In an attempt to forget about the pain,Sherlock whispers reassuring words to his son throughout the entire journey, ignoring the other people in the car. They try to get his attention, call his name, but he ignores them. There are other cars in front and behind them, blue and red lights flashing bright all around them. Eventually they pull up and Lestrade helps him out. He calls for a wheelchair but Sherlock glares at him and makes his way towards the entrance, holding Jack close. He doesn't see the man in an expensive suit whose eyes follow his every step, limp and stumble.

Doctors swarm towards them as they enter and Sherlock feels overwhelmed. Lestrade notices his discomfort and steps between them, trying to explain the situation. There's a warm hand on Sherlock's elbow. He looks at John, who gives him a small, reassuring smile.

"I know a lot of the staff here," he says, "I friend of mine, his name is Mike, he's a psychiatrist here, you'll be most at ease with him."

Sherlock nods and returns the smile. A man steps up to them and greats John with a nod of his head and reaches out to shake Sherlock's hand. Sherlock stares and can't quite remember what he's supposed to do. He glances at John who gives him an encouraging nod and Sherlock shifts Jack's weight onto his left arm to shake his hand. The doctor introduces himself as Mike Stamford and takes Sherlock's appearance in with no pity in his eyes, only professionalism.

"We've prepared a private room for you both," he says, "Let's get you out of the public eye."

He reaches out to Sherlock who flinches away from him back towards John. Sherlock is too tired to deduce anyone's intentions, but Jack trusts John. Therefore, he can trust John too. They make their way slowly to the lift, ignoring everyone's stares and whispers, the other patients and visitors pointing at TV screens and muttering excitedly. Soon they are standing in a private room, but Sherlock can't see very well. He blinks against the onslaught of light that appears to bother no one else. He's vaguely aware of John talking and some of the lights are turned off. He looks around. The room is large, or at least, larger than what he's used to and he sees two beds side by side set up near to the bathroom. He's guided over to the beds and someone tells him to put down Jack. Put down Jack? When hell freezes over.

"Here," says John, holding out his arms, "You need medical attention. Let me take Jack. I'll stay right here, I promise."

Before Sherlock can even formulate a reply, his legs give out and everyone dives forward to catch them both. His eyes close and Jack is taken away. He can hear John talking to him and as he opens his eyes. John is bouncing Jack gently and smiling down at him. He can't hear Jack's reply. The doctors and nurses take him to the bed and sit him down on the edge and ask him to strip off. Seeing that Jack has gone back to sleep he complies, shame burning his face. He knows what questions will be asked as soon as he reveals all his injuries. One nurse falls silent as she notices the blood stains on his underwear. When Mike spots it too, he looks at Sherlock.

"We're going to pull the curtain in case your son wakes up. John will be right there with him, is that ok?"

Sherlock stares at his feet. Answering will be like shattering glass and then they'll all have to walk on the shards. Perhaps if he says nothing, it'll all go away. That seems to be the sort of thing that Jack would say.

Sherlock can't block out the words like "malnutrition", "abuse", and "rape kit". Gentle hands guide him to lie down on the bed. More doctors come in and they examine him, checking him over like he's something to be poked at under the microscope. He loses all sense of time and stares blankly at the ceiling, simply answering 'yes' to all their questions, no matter what they're asking for. Eventually, most of them leave. A nurse passes him a fresh pair of underpants and helps him slip them on. He glances over her shoulder and catches his reflection in the mirror. It's a good thing Jack had been asleep before. He looks awful. There are ugly bruises all over his body, his sickly pale complexion making them stand out all the more. He's far too skinny, his skin stretched over his bones. How is he ever going to overcome this? He runs his hands over his shaved head, his hair slightly shorter than John's and all he can see is Them. They've left their mark on him. He'll put on weight, his hair will grow back and the bruises will fade but this image will be burned forever in his memory. No matter how hard he tries, he knows this is something he'll never be able to delete.

There's movement behind him. He's not the only one staring at the mirror. The curtain has been pulled back and Jack is asleep under the blankets. John is looking over Sherlock's body with a pained expression on his face. Sherlock watches him nervously as John walks around the bed to stand next to him.

"You'll be okay." He says quietly. "I imagine it's a bit terrifying right now, but soon you'll be back with your family and you'll have your whole life ahead of you."

Sherlock glances at Jack. "So you're the somebody." He says eventually. John laughs.

"I'm not too sure what that means exactly, but yes, according to Jack, I'm the Somebody. So what does it mean?"

"I told Jack to find a 'Somebody', someone he judged safe and to stick with them no matter what." He looks John in the eyes. "Jack chose you."

John clears his throat self-consciously. "Well, I'm just glad to have been able to help. It's nice to know I'm not completely useless."

"You were invalided home, correct?"

John blinks. "Jack guessed I was a soldier. How did you know?"

"Your limp is psychosomatic, it's from trauma. Normally I'd expect you to have a walking stick or…"

"Oh!" exclaims John as he glances around. "I must have left it at Scotland Yard. I hadn't even realized. But how did Jack know?"

"We call it the science of Deduction. I wrote a paper about it at school." Sherlock sighs. "That was a long time ago now."

His eyes droop shut. He reaches out blindly and finds John's hand. "Thank you. You can't possibly imagine what you've done."

John doesn't reply. He squeezes Sherlock's hand and they grip each other like a lifeline. Eventually he lies back on the bed and rolls over to face Jack. Their beds have been rearranged so that they are now touching. He scoops the small boy into his arms and holds him close. Jack wraps his arms around his neck in his sleep. Someone pulls a blanket over them and another checks the bandages around his ankle. Sherlock breathes out a sigh of relief and sleeps without fear for the first time in years.