Chapter 5

Just a quick note for those who want to read: Dieticians are God sent. My daughter was diagnosed with Celiac's disease and fructose intolerance when she was 7. She was malnourished and anaemic. The dietician worked out a set menu for us so she could get healthy again. It was a long checklist ?. Not only do they need to provide food that is nourishing, but it also needs to be something that you would actually eat. And from personal experience, it takes a while for your body to get back to balance. So, it wasn't inconceivable for me to believe that Sherlock would've ticked boxes to (a) get it done. And (b) that he would still be recovering from his malnourishment and starvation brought on by Oliver a few months later.

In this chapter we get more revelation on the new mystery bad guy and Sherlock remembers a few more -not so nice- memories.

Day 4

John served up toast and an apple with tea. The 11 stared back at him that was on the fridge. It was even more smudged and Sherlock knew that he'd have to do something definite about it tomorrow. He eyed the apple.

"Why?" he asks John as he reluctantly picks up one of the pieces of toast.

"An apple a day…"

"You're a doctor and you're here."

"High in fructose. Good calories and carbohydrates. All things your body still needs."

"Test results…"

John grimaced. "Sorry. Better but not yet perfect. Let's see how you are doing by the end of the month. You need to keep fluids up. Obviously you need to pick up some more weight. Don't want to risk compromising your immune system any more than it is. Your lungs are barely recovered, Sherlock. A cold now would not do you good."

"I hate apples." Sherlock said softly. Pouts. Look up at John but his friend didn't relent. John moved to the table. Sat down and tilted his head. "You worked with the dietician on this, Sherlock."

"That's before I realised that there was fruit involved. I just ticked boxes to get it done with."

"Ah. Okay. That makes sense. Why don't I talk to her? See what other fruit we can get to replace the apple with. How does that sound?"

"Fine." He pushed the plate away, the apple pieces still on it. John got up and pulled a snack bar from the cupboard. "Here. Eat this instead. Same calories."

Sherlock opened it and reluctantly took a bite. It was actually…quite good. He looked at the packet, scrutinising it a bit more.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmmmh"

"What was yesterday's stunt about?"

"I went for a walk."

"Not just a walk, Sherlock. Bloody hell. You had Lestrade scrambling half of London looking for you."

"Mycroft found me easy enough."

John scrunched his eyes. Massaged his temples. He could feel a burgeoning headache forming. The one that was uniquely present with some of Sherlock's stunts. "Fine. So how does this work? You and Mycroft are planning something, Sherlock. I'm not stupid, you know."

"Never said you were."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock placed the half-eaten bar on the table. Sat upright and looked at John. "Can you let this one go, please. It's not a pleasant memory I'm working through and Mycroft is helping."

John was silent. Scrutinised him. Huffed. "Fine. But you know if you need me…"

"Yeah. Thanks. I know." Sherlock gave John a rare smile. Got up from the table. "Mycroft is picking me up at 9. I'll be back this afternoon for physio. I promise to eat lunch." He said as a compromise. Knew that John hated being kept out of the loop. But for the sake of his friend, he needed to do this without him. He wasn't sure if John would look at him the same way if he knew what Sherlock had done under Oliver. The lives he'd taken by proxy. By working on plans for the mystery man so he could kill without consequence.

No. It was better for John not to know.

The view had been majestic. He had to give Oliver that. The man always had a flair for the dramatic and he knew that he loved the outdoors. What was even more surprising had been how docile Sherlock Holmes was under Oliver's hand. He had headphones on, his eyes closed as he listened with intent. He talked, getting the pleasantries out of the way. Savoured the expensive aged wine, appreciating the distinctive tertiary aromas. Talked about Oliver's projects and some of his own. Got some more insight into the psychology of terror. Of manipulation. Something he was quite good at. Throughout it all, he would throw glances at the consulting detective. He was clearly struggling to stay awake and it wasn't hard to figure out why. Oliver had obviously taken the man for some of his famous retraining sessions. He barely appeared …functioning. For a moment he wondered if this would work. If the timing was opportune to access this resource now. He didn't want his test he planned to be skewed by a mind shattered. A body barely holding itself together. He needed Sherlock's mind intact for this to work.

But despite the abuse, Sherlock was clearly fighting the drowsiness. Finding ways to keep his mind occupied and his respect heightened. Maybe all wasn't lost. Maybe there was some aspect of the man that still was fighting. He smirked. Oliver wouldn't like it if he knew. When they were done, he waited until the captive was blindfolded before he stepped up. He knew about Sherlock's sensory sensitivity to touch. Wanted to test how much Oliver's conditioning had worked on that aspect of the man. He took his arm, turned the wrist and traced Oliver's brand. Was pleased when there was no resistance. Despite the ligature marks that were still slightly weeping, there was no avoidance to his touch. He dropped the arm, took his chin and inspected his face.

It was still dark with bruises, swollen and concern for his mind briefly flared. He asked Oliver some more questions. When he touched his chest, he could see the brief flare of defiance in the face. Knew then that Sherlock Holmes wasn't completely broken. So, he agreed to a test. Wanted to see what the outcome would be on a man barely functioning. If he succeeded, there would definitely be room for utilising his impressive skill set.

And he didn't disappoint. Not at all.

Sherlock Holmes was probably the most fascinating creature he had ever met. Granted the first time had been trying for the other man. He had barely come out of his retraining with Oliver. Still raw and very much in agony. Yet, despite these limitations, he had performed admirably on the first test. Had in fact passed with flying colours. The killing of the drug lord had gone to plan and to watch the police scramble and fail to solve the murder had been gratifying. And he had realised what the man could bring to his own skill set.

When Oliver had died, he had resigned himself to the fact that his access was cut off. He had kept an eye on Sherlock. On his friends. Had been preparing for months now on finding a way to get Sherlock under his own control. The fact that the brothers had been at the warehouse was annoying. He had thought he'd have more time. His timeline might have to be accelerated but he was hoping that wouldn't be the case. He still had some groundwork to lay down. Friends to make. Things to get in place so that by the time he acquired the consulting detective, everything would be in place. That the retraining wouldn't be too hard, piggy backing off Oliver's conditioning that was still evident. From what he had managed to gather, Sherlock was struggling. A nudge in the right direction, would steer the man over an emotional precipice that would make it a lot easier to mould him.

He took a sip of his coffee. He was seated at a table in the buffet room. It was busy with all the delegates that were attending the conference. His laptop was open as he refocused on the document open on his screen. It was very detailed. Oliver, as always, had been very good at taking notes. The cost to acquire the notes had been horrendous but it was worth it. He was certain would pay for itself once the consulting detective was completely his.

Mr Holmes' conditioning is coming along well. Just a hint of threat to Molly Hooper is enough to get him to comply. He seems unaware of his own growing sentiment towards the pathologist. I will exploit this more once he understands my question I had asked him in our initial interview around human nature. I am pleased with how quickly he's adjusted to his retraining and the rules I've laid down. I'll reinforce his conditioning from time to time. I estimate a year and Sherlock Holmes will do whatever I want, without question or the need for threats. He's a quick learner.

Voices drew his attention away from the file he was reading. He looked up, mildly annoyed. It was a group of men and women that were settling at the table next to him. They were chatting loudly, discussing today's keynotes and smorgasbord of workshop topics. One of the men was uncertain between two of the topics, wanting to attend both. He rolled his eyes. Took a sip of his coffee and focused back on his laptop. He skipped a few paragraphs. He didn't need to read it again. Knew most of these by sight anyway. He just needed to reaffirm a few things as he mulled over how he was going to proceed with this new development of the Holmes brothers. Clearly Sherlock had either remembered the drug lord or had been handed a cold case file by the fumbling DI Lestrade. He sneered. Just his luck while his planning was proceeding so beautifully. He briefly wondered how much of what has happened to him, the man has retained. Sometimes trauma did funny things to memories. Repressed them. Only to bring them to the fore due to a trigger. He knew Sherlock had actively disassociated during some of Oliver's challenges. Had struggled with nightmares, fugue, and motor tremors. It would then lean itself that there would be memories that the man would unconsciously suppress. He focused back onto the document. Read the next paragraph with interest.

Mr Holmes objected quite strongly to me taking Ms Hooper away. It's completely understandable. The last time they were separated, Mr Holmes had learned a great deal about desperation and its meaning. I had a good mind to remove him from Ms Hooper again once they're back at the bothy for another top-up session. Reinforce what rebellion leads to.

There was some more speculation. Oliver's thoughts on the escape attempt. The fact that the pair managed to evade his men and make it out of the estate. All of it pointed him to the fact that Sherlock Holmes was resourceful. Cunning. Able to make plans on the fly. Something he'll have to watch out for once he has the man in hand.

Although Mr Holmes gave a good fight, he submitted when I broke Ms Hooper's arm. The threat to her life was enough for him to fully submit. He begged, which was immensely gratifying. It showed me that he hasn't forgotten his training at all. If not for that, I would've had him back with me for another session. I decided I could be moved to be perceived as merciful but he still needed to understand that there would be consequences. I pushed him that day doing various exercises until he was physically exhausted to the point of collapse.. I knew then that he understood what he'd done. That he could be manipulated into becoming malleable, to the extent of being thoroughly convinced that the threat of Molly Hooper's life was entirely in his hands by his behaviour. This was the first time he participated in setting up his next challenge. I will have to be careful. Drugs, especially to a former addict, might set his conditioning back. I need him fully functioning, not addicted or craving for his next high. I'll get Jim involved. That man seems to have an uncanny knack with the chemistry involved.

He stopped reading. Leaned back in his chair as he took another sip of his coffee. Oliver had been very good but he wondered if his mistake had been bringing the Irishman into the picture. Mycroft Holmes would never have found his brother and the pathologist if Oliver had been a bit more circumspect.

Now there was the nub of it. Mycroft Holmes was a dangerous ally. Intelligent and particularly invested in keeping his brother safe. Not above using government resources on making sure Sherlock Holmes was kept out of trouble. And then there was the doctor. Always by his side. Willing to be kidnapped by that crazy bastard Moriarty to get to his friend. Willing to kill. Oh yes. He knew about the cabbie. And that was before the man had barely known his friend. He dismissed the DI. Lestrade was easily handled. Predictable. The police, as ever, might have some resources but their hands are bound by the law and constrained by the boundaries set out for them.

His eyes drew back to the report. Read the one-line Oliver had thrown in there dismissively. As an afterthought on Molly Hooper.

Feisty when Sherlock's wellbeing was threatened by drugs. Never to be underestimated. Definitely protective.

And that is why Oliver is dead, he thought. He underestimated Sherlock's friends and family and the lengths they'd go to, to protect. He was certain that the consulting detective had no idea how much those around him cared for him. Worked to protect him from himself. Before the kidnapping, he'd been blind to sentiment but now Sherlock seemed to have gained some understanding of his own feelings.

He smiled. Closed his laptop.

Sentiment would definitely be the way to go with Sherlock Holmes. Might even work with Mycroft Holmes. Although, if he could find a way to occupy the other man with something more than just mere protection of his brother, then maybe that could be a way to go. Provide a distraction big enough that would force Mycroft Holmes to strip his focus away from his little brother. Create an opening for him to have access to Sherlock Holmes. He looked up and watched two women make their way across the floor to his table. He gave a little wave and stood up when they got close.

"Hi Alex. You ready for today?" Sue asked him, her Scottish accent coming through strong.

"Definitely. Looking forward to our first session. Had a good night?" he asked as he gathered his laptop and pushed it into his backpack.

"Yeah. Been good, thanks. And you?" Brown eyes met his. Smiled shyly as she shifted the bag on her shoulder.

"Was a good night in, thanks Molly. Shall we go," he said, as he stepped around the table. The two ladies followed him as they made their way to the first session.

Sherlock Holmes had no idea, he thought silently. Smiled at Molly Hooper as he waited for her to enter the lecture hall before him. Sat down next to her and got his laptop out.

Oh. This was just so…delicious.

"It was definitely a banker. Male in his 40's. Greater Manchester area. Wanted it to look like a car accident. One of the parameters set out was very clear on that. Should be 6 months ago. Give or take a few weeks left or right. I'm not entirely sure of the timeline."

"Did you ever discuss names?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Just detail on what they did. Interests. Hobbies. And the means and methods on how he wanted to kill them."

"Very well, Sherlock. I'll get my people on this. We should hopefully have a result by the end of the day."

Sherlock's pace slowed. He stood in front of his brother's desk. They were in Mycroft's office, the older Holmes seated behind the desk. He had a writing pad open, and was making notes as Sherlock spoke.

"It was done under duress, Sherlock." Mycroft said, looking up at his brother who was standing forlornly in front of the desk. Fingers tapping on his leg in a nervous tick that Mycroft had last seen when his little brother was a child.

"I thought it up…" He met Mycroft's gaze briefly. Turned away and ruffled his hair as he paced again. Came to another stand still and then plopped down in the chair that sat across from his brother. "John can never know…"

"This stays between us, brother mine."

"What will you do when you find him?" Sherlock asked.

"Obviously a trial is out of the question. Noooo. I think he'll be reprimanded on her majesty's pleasure. I'll set things in motion once we have him in custody. This won't make the courts."

Sherlock nodded. "Moriarty…"

"He and Oliver's men are still secure, Sherlock."

"Okay. You sure?"

Mycroft suppressed a sigh. There were times that Sherlock seemed to be his old self. Secure. Arrogant. Confident. And then there were times like this where he reminded him too much of the video he and Irene had seen of Sherlock and Oliver. Of the little lost boy that came to the fore. He had spoken to Giles about it privately. The psychiatrist had told him that it was perfectly normal behaviour from recovering trauma survivors. That the best thing he could do for his brother was to encourage him and to address his perceived fear.

"Here," he said, turning his laptop on and bringing the screen around after he'd entered a site. It was a video split in three. Each showed a prison cell with a man in it. Sherlock leaned in, taking his time as he inspected the video feed before him.

"Okay. Thanks." He said, pushing the laptop away. Mycroft closed the lid, aware that Sherlock was spiralling. Sherlock wasn't meeting his eyes. His fingers tapped on the armrest of his chair as he focused on the far wall.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft said softly.

His brother jerked slightly. Focused on Mycroft briefly and then he dropped his gaze.

"Hey, you with me?" Mycroft asked, a grounding question that all of them had utilised now on occasion.

Sherlock seemed to blink. And then Mycroft saw his brother retreat somewhere inside his head.

Oh Sherlock…

He got up and walked around the desk. Sherlock didn't acknowledge him at all, even when he put a hand on his shoulder. Mycroft opened his office door, instructed Anthea on sending a car. Then only did he phone John.

"There will be a car in front of your office in ten minutes."

"Mycroft…"

"Now please, Dr Watson."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes."

He terminated the connection. Spoke to his brother about the upcoming Christmas get-together their mother was planning. Kept the monologue going, unsure if he's brother was even hearing him.

Sherlock adjusted the harness. The rain was still coming down, the sky grey and woollen. He looked up at the cliff before him. Everything was slick and wet.

"Oliver please," he tried again, turning to the other man that was standing under an umbrella.

"You know what you need to do, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock turned back, looked at the rock. Tested a handhold, his fingers cramping in the cold and wet. His body shaking with cold and terror. If he fell…

He closed his eyes. Gathered his courage. Oliver wasn't going to relent. Looked back up the cliff face but this time with an eye on a route. Thought he saw a way to get up there but he just knew that he was going to fail this one. The parameters were just too tight. Impossible.

Come on Sherlock. Just be careful mate. Make it up there and back down in one piece, yeah.

John's voice was ever calming. He sighed and started climbing. John was encouraging in his ear, focusing his attention as he steadily made his way up. A quarter of the way, his foot slipped but he managed to hold on, managed to get his foot back under his body and to a better grip. He paused for a second, muscles trembling as he gulped in air. Focused back to the task at hand. Continued upward.

Halfway up, he pushed forward on one leg to reach an outcropping with his left hand. The moment his fingers touched the stone, he knew he'd made a mistake. The rock crumbled under his fingers, shifting and moving and then there was nothing but air. He tried. He really did to keep his body glued to the rock face with his feet and other hand. But he was fatigued. The rock was slick from the rain. His endurance depleted. His thigh muscle seized.

And then he was falling.

He hit a small ledge on the way, fingers scrambling as he tried his best to slow his descent. The harness jerked but was a second too late as he slammed into another wider ledge, his left side making full contact, his head slamming into the ground.

Then nothing.

John watched as Sherlock swam under the watch of the physiotherapist. His lung function was back to normal, his ribs stable and his stamina improved. It had taken a while to get to this point. The initial injury his lung had sustained when the broken ribs had bruised the organ was resolved. The focus was now on strengthening his back, shoulders and chest muscles. To increase and maintain lung function. The fact that his friend was still underweight was a concern. Sherlock's immune system was compromised due to malnutrition and the trauma his body had experienced under Oliver. The scars were still visible on his skin. Evident for those who knew of the torment he must've suffered.

Twin bands of scar tissue encircled Sherlock's wrists. A long cut on his left forearm that looked like it had gotten some stitches. Various smaller cuts across his upper body, both front and back. The small scar just above his eyebrow all testament to Oliver's disregard for his friend's wellbeing. And of course, Oliver's brand that still adorned Sherlock's wrist. It was burned into his skin, the plastic surgery to fix it at this stage just not that important. Not until his friend has reached at least ideal weight and isn't anaemic anymore.

John had arrived at Mycroft's office, to find Sherlock still locked in his mind. Staring at nothing, frozen in place with whatever memory he was processing. He had gently coaxed. Talked. Grounded. And Sherlock had blinked and then seemed to come to himself. Had looked around the office and then back up at John. The same forlorn look in his eyes. Past torment too visible but never spoken.

"You're safe, Sherlock." John has said. He had no idea how many times those words had now left his lips. But he'll keep saying them as long as his friend needs to hear it.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Here," his brother had said, walking in with a cup of tea in his hand. Placed on the desk before his brother. Sherlock had looked away, his hands clenching.

"Keep breathing, Sherlock." John had said, slowing his own breathing. Leading the way. Sherlock emulated him and then his body relaxed.

"Good. Tea?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock finished his session. The physiotherapist was happy with his effort. Careful on how he praised Sherlock. The trigger words happily avoided this time.

Triggers. Pesky little things that you're not usually aware of until it hits you square in the gut. John knew about them. When he'd returned from war. A smell could set a memory off. A word. A song. Visual cues. The variables are many and not all equally catered for. Before Oliver, John had thought that something like this would never affect his friend. Sherlock had seemed impervious to any outside influences that happened to him throughout their adventures together. Even Moriarty and the pool hadn't seemed to faze Sherlock. The Woman did have some influence. Sherlock wrote sad music. Mourned her perceived death but seemed to bounce back after that.

And then Oliver happened. Almost four and half months of hell. And Sherlock had walked out not only with his physical scars but with mental injuries. Sherlock would be fine and then something would happen that would set off a memory and his friend would most often than not, just freeze. He would completely dissociate. John had learned how to deal with it. Molly and Mycroft, even Lestrade knew to call him. For some reason, his voice usually helped his friend return back to them. Back out of his memories into the living.

"Good?" Sherlock asked, dressed and ready. John looked up from his seat by the pool. Sherlock's hair was still slightly damp but he looked happy. Content. The exercise obviously had a positive effect on his mood.

"Here, drink this," John said, grabbing the bottle of Gatorade next to him. "You looked good out there."

Sherlock twisted the cap. Took a big gulp. Downed half the bottle before taking a breather as he leaned back in the seat.

"Tiring but good." He said.

"We can pick something up on the way home or do you want to go to Angelo's?"

"People might talk, John."

John laughed. "Let them. Angelo's then."

"Yeah. A decent pasta might do a trick."

They made their way to the restaurant. Content. Angelo fussed. Brought the small candlelight to John's amusement. His friend finished his food which was good. Even managed to do desert.

"Molly doing good?" he asked as they sat back in their seats, both eyeing the outside. Cars and people moving past the restaurant. A kaleidoscope of London business and lives lived.

"She's enjoying it. Might have to borrow the new software from her."

"Not entirely legal, is it…"

Sherlock shrugged. "Who's to know."

"Mike might object."

"No, I think Mike might encourage." They grinned at each other. John glanced at his friend before refocusing on life outside the window.

"You doing okay?"

"Getting there, John."

"This thing with Mycroft…"

Sherlock sighed. "I'll let you know if I need you."

"Okay. Fair enough. So what's the plan for tomorrow?"

"Not sure yet. Think I'll work on my music. Maybe go for a walk."

"I have to be at the clinic tomorrow."

Sherlock gave a fleeting smile. "I'll be fine, John."

John sincerely wished that would be the case.

Hey, how was your day? MH

A less good day. Swimming was a positive. Yours? SH

Okay. Did water immersion and the effect on skin. Gross but interesting. MH

You're a pathologist…SH

Doesn't matter. Things can still be gross, Sherlock :O= MH

Emojis. Really Molly Hooper. SH

Hahaha. Why not? MH

Molly… SH

Yeah MH

I remembered something today. The time I fell and afterwards…SH

Oh. MH

…

…

Sorry. I just…sometimes I'm just tired. SH

Me too. MH

…

Is John with you? MH

No. SH

You going to be okay? MH

Yeah. Love you. Sleep well Molly Hooper. SH

Love you. Night Sherlock. MH