Sherlock gasps awake and tries to sit up in his bed, but a big hand pushes him back down. He almost screams at the touch.
"Relax, son," a deep, yet soft, voice says. It's nothing like Ben's, which is relieving, but it's also not his dad or Mycroft or Lestrade.
"Wh-where am I?" Sherlock asks, his throat dry. He slowly opens his still-sensitive eyes but winces at the bright hospital lights.
The man presses a straw to his lips and instructs him to drink. Sherlock chugs the water, thankful, and just squints at the man. Police officer, obviously. He's wearing a uniform.
The man then clears his throat and sits on the chair next to Sherlock.
"My name is Detective Charleston, Sherlock."
Sherlock could probably deduce everything about this man, but he doesn't want to. He wants straight answers, he needs to hear it all explained to him.
"Your father's on his way. He should be here very, very soon. You're…there's no easy way to tell you this, Sherlock, but you're in Chicago, Illinois."
Sherlock feels sick already. So far away from home, and he had no idea.
Detective Charleston continues. "The man who…who did all of this to you is behind bars, Sherlock. Did you shoot him?"
"Yes, sir. He's not…he's not dead?"
Detective Charleston gives him an unsure look, but he doesn't address the question. "How much do you remember?" he asks instead.
Sherlock clears his throat. "I remember coming here a few days ago, I guess. He, uhm, he fed me a few times, so I guess maybe…maybe I've been here almost a week. And the last time, he came in to…I guess to kill me. I think I…" Sherlock rubs his forehead where he feels a bruise. "I hit him with my head, then he fell and I took the gun and...that's all I remember."
Sherlock was looking away from the Detective, but when he looks up again, the Detective is white as a sheet and looks nervous.
"What is it?" Sherlock asks.
"Son," the Detective licks his lips. "You've been missing for nearly three weeks. Twenty days, to be exact."
Now Sherlock does throw up. The Detective rushes to grab him a bedpan and Sherlock vomits as much liquid that was in his stomach. The Detective pats his shoulder and tells him over and over that it's okay, that he's safe now, but Sherlock still can't believe any of it.
"How?" Sherlock asks as soon as he's done.
A nurse had appeared while Sherlock was throwing up, so she takes the pan away from Sherlock. The Detective gives him more water.
"How did I not know?" Sherlock asks again.
"It seems as though he put you under anesthesia every day. You weren't as badly malnourished as you could have been, so it appears that you were awake long enough to eat, then back to sleep."
Sherlock can't process it. Nearly three weeks.
"Do you want to go back to sleep?" Detective Charleston asks.
Sherlock shakes his head. He can't.
"I have two officers stationed right outside the door, Sherlock. And your father should be here in…" he checks his watch, "Less than an hour. Do you need anything? Want anything? Anything at all?"
Sherlock shakes his head. "I just don't want to go to sleep."
"Okay," Detective Charleston says. He reaches into his back pocket. "Want to play cards?"
Detective Charleston plays cards with him while he waits, gets Sherlock a giant chocolate chip cookie (something Sherlock was craving but only managed to eat a bite of), and gives Sherlock his sunglasses to shield his sensitive eyes. Sherlock starts to enjoy his time with the detective, he manages to laugh a few times. He didn't think he'd ever laugh again.
Clement arrives in less than an hour, as promised. Sherlock can hear him as he's coming down the hall, running towards Sherlock's room. Detective Charleston clears the cards, hearing Clement too, and Sherlock braces himself for his dad to fling himself into the room and onto his bed.
Which is what Clement does. But Sherlock welcomes him, only wincing when Clement squeezes his fragile body too tight. Sherlock begins to cry, he knew he would, and he can feel Clement's tears draining onto his hair.
"Sherlock," Clement cries. "We thought…we thought the worst. I'm so sorry, son."
Sherlock can only cry in response.
Clement finally lets go when Sherlock starts squirming because everything hurts. He pulls away, but takes Sherlock's hand.
"Let me get a look at you," Clement says, examining Sherlock himself.
Sherlock follows Clement's eyes and can only imagine what his dad sees. He hasn't seen a mirror yet, but by the look on Clement's face, he looks awful.
Bruise on his head where he headbutted Ben.
Two black eyes to go with his broken nose, plus his swollen eye from the last time Ben punched him.
Gash on his cheek.
Still-swollen lips from the tape.
Collarbones even more visible from the weight loss.
Cuts all over his wrists from the zipties.
Hands bruised and still shaking.
Torso, waist, and legs thinner. He was skinny before, but now he's probably a size lower.
And a gunshot wound on his shin. He's lucky it was just a graze.
Clement gets done and reaches to hug him again, this time more gently.
"I'm so sorry, Sherlock."
Sherlock nods against his dad's shoulder. "I know, Dad."
Three weeks runs through Sherlock's head over and over. He missed the end of school, he's missed so much.
"Hey Dad?" he asks while Clement is still hugging him.
"Yes?"
"Did I fail anatomy?"
The call came midafternoon that Sherlock was alive, that he'd escaped. John was out with friends on direct orders from Clement that he busy himself while they start the search in Chicago. John knows everyone wanted him to try not to get his hopes too far up, but John couldn't help it at all. The idea that Sherlock was alive somewhere in the world was enough to keep a smile on his face.
The friends had decided to see a movie, which was fine with John. He didn't want to do anything that took up much energy, he wanted to relax.
John's phone rang about half way through the film. He let it go to voicemail because he obviously couldn't answer in the middle of the theater, but then it started to ring again. Confused, since he told his mother and Clement both that he went to a movie (and honestly, everyone who calls him was in the same room as him), he fished his phone out of his pocket to check the caller ID.
It was Clement. With a shrug, John ignored it, because he could easily call Clement back as soon as the movie ended.
As soon as he had the phone back in his pocket, it vibrated again. Annoyed now, John excused himself from the movie and went into the lobby to answer.
He could've kicked himself for not answering sooner. Of course if Clement knew where he was, that he couldn't answer the phone, but was still calling, it was an emergency. When Clement said the words, "He's been found," John immediately started to cry.
"John? John?" Clement asked. "John, he's alive, he's in Chicago, I'm going there now."
John couldn't speak, all he could do was cry. Relief washed over him, he felt like he could breathe again. Sherlock was alive.
After a few long minutes of trying to catch his breath, John thanked Clement and said he'd be over to the house as soon as he could. Clement said he'd be back with Sherlock as soon as he could be, John could hear his smile, then Clement hung up.
John couldn't go back into the theater a sobbing mess, so he slumped against the wall and let out some more tears.
He didn't hear anyone exiting the theater, but he looked up on time to see Declan receiving the good news. Tears fell from Declan's eyes and he darted at John, taking John in a tight embrace that meant they were both so relieved. Declan hung up a second later, but they still stood there hugging.
"Guys?" they heard a few minutes later. It was Olive. "Oh god. What happened? Why are you both crying so hysterically? Fuck, they found him, didn't they? He's de—"
John let go of Declan and smiled widely at Olive. "No, no! He's alive! He's alive and they found him and he's safe!"
Olive let out a sigh and smiled, then John pulled her into a hug as well.
John decided the rest of their friends needed to know, so he ran back into the theater. Since they were the only group in the auditorium, besides a couple near the front row, he announced it to everyone.
"Guys, they found Sherlock and he's alive!"
Everyone cheered happily, then got out of their seats and headed for the door.
The man in the other couple called to them, "Hey you kids, shut the hell up!"
To which Harvey yelled back, "Fuck off!"
The friends all laughed and filed out of the theater.
They all gave John and Declan hugs of congratulations, a few of them shed a tear, then they decided they needed to celebrate.
"Hey," John said, "You guys go ahead, really, but I'm going to head over to Sherlock's."
"Yeah, I'm going to go home," Declan added. "But you guys go. We can all celebrate later, when Sherlock gets back."
They all agreed and congratulated John and Declan again, then they all left the theater and parted ways.