WARNINGS! Please note this chapter contains child abuse which may be upsetting.

Sherlock woke feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. Gasping for breath, he tenses as the footsteps approach. Someone kneels opposite him but makes no attempt to touch him.

"You're safe, Sherlock. You're in Baker Street, Jack is in your room, Mrs. Hudson is downstairs, your brother and Lestrade will be here soon. Just breathe..."

His breathing slows and he bravely attempts to face reality by opening his eyes. John's face smiles back.

"I hear Jack is making your brother a sword. We no longer have any tin foil."

How could you have finished that already, look at everything we do for you, take off your clothes and take it you ungrateful slut or we'll open the wardrobe...

A warm Not Their hand touches his face. He's starting to allow John to touch him. Mycroft has kept his distance and Sherlock is relieved. His older brother's soft tone, easily sharpened by anger reminds him too strongly of Old Magnussen. The three piece suits aren't the greatest of reminders either. Luckily Mycroft isn't around too much and when he is... well, they never hugged much as kids anyway.

"...talk to me! Sherlock, can you tell me where you are?"

John was safe. It helped that he was smaller.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm in our flat with you. I was asleep."

"Good! Erm... do you want to talk about the dream?"

No, please, give him back! YOU MONSTERS!

Sherlock shakes away memories, stuffs them into the deepest cellar and bolts the door. The delete setting won't work against memories which make up nearly half his life. He's give anything to be sixteen and ignorant again.

"Are you worried about the interrogation this afternoon? You mustn't worry, the moment you feel uncomfortable..."

"I know John!" he snaps, regretting it immediately. "I'm sorry, but I'm never not uncomfortable."

He feels like he's just taken his heart out if his chest and shown all of its ugliness to John. He knows the other man has had a rough time, but John can still go out in public, get a job and make friends. His wound hurt, but it was physical. A month after his rescue, Sherlock feels like he's hanging onto the edge by his fingernails. It's terrifying. He's already in the deepest, blackest hole, but there's still an edge. If he goes over... He can't think about it. He has to think about Jack...

John takes a seat on the couch next to him and stares across the room, his jaw moving as he goes through all those emotions his smaller body contains. "I wish you would talk about this. I know I can't possibly understand, but if you don't..."

He shakes his head, jaw still working to contain his frustration. "Our situations are very different, but when I came back from Afghanistan, I couldn't do anything. I'm so used to danger, I couldn't land a job because the mundane world isn't for me. You've come back to the world and in some ways you've forgotten how to function within society too. The only way my limp went was because your son jumped out of a truck and literally ran into my life. Up until that point I didn't think I could... If I woke up tomorrow and found all this had been a dream, I wouldn't be able to..."

Silence weighs heavily on them. Sherlock finally takes the initiative and reaches over to his friend. Friend. He holds out his hand, before curling it into a fist and leaving his pinky out. John doesn't give him time to feel stupid and locks his own pinky around Sherlock's. They look at each other and start giggling, breaking the weighted tension that had settled.

Sherlock's deep baritone means giggles are almost impossible and chuckles are the only option. He can't help but gaze into John's blue eyes, such a different shade from his own. In a certain light they almost look brown. He read as a child about how the eyes are the window to the soul. At the time he's scoffed, because really, but John's... John's spark was so bright, it's like when he and Jack first saw the sun. Blinding and the best thing he'd ever seen.

Realizing he'd been staring for far too long, he releases John's finger, heart racing and a blush developing on his cheeks. John doesn't notice and suggests tea. Sherlock stands on wobbly legs, his heart pounding, feeling like he's had one of the greatest epiphanies of his life and he had yet to understand it.

They enter the kitchen and John gets cups out of the cupboard. Sherlock watches John. Even though it's only been two weeks since they moved in, John has become used to the life. In spite of his claims of not fitting into the norms of society, Sherlock felt that John did just as well as Mrs. Hudson. That should be him functioning properly for his son, not a stranger.

Jack picks that moment to run into the kitchen, wearing an old pirate hat from Sherlock's childhood. It slips down past his eyes and it takes Sherlock a moment to realize that this is the one Mycroft gave him when Redbeard died. His son must have uncovered it in one of the boxes Mycroft and his goons had brought round when they first moved in.

"Pa! I'm a pirate!"

"Oh, brilliant!" grins John, "Is that yours, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nods, stunned into silence. Jack is growing too fast. "Mycroft gave that to me."

John's face softens. John's face is the softest, kindest thing he has seen in years. He can't stop watching in case he misses something.

There's a knock at the door startling the three of them. "Yoohoo! Boys! Your guests are here!"

John's face tenses, along with his shoulders. Sherlock's heart is in his throat. He doesn't know if he can do this.

"Uncle Mycwoft!" shouts Jack and Sherlock smiles at his son's slight lisp due to excitement. "I'm a pirate!"

Sherlock and John follow him back into the living room. They freeze at the sight that greets them.

Jack stands before his uncle, sword in hand, and pirate hat down to his nose. Mycroft stares, shock etched upon his face, eyes fixed on the small boy and his younger brother's hat. Sherlock wonders if he might break.

Mycroft surprises everyone, including Lestrade who'd just removed his coat, by straightening and glaring at Jack down his nose. "Doctor Watson," he practically sniffed, "Would you care to explain why you are housing enemies of the state?"

"Err..." says John, glancing at Sherlock who's starting to grin.

"Did you know that pirates are the number one enemy of the british government?"

"Err..." John wonders if he should purchase a thesaurus.

"And that I must engage in combat with any pirate I encounter?"

"Yes!" screeches Jack. "I will fight you mister government!" He waves his sword around.

Mycroft ajusts his grip on his umbrella and takes a fighting stance. "On guard, pirate scum! Perhaps you would like me to go easy on you?"

"Never! I will beat you mister government!" And he throws himself at his uncle. Mycroft lunges.

Sherlock, John and Lestrade stare in bemusement as a small five year old, armed with tin foil attacks a middle aged man armed with an umbrella. Sherlock reaches for his phone and manages to snap a photo. He can tell Mycroft is going easy on Jack due to his superior weapon. Well.

He dashes to John's armchair where his own sword still lies and joins the fight. Crouching down, he motions to Jack who quickly scrambles onto his shoulders. Then he straightens and is pleased to see Mycroft confused at their fighting tactics. "Fear not, Captain! We'll take down this petty government official together."

With him nearly matching Mycroft in height and Jack on his shoulders, Mycroft will now have to fend off two attacks from two separate heights simultaneously. His brother makes a show of gulping exaggeratedly.

John is pretty sure he never actually woke up this morning. He wanders over to Lestrade and notices how he has the same expression on his face.

"You alright, mate?" he asks, for the second time that day.

"Ugh."

"Yeah, me too. I made tea."

They head to the kitchen, leaving cries of "Poke him in the eye, Pa!" behind them.

"So what do you want to discuss? Just so I can be prepared."

Lestrade takes his cup. "New evidence."

"In our favour or theirs?" They sit opposite each other.

"Ours. But you're going to need to watch Sherlock 24/7. This is going to be unpleasant."

Squawking from Mycroft interrupts them. It's obvious who's losing. "Do we have to? Things are getting better."

"With this new evidence, there probably won't be a trial with a jury. It'll make the whole process less complicated for Sherlock and help us fend off the press."

"Does Mycroft know?"

A shrug. "I think so. He knows everything."

They sip their tea. The sound of an umbrella flapping open and shut, along with more yells of 'That's cheating!' reach them.

"He doesn't seem upset."

"He's probably protecting Jack."

John wants to cry. None of this is fair. And to think that without their pain, he'd still be on Harry's couch, trying not to upset her and thinking that he was the unluckiest man alive. "Stamford's on his way, right?"

"He'll be here in ten. God, when this is over, I'm drinking myself into an early retirement."

John snorts. "Not a great plan. You know you can talk to me right?"

Lestrade sighs. "I think we should all be talking to someone. Mycroft read my file and found out about my bitch of an ex-wife. Now her phone number has gone and she doesn't exist on any data base. All he told me is that her new neighbours are penguins."

John stares. "You're having me on."

"Nope."

"Shit."

"Yep.

"What are you going to do?"

"He'll ship her back once she can no longer stomach seals."

John is still reeling and needs leverage. "He must like you a lot. No wonder he smiles so much around you. Hope that doesn't put Them at an advantage."

Guilt invades him instantly, but Lestrade seems unfazed. "He told me he liked me. After he shipped my ex-wife away. Nothing's been said or done since." He frowns. "How did you..."

"Jack has the Holmes talent."

"Ah." Gulping down the last of his beverage, he drops his cup back in the sink. "Are we good then?"

John smiles. He appreciates Lestrade's honesty. "Yeah."

Lestrade smiles at the smaller man and holds out his hand. "It's Greg, by the way."

"John."

Back in the lounge, Mycroft is cowering behind is umbrella and Jack is trying to find a weak spot. Upon hearing their footsteps, Mycroft recovers. "I believe I heard Mrs. Huson answer the door. Dr. Stamford has arrived."

Jack is soon set up with headphones and the adults take a seat in the center of the room. Sherlock sits with his back to his son, but he knows everyone will get up if there's the slightest sign of trouble. He presses the palms together and hopes this won't take too long. No one has said anything about what they might discuss. He knows John heard him scream in the field, but hopefully he'll have kept that to himself. There's nothing to add to that anyway.

Lestrade sets a file on the table, along with a camera and microphone. Just like last time. Sherlock swallows.

Stamford holds up a hand. "Before we start, Sherlock, when did you last take your medication?"

Sherlock glances at John. "At lunch. John made sandwiches and I ate everything, drank my tea and he watched me take them. I didn't feel so bad about eating today."

Stamford smiles unpatronizingly and scribbles some notes. "Excellent, that's brilliant news. Okay, all yours, detective."

Lestrade leans forward and starts recording. "Please state you name and date of birth."

Sherlock complies. His heart is pounding. Vomiting might happen after all.

There's finally a pause and Lestrade takes a moment to compose himself. Sherlock glances at John for help, but he looks just as lost as hed does. "What can you tell me about the pregnancy?

His hands are shaking. Vision blurring, he croaks. "What do you want to know?"

"How did they react? Particularly the woman? Was it joy, rage, shock..?

"All of the above." Sherlock breathes deeply, his chest aching from the exertion of staying calm. "She was very... enthusiastic. Like I said in one of our previous interviews, she was... gentler. It confused me. I didn't know what I was supposed to feel."

From the corner of his eye, he can see Stamford lean forward. "But I know now that there's nothing for me to understand. I will never know why she did any of this and what his involvement was, but They enjoyed it and I know that what happened wasn't right and it wasn't my fault."

Saying it makes it feel real. It's a balm on his soul and Sherlock feels proud. John smiles at him from the corner of his eye. Turning to Mycroft, his older brother looks pained. Perhaps he still blames himself. No... something else is bothering his brother. Mycroft knows something he doesn't.

Lestrade shifts to regain his attention. "Was it the same every time?"

Mycroft fists his trousers and glares at the floor. No. No!

"I... don't... follow." The whisper barely passes his lips.

Lestrade holds his gaze. Determination is mixed with compassion and something that looks like pity, but determination comes through. It's like when he woke up strapped to a bed all those weeks ago. Trapped.

"We found a grave."

John gasps. Myroft is a living statue. All the oxygen has left the room.

Lestrade continues, but Sherlock can still read people pretty well. Everyone is uncomfortable, but where has all the air gone? "How many times was she pregnant, Sherlock?"

Had he been standing, Sherlock would have landed in a heap on the floor. Gripping the armrests, he turns to check on Jack, the only real thing in this world. His boy is asleep, smiling. He stares, hoping that Lestrade and his questions will disappear. He can't talk about it.

The sound of a sheet of paper sliding across the table makes him want to run away. Beside him, John tenses and grits his teeth. Please don't be mad, I did my best, John, I swear.

"I need you to look at the photo, Sherlock."

Everything goes blurry. The chair disappears from underneath him. Strong arms wrap around him.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I understand you want to forget, but if we can get Them for murder, there won't even be a jury. We'll nail them before their lawyers can cover them."

Sherlock is now sat on the floor, his face buried in John's jumper. It's soft and smells of safety and pirates and tea. He buries his face deeper.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. The picture isn't a body, it's of the grave before we dug it. Please, Sherlock, I want these monsters away until they die, but for that I need you to look at the picture."

Breathing gradually becomes easier. John's hand strokes his hair and something wet drips onto his forehead. John. John is crying.

"Tissue. Please."

Mycroft whips out his clean handkerchief and wipes his brother's face. "Brother mine, I'm so sorry. I cannot begin to imagine what you went through. You're safe. You'll always be safe now. They'll never get out, no matter what happens, I swear. They'll have to fight me before they get even within a continent to you."

Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at his brother. He'd been twenty-three when Sherlock had been taken. So young and inexperienced himself. The kidnapping changed him too. Behind Mycroft, Stamford stands and hurries to Jack's side. Footsteps leave heading towards their shared bedroom and Sherlock calms instantly. He takes a deep stuttering breath, anguish threatening to overwhelm him. Oh god.

His eyes land on the photo in Lestrade's outstretched hand. A small patch of grass with flowers on top.

"A boy." Lestrade nods encouragingly and John holds him tighter. "I called him William; that's my first name. It seemed fitting. When he was born, I had to help deliver the baby. She wouldn't go to hospital for fear of suspicion. She blamed them for the death of her first child, but I think her daughter was stillborn."

Now he's started, he can't stop. He'll tell them everything and then he'll face their wrath and disappointment afterwards.

"He was born about a year after they took me. I told you they removed my chains after three months... That's because..." he stops, recalling her joy and his horror at the situation. "I kept telling myself it was all a lie, that it wasn't mine, but she wasn't lying. I delivered him. I didn't want to, but they made me read books and on the day Old Magnussen brought a knife in and said he'd think of something creative if I didn't cooperate. I was seventeen and I was scared so I did what I'd read in the books. I just held him and when she asked if it was a girl, she was relieved when I said no. Overjoyed even."

He stopped telling his story and reached past Mycroft for his glass of water. John grabs it for him and Mycroft craddles his baby brother. Sherlock prays they won't all hate him by the end.

"As the months went by, she became less interested in sex. I was relieved, to put it mildly. There was a routine, but not the same as with Jack; she insisted on interacting with him. She was pleased because he looked like me; dark curls and blue eyes. She knew why I called him William and it pleased her. I was doing anything to keep her happy. But then, about two years later, when I was nineteen I was asleep and..."

He pauses to sip more water. Refusing to make eye contact with anyone, he dives back into the story.

"I woke to William crying. They'd come in whilst I was asleep and they had him lying on the table and they were trying to..." Sherlock chokes vomit threatening to come up his throat. "They were, ah, trying to do..., b-b-bad things, so I leapt up and I tried to fight them off. I was furious... it'd never occured to me that she would do that to him..."

Mycroft hugs him so tightly it hurts and Lestrade still holds his gaze. He has to finish.

"I was so mad... it got physical, but not for long because she still had a hold on him and he was screaming so loudly... I begged them to stop, to give him back..."

Please! I'll do anything! Don't hurt him, he's just a baby, a little boy! PLEASE!

She stares him in the eyes, the lack of emotion making her seem even further away. "Have you been taking your tablets?"

Sherlock's jaw won't work. He knows it'll be worse if he lies."I forgot... I'm sorry, I've been trying to care for William..."

She rolls her eyes, not impressed. "Well, you've failed. Say goodbye."

She snatches the two year old up under her arm and storms toward the door.

"NO!" Sherlock rushes after her and Old Magnussen puts him in a headlock. "What...? Where are you taking him? PLEASE! I'm sorry, I'll do anything you say, JUST DON'T HURT HIM!

The older man shakes him. "Turn around and face the wall and maybe we'll bring him back. Alive. Wouldn't that be nice? hmm?"

"Dada!" wails the small boy, blue eyes staring into his own. "DADA!"

"It's okay." Sherlock straightens slowly. "It's okay, I'll see you soon." He turns, legs shaking, towards the wall.

"DADA! DADA! NO!"

"It's okay. I love you. Dada loves you. Be a good boy." The beeps ring loud in the air. Tears flood down his face. "Please bring him back. Don't hurt him..." The door opens.

"DADA! DADA!

"WILL! I'll find you, I won't let them..."

The door slammed.

Sherlock screamed himself hoarse and scratched at the door until his fingers were a bloody mess. He typed codes into the door mechanism for four hours. Eventually he passed out.

He never discovered the code.

He never saw William again.

The silence in 221B was deafening. Sherlock sat on the floor shaking, waiting for someone to tell him he was a failure, that he didn't deserve Jack...

"How can you say that?" he jumps, not realizing he'd said it all out loud. John stares at him, shaking his head, face red and blotchy. " How can you say that? You didn't kill him, you're not the monster... what they did... if I could get my hands on them, I would..."

Sherlock pulls him into a hug. William had died nearly ten years ago. He had had time to think and reflect and he knew, acknowledged that even if he had taken his meds, something else would have set her off. In the end, weeks afterwards, She had stood over him, crying asking why he kept making her do bad things. She was crazy. Still is.

"I know John. I just thought you might think badly of me."

John sighs, a puff of breath against his neck. "Never. Never."

"Sherlock?" Lestrade catches his attention. "Was Jack the second or the third pregnancy?"

Mycroft spins to face Lestrade. "How? I don't... You said..." He stutters, completely thrown.

Lestrade sighs, but maintains eye contact with the younger. "I said there was one grave. Two bodies."

John chokes and puts his hands over his mouth. The distraught look on his face makes up for the lack on Sherlock's. "You found Charlotte?"

"The medical examiner hasn't identified the gender yet... She died during infancy?"

"Yes. The day she was born."

Lestrade frowns. "So she wasn't stillborn?"

"No. Charlotte died because she was a girl. She didn't want to replace her first daughter."

A strange sound reaches his ears. Mycroft was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. Lestrade rubs his shoulders. "We got them, Myke. We got them. Charles Magnussen and Mary Morstan will never see daylight again."

Sherlock stares. His brother has never been like this. Ever. He's not sure how to fix it. "Mycroft, it's okay, I didn't get to know her... I tried to stop them, but none of us knew it would be a girl, she wasn't scared like William..."

Mycroft's expression snaps from despair to fury within a second. Sherlock shuffles backwards on his behind because do you like this new suit of mine, Sherlock? Sense of power isn't it? You're wearing, well, nothing. This alone proves who has brains in the room. You are so stupid... Thinking you could solve a crime... and there wasn't one!

"Sherlock? Sherlock! Snap out of it!"

He gasps, reality filtering back in. Mycroft stares at him, alarmed. He remains where he was. John sits next to Sherlock. "Breathe. Remember what I started teaching you this morning, just breathe. you're fine, you're in Baker Street..."

It only takes a couple of minutes to calm down. Mycroft watches him sadly. Lestrade makes a show of putting his files and equipment away, giving him privacy. Stamford hasn't returned. Perhaps Jack woke up.

"What did I do wrong?" the roughness to his brother's voice startles him. "Tell me what I did wrong... I don't want to be a source of fear. I wasn't angry at you."

"I know." Sherlock licks his lips, wondering how to explain his dilemma and not upset Mycroft. "It's just the suit."

Mycroft frowns down at himself. "My suit?"

"He had a lot like that... Wore them to prove that he was smarter than me because he could force me to wear nothing, so he was better than me." He bites his lip. "Please don't be mad."

Mycroft stands and picks up his umbrella before returning to kneel in front of his little brother. "Oh, Brother mine. I would walk around Bucking Palace in a sheet for you." A pause. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Gregory." The man runs out of the room, giving John a small wave.

"Sherlock, I know you've just relieved the worst moments of your life, but I'm begging you... don't do anything stupid.

Sherlock frowns. "Stupid?

Mycroft takes a moment to work up the courage. "Don't hurt yourself."

Oh. "Okay."

Mycroft grips his shoulders. "Say it."

"I promise."

He nods, not entirely satisfied. "Watch him, Dr. Watson."

John, still wiping tears away is unable to answer, so he just nods. Mycroft gets up.

"I can give them both a proper burial. A place where they can rest peacefully. Tell me when you know where you want them buried." He leaves.

John and Sherlock stay on the floor for another three hours until John's leg spasms and Sherlock can't feel his backside. They get up and sit on the couch. Still nothing is said.

"Will you be okay?"

Sherlock doesn't look at John as he answers. "I will be. I've got Jack."

John nods and says nothing more. Stamford eventually leaves after Sherlock has taken his pills and the two of them sleep through the night, side by side on the couch. Jack and Mrs. Hudson find them wrapped around each other the next morning.