Chapter Four

John stood next to Sherlock as they made it down the last step of the staircase, one hand on his back and the other holding onto his hand for support. "There we go. One good night of rest, and you hardly need any help!"

Sherlock smiled sheepishly and shook his head as they made their way down the foyer and into the kitchen.

"Hey, look who's awake!" said Greg softly as he gave Sherlock a smile.

Sherlock's grip on John's hand tightened, and John gave his hand a squeeze to let him know he was there. Sherlock's grip eased, and they made their way to the island. Sherlock sat on one of the stools across from Greg, and John started making some beans and toast.

"How are you doing, Sherlock?" Greg asked.

John glanced over to see Sherlock shrink in his seat a little, having not talked to Greg before—as far as he could remember. He then gave a noncommittal shrug as he looked at Greg.

"Well, that's good," Greg told him. "Is, um…is there anything you want to do today?"

Sherlock gave another shrug.

"How about a movie?" said Greg. "This place has an excellent big-screen television."

Sherlock gave yet another shrug and looked down at the countertop in front of him.

"Okay," said Greg, looking up at John with a shrug of his own.

John went back to his preparations, and before long, the three of them were enjoying breakfast. It seemed almost normal—apart from Sherlock not talking—and it wasn't until halfway through the meal that they were given a reminder of their situation. John and Sherlock were sitting on the side of the island faced away from the doorway when Mycroft walked in in that quiet, stealthy way of his. He had then spoken while still behind them.

Sherlock jumped, startled at the sudden noise—and, no doubt, the addition of someone else in the room—and his arm knocked into the glass of water in front of him. The glass slid off the counter and tumbled to the floor, shattering. The sound of the glass breaking was an instant trigger. Sherlock flung himself from his seat, flying over to the furthest corner of the room and pressing himself into it as he tried to make himself as small as possible. He clutched his legs to his chest as he hid his face, hyperventilating and trembling.

John was instantly off his seat, slowly approaching his friend. "Sherlock. It's all right. You're safe." He knelt next to him, his hands hovering over but not touching him. "It's me, John, remember?"

Sherlock slowly looked up at John, and John was shocked to see tears on his friend's face. John pulled Sherlock towards him, holding him tight as Sherlock clung to the front of his shirt.

"John…" whispered Greg.

John looked up at him, and Greg pointed to the floor. Leading to the corner where they sat was a trail of small smudges of blood. John glanced down at Sherlock's foot to see blood on the side of it.

Dammit, he ran through the glass.

There wasn't enough blood on the floor to suggest an artery or even a vein was sliced open, so John waited until Sherlock's breathing and trembling had calmed down.

"Sherlock…" said John quietly, "I think you have some glass in your feet. Can I take a look?"

Sherlock nodded, and John eased slowly back and moved over to get to Sherlock's feet. Sherlock straightened his legs, and John took a look.

"Well, it doesn't look like there's much," John told him. "Hey, Greg—"

The medical kit appeared next to his face, and he looked up at Mycroft.

"Thanks," said John, taking the bag and setting to work.

John held onto Sherlock's hand as they walked into the lounge, Sherlock wincing as he put weight on his lacerated feet.

"A couple more steps," John told him.

They reached the sofa, and Sherlock sat down.

John stepped over to the television, grabbing the remote and turning it on. He moved over to a shelf full of DVDs that he was sure wasn't usually there. "What do you think? Action? Drama?" He glanced back at Sherlock hopefully. "Mystery?"

Sherlock gave him a shrug.

John turned back to the DVDs. We're going to need to work on that.

He glanced through the titles, trying to pick one.

Shutter Island

Prisoners in cells; too risky.

Armageddon

Too many explosions; loud noises aren't good right now. That rules out all the action movies.

He went through each of the films this way, finding reasons for most of them as to why it's too soon to watch it. Pretty soon, he was left with a couple dramas, some documentaries, a bunch of comedies and some sitcom seasons.

John smiled as he looked at the collection of Friends DVDs. Here was something that even when bad things happen, they were funny. Or at least not traumatizing. He pulled a disc out and put it in the player.

"Do you remember this show?" asked John as the menu came up. "Or, well…I don't know if you were even aware of it before…"

Sherlock was frowning at him, so John just shook his head and settled back into the cushions as he started the show.

Apparently, Friends was a huge success. John had seen an actual genuine, comfortable smile on Sherlock's face instead of one that said, "I find that funny, but I have to get rid of my smile in case I'm not allowed." They spent the rest of the day watching it, and John made them hot cocoa as night fell.

John was sitting on the window seat along the wall from the bathroom in Sherlock's room, as he seemed determined to try and take care of everything himself. But John had promised he would stay close by to watch out for him.

Mycroft stepped into the room, heading towards him. "John."

"Mycroft," John greeted as he stood. "Hey, I wanted to thank you for covering our expenses while we're here."

"It is the least I could do, John," Mycroft replied, coming to a stop in front of him. "I've always known you were good for my brother, but never as much as now."

John nodded a little.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on a certain matter," Mycroft went on.

"Sure," said John, crossing his arms.

"Shall I tell Dr. Hooper of Sherlock's survival?" asked Mycroft. "After all, Sherlock trusted her to keep the secret of his faked death. To keep her in the dark now would be…callous."

John had not been expecting that and didn't know what to say at first. If they told Molly about Sherlock, surely she would want to see him, visit him—especially once she found out how traumatized he was. Was that a smart decision regarding Sherlock? Adding another person for him to get used to?

But then, he thought about how he would feel if Sherlock was alive and no one had told him.

John looked back up at Mycroft and nodded. "Yeah, she should be told. Be sure to tell her what she'll see if she visits, though. I'd hate for her to try to hug him and send him into a panic attack."

"I will," Mycroft told him. "She will most likely visit some time tomorrow."

John nodded. "I'll tell Sherlock."

"I've also told our parents," Mycroft said.

John nodded a few times. "Of course. When do they want to visit?"

"They were in California at the time and are on their way," Mycroft replied. "They couldn't get a flight until tomorrow, so they will probably be by the day after."

"Right," said John as the bathroom door opened. He turned towards Sherlock, who stood in the doorway. "Hey, how'd it go?"

Sherlock gave a nod, his eyes darting towards Mycroft every once in a while. John gave Mycroft a look, motioning towards Sherlock with his eyes. Thankfully, Mycroft was just as good at reading between the lines as his brother was.

"Good, Sherlock," Mycroft told him. "You're doing very well, little brother."

Sherlock looked a little more relaxed as he moved over to the bed.

"Good night, Mycroft," John hinted at him.

"Yes, good night," said Mycroft. He looked at his brother, who was getting into the bed. "Sleep well, Sherlock." He moved to the door and left.

The nightmares were just as bad as they had been the night before, and Sherlock still refused to talk about them—or anything else. But there was one thing they did need to talk about that day.

"Hey, Sherlock," said John after breakfast. "I need to tell you something."

Sherlock set his glass of water down and turned towards John.

"You know how Greg and I are your friends?" said John. "Friends that you can't remember?"

Sherlock nodded.

"There's another friend that would like to see you," said John, taking his wallet out and pulling out a picture. "Her name is Molly Hooper." He handed the picture to Sherlock, who stared down at it. "I know it would mean a lot to her if she could visit. Would you like that?"

Fully expecting an indecisive shrug, John was surprised when—after studying the picture for several moments—Sherlock gave the tiniest of nods.

John smiled. "Great. She should be here in a few hours."

Sherlock nodded and drank the rest of his water before handing the glass to John and waiting for them to head into the sitting room.

The doorbell rang, causing Sherlock to jump.

Greg got to his feet. "I'll get it."

John turned to Sherlock. "That should be Molly. You ready?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Now, she thought you were dead, so she might cry a little," John warned him. "They're happy tears. Right?"

Sherlock nodded.

Just then, Greg came back into the sitting room with Molly. Molly let out a gasp at the sight of Sherlock—no doubt a combination of seeing him alive and seeing the wounds on his face that were still healing.

Molly then amazingly pulled herself back together and smiled. "Hi, Sherlock." She slowly took a few steps into the room. "My name is Molly Hooper. We've known each other for several years."

John watched Sherlock closely as Molly stepped over to the sofa across from them. But unlike the first night when John introduced Greg and Mycroft, Sherlock did not seem to be scared of her. Wary, yes—if the narrowed eyes and confused frown were anything to go by—but he wasn't trembling and shrinking away from her. Had he gotten used to meeting new people? Was it because Molly was a woman and all of his captors had been men? Was it because she was handling him so delicately? All three?

Molly sat down on the sofa, watching Sherlock closely as though searching for something. "Do you remember me?"

Sherlock slowly shook his head.

"No, I supposed you don't, do you?" said Molly sadly. "That must be very hard." She glanced over at John for a moment before looking back at Sherlock. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Sherlock looked down at the floor as he thought, and then he looked up at Molly and shook his head as he shrugged a little.

Molly nodded. "Well, I just wanted to introduce myself today. I'll be back on another day. Maybe we'll talk or something."

Sherlock nodded, and Molly got to her feet, slowly stepping toward Sherlock and stretching her hand out. John opened his mouth to tell her that wasn't a good idea, but Sherlock wasn't moving at all. He was just watching her hand in interest as she placed it on his own.

"If you need anything, I'll be here for you," Molly told him.

Sherlock looked up into her face as she patted his hand and straightened back up.

"I'll walk you out, Molly," John told her. He looked at Sherlock. "Is that all right? That Greg stays here instead of me?"

Sherlock shrunk in his seat and glanced over at Greg.

Greg looked over at John with a cheeky grin. "Oh, I think we can survive five minutes without you, John." He looked back at Sherlock. "Isn't that right?"

Sherlock smiled a little and nodded.

John smiled. "I'll be right back." He stood and walked with Molly out of the room and to the front door. "I don't know how you did it."

"Did what?" asked Molly, turning to him.

"When Sherlock first met us, he was trembling and wouldn't let anyone touch him," said John. "He's still so jumpy around even me. He meets you for supposedly the first time, and he's practically calm."

"Really?" asked Molly, looking back towards the sitting room with a warm smile. She looked back at John. "I guess I have the magic touch."

"You must have," said John. He held the door open for her. "I'll be in touch."

"Thanks," said Molly, turning and heading out of the house.

After John closed the door, he watched for a moment as Molly walked back to her car, wiping away tears.