John is leaning over a coffee, black, no sugar, hospital brand and quite frankly disgusting. His elbows are resting on the table and he can't make eye contact with anyone in the room. Lestrade is taking notes. Mycroft is gripping his umbrella so tightly his knuckles are white. Only Sherlock is talking. Mike is watching him for any signs, but Sherlock is talking as fast as he can, blurting out words as fast as his brain and mouth will let him. He tells them everything from the beginning, the moment he first woke up aged just sixteen, naked and chained up, unable to move, with a gag in his mouth, his ears covered and blindfolded, only able to feel the hand and body of a woman who molested and raped him over and over again. How he was beaten every time he tried to speak. How for the first three months of his captivity, he was not allowed to talk, scream or make any vocal sounds at all. How he had deduced that she had lost a child as she would try to breast feed him when he behaved well. How he was forced to pleasure her, and she would rape him up to twenty times a day…

John leaps out of his chair and runs out towards the men's room but when he got there, he no longer feels sick. He turns around and marches towards Sherlock's room, scoops up a surprised Jack and holds him close.

"Thank you" he whispers, tears rushing down his face. "Thank you for saving your father."

To his surprise, Jack says nothing.

Eventually he puts him down and heads back to the room where Sherlock is being interrogated. Sherlock visibly relaxes as he comes back in and watches as he sits back down. Then he continues with his tale.

It turns out that the room they were kept in had been almost bare before Jack was born. There had only been a toilet, a mattress and a bath in which They would throw him back in when she was finished and throw an ice bucket of cold water over him. After three months they trusted him enough to remove the earplugs, blindfold and chains. At the first chance he got, he tried to escape, but he had been too weak from lack of movement and starvation to fight Them. That's when They put the chain around his ankle and there it remained for thirteen years.

The sexual assaults became less frequent as time moved on and and the Witch became more and more unpredictable and irritable. She would go from frustrated, to patient, to anger, to caring and Sherlock had struggled to deduce her on more than one occasion. He would beg for Mycroft when They weren't there, but his brother had never come.

Mycroft looks as sick as John had felt and makes to leave the room, but Sherlock lets out such a scream that John nearly drops dead. Sherlock tries to go after his brother, but his leg stops him, and he falls flat on his face. Everyone rushes to help him, but Mycroft gets there first and pulls his younger brother onto his lap. Sherlock sobs and John is relieved that Sherlock is finally letting out all of his pain without Jack there to witness it. Mycroft also has his face hidden and John can hear him whisper "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" repeatedly.

Lestrade picks up his things and leaves quietly, saying that they would continue the interview at another time. Eventually they get the brothers to separate and Mycroft leaves with such a look of rage on his face that John wouldn't be surprised if the two criminals were found in a ditch somewhere by dawn.

Sherlock sits on the floor in a corner, curled into a ball and trembling, his eyes shut and whimpering. John kneels a safe distance away. Asking him if he's okay is stupid.

"Whenever you're ready." he says instead. They reach out to each other at the same time and grasp hands.

Sherlock wipes his face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to listen to that. You probably think I'm..."

John snorts. "Idiot." he replies and helps him up. Sherlock walks almost unaided all the way back to Jack.

The small boy shrieks and runs to his Pa as soon as he sees him; father and son still have trouble being separated from each other. John knows they'll have to take baby steps.

"Your leg is better, Pa", chirps Jack. "I don't like not seeing you. It makes me think of the Monsters."

Sherlock clutches the small boy tighter. "The Monsters are gone, Jack, remember? The police put Them in jail."

"Did they put the nasty truck in jail too?"

Sherlock lets out a wet choke of a laugh. "The police will have the truck as evidence and then it will be crushed."

Jack looks most satisfied with this answer.

"Lunch?" suggests John.

Both father and son look uneasy. They aren't used to most foods, seeing how little They had been allowed to eat in the vault.

"In the cafeteria," adds John carefully.

Sherlock looks like he'd rather throw himself out the nearest window. "But there will be people."

Nodding, John's face is expressionless. "Yes."

Sherlock swallows. Jack hides his face.

"You'll have to see people sooner or later and sooner is better for Jack," says John, calmly.

Sherlock closes his eyes and John patiently counts to fifty-six. "Okay."

"No!" wails Jack. "People have needles and they keep stabbing me and Pa! No!"

"These people will be like us," replies Sherlock, beating John to answering. "They'll be sick people with their families. There may even be other children."

Jack still looks worried and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Sherlock grimaces. John takes him from Sherlock's arms and tickles him. "Come on! It'll be fun."

Jack laughs, breathless. "Okay, I'll try for you and Pa."

They head down in the lift. At the cafeteria there is a choice between a ramp or stairs. Jack stares at the latter. "What are those?"

"Stairs. Do you want to try them out?"

Jack has never tackled stairs before and struggles to put one leg in front of the other. "That's it," encourages Sherlock with a smile. You can do it." He holds Jack securely under his armpits to keep him from falling. "One last step." And Jack reaches the floor. "Yay!" The three of them turn around and stop.

Every person in the room has frozen and is staring at them. Sherlock goes very pale. "John..."

The room bursts into applause and everyone capable of putting two hand together are applauding and cheering. There's whistling and laughter and people are standing and yelling "Well done!" and they're banging their cutlery and…

And Jack is curled on the floor screaming himself hoarse, Sherlock is bent over him yelling something. John does the only thing he can think of and wraps his arms around both of them. Immediately the noise dies down and people start whispering.

"Is Jack all right?

Jack still has his eyes screwed up and his ears covered.

"Jack." says Sherlock. "Jack, it's alright sweetheart, they're good people."

John hears footsteps behind him and turns around. A nurse is bent over them. "Are they okay?"

"Give us a minute."

Jack's head is resting on his Pa's shoulder and is staring around with wide eyes. "The world is so big, Pa."

Sherlock sighs. "You haven't seen half of it."

They make their way to an empty table, ignoring everyone's stares. John sits down. "I'm not hungry." he tells them. "I had lunch before the interview." Although if he'd known what Sherlock had to say, he would have eaten afterwards, remembering how he was nearly sick. "So we'll just get food for the two of you, okay? Although, I might get another slice of cake."

Jack starts to cry again. "I want Room. I want Room and Eggsnake and Wardrobe."

Sherlock stares at him like a rabbit caught in headlights. "I can't. There are too many people."

"If you want to prove to Mike and the other doctors that you're capable of caring for yourself and Jack and coping in the World, then we have to do this." He takes Sherlock's hand. "Don't worry, you're not alone."

Sherlock squeezes his hand to the point where it almost hurts. They head over to the serving area. Sherlock picks up a tray, queues, gets to his turn and suddenly flees. John follows them and waits until father and son have caught their breath before attempting to queue up again. People stare. One woman starts to laugh, and Sherlock bows his head in shame. John's heart clenches. He never wants to see that look on Sherlock's face again. Realizing that this is obviously too difficult, he guides Sherlock back to their table and makes sure to topple the woman's chair as they pass. He takes the tray from Sherlock's hands as the man is too busy blinking back tears.

"You stay here and rest your leg" says John, giving him an easy smile that makes his eyes crinkle. "Jack and I will bring you some food."

"I'm sorry" mumbles Sherlock.

John grips his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. "Nothing to worry about. Besides, what are best friends for?"

He stares at John like he's grown a second head. "What did you say?"

John blinks. "I said there's nothing to worry about."

Sherlock swallows, runs a hand over his short hair and eyes and clutches Jack tighter. "Best friend?" he whispers.

John gives him a smile that Sherlock memorizes onto his 'John Shelf' in his Mind Palace. The Shelf is rather crammed after a mere week and will soon have to be redesigned into a room of itself if John keeps this up. "Of course, you are. You're my best friend. Even after just a week. You and Jack are the bravest people I know, and believe me, I know a lot."

Sherlock stares at John like he's the sun. John gives him another smile and heads back to the food counter with Jack, leaving Sherlock to reboot his brain alone.

"What would you like, Jack? Let's pick your meal first and then we can pick your Pa's."

Jack looks alarmed. "Where are the eggs and baked beans?"

John ruffles his hair, which Jack still refuses to have cut. "Sorry, Jack, no more eggs and beans for you now. You need to eat real food. Can you see anything you like the look of?"

Jack nibbles his finger. "There are lots of colours."

"Yes, there are. Any colours you would like to try?"

Jack continues to chew on his finger for a few minutes. Luckily, the person serving them is patient, as are the people whispering excitedly behind them.

"Yellow like the sun." He says at last.

"Sweetcorn," translates John. "Anything else?"

"Purple like pansies."

"Beetroot."

"Green like grass."

"Peas too please. Now you have to choose meat to go with it."

Jack beams. "We had ham just once as a special treat!"

John grins. "What did you do to get a special treat?"

"Pa asked Them, and Old Magnussen brought it for us! But Pa said They made him hurt too much, so we didn't ask again."

John turns his head away to recompose himself. He'd better not ask if he wants to keep his lunch in his stomach. He'd already heard enough horrors that had happened to Sherlock today. "We'd also like some ham please." He was grateful that Mycroft had insisted Sherlock and Jack get better food to catch up on lost years.

Jack's plate is well proportioned for a small boy who has a lot of growing to do. He bounces around for joy and John struggles to hold him. "Now Pa! Now Pa!"

In the end, Jack simply picks out the same meal for Sherlock. Jack carries his own plate back, beaming with pride and seemingly no longer noticing the crowds of people who have finally lost interest and gone back to their own lives. "Look Pa! We brought you a meal."

Sherlock shakes his head. "I'm not very hungry."

Before John can say anything, Jack snorts. "That's stupid, Pa! You gave me all of your breakfast this morning and you always give me more than half your food."

The game was up. John and the other doctors had been wondering about Sherlock's diet and now the continuing weight loss made even more sense. "So that's why you've lost even more weight." says John crisply, his face calm. But Sherlock knows calm faces. They hide fury and lash out unexpectedly. He shrinks backwards, guilty and nervous. John sighs, exasperated. "We'll talk about this later."

Jack makes a face at each new food before deciding that he likes it. John watches Sherlock like a hawk to make sure nothing gets passed to Jack or dropped under the table. Sherlock eats it like it will kill him and eventually they finish, the rest of the cafeteria devoid of life. They head back to their room. When they arrive, John says to Jack, "Why don't you go and play with Panda while I have a chat with your Pa?"

Jack totters away. John rounds on Sherlock. "Explain to me why you're not eating.Now."

Stammering, Sherlock tries to put some distance between them. "I..."

John rubs a hand over his face. "You are severely underweight, if you do not eat you will die! And then Jack will be all alone!"

Sherlock struggles to speak. "I know, but you don't understand..."

John loses his temper. "For the love of god, you need to eat! You're wasting away in front of everyone's eyes and it's killing me! Let us help you! Let me help you!"

Sherlock has shrunk back alarmed. "You can't help me! You can't help us!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because They'll hurt Jack!"

This throws John completely. "Who will?"

"They will! The Monsters! They'll come back into this filthy Room and hurt my boy! I swore I would protect him so long as there is breath in my body! That's what I'm doing! The longer it keeps Jack away from Their attention, the longer I'll do it! If you don't like it, go be somebody else's imaginary friend!"

Sherlock is shaking. John is analyzing every word he has just told him. Mike has also walked into the room and heard Sherlock's rant. Then John swallows.

"PTSD," he says to Mike.

"Well of course," says Mike, "Of course he has PTSD, he's been through..."

John holds up his hand, cutting him off. He leans towards Sherlock, studying his face. The man's eyes are twitching, and John suddenly notices a few beads of sweat. He's breathing far too fast. He's starting to lose it.

"Mike," says John, "Ask Sherlock to describe his surroundings to you. Go on."

Mike gives him a bewildered look but does as he's told. "Sherlock, tell me what you can see."

The man snorts. "What I've always seen." He snaps. "There's a bath over there in the corner. The bed is up against the other wall. The end of my chain is attached to the wall at the foot of the bed. There is a wardrobe next to the bed and in front of that there is a table with two chairs..."

"Oh shit," says Mike.

John swallows. "Sherlock, do you know who I am?"

Sherlock turns his verdigris eyes on him. "Of course; you're John. I made you up."

John feels as though someone has punched him in the face. Or stabbed a knife through his heart. "I'm real Sherlock." He whispers.

The younger man shakes his head. "Don't say that," he begs. "They always come back when people like you say that. I make you up and then you go away. Don't leave me alone with Them. Jack's too young."

Mike presses the emergency button, realizing that Sherlock is about to have a full-blown panic attack. "Do you recognize that little boy over there? Is that Jack?"

Sherlock stares at his son. "No," he says, "That's not Jack. My son is only six months old." he stops and looks around. "Where is he?" he demands. "What have you done with my boy?"

He glares at John, who approaches him carefully. "I'm your best friend, remember?"

Sherlock snarls. "I'm not giving you any more children you bitch. You shouldn't have come here alone." He lunges for John's throat.

Someone is trying to wake him up. John listens to the voice and obeys when they ask him to open his eyes. Mike smiles tightly down at him.

"Thank god. Sherlock can certainly do some damage, even with that skinny frame of his."

John groans and coughs. His windpipe feels like it's been crushed. "What happened?" he croaks.

"Sherlock went nuts. It took three nurses to hold him down. Jack's pretty shaken up. You've been out for a few minutes. He seemed to mistake you for one of his abusers. Tried to scratch your eyes out."

John knows he should feel embarrassment about this since he is a soldier who was trained in hand to hand combat. However, his concern lies with Sherlock's wellbeing. He sits up and ignores the dizziness. "Where is he now?"

"In an isolation room. Security insisted we strap him down, get hm away from Jack."

John sees red. "You've donewhat? Take me to him now."

"John..."

"Now!"

Mike sighs and pulls John to his feet. They walk down the corridor, dread snaking its way through John's innards. He fights motion sickness and they arrive at a door with a small window. He peers through and his heart plummets.

The room must be soundproof because Sherlock is laying on a bed, his mouth open, screaming, tugging desperately at his restraints. He looks so frightened, yet there is a hint of rage in him that makes John shiver and rub his bruised throat. He'll never underestimate him again.

"He was having a panic attack, Mike! This is only going to make it worse!"

He throws the door open and walks into the room before Mike can stop him. "Hello Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes turn to him, pleading. "John, help me please! I don't want to do it again! DON'T LET HER TOUCH ME AGAIN!"

John rushes to him, glad his friend recognizes him again. "You had some sort of panic attack…"

Sherlock isn't listening. He's suddenly noticed his predicament and is tugging at his restraints. "John! Help!"

John grabs Sherlock's face and presses their foreheads together. The moment feels incredibly intimate. "Calm. Stay calm. I'll remove them, alright? But you have to promise not to move."

Sherlock nods hard, almost bashing his head against the wall. "Okay."

"SayI promise."

"I PROMISE!"

John works at the restraints. Someone pulls at his arm and tells him to stop but he shrugs them off. Soon Sherlock is free, and they hug tightly. John is careful and swallows with difficulty.

Sherlock stares at the bruises and what must be scratch marks on his face. "Did I do that?" He whispers, horrified. "I'm a monster, just like Them."

"No," says John tugging his jumper up to hide the bruises. "We were talking about your eating habits. I think I said something and it triggered a panic attack. I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock doesn't look reassured. "I want to leave the hospital now."

"Tomorrow."

"Now."

"The lawyer..."

"Damn the lawyer!"

"SHERLOCK!" barks John and feels awful at Sherlock's frightened flinch. "You've just had a psychotic episode. You should be grateful Mike is releasing you tomorrow. Although I wouldn't be surprised ifyour brother has something to do with that. But you're going to get regular visits from him."

Sherlock avoids his gaze. His entire body is still trembling from his ordeal. John sits on the edge of the bed and rubs Sherlock's arm soothingly. He's surprised when Sherlock reaches out and runs the pad of his thumb over the wounds he inflicted onto John's face. The moment is interrupted when his stomach gives a loud growl.

"Are you hungry, Sherlock? It's been a while since you've eaten."

"No." He licks his lips, desperate.

"Why?" asks John, still rubbing his sore neck.

Sherlock breathes deeply, still trying to calm himself. "I just want to leave this place. I just want to go."

John nods, only half listening. "Sherlock, we're going to get you out of this hospital as soon as we can. We'll go and live with Mrs. Hudson. No one will harm you or Jack there. But that doesn't explain why you're refusing to eat."

Sherlock starts to cry. "Where's Jack? I want Jack."

John shushes him gently and cradles Sherlock's head against his chest. "He's fine. You can see him in a moment. But first you must eat. Then you can see him."

Sherlock scowls. "Those aren't the rules."

John tries very hard not to be sick. "There are no rules here, Sherlock. But if this is the only way I'll get food into you then so be it. Once you've eaten, you will see Jack. Understand?"

Sherlock nods, afraid.

Since it's obvious he struggles with solid food, that bring mashed vegetables and soup. For some reason, Sherlock only trusts John, so everyone leaves and John feeds a still slightly delirious Sherlock, mouthful after mouthful, until Sherlock swears he can't eat anymore. John is so proud of him. He takes the empty plates away and returns to a Sherlock who is blinking sluggishly.

"John?" He slurs. "Tired."

"Let's get you back to your room, then you can sleep. Tonight, we'll have another meal and tomorrow we can leave the hospital. You'll still have regular visits from the doctors. Jack is going to see a proper child's psychiatrist."

Sherlock growls. "For the fifteenth fucking time, there is nothing wrong with Jack."

John has never heard him curse before. "I'll go and bring Jack to you."

A few minutes later he returns with a very scared boy. Sherlock sits up. "Jack!"

But Jack won't look at him. Sherlock looks confused. "Jack?"

The boy begins to struggle. "No! I don't want to see him! That's not Pa!"

Sherlock looks like someone slapped him. "It's me, Jack. It's Pa."

"You hurt the Somebody! You made him go to sleep and you were shouting horrible things! I don't want you!"

Heartbroken is the only word to describe Sherlock. But he reaches out anyway and John gently deposits a squirming child in his arms. But Jack calms immediately and hugs him. The room is silent. John sighs in relief and Jack sniffs loudly. All is well.