Chapter 17

Day 14

Angst galore ahead. You've been warned. Next chapters get better, promise.

Sherlock woke up when Alex returned. It was dark in the room, the sun having set. Alex switched on lights, sat his laptop and phone down on the table.

"You finished the Ensure. Good."

Sherlock sat up. Eyed the man as he wiped his face with trembling hands. He still wasn't feeling a hundred percent.

"Was hungry. Prudent thing to do after the amount of blood you took this morning."

"Nothing more than a pint. Granted your anaemia would make it a bit more …uncomfortable, but you should be fully recovered by now." Alex eyed him. "I'll be right back. Don't touch the electronics, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock watched him leave. Eyed the laptop and phone but he really wasn't in the mood to add to the bruises already adorning his body. He stayed where he was. Alex didn't take long, a medical bag in his hand. He sat down next to Sherlock, took a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope from the bag.

"Really?"

"Are you going to fight me on this, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock looked at him incredulously.

"Arm."

His lips thinned, but he gave Alex access to his arm. Alex efficiently took his measurements, tut-tutting when he saw the result. "Blood pressure is a bit low, Mr Holmes."

"Noooo, really?" Sherlock said, his sarcasm heavy. "Surely not."

"No need for that, Mr Holmes. He took another bottle of Ensure out and took two tables from a bottle he had in his bag. "Drink this now."

"What is it?"

"Does it matter?"

Sherlock glared. Took the two tables and downed them with the Ensure. They had the familiar metallic taste of iron. It made him feel slightly queasy with the chalky taste of Ensure. Alex took his bag with him to the table and sat down, opening his laptop. Without looking at Sherlock, he said casually, "Saw Molly this afternoon. She really is a delight. I can see why you like her."

"I told you to stay away from her," Sherlock said dangerously soft.

"You don't have a say."

"You go near her again, I'll kill you."

Alex looked up, sat back and studied Sherlock. "You can try? How about now, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock tapped his hand on his leg in a staccato. Alex clearly saw the bluff for what it was. "Stay away from her," he mumbled.

Alex smirked. "No. I don't think so. As long as you behave, I won't touch her. But I will interact with her on a continual basis. Build our rapport as it were."

"No."

"I have some questions for you Mr Holmes. Are you willing to have a go at answering them."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No. Not really. But it's always polite to ask, don't you think? These questions are going to help me understand you and Molly a whole lot better."

Sherlock shifted on the bed. Glared at the other man. Got up. "Not doing this."

"Sit down."

Sherlock's heartbeat quickened. Thought about earlier when he had decided to not antagonise the man. To give his transport a chance to recover. He sat down on the bed. Alex grunted, a pleased look on his face.

"Good. I see that you are learning." He smirked when he saw the consternation on Sherlock's face. "Now, tell me who Molly Hooper is to you before you met Oliver."

Sherlock pressed his lips together. Stared at the other man with open contempt.

"Come now, Mr Holmes. Let's not do this again. How will you protect her if you're here with me."

It was Oliver's words. Said succinctly and without emotion. But the inflection was just right. Enough to bring forth a surge of memories.

Sherlock gasped. His hands clenched and he visibly paled. Oliver's voice was suddenly very loud, drowning out the room. Diluted Alex's presence. He closed his eyes, focused on the grounding techniques he had learned. It was bloody hard. There was no John to fall back on. To help him when the panic hovered dangerously close, within reach. He focused on his diaphragmatic breathing. On calming his transport down. It took a while. When he had opened his eyes, Alex was studying him openly.

"Interesting." The man said. "That got a much bigger response than anticipated."

"I'm not a lab rat," he grounded out. "Just stop it."

"Answer my questions."

"Piss off."

"Let's start again."

No.

Sherlock shook his head. Denial wasn't working now. The feeling of hands and pain and Oliver's questions all vied for attention. His reaction a lot less visceral than at the hospital, but the trigger words still very strong. Too much. Giles and he had worked hard to defuse the intensity of their impact on him but it was still his most potent trigger. He whimpered, turned his back on Alex and curled up on the bed. Tried to ride out as best he could the memories that were now taking over. Got silent and then he wasn't in the room anymore.

His head was cushioned on Oliver's shoulder, his body seated on the couch. Oliver's hand was rubbing his back, bringing false comfort. He shifted slightly, hugging himself in an effort to self-sooth. Oliver had managed to pull memories from his childhood that he had thought forgotten. Had prodded and questioned until everything was brought to light. He felt violated. His thoughts and memories not even sacrosanct to the other man. He desperately wanted it to stop. He desperately wanted Oliver gone. He wanted this to be over. Pretend this had never happened. He gave a small whimper, his arms tightening around himself at the thought that Oliver had only just started with this journey.

"Shhh. You're okay, Mr Holmes. Thanks for being honest and sharing about your childhood. And I'm very sorry to hear about Redbeard. What a loss that must've been." Sherlock stiffened. Oliver made small shushing sounds. Rubbed his back. "Shh, it's okay. I'm done with that now. We won't need to go back to those memories." Oliver said gently, his breath hot against his head. Gave Sherlock a brief hug. "This is better, yes?"

He gave a small nod.

"Tell me about Molly Hooper?"

"She's the pathologist who works in the lab." He whispers painfully. His voice long gone by now.

"There's more to it than that. Come on Mr Holmes. Honesty or do we bring back the headphones."

His breathing hitched. He couldn't deal with that. Not the headphones. Not Molly's screaming. He swallowed. "No. No…she's…she's the pathologist who works at the lab. Someone I trust." He manages to say in the end.

Oliver's hand was making lazy circles, it was maddening on skin already over stimulated with pain. "Why do you trust her? What is it that makes her worthy of Sherlock Holmes' trust?"

"Please…" he begs.

"Mr Holmes…" Oliver's voice annoyed, vibrating inside his head. A hint of warning in those two words. Sherlock understood Oliver's tones by now. The nuances of his voice. His fingers tightened around his own arms, a physical response that was now unconscious. Oliver seemed to read him.

"Why do you trust her, Mr Holmes?" he asked again. Softly. Encouraging.

"She accepts me. She doesn't think I'm …different." Sherlock whispered in the end. Even though he still had the blindfold on, his eyes closed against the feeling of his betrayal. Of telling Oliver something this personal.

"Please…" he tried again. An almost silent plea against the relentless onslaught of Oliver's vivisection of his mind. "Can we stop…"

"What else?"

"No…Oliver…I'll do anything but this…please… …just... …stop…"

A warning hand on his back. Pressed between his shoulder blades. He heeded it. Knew what it meant and his body reacted instantaneously. Adrenaline flooded his transport. His breathing increased. A tightness centred onto his chest and his stomach roiled. He pressed his face into Oliver's shirt. Felt the material against his cheek as he whimpered. His shoulders sagged in defeat when realisation came again that Oliver wasn't going to relent. Oliver patted his back. Seemingly satisfied with his display of submission.

"What else, Mr Holmes?" His voice gentle. Sherlock bit his lower lip. "Shhh…it's okay, Mr Holmes. You'll feel better once you tell me. You can do this." He encouraged. "Once we're done here, you and I will have reached an understanding. It will be so much easier for you. Trust me."

He shook his head slightly at those words.

"How?" he asked.

"Because you'll understand despair, Mr Holmes. In all its degrees. And because of that, we will never have to revisit this again unless you give me cause to."

"I promise…I.." he swallowed, continued brokenly in the hopes Oliver will see, "I understand, Oliver. We can stop now."

"Yet you have not learned, Mr Holmes. You still disobey. Choosing not to answer is not following the rules. You should know them by now."

Sherlock wilted. What does it matter? He thought morosely. Oliver always gets what he wants.

"She's willing to listen. To do what I ask." He said in the end. Hated himself for it.

"Good. You're learning, Mr Holmes." A pause. Then the next question, and its audacity took Sherlock's breath away.

"Did you ever resort to manipulation to get her to do what you want?"

How was he supposed to answer that? For it was true and he was ashamed. Oliver's hand stopped, a warning press between his shoulder blades again. "Yes" he admits brokenly. He felt Oliver nod at his revelation.

"Do you see her as a friend?"

He frowns. Not sure how to answer the question. "What do you mean?"

"Come now, Mr Holmes. Not a hard question. John Watson is your friend, yes?"

"Yes".

"Do you see Molly Hooper as a friend?"

He paused. It was hard to see where this was going. Everything hurts. And the questions were extremely personal. Some of them he was unwilling to entertain even in the sanctity of his mind. "I…Oliver, please don't…" he tries again to circumvent the question.

"Do you see Molly Hooper as a friend?"

Another warning press. His shoulders slump even more if that was possible. "Yes."

"Why hide it?" Oliver seemed genuinely stumped.

"I don't know what you mean." Sherlock said, his arms tightening around his body in another attempt to self-sooth. It didn't work. His transport just didn't want to play ball anymore.

"This is getting tiresome, Mr Holmes."

His lips thinned. Thought about Molly and what he had learned about her since their captivity. He shook his head lightly, and Oliver shushed him. A hand carded through his hair.

"Because she likes me…" he finally relents.

"Surely John Watson likes you." Oliver asked.

He shifts his head on Oliver's shoulder. Tried to get rid of Oliver's hand in his hair but it didn't work. "It's not the same." He whispers.

"How?"

He sighs. His fingers grip his own arms, tight against his muscles and skin. "I'm not unaware of her sentiment towards me. It's flawed."

"Why?"

He manages a sneer. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, he thinks. "My work is my life. I cannot give her what she wants. Sentiment is a defect, a dangerous distraction. I cannot afford it." His words sound trite now. How arrogance has been brought down, he thinks.

"So, you manipulate her. Use it to your advantage to get what you want. And yet you trust her."

He drops his head slightly, shifts against Oliver's shirt. "Yes."

"And now?"

He tries again his standard answer for avoidance. "I don't understand."

"Would you still do that to her?"

He shakes his head. No, he wouldn't. Not even close. Molly is worth more than that now. He sees it.

"Verbal confirmation, Mr Holmes."

"No. I …No."

"Full answer please"

"Please…" he begs again. He didn't want Molly and her memories extracted this way.

"Come now, Mr Holmes. Do we have to keep doing this? Do you want the headphones back?"

He shakes his head. But there was still something inside him that just didn't want to allow Oliver access to this. "Why are you doing this? You don't have to do this. You can't…" he starts.

"Very well, this has gone on long enough." Oliver says, shifts beneath him. A moment later the headphones were back on his head. Molly's screams were back piercing his skull and he just couldn't anymore. Something inside him shifts. Breaks loose. And then it was as if a dam wall had collapsed and sobs tore out of him. Raw. Unfettered. Broken.

Oliver removed the headphones. Hugged Sherlock to himself. Soothed and comforted him. Sherlock found himself curling onto the man, his hands gripping Oliver's shirt like a lifeline. He poured everything of the trauma and heartache and hurt he had experienced into the man beneath him. Oliver kept up the monologue, telling him that this was good. That he'd feel better once he'd unburdened his soul. That good things would come when all of this was done. He apologised then. Apologised for everything, he wasn't sure what anymore. The words just poured unheeded out of him. When he was done and spent, Oliver had patted his back. Asked him if he was ready for more questions.

"Yes."

"Do you remember where our conversation ended?" Oliver asked gently.

"Yes."

"Would you still do that to her?"

He shook his head vehemently while he said, "No. I …got to know her a bit better. She's a friend now. I won't do it. Not to Molly."

"There is sentiment involved, then?"

"As a friend. Yes."

"Good. Do you understand about human nature, Mr Holmes?"

He shook his head. Bit his bottom lip and suppressed a groan of frustration. "It's still …a mystery," he ended up saying. Was afraid that Oliver was going to question him on it. But the man seemed satisfied with his answer.

"What would you do for Molly Hooper, Mr Holmes?"

"Now?" Sherlock asked. Shifted against Oliver's shoulder. He was overwhelmed. Tired. Just wanted this interrogation to end. Oliver pushed his head down, his hand carded through his hair. Gentle like a father's touch. Gave him a brief kiss on the top of his head. It was obscene. So far removed from any experience he'd ever had. He submitted. Allowed the man to do what he wanted. Had learned very early on that resistance was just not worth it. That giving in was acceptable. Encouraged. Part of his lesson on despair. Oliver was determined that he was to delve into its depths and come out well-versed in all its nuances.

He hated Oliver with all his being. Despair had taken hold. And he had no idea how he was going to step away from it.

He gave a small sob. His mind fractured and body broken. He had no idea how much more Oliver wanted to take. There wasn't much left that wasn't exposed.

"Shhh. It's okay, Mr Holmes. You're doing good. I'm proud of you. The hard part is over." Oliver's hand returned to his back, making lazy circles. Back to bringing false comfort. "What would you do for Molly Hooper now?"

"Anything," he breathed out. "Anything and everything…"

He felt Oliver nod. Felt a smug satisfaction humming from the other man.

"Very well. Let's move on…" Oliver said, and they did indeed move on, threading their way through university. His drug habit. His brother and John. It was very hard in the end. And too much.

It was disorientating, as usual. The switch between the present and the past. Oliver's voice was still audible. Real. He blinked, and saw unfamiliar wallpaper. For a moment he wondered where John was. Why Molly wasn't here. And then it all came back and he remembered Alex.

Alex who had access to Molly

Alex who had access to Oliver's notes.

Alex whom he could hear. Who was still in the room with him.

He stiffened. Held his breath.

"Back with us, I see." Alex's voice filled the silence. Sherlock ignored him. Tried his best to get his equilibrium back. The bed dipped and then Alex was seated next to him. A hand settled comfortably on his arm. His muscles twitched beneath Alex's hand. He didn't like the touch of the other man.

It was Oliver. All over again…

"Mr Holmes…"

He sighs. "What do you want," he asks wearily, not moving.

"For you to answer my questions."

"And if I don't."

"Well, as I've explained to you, Mr Holmes. Your behaviour will determine Molly's safety."

"How do I know you won't hurt her regardless."

"I give you my word, Mr Holmes. You behave and I promise I won't hurt her."

Sherlock looks over his shoulder at Alex. He was just tired of fighting. Tired of pretending everything is good.

"Fine." He surrenders as he shifts upwards and Alex moves back to the table and the laptop.

"Good. Now. Tell me who Molly Hooper is to you before Oliver."

"A pathologist." Sherlock said softly.

Alex turned to the laptop. Moved the mouse and then read, "Who is Molly Hooper to you before this? The pathologist I worked with. Did experiments with. Someone I trust." Turning to Sherlock he says, "So a bit more than just a pathologist then."

"Why are you asking me these questions?" Sherlock asks. Hugs himself unconsciously, not even aware of the automatic response his transport was giving. "Why do you care? You're not Oliver. What does it matter?"

Alex frowned. "You still don't understand? Very well. Who is Molly Hooper to you now?"

"You know the answer to that." Sherlock says. Stares at the wall opposite, not meeting the other man's gaze.

"Tell me."

"No."

Alex smirks. "Fine. Think about this Mr Holmes. If Oliver never happened, would you be involved with Molly Hooper in any capacity?"

Sherlock shifts his gaze. His eyes narrow as he stares at Alex. "Every decision I've made is the decision I've made."

"Really? Did you not explain to Oliver that sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side? That love is a dangerous disadvantage." Eyes empty of all compassion and empathy met Sherlock's gaze.

"Yes." Sherlock swallows. He could see where this was going. He didn't like it.

"So do you not see yet, Mr Holmes, what Oliver had done?"

"What do you mean?" He says, pretending that he didn't understand.

"Oh dear, this is precious. About human nature. He put two people together, under extreme stress and he manipulated you into sentiment. Do you not see it?"

Sherlock shakes his head. Turn away from Alex. "No, that is not what happened."

"Think about it, Mr Holmes. Your initial capture. Being alone for what - a week? Then Molly Hooper enters your life. You are forced to rely on her. She looks after you. Was that the first time, Mr Holmes, that you had to allow someone to care for you?" Alex paused. Sherlock didn't answer. Ignored the man.

"Then Oliver enters the picture. Forces you to watch the brutal beating of Molly Hooper. Basically, gets you to capitulate and do what he wants by that fear for her wellbeing alone. And this time, you must look after her. Care for her. Make sure she recovers. Can you not see the pattern throughout your captivity?"

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock states.

"Oh, it does matter, Mr Holmes. Very much. Oliver gave you a companion. A reason for hope. A reason to keep going despite every torment he put you through. That's the brilliance of Oliver. You had a reason to live. And in the process you did whatever Oliver wanted, no matter how depraved, to keep her safe."

"Just stop it," Sherlock pleaded softly. "You don't need to do this…"

"No? Why won't you admit what is so clearly put before you?"

"Because it's not true."

Alex gave Sherlock a look vaguely resembling sympathy. He sighed.

"You and Molly would've had no chance of ever taking this step if it wasn't for Oliver, my dear boy." He stood and made his way to Sherlock. Placed a consolatory hand on his shoulder. Sherlock stiffened. Didn't acknowledge Alex anymore.

Alex squeezed his shoulder briefly. Leaned in and whispered, "Here is the inconvenient truth, Mr Holmes: You are in love, because Oliver wanted it so."