot the wall or tear your bedsheets to shreds." John tried to keep his voice light, so the suggestion could be seen as a joke no matter how serious it was.

"I will consider it," Sherlock responded in that tight, formal voice he used whenever he was ill at ease.

"And with that I'm going to see if I can get a few more hours of sleep myself," John told him. He went back upstairs and was able to fall asleep again in a few minutes.

He woke up the second time to the sound of music. Sherlock hadn't picked up his violin in days, so it was a welcome sound. That welcome lasted only a few seconds before he realized there was another instrument playing. It sounded like a flute. He remembered Phillip Rodgers played the flute and figured as soon as he got downstairs Phillip would be there.

After a quick shower and getting dressed, John headed down the stairs. The music stopped as he reached the bottom of the steps, but before he could step into the sitting room he saw Sherlock sitting in a chair and give a slight shake of his head. "What I meant of course was that not all lessons can be learned in a classroom. I was not saying learning was not valuable."

"I don't like school anyway," Phillip responded in his boyish voice.

From Phillip's perspective it looked like Sherlock was just making some hand gesture, but John knew it was a warning to not come downstairs. John knew that Phillip trusted Sherlock in a way he didn't trust anyone else, and if he were to make his presence known Phillip would likely clam up. He gestured up the stairs in response, silently asking if he should go back upstairs. Sherlock gave a very slight shake of his head. He wanted John to at least hear what they were saying, at any rate.

"School isn't always enjoyable." Sherlock sounded sympathetic.

"You're so smart, though. Did you get good grades?"

"Not always."

"Everyone tells me to pay more attention. But it's just too much sometimes." Phillip's voice was heavy with despair.

"Why is that?" Sherlock leaned forward in his chair.

"Because I know that it's just going to get worse as the day goes on."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I go home and mum yells at me and tells me to go away and the other kids at school tease me and if I know that She's not going to be by and take me to the flat I'll be all alone." John wished he could somehow comfort the boy. It didn't seem right to him that one child had to live with all that sadness. It said a lot about his life that his abuser was the bright spot in his day. When Phillip next spoke it thankfully distracted him from those thoughts. "I never told you how I broke my arm."

"You gave an abridged version of it that was nonetheless correct in its essentials. If you are saying that you left out most of the details, that is correct. While I did hear Her version of the story - " As soon as Sherlock said that Phillip gasped. "Wait. I would like to hear what happened from your perspective if it is not abbreviated."

"Well, She... what did She say?" Phillip sounded terrified.

"What She said is not relevant. I want to know how you tell it." John could see Sherlock fold his hands over each other and place them in his lap.

"Will you promise not to get angry with me?" That comment, more than anything else, made John remember how young Phillip really was.

"I haven't gotten angry with you before. I am not going to do so in the future."

"All right." A pause. "You know that She used to work at St. Bart's, right?"

"I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that you met Her at work. Presumably you met Her there."

"Yeah. I thought I should tell you that. I didn't want to say too much before because I didn't want Her to think that I'd told someone about Her." Another pause. "Anyway, that day was really a bad one. My maths teacher said she didn't know if she could pass me and my history teacher caught me drawing in class and he said I'd never amount to anything. Sometimes right after school She'd be outside and that was one of those days. That was good to me because I felt so bad. I shut my eyes and She drove me to the flat and we went inside. We hadn't seen each other in a while and She took me right to the bedroom and started taking my clothes off." He stopped there for a moment, probably because he was embarrassed. "That's something She always liked to do. Said it was like unwrapping a present. Then She took Her clothes off and lay down on the bed. Um. I... She told me to, uh, use my tongue. Until then I always did what She said but everything had been so bad recently that I told Her I just wanted to cuddle first. I told you before about that. After we did whatever She wanted us to do we'd cuddle and hug and when I was real little She'd let me sit in Her lap. I didn't think it was that bad to ask because I'd always done what She told me before. But She got mad and told me to do it. Said that if I didn't She'd never let me go. I knew then I should just do it but I just stood there. That just made Her more mad and She stood up and grabbed my arm. I was scared then and I tried to get out of Her hands and to the door. Then She pulled me back so my arm was behind my back, and She's strong, you know. That's when I felt the bone break. I fell to the ground and She picked me up by the shoulders, punched me, and threw me back on the bed."

There was another pause. John didn't think that K would have to be that strong to do all that, as Phillip was slight. Even so the casual cruelty of it made him shudder. Phillip, once again, broke the silence. "My arm hurt so I didn't want to move. At first She just rubbed me but after a bit, when She got that to work She grabbed my thighs and spread them apart, really hard. 'You really think you can get away with that?' She said. 'You think you're special, can do all that before you get what you want? You're just one of a hundred and I could replace you at any time!' After that She just stayed on top of me until She was done. That was when She told me to go to Bart's. I asked Her what I should tell them and She said to say I'd been wrestling with a friend. Then I said something really stupid."

"What?" Sherlock asked. As seemed to be the case more and more, John was surprised at how calm and matter of fact he was able to remain. Whether that was from his own experience or he had somehow deduced already what had happened John didn't know.

"I said what if I told the doctor there what happened. You know, that She'd done it and what happened after. But She just laughed and said She'd say She'd been fighting me off and who would they believe, me or Her? And I knew that She was right and if I hadn't been so greedy I wouldn't have gotten hurt." Phillip sounded resigned. "I figured if they found out the truth I'd get arrested so I just told Her I'd say I'd been wrestling. Then I shut my eyes again and we left the flat and She dropped me off at the front of Bart's." He paused. "Now you know the whole story."

"You weren't being greedy, Phillip. It's not greedy to want affection."

"Can we play something again?" Phillip clearly wanted to change the subject.

"If you like." As Sherlock reached to the side of the chair to pick up his violin, he gestured to John that it was all right to come down the stairs. By the time John came down to the room, the two of them were playing some new tune. "Good morning, John," Sherlock said without missing a note, like he hadn't seen him sitting on the stairs for the last fifteen minutes or so.

"Good morning," he replied. "Hello Phillip, have you been here a long time?"

Phillip put down his flute in his lap. "A little while. Your landlady gave me a muffin and a banana for breakfast, and Mr. Holmes let me have some milk."

"Did you know I used to play the clarinet?" John sat himself down on the sofa.

"No, I didn't. Did you want to play the saxophone?" He tilted his head in a curious look.

"No, I didn't. Why would you think that?" John couldn't figure out what the connection between the two was.

"The saxophone is a complex instrument and it is typically recommended that someone wishing to play it start on the clarinet to familiarize themselves with the layout," Sherlock responded in the "you're an idiot for not figuring this out yourself" tone John hadn't heard in days. "Of course some will find the clarinet pleasing on its own."

"No, I wasn't planning on ever playing the saxophone. It seemed complicated," he admitted. "Why did you pick the flute?"

"It was right in front of me," Phillip said, and John and Sherlock both laughed at his frankness.

"Why don't we play something else?" Sherlock suggested, and Phillip picked up his flute again. For the better part of an hour the two of them played a set of music that John didn't recognize at all. He could see how happy it was making them, though, and that was enough.

The concert came to an abrupt end when there was a knock on the door. John got up to answer it and opened the door to see Lestrade standing there, a large pile of papers in his hands. "I've brought over some of the material confiscated from Dr. Martin's house," he told John as he stepped into the sitting room. When he saw Phillip there, he stopped and stared.

"I invited Phillip here today. Not all lessons can be learned in a classroom. Of course, since this is Yard business he'll probably want to leave now." Sherlock was calm as he spoke. The music seemed to have relaxed him.

"I'll go back home now," Phillip said. He stood, put his flute away in its case, and headed for the door.

"You can call me any time you like, Phillip. I would like to hear from you again." When Phillip heard Sherlock speak, he turned to face him. He didn't say anything, but he nodded before turning to leave. Sherlock then stood by the window and watched him as he descended the steps and walked towards the Tube station. Only when Phillip was out of sight did he speak again. "I presume most of what you've brought with you is of a delicate nature?" He sat down in the chair Phillip had been sitting in.

"Yes," said Lestrade with a sigh. "And since I doubt at this point I'll convince you to let go of the case, I should inform you that you feature in Dr. Martin's current defense."

"How does that work?" John dared to ask.

"For one, she currently claims that he made 'advances' to her when he was fourteen and her refusal was what caused him to have so much anger towards her." From the look on Lestrade's face he clearly wasn't eager to add anything, but he did say "Oh, and any pornography found in the house was planted by him at an earlier date. She says it's yours."