Chapter 3

Day 2

"Hey, you okay?"

She thought about it. Really did. It's been a week since Oliver had come into their lives. A week of dealing with the aftermath of the attack on her body. A week of coming to terms with their new normal. Sherlock had gone on two runs with Oliver since then. Had managed in the process to please Oliver. She had no other words to explain it than that. Oliver pleased equals food. And now a towel and soap. It was bizarre on so many levels.

They were sitting inside in front of the fire, the rain creating a staccato of drum beats on the roof. Inside it was warm. Outside…well, good old British Spring Weather.

"I don't know." She says in the end. Stared at the dance of the flames in front of her. "I don't know what I'm supposed to think or feel." Sherlock shifted on the mattress next to her. His arms relaxed over his knees; his presence somehow comforting. "Do you think…" she starts, "…uhm, do you think that they're looking for us?"

"Who? John or my brother?"

"Yeah. Or Lestrade?"

"My brother will find us. He's rather good at what he does," he says reluctantly. Gives a small smile. "Besides, he'd want to come to the rescue. Tell me I told you so."

"Okay," she says. Doesn't look at him. "I'm worried about Toby."

"Who?"

"My cat, Sherlock. Someone will have to feed him. Make sure he's okay. Clean his litter box. You know, that sort of thing."

"Oh."

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. Fingers fiddle with the blanket she had wrapped around her body. The bruises on her body only now starting to fade. The cut above her eyebrow healing nicely. She scrunched her face briefly when a memory surfaced of Goon 2's fist as it impacted her body. Willed the memory down as she pulled the blanket tighter.

"I'm sorry," she says softly.

Sherlock frowns. Look at her. "Why?"

She's slow to respond. How did they go addressing the elephant in the room? The real reason why they took her. The question Sherlock had asked on that first day out in the field when they had woken up together was now answered. It wasn't very hard to figure it out. Oliver had alluded to it.

"Molly?"

She swallows down her fear and anxiety. Remind herself that it was Sherlock sitting next to her. The same man who held a fascination for her that she couldn't quite grasp. A man she knew would probably never see her much more as Molly Hooper from the lab. Tears threatened and she closed her eyes, focusing on just getting back on even keel.

"Not your fault, Molly." Sherlock states evenly. As always, he seems to read her thoughts. She focuses on him, meeting his gaze for the first time.

"You know that he's using me, right. To get you to comply and do what he wants."

Sherlock gave a pained grimace. Allowed her to see much more than his usual stoicism. "Yes," he said simply. "I know."

"What are we going to do?" she asks.

He sits back, leaning on his hands. His legs stretched out towards the fire. She notices the gap in his shirt where he'd tore off a piece of the material to compress against the cut on her eyebrow. The green-blue hue of a bruise peeking out from the hole. Both of them carry Oliver's brand and Oliver's abuse. And she knew that this was only the start. She didn't want to think about what it would look like down the track. Where this was taking them both.

"I don't know," he says softly. His eyes held a hint of desperation. Of hidden frustration. "I just…don't know." He stutters in the end.

"We can try to leave?"

Sherlock shook his head. He looked pained when he said, "Oliver will find us before we'd find a place to hide. He knows that. That is why he doesn't have us under lock and key. Why he doesn't leave a guard."

Molly sniffles. Looks away and focuses back on the fire. "Okay." She gives a small sigh. "A curry would be nice."

Sherlock looks at her with surprise. His eyes soften after a moment. "Perfect weather for it. With naan."

"And poppadoms."

"Mmmmh. Sounds good."

Molly hugs her knees closer, snuggled under the blanket. Tilts her head and watches the play of light on Sherlock's face. She determined then to carry what she could to help him deal with Oliver. To carry the load that was put on his shoulders by the other man.

"Staring, Molly," Sherlock says but his words had no bite. She sighs, leans her chin on her knees and refocuses on the fire.

"It'll be okay," he murmurs. She wasn't sure if it was for her benefit or his own. "I promise. We'll be okay…"

Molly was standing in line, waiting to get her tag. Her dreams a tapestry of different images and feelings and then this morning it had honed in on one particular one. She wonders why. Had written it down in her diary. She and Giles can discuss it later, when she is back. It helped her, even when it was painful and difficult but she felt she was gaining ground. Moving forward.

"Molly!"

She turns from her thoughts. Smiles. Sue Cropper was making her way across the open floor to her with a smile on her face. "Hi," she says.

"Good sleep?"

"Uh, yeah. You?"

"Really good, ta. You ready for the day? The topics look interesting…"

Sue continues to babble, one of nature's natural talkers. Molly tunes it out a little, giving vague noises now and again. In all honesty, she did enjoy her. A natural balm to her quiet nature. It meant she could let Sue take the lead in any social situation while she just sat back and listened.

"Oh, Alex, hi. Good night in?"

Molly looks up. "Yes, not too bad, thanks Sue. You ladies ready for the day?"

"Yeah. This is going to be so awesome, don't you think, Mols?" Sue grabs both of them by their arms, pulls them along to the table where their tags were. "You guys ready?"

Molly nodded, glanced at Alex who rolled his eyes at Sue. But grinned all the same. "A little less enthusiasm, Sue," he states with a laugh. "What would people think? Pathology conference remember."

"Oh shush, you. Learning is fun, isn't it?"

Molly gave a shy smile. You couldn't help but be swept up by Sue's enthusiasm and willingness to live life to the fullest. She let Sue pull her along. Decided that she was going to enjoy the day. Take a little of what Sue had to offer and learn to enjoy herself again.

Sherlock wiped the four and changed it to a three. His effort had left a shadow of black on the white of the fridge enamel. It would have to do for now. John chose that moment to enter the kitchen. He had his ivory cardigan on today, his trousers a dark brown. Hair still slightly damp from his morning shower.

"Sleep okay?" John asked as he switched on the kettle. Grabbed two cups while Sherlock settled himself by the table. Sherlock shrugged. It was hard without Molly in the bed with him. He had a few nightmares last night that hadn't helped matters. But he had in the past slept a whole lot less, so he was sure he'd cope with whatever got thrown at him today. Maybe he'd work some more on the composition of his time at the bothy. The notes were coming together and it might help with the melancholy that seemed to have settled over him since Molly had left.

John was busy making toast, cutting an orange. Arranging it on a plate and passing it over to him without a word. Sherlock ate all of it. The orange wasn't so bad. Definitely better than the apple. He'd never liked apples but John and Molly were determined that he eat a variety of fruits. Had worked out a set menu with the dietitian so he'd pick up weight. He couldn't see what the big deal was. But apparently for the sake of his recovered kidneys and healed ribs, he needed to put some meat on his bones. The tea was good. Both he and Molly still couldn't get enough of warm drinks. The memory of cold Ensure or water still too fresh. John always added an extra teaspoon of sugar. It made the drink sweet but he found that he liked it better. It was comforting.

"Plans for today?" John asked casually as he took the empty plates to the basin.

"I think I'll spend some time on the violin today. Maybe have another look at one or two of the cases Lestrade left. Maybe do some experimentation. I'm looking at the different varieties of grasses we have in the UK. I'll put it on my blog."

"Okay. I need to go into the clinic today. My turn today. Do you need anyone here?" John asked casually.

Sherlock took time to answer. Oliver seemed a little further away, his presence less hovering. He had things that could keep him busy. Mrs Hudson would obviously come up lunch time to make sure he'd eat something.

"No. I'll be okay. Thanks."

John nodded. Finished up and left shortly after. Sherlock spent the morning working on his piece. Managed to compose a page. He had his flashback of yesterday in mind when he wrote it. It started off sad. Ended with hope. He felt good. Felt his story was being told, even if it was in a non-verbal way. Lunch time Mrs Hudson came up. Brought soup and rolls. He ate it all. His stomach full, he considered what to do. He was still tired. Laid on the couch and in the end took a short afternoon nap. Woke refreshed and worked a bit on some of the grass seeds he'd gotten from the Midlands. Identified two types of variants. Made note of it on his blog. At the end of the day, he tackled another cold case. Solved it by the time John arrived back from work, sushi in hand. Sherlock liked sushi. It was easy to eat, something he could pick up with his hand and nibble on while working. He opened another file while John settled on his chair with his paper.

"Hey Sherlock. How're you doing, mate." Lestrade said as he entered the room. "Heard you've been solving a few of our cases."

"Yes, well. They're mostly 2's, Lestrade. You really need to have a look at the calibre of inspectors coming through."

"Yes well, not all of us can be Sherlock bloody Holmes, now can we."

Sherlock smiled. "I guess not. The janitor did it. Look for the ladder in the shed. You'll find evidence there…" he said as he passed the file over. "This was barely a 1."

"Really. It had my people stumped for 5 months, Sherlock. Not that obvious."

"Any new cases?"

"None that'll interest you. Few domestics. A jilted lover. Usual stuff."

"Oh, Fine. What is the criminal institution coming too? I'm getting bored."

John looked up from his paper. Met Lestrade's gaze. Raised an eyebrow. "Uh. Sherlock. I'll go and have a looksee if we have some other cases for you to look at. How does that sound?" the DI said hastily.

"Fine. Please try and make it at least moderately interesting. Less of this drivel," he said, indicating the files.

"We can always try a client, Sherlock." John said, folding his paper and placing it on his lap. The inbox is pretty full at the moment."

Sherlock shook his head. "No."

"It's okay, mate. Don't have to."

Sherlock felt restless. He got up, eyed the last folder. A hand went through his hair, ruffled it. "I think I'll go for a walk." He said, moving to the door and grabbing his Belstaff. He made his way down the stairs; out the door and he took a deeper breath. Set off down the road at a good pace. It felt good to be out of the flat. It was already dark but the lights of London were on, lightening the way. He made his way to Regent's Park. Took the road loop. It was an easy task. He'd done it so many times now that he could do it comfortably. His breathing settled. His body falling into an easy rhythm. Halfway around he stopped briefly. Considered deviating and accessing some of his contacts that he knew frequented the area. Decided in the end against it. Molly the reason. He didn't know if he'd be able to face her if he took anything to help him cope that wasn't prescribed by John or Giles.

But it was sometimes just so damn hard. It would be easy to just fall into oblivion. Even if it was for just one night. He turned abruptly from his thoughts and before temptation became too much, he left the area. Increased his speed as he walked away. Lestrade was gone by the time he made it back to Baker Street.

"Mycroft phoned." John said by way of greeting.

"Mycroft should butt out. I went for a walk. I'm fine." He glanced to where he knew the camera was situated. Knew it was a necessity. His brother had asked and he'd agreed to it when Oliver had still been in the wind. Now it helped him feel inexplicably safe for some reason. But it didn't mean that it gave Mycroft the right to spy on him all the time.

"Is tonight a danger night, Sherlock?" John asked quietly instead.

Sherlock stopped at the doorway to his room. Since Oliver, this had been an area he'd always come clean to with Molly. Molly had gently brought John into it. Both his friends a steering hand when it became really hard and the pull of oblivion just too tempting. He nodded. Closed the door softly behind him as he sat down on the bed. Wiped his face, his hands a little unsteady. Molly's side is disappointingly empty as it would be for another 13 days.

"Sherlock?" John's voice came through the doorway, accompanied by a soft knock. "Can I come in?"

"Yes."

John entered, two cups in his hand. Sat down on the bed next to Sherlock and passed a cup over. "Some chamomile tea. Do you want the sleeping meds Giles prescribed?"

He shook his head but took the cup of tea. His room was dark. He hadn't bothered to switch the light on. The only light coming from the hallway that led to the sitting room. The tea helped settle him.

"I'll be in front if you need me, okay." John said when he took the two empty cups. Sherlock nodded silently. Remembered his own words to John so long ago when he'd asked him why he'd need him. He understood a little better now. Was more aware of the strength that friends brought. Keeping monsters at bay.

"John," he said, looking up and suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable. "Would you mind…" he trailed off. Looked away.

"No worries mate. I'll be back, yeah."

Sherlock settled on the bed. Pulled his phone from his pocket.

Safe? SH

Door locked. Safe. MH

…

Conference was good. Met two others. One is from Edinburgh. The other Manchester. I think they're both pathologists…well I think most people at the conference are. Although there are some forensic and law enforcement attendees as well. Topics are interesting. MH

That's good. SH

You okay? MH

John's staying tonight… SH

…

Oh. That bad? MH

Just need sleep. You? SH

Same. Taking a sleeping pill tonight. MH

Ok. John's back. Love you. Sleep well, Molly Hooper. SH

Love you. Night Sherlock. MH

John entered the room as he switched his phone off. Settled under the covers of his bed while his friend settled on the chair in the corner of the room. It was a pull out, comfy and easy to settle on. John snuggled under a blanket he had gotten from his room. The only light now coming from the streetlights outside the window, diffused by the curtains.

"Good night, Sherlock."

Sherlock grunted in reply. Turned on his side and pretended he could feel Molly in his arms. Pretended that he wasn't feeling Oliver's hand on his back or in his hair. Wasn't hearing the other man explaining to him why Molly would suffer because he had failed to listen. Pretended he didn't hear the crack of Molly's arm as Oliver broke it.

Why was this so hard? He thought as sleep stayed away. Surely this should be done and dusted now that the man was dead. It's been two months. He should've moved on by now. Not be struggling with nightmares and flashbacks. Not having to contend with visual, auditory and olfactory triggers. Although it was better than it was in the hospital. He was more aware now. At least both the flashbacks and panic attacks were happening with less frequency.

"John." He questioned softly as he turned on his back.

"Mmmmh."

"Does it get better?"

John rustled in the darkness as he moved on the chair. There was silence for a bit before his friend answered. "Yeah. It takes a while."

"Uhm. So the nightmares…"

John sighed. They were both uncomfortable sharing something so personal. Sherlock was clearly struggling.

"I…I can still smell the cordite in the air. Feel the bullet as it entered my shoulder. The pain and then numbness and agony. Hear the screams of those dying around me…" he trailed off. Wasn't sure if he was helping at all or making it worse. This was the most he'd ever shared with Sherlock on his nightmares that still popped up at least once a week. After Moriarty and the bomb and the pool, it had come back with a vengeance. It had only really settled back just before Sherlock had been kidnapped.

Now his nightmares were of his friend and Molly and what Oliver had done to them. It had morphed to something that was still intangible when he woke. Just remembered fear and vague images of Sherlock as he looked at the bothy, crumbled on the floor. Not moving.

"Oliver…he uhm…on that last day I was alone with him…he held me in his arms. Asked me questions he had no right to. I can still feel him…I…" Sherlock took a staggering breath. Closed his eyes that burned with unshed tears and willed them not to come. Wondered why he was sharing this with John. Not even Molly knew. Or Giles. He suddenly felt ashamed. He shouldn't have said anything. John…John would look at him differently. But John had shared something immensely private to himself. He had wanted to reciprocate for some reason. The old him wouldn't have. The old him that thought sentiment was for the weak.

"Did he…" John's voice trailed off. Some things suddenly made a lot more sense. His heart broke for his friend.

Sherlock was silent. Sighed. "Not him." He answered. "Oliver…" he stopped. How does he explain what the man had done? That it was so much worse than any of the tortures his body had endured before that last day. "He pulled my mind apart. Cut me into pieces on the inside. Held me as I cried into his damn shoulder. It's him I feel inside my head. On my skin. I can't…" Tears were starting. Flowed with embarrassing ease and he couldn't seem to stop them. Sherlock hated himself at that moment. He should've stayed silent. Not say a word. This was going wrong on so many levels. But for one night he just wanted peace. Maybe he should've gotten something in that back alley. But for Molly….

John moved from the chair. Sat down at the foot end of the bed. He made sure not to touch Sherlock. Knew that was something only Molly was really privy too with his friend. Could understand how violating Oliver's manipulation was when he held Sherlock as he pretended to care while twisting the knife he held even deeper.

"What do you need, Sherlock?" he asked.

Sherlock couldn't answer him. Closed his eyes while the tears still kept coming. But somehow this felt cleansing. Better. John was quiet. Stayed where he was as Sherlock dealt with the grief that had been settled in the pit of his stomach for so long that he'd thought it was part of him. Understood now for the first time that he needed to let go of it. Let it escape. The darkness helped. John being quiet helped. It was a while before that ball had unravelled completely. He finally felt that he could breathe properly for the first time since he had escaped from the bothy.

He was emotionally spent. But he felt better for it. Inexplicably. Didn't understand the dynamics of it. His breathing deepened and he started to slip into sleep. John was still seated on his bed. A sentry watching over him. Sherlock knew tonight he'd sleep.

"Thank you." He breathed.

"No problem mate."

Sherlock smiled in the dark. And then he slept.