Title: The Attack
Author: Tiffany F
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade
Fandoms: Sherlock
Rating: AO
Disclaimer: Don't own and claim nothing but the plot.
Warning(s): Abuse, Angst, Dark Themes, First Time, Kink - Non-con, OOC [Out of Character], Rape - Implied, Relationship - Established Romance, Violence
Summary: Sherlock is attacked in the flat and found by Lestrade. Mycroft gets involved and everyone is shocked at the outcome. NONCON and DARK.


Lestrade paused only long enough to pull out his keys and let himself into the flat. "It's just me, Mrs. Hudson," he called. "Is he in?"

"I don't know, Inspector," the landlady replied, poking her head out. "I heard them arguing last night as I was going to turn in, but it's been quiet. I think John's out at work."

"Sherlock's not answering his mobile," Lestrade said with a sigh. "I'll just pop up and have a look."

"All right, let me know if you need anything."

He nodded with a smile and started up the stairs at a more sedate pace than he normally used. Lestrade had wondered what Mrs. Hudson thought of his having a key to the place, but she'd never seemed to mind. Had even smiled when Sherlock let her know that he planned to give the Inspector one. Mrs. Hudson was good for Sherlock. She took care of him without making him feel strangled like previous people had. "Sherlock, for god's sake, why aren't you answering my texts?" Lestrade asked as he pushed the door to the sitting room open. "Are you in another one of your.....bloody hell."

For that's what the sitting room was. A bloody hell. Sherlock lay naked in the middle of the floor, beaten and cut with a knife still embedded through his right shoulder. Lestrade had his mobile out without conscious effort. "This is Detective Inspector Lestrade, I need an ambulance to 221 B Baker Street now. We're on the first floor. Come up the stairs and come right in. Hurry, there's a man bleeding out."

"Greg," Sherlock whispered, choking a little.

"Sherlock, what the hell happened to you?" Lestrade asked. He dropped to his knees and debated rolling the younger man onto his side to try and clear his airway.

"He took... He took what...."

"Who took, Sherlock."

"My present for you," Sherlock whispered, coughing again. "He took it. Greg, it's gone."

Biting his lip, Lestrade slowly rolled Sherlock up and onto his side, more concerned about his airway than anything else. "Just gob it out, Sherlock. Flat has to be cleaned anyway."

"What would Mycroft say?" Sherlock managed between gasps for air. He spit blood onto the floor and coughed, arms wrapping around his torso for support. "How bad?"

"Need the doctor to tell us for sure, but I'd say you're going to be lucky to not need surgery," Lestrade replied. "I'll be waiting for you when you wake up."

"Don't want to see him," Sherlock said, eyes getting heavy.

"Don't want to see who? Mycroft?"


Lestrade puzzled over Sherlock's words all the way to the hospital. He followed the gurney into the emergency area and then had to step back and wait for the elder Holmes to arrive. It was the part he always hated. Sherlock wanted to change his paperwork to make Lestrade his emergency contact, but Mycroft always changed it back. It was just one of the few things about the elder brother that annoyed Lestrade.

"Ah, Greg, so good to see you again," Mycroft said, entering the waiting area.

"Mycroft. What did the doctor say?"

"No pleasantries?"

"I just found the man I love lying in several pools of his own blood, and the doctors won't tell me a damn thing about his condition," Lestrade snapped. "So, until you tell me what they said, no, no pleasantries today."

Mycroft sat down in one of the plastic chairs and sighed. "Sherlock was beaten badly," he said softly. "Very, very badly. He's in surgery now to stitch up his shoulder and take care of some other injuries. A few of those cuts were deeply made, Greg. This is why I hate that Sherlock will not allow me to place surveillance in his flat."

"Oh, I think I already know who did this to him, and believe me, if not for the fact that I swore to Sherlock that I'd be here when he woke up, I'd be out arresting the bastard for what he did. Sherlock was raped, wasn't he?"

"How do you come to that conclusion?"

"I'm not stupid, no matter what Sherlock likes to say. He told me that his gift for me had been stolen. There's only one thing he's ever promised me, Mycroft. We were going to go on holiday this Christmas, just the two of us, to make it special. Now I don't know
if he's ever going to want me to touch him."

"I fear this is partly my fault," Mycroft sighed. "When I spoke to Sherlock and John at the Palace today, I mentioned sex and Sherlock replied, shall we say, rather hastily. I baited him."

"You baited him."

"Yes. He was being so petulant and stubborn about everything. I know how he hates to be summoned, but it had to be done. The matter involves some of the most important people in our nation and they couldn't well be seen at Baker Street," Mycroft sighed. "I should have known he was in a mood when I saw him wrapped in that damnable bed sheet."

"Sherlock went to the Palace in a sheet."

"Of course he did. He was trying to make a point. He made several jabs at me, and I finally reacted. I shouldn't have. It was childish of me, and completely out of place. He was to investigate a dominatrix, Greg. When I commented that it had to do with sex, he told me that sex doesn't alarm him. I asked how he would know."

Lestrade rubbed his face and leaned forward. "Let me see if I understand this correctly, Mycroft," he said. "You decided to goad your younger brother, when you know all the issues he's faced in his life, whilst he was at the Palace talking to some of the most important people in our nation. You revealed one of his biggest secrets without thought of what it would do to him. And what do you think of this? You think that Sherlock was letting this dominatrix touch him? That he's lying in there, bleeding because of some damn experiment?"

"Do lower your voice, Greg."

"No, I bloody well will not. In fact, I'm going to do something that I know Sherlock will never do, and that's tell you to get the hell out of his life. Stop changing his bloody paperwork and let him live as he wants to." Lestrade stood up. "I know exactly who dared to rape my lover, and I'm going to do something about it because I am a cop."

"Yes, you are, aren't you?"

"You don't scare me, Mycroft. You're petty and rude, but you don't scare me. Get me fired. I'll just take Sherlock with me and we'll leave the country. Go where you'll never find us. It'd drive you mad, wouldn't it? Knowing your little brother is out there, somewhere, where you can't keep an eye on him. Maybe he'll feel different when he wakes up, but I don't want to see your face again."

Mycroft sighed. "You're upset, justifiably so," he said. "I'll wait here whilst you go and take care of the man you believe hurt Sherlock. He won't be out of surgery for another two hours or so, so you do have time. He'll be here when you get back. In spite of what you think of me, I do have some honor left."

"Not a lot," Lestrade said. "I'm not leaving until I talk to Sherlock. The guy isn't going to leave the country. I'll get him."

"You could give me a name and I could have him picked up."

"You would never believe me."

"Now why would you say that?" Mycroft asked. "At least allow me to send for some clean clothes for you? I can't imagine it would do Sherlock any good to see you covered in blood."

Lestrade glanced down at his jeans and sighed. "Thank you," he said. "And the flat?"

"Being cleaned as we speak. I imagine you'll want to stay with Sherlock when he is released."

"It was John."


"It was John who attacked Sherlock." Lestrade looked up. "Do you have any idea why he would do something like this, Mycroft?"

"Oh dear."


"John was with Sherlock at the Palace today," Mycroft said. "He listened to our whole conversation. I can't imagine that learning Sherlock is a virgin would cause such a change in behavior. He was still, technically a virgin, yes?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

"Let's come to an accord, Greg. You remain here with Sherlock and take care of him, and I'll question John. I think that should suit."

"Probably a good idea," Lestrade admitted with a sigh. "But you also tell the doctors that they can talk to me about Sherlock. I don't want any of this crap about me not being family. And I want at least one good shot at John, Mycroft. For what he did to the man I love."

"Greg, has it occurred to you that my brother is incapable of love?"

Lestrade shook his head. "That comment there just proves that you don't know him. Keep in touch."

Seeing Sherlock hooked up to all the machines about killed what was left of Lestrade's heart at that point. His lover looked so frail lying on the white hospital sheets. Lestrade sat down in a chair near the bed and looked at the younger man, wondering idly when Sherlock had eaten last. If he had been working a case, it probably had been a few days.
He hadn't been happy about the whole flat-share idea in the first place. Lestrade wanted nothing more than to be able to live with his lover, but his bosses didn't know about them and there was a fine line that Lestrade was still treading. There was a part of him that wondered if Sherlock wanted to live with him or not, but it was a small part because Lestrade knew that Sherlock needed his own space to spread out in. To be himself. Lestrade had yelled at the younger man a few times too many about chemistry experiments in the kitchen for Sherlock to be completely comfortable living with him. But, had Sherlock asked, Lestrade would have found a way to make it work. Having a key to the house was precious, knowing that he had a copy within an hour of Sherlock obtaining his warmed his heart. How he'd wanted to spend that first night at the flat with Sherlock, but the serial killer had prevented that one, not the flat-mate.

His thoughts turned back to John Watson. Lestrade was a fair judge of character. He had to be to be in his position - Anderson not withstanding, the man was forced on him, not his pick - and he hadn't picked up anything that worried him about John Watson. The man was usually the voice in the background, even if Lestrade had wanted to punch him a few times for how he talked to Sherlock, and didn't attract much notice. Granted, Lestrade would be the first to admit that he usually was focused on Sherlock whenever they were in the same room, but he'd paid enough attention to John to think that he had a fair read on the man. So what could have happened between when they were seen last and when Lestrade found Sherlock on the floor. What had made John attack his flat-mate?


"Hey there, I thought you'd be asleep a lot longer." He shifted over to the bed and took Sherlock's right hand carefully in his left. "I figured out what happened to you, Sherlock. I love you, no matter what. Never delete that, you hear me?"

"Thank you," Sherlock whispered. He closed his eyes in a long blink. "You want details."

"When you're more awake. Your brother was here, might still be for all I know," Lestrade said. "I told him who attacked you."

"You're getting smarter being around me."

Lestrade leaned in. "Maybe it's transfered by semen, Sherlock," he said softly. "Maybe you're making me smarter every time I suck you off."

"Illogical," Sherlock said. He shifted slightly. "What are the extent of my injuries?"

"I don't know. The doctor hasn't been by to talk to me, and Mycroft actually told them they could talk to me this time. But you were bleeding badly when I found you and there was a knife stuck in your shoulder," Lestrade said. "I was a little too focused on keeping you alive to notice the individual injuries."

"Shame on you," Sherlock coughed. "You need to observe."

"I did. I observed you were going into shock and could barely breathe," Lestrade said. He held a cup of water in place so Sherlock could sip it. "We'll find out what the doctor has to say eventually. Why don't you try and sleep a little more? It'll help you more than anything."

"Not sleepy."

"Uh huh, I'll be here when you wake up again."

"It was a web page," Sherlock murmured. "John saw it and went insane. I couldn't stop him."

He was asleep again before Lestrade could ask what the web site was. Mycroft had said that Sherlock was working a case involving a dominatrix. What sort of research would he be doing for that kind of case? Lestrade bit his lip in indecision and finally stepped out to a place he could use his mobile. "Mycroft, it's Lestrade. Sherlock woke up briefly and told me that John's attack was caused by a web site. Any chance we could get their laptops?"

"Consider it done," Mycroft replied, and Lestrade could almost hear the smile in the elder Holmes's voice.

John didn't look up when his next patient walked into the room. "I'll be with you in a minute," he said, typing on the computer next to him.

"That's perfectly all right, Dr. Watson; do take you time."

"Mycroft?" John blinked a few times, but Sherlock's brother was still sitting in the consulting chair when he had cleared his eyes.
"Not to be rude, but why are you here? Don't you have a specialist on call or something?"

"Of course I do," Mycroft replied with a small smile. "No, John, I'm not here to talk about my health. I'm here to talk about yours."

"Mine?" John leaned forward a little and folded his hands on the desk. "Sorry, don't know what you're talking about."

Mycroft let his eyes roam slowly over the other man, even though he'd observed everything he needed to in a matter of seconds, just to try and unnerve him a little. "Your hands are bruised and cut up," he finally said. "Have you been in a fight recently?"


"Hmmm. If I were to ask you to remove your pants so I could look at your hips, would you do it?"

"Of course not, Mycroft, what is this all about?"

"We found Sherlock."

If he hadn't been who he was, Mycroft would have missed the flash through John's eyes and the slightest of twitches between his eyes. "What do you mean you found Sherlock? I left him at the flat. Did he get in trouble on the case or something?" John asked.

"Oh, please don't play games like this, John, it demeans us both. Sherlock told us what happened to him during the night," Mycroft said. "The dear Detective Inspector didn't know how you could possibly do something so violent, so out of character, but you and I both know the answer to that one, don't we? You see, I had a much closer look at your military records, John, and it seems that something quite vital was left out."

"I don't want to know what you're talking about. Mycroft, I have patients to see, so if you don't mind, I need you to leave."

"I brought a replacement for you. It wouldn't do to have innocents suffer for your crimes, now would it? No, we have all the time in the world, though I do suggest you do not try and open the door or window any time soon." Mycroft grew serious. "I brought some very well trained gunmen with me, and they have orders to shoot you if you leave this office without me."

"Does it bother you that you're doing something completely illegal?" John demanded.

Mycroft took out his notebook and made a note. "More illegal than beating and stabbing a man near to death, raping him at some point during the attack?" he asked softly. "A man who considers you to be his only friend?"

"I didn't..."

"You didn't what, John?" Mycroft asked again. "Lestrade found him early this morning, after you'd left for work, and said that Sherlock was choking on his own blood. That he had held onto consciousness only long enough to be found and wasn't even sure what all had happened to him? We have experts combing both computers now to see what web page Sherlock was on that upset you so, but I'm more interested in how your severe temper issues were never reported."

"I don't have severe temper issues."

"Don't you?"

"No, I don't. I never have and never will, though living with Sherlock can be trying at times," John said. "I would never beat him, stab him or rape him, Mycroft. I thought you knew me better than that."

"I thought I did too," Mycroft said. "It isn't often that I'm wrong about something, but to be wrong about something so close to my brother is painful to me. I didn't even get a chance to see him before he went into surgery, or when he was out. Greg is taking care of him right now. He trusted me to do this."

John shook his head. "I know I locked the door behind me when I left, and Mrs. Hudson was gone. How did Lestrade get into the flat?"

"He has a key."

"He what?"

"Sherlock gave him one immediately after gaining his copy from Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft said. "I had hoped that he and Sherlock were finally going to take a flat together, they've been dancing around the issue for oh, so very long, but Sherlock insisted on his space." He smiled softly, at some memory. "And Greg gave in, although I could tell he wasn't happy about it."

"Why on earth should Greg Lestrade have a key to our flat?" John asked.

"You really don't observe, do you, John? Your first hour in the flat and Lestrade comes up the stairs after Mrs. Hudson has locked the door behind you all, and is in the flat with you," Mycroft said. "How on earth could he have managed that without a key? He certainly wouldn't pick the lock. Well, not in broad daylight anyway."

"You have totally lost me. Let's back up. Why would Lestrade want to live with Sherlock?" John asked.

"That's a little off-topic, John. We were talking about your temper. Tell me, did you ever tell Sherlock about the two enlisted men you put in the hospital for over two weeks?" Mycroft asked.

"They were attacking an innocent woman," John said shortly.

Mycroft studied him. "What web page was Sherlock studying last night?"

"I don't know, he was on the computer for hours. I don't know what he was doing."

"Was it your computer or his?"

"His, for once. I was working on the blog."

"Ah yes, the infamous blog. I had a look at it when it first posted, but had to get someone else to follow your posts. I do apologize for that slight, John, but there are only so many hours in each day and I do have so much to do most of them." Mycroft glanced at his notebook again. "You knew that Sherlock was a virgin when you attacked him. Was your attack based around the rape, or was that just something you decided on once you had him down?"

John pursed his lips. "Why do you keep mentioning that?" he asked.

"Sherlock is remarkably resilient when it comes to injuries," Mycroft said. "He always has been. It made him even more impossible as a child. He woke up and told Greg what happened last night, or part of it. You see, Sherlock was, what is the term, saving himself for the right moment. He had promised his first time to another, and is in considerable distress that gift was taken away."

"Sherlock doesn't have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. He's married to his work."

"You're right enough about that, he has a lover. Such an intimate term, lover. More mature than boyfriend or girlfriend. It's never been a surprise to me that they choose to use it, even if they haven't completely consummated their relationship."

"You know what, Mycroft, you're really freaking me out here," John said. "Get out of my office."

"John, you don't seem to realize exactly how serious your situation is, do you?" Mycroft asked with a small sigh. He tucked his notebook back into his jacket and looked up. "Regardless of your claims, until Sherlock is more recovered and can give a full statement of events, you're going to be a guest of the government."

"You're locking me up?" John almost shouted.

"Nothing so crude. You'll be in a nice apartment, perhaps nicer than you deserve, but we have to await the DNA tests results as well."

"What DNA tests results?"

"Oh, didn't I mention those?" Mycroft stood and moved to the coatrack. "When they were operating on Sherlock to repair the tears to his rear, they found semen. They sent it for testing. So you see, John, you have until those tests come back to me to tell me what really happened between you and my brother last night."

John caught his coat. "Nothing happened," he said.

"And the Captain makes an appearance. It's not a good look on you, John. Come along, let's get you settled and then I'll go and check on my brother. You had better hope, for your sake, that he's doing well. Otherwise, well, you might just vanish forever."

Sherlock woke up again and wondered how much time had passed. He didn't like being in the hospital, being sick or on pain medication. The drugs the doctors used fuzzed up his brain and made it hard for him to think. He felt pressure near his hand and looked down. Lestrade was asleep, his head pillowed on an arm next to Sherlock's hip, hand just touching Sherlock's. The younger man smiled and managed to move a finger to touch Lestrade's hand. He still didn't understand the human mind, understand why the man he loved was still with him after everything that had happened, after he was ruined, but was glad to see Lestrade. Sherlock didn't want to talk to anyone about what had happened to him at the flat, how John managed to get the best of him, but if he had to talk to anyone then he would talk to his lover.

Movement at the door caught his attention and Sherlock looked up. Mycroft stood there, staring into the room. Sherlock managed to shake his head, silently telling his brother not to talk and wake Lestrade. Mycroft nodded and moved silently into the room and sat down on the opposite side of the bed. The brothers couldn't speak silently, that would be impossible, but they were both accomplished enough at observation, and knew the other well enough, that a raised eyebrow or a head tilt spoke paragraphs to them.

Mycroft studied his younger brother closely. The doctor had stopped him in the hall to talk about the injuries Sherlock had suffered and what all had been done to repair the damage. The doctor was concerned with the shoulder stab wound and the punctured lung they'd had to repair, along with a broken rib. The multiple cuts had been stitched or bandaged, his left ankle was splinted to protect the tendons from further damage while it healed. But what worried Mycroft the worst was the rape. He knew that he shouldn't have goaded Sherlock at the palace, it had just slipped out in his frustration of having to deal with his little brother's quirks and attitude when there was a threat to the royal family. Mycroft wondered if it was his fault that his little brother, the man he was supposed to watch out for and protect no matter what, was lying in the hospital bed.

His gaze shifted to the man asleep next to his brother. Lestrade was going to be stiff when he woke up. That he was asleep in such a position, that he stayed with Sherlock spoke of the depth of love that Lestrade felt for his brother. Mycroft glanced up at Sherlock and caught him looking down at Lestrade, and Mycroft saw a foreign emotion in Sherlock's eyes. It was one he had never seen there before, and realized that it was love. Sherlock felt him looking and almost instantly his face was blank, as it so often was when dealing with his elder brother. Mycroft wasn't sure when they had come to the impasse of constantly snipping at each other, but he really hated it. He wanted his brother back, back the way they had been before school and life had marked them so badly and driven them apart.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked at the glass on the table next to the bed. Mycroft nodded, picked it up and held it up for Sherlock to drink out of. He tried to put the cup back as quietly as he had picked it up, but there was a click and, in the silence of the hospital room, it was loud enough to jar Lestrade awake.

"Sherlock?" he asked, looking up at his lover.

"Awake and more focused, but still cannot think," Sherlock replied. He smiled softly when his hand was back in his lover's. "They'll come to drug me soon for the pain."

"Is the pain bad, do you need me call someone in for you now?" Lestrade asked. He glanced at all the machines and caught sight of their other visitor. "Mycroft. How long have you been here?"

"Not long at all, Greg. I have taken care of that problem we spoke of, and have spoken with the doctor," Mycroft said. "Sherlock, once again, you have amazed the medical profession with your resilience. It seems most would not have survived such an attack."

"I've been hurt worse, and you know it, Mycroft," Sherlock said. "What's the damage?"

"Concussion, though mild I am assured, a severe stab wound to your right shoulder that will cause lasting scar tissue no matter how much physical therapy you do with it," Mycroft started. "Multiple deep lacerations made with the same knife that was used to stab you, in addition to blunt trauma caused by a beating. There is a broken rib that punctured your lung, which is why you were having such trouble breathing when Greg found you. Your hip tendons have been hyper-extended, but the doctor assures me that with rest and some therapy, you'll suffer no lasting damage there. Your ankle is immobilized until they're sure that they didn't miss anything there and all the tendons and ligaments have healed."

"Mycroft," Sherlock said softly.

"They stitched you up, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "They also found semen that is at my labs to be run. Greg tells me you know who attacked you. He will be in the database, as a soldier. Should you wish it, you have never to see him again."

"I am unsure," Sherlock said. "There was no warning, no signs before he attacked me. I should have observed a change in him and been able to fight him off."

"You had observed his temper?" Mycroft asked.

"There were signs of it, even with how he tried to hide them," Sherlock replied. He looked at the water cup again. Mycroft handed it to Lestrade, who helped Sherlock with the water.

"He put two men in the hospital for attacking a civilian woman while he was stationed abroad," Mycroft said softly. "John should have been tried and sent home, but the events fell through the cracks when there was a series of attacks on their base and he was sent out to the field. Somehow it was never entered into his file. That's how I missed it, Sherlock. I had no idea that he had such a violent temper, though I should have suspected. The best soldiers usually do, after all."

"What about this web site?" Lestrade asked. "Was it about violence against women, is that what set John off so bad?"

"It was for the case," Sherlock replied. "But I don't remember much else about it. I believe I had just opened the page when John hit me for the first time."

Lestrade ran a hand through Sherlock's curls and smiled at him. "You'll remember more as you get better," he said. "Mycroft and I can put the pieces together until then. You have to sleep, Sherlock."

"I don't want to."

"Let the doctors do what they have to, Sherlock, if only so you can leave this place that much faster," Mycroft said. "You know as well as I do that you'll feel better in your own bed."

Sherlock grumbled, but let Lestrade call in one of the floor nurses. They explained what was going on, and she checked the chart and gave Sherlock another shot of pain killers. The medicine knocked him out fairly quickly. Mycroft stood and motioned for Lestrade to join him just outside the room. "I know you'll want to stay here. Shall I send for food and some of your case files?" he asked. "That way you can work while keeping an eye on Sherlock and not let yourself get sick."

"Thank you," Lestrade sighed. He hated it, but if it meant he didn't have to leave his lover at such a vulnerable time, then he would take it. He could go back to being mad at Mycroft later.

"I have John in a, well, let's call it a safe house for now," Mycroft said. "I see no reason Sherlock should lie about something like this, no matter how annoyed he might be at someone, he has never lied to get them into trouble. He has an honest streak in him that causes trouble for him at times, but he's never tried to get another into trouble. Still, I won't rest easy until he's back at Baker Street, and we have the results of the DNA test."

"Your labs will get it done faster than mine could," Lestrade said. "What did John say?"

"He denied everything, of course, but he had not slept and his hands were extremely damaged. He did refuse to take down his trousers and pants for me to look at his hips, but I think I shall visit him again and insist on a full body exam for him. Sherlock would have fought back."

"Unless the first blow stunned him so badly that he wasn't able to," Lestrade said. "Think about it. Sherlock on his laptop, aware of his surroundings, but relaxed in his surveillance because he's at home with someone he trusts. John gets in behind him, he's probably done it before so Sherlock wouldn't think anything of it, and John hits him in the back of the head. That blow is enough to stun Sherlock and put him on the floor where John would have more control. It could have happened in seconds, Mycroft, and Sherlock wouldn't have been able to get a blow in."

"It could have, but I know my brother. He was protecting something he promised another. A special gift. He would have battled to keep that as long as possible," Mycroft said. "If nothing else, this will unnerve John and might make him slip up in his denials."

"Must be nice to be the government," Lestrade said. "I'll ring if anything happens here. I just want to get Sherlock physically healed and home. We can deal with the nightmares as they come."

"Greg, it's not easy for me to admit when I'm wrong, however, I have to admit that I am. While you were asleep, I caught Sherlock looking at you. He does love you. It's a weakness, as all emotions are, and one I did not think him capable of. You are a lucky man."

Lestrade smiled. "I've known that for years," he said. "Let me know what happens with John?"

"Of course."


It was nice enough, as prisons went. John had a view of the Thames out two of the windows and the bed was soft enough, but it was still a prison. He'd prowled the whole flat to check for bugs and other monitoring devices and, just because he hadn't found any, didn't mean they weren't there. This was Mycroft that he was dealing with, and John had to admit that he wasn't sure what all that meant.

He turned sharply when the door opened. "What are you doing here, Mycroft?"

"I thought you might wish to know that Sherlock awoke briefly and, while he is confused and fuzzy around the edges, he's making sense with his sentences and will, eventually, make a full recovery."

"I'm delighted to hear it. That mean you're going to let me go?"

"Of course not, John. I thought you understood that you've been named as the assailant and, as such, we have to confine you until the investigation is complete," Mycroft said. "However, it occurred to me at the hospital, while I was speaking with Greg, that a point in our investigations had been overlooked and that we should remedy that as quickly as possible."

"That sounds logical."

"Good. Take your clothing off, John, so we can photograph your body."

John's jaw dropped. "Sorry?"

"You heard me quite clearly and that is one trait I share with my dear little brother. I dislike repeating myself." He tapped his umbrella on the floor. "You see, John, I know my brother and how he will react in any given situation. Should he be attacked, he will fight back. He might not win, but the one who attacked him will bear some marks in very specific places. The same places that I would leave marks should anyone attack me."

"Yet you're in here alone with the man you think attacked your brother. I could do the same to you, Mycroft, if I've got temper issues."

Mycroft shook his head and pulled a sharp sword out of his umbrella. "Should you attack me, John, you wouldn't live long enough to get close to me. That's a difference between Sherlock and myself. I have never allowed myself the luxury of trusting anyone. Strip."

John glared at him, but pulled off his jumper and the shirt he had under it. Mycroft walked around him slowly and John flinched when he felt the cold blade touch his skin. "Here is one of Sherlock's marks," he said. "Right where I expected to find it. You didn't even realize he managed to touch you, did you, John? You were high on endorphins and probably didn't even realize how badly you were damaging your hands until you woke up this morning."

"How did he get a mark on me there?" John asked.

"The backward "S" is very specific and was taught to Sherlock by one of our tutors," Mycroft said. "Should you strip further, I'm sure I would find it in at least two more locations. The base of the shoulder, however, as this one is, was made when you were on top of him at some point. Maybe when you were cutting him, but more likely, I think, when you raped him. That would have given him time when you were distracted to mark you deeply without you knowing it. The location would be put off to a sore muscle, or sleeping wrong in the bed. I really am very disappointed in you, John. I thought you were Sherlock's friend."

"I am. I still don't know what you're talking about."

Mycroft's phone rang. "Do excuse me a minute, John." He took the phone out of his pocket and answered it, turning his back to the other man. "Mycroft."

John twisted his head around a few times, trying to see the mark on his back, the mark that Mycroft said Sherlock had left, but had to give it up as a bad job. Without a mirror, there was no way that John would be able to see the spot that had been mentioned. He sighed and started towards Mycroft, intending only to go past him and into the bathroom, but froze when the point of the sword was suddenly at his throat. He hadn't realized that the older man could move that fast.

"Don't come near me, John," Mycroft said softly. "Just sit on the sofa like a good boy and wait for me to finish up on the phone. Surely your mother taught you some manners."

"Bathroom," John managed to get out.

"Oh, yes, of course. Go ahead then." Mycroft followed John's body with the sword until John was well past him and into the other room.

That was the problem with the Holmes brothers, John thought. Just when you thought you had them worked out, one of them would do something like that and throw you for such a loop that nothing made sense and you were questioning everything. He looked in the mirror and found that there was a shape that, when looked at right, could have been an inverted "S" just below his right shoulder on the blade. John knew that he hadn't had the mark the night before when he went to bed and he wouldn't have looked at his back before he went to work.

"John, do be good and come out of there," Mycroft called. "Staring at your back will not make the mark go away, or explain it to you. I have some news you might find very interesting."

"You found the one who attacked Sherlock?" John asked, rejoining Mycroft in the front room.

"We know who attacked Sherlock," Mycroft replied. "I'm looking right at him, after all. No, that was my computer expert. He found the web page that Sherlock was looking at when he was attacked. As I expected, it was a page for the case involving The Woman. Sherlock never was a man to go in blind, and if there's an area he's unsure of, he will research it closely before he makes a move. Being such a fast reader, he can move through web pages quickly and retain the information to turn over in his mind later."

"What web page was it?" John asked.

"You know full well what the web page was, John. I imagine that the picture on the entry page is the one that set off your tempter." Mycroft moved to a consul on the wall and opened it, revealing a TV and keyboard. "There are a few small perks to these safe houses. Here is the page."

John looked at the screen and felt his stomach lurch. It was the same page he had seem on Sherlock's laptop the night before. The woman was being held down by two large men while a third stood to the side with a whip and a knife. The woman looked scared and seemed to be struggling against the men holding her down. It was a little too close to what he had interrupted in the service for comfort.

"I see that it does strike a nerve. However, this is a BDSM page, and the woman is acting," Mycroft said. He clicked a link and a new page came up, one full of links to other pages and information. "How much do you know about the subculture, John?"


"How interesting. Then you wouldn't know that some doms like for their subs to act afraid in certain scenes. I happen to know the club this page belongs to, and know the woman on the front page. She is one of the best subs at the club, and by far the best actress there. I do keep an eye on such things, to ensure that no one is stepping outside the bounds and thus outside the law." Mycroft looked at John. "This is a page I recommended to Sherlock via text. You attacked him when you saw the front page, and didn't allow him a chance to get into the main site. I also know, John, that Sherlock never met with Irene Adler and has yet to retrieve the pictures for his client. Given the extent of his injuries, he won't be able to do so for such time. I cannot accept such a threat to our Royal family, John. I am very disappointed in you. By attacking Sherlock as you did, you have hurt not only a great man, but my brother, your friend, and the only hope for the Royal family. There are no words to apologize for something so grievous."

"Mycroft, I keep telling you that I don't know what you're talking about," John said. "Can I put my top back on? It's cold in here."

"We wouldn't want you catching cold, now would we?" Mycroft asked. At some point, he had put his umbrella back together and it was in his hands as always. "I find it rather hard to believe that you blacked out, John. You would have had to go to the main level at some point before you left for work. According to Greg, the smell of blood was quite strong, and obvious. As a doctor, had you smelled it, you would have investigated to see what was wrong, and treated Sherlock for his injuries. The logic of the situation does not support your statements."

"When are we going to know for sure?"

"Well, my labs are faster than the ones at the Yard or Bart's, but it will still be a week or more for us to have even the most basic tests back. You'll be comfortable enough here, and a replacement has been provided to your surgery so your patients will not suffer your loss." Mycroft looked at his watch and sighed. "I have a meeting I cannot put off. Make yourself at home, John. I'm sure I'll be back to check on you at some point in the week."

John lunged towards Mycroft, just wanting to get out of the apartment, and found himself on the floor, his head ringing. Mycroft lowered his umbrella and sighed. "You won't be able to surprise me, John. I may loathe activity, but I do know how to take care of myself. Good day."

Lestrade sat and watched Sherlock sleep, his focus more on his lover than the paperwork the Yard had sent over for him. He'd wanted to fill out an official report on Sherlock's assault, but with John in Mycroft's care, Lestrade wasn't sure that the case would ever come to light in a court. It was possible that John would just vanish, the way that people sometimes did around the government. So he focused on other cases, other paperwork that needed his attention, even if he couldn't give it everything he had. Not with Sherlock lying so close to him, obviously hurting no matter how much medication they gave him.

He didn't know what he was going to be able to do to help Sherlock. His lover had such a strong mind that it was possible that the attack and rape would just be deleted, as Sherlock called it, but he couldn't imagine that doing it that way would be healthy. But did he have a right to make Sherlock retain memories of not only the assault and rape, but the betrayal by the man that had quickly come to be such a close friend to Sherlock? With time, Lestrade knew that a normal human would be able to come to terms with such a deep betrayal. With Sherlock, who had never had a close friend before, he had no clue what would happen.

"Stop it."

"Stop what, Sherlock?"

"You're thinking. It's annoying."

Lestrade smiled and stood up, leaning in to kiss his lover softly. Sherlock didn't pull back and seemed to want to reach up for more, but couldn't make his body work. "Greg," he whispered when his lover pulled back.

"You won't get more than that for a while, love," Lestrade said. "As much as I want to take you home and kiss every inch of your body, you're going to have a lot of healing to do."

"Emotions are for others," Sherlock said. "Is there water?"

"You may think that, and in most cases you're probably right." He held the cup for Sherlock. "But you love me, I know you do, and even Mycroft finally picked up on it. Love isn't a weakness, Sherlock. None of the emotions are."

"They get in the way of the work," Sherlock said. "Without my work, I'm nothing. You know that, and you've never argued the point before."

"You've never been hurt like this before." Lestrade sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and took Sherlock's hand in his. "You opened yourself up enough to let John become your friend. I never thought I would see that day, Sherlock. Now I don't know what to think."

"For someone who doesn't know what to think, you were certainly doing a lot of it," Sherlock grumbled. "It was enough to wake me up."

Lestrade grinned. "Sorry about that, love," he said. "I'll try to keep it down. I'm worried about you and trying to figure some things out. That's going to require some pretty heavy thinking."

"It's a boring case anyway. I told you who attacked me and why. There's nothing to investigate. It's over with."

"No, it's not. We need to know what made John so upset with that web page, why it would cause him to lose his temper and attack you so severely. We need to know the reason, Sherlock. I keep telling you that people aren't facts. Just because you know the basic answers, doesn't mean you know everything about it." Lestrade sighed. "Then there's dealing with your attack and injuries. You do know that rape survivors go through intense counseling to help them come to terms with what happened to them and help them get ready to go back out into society."

"And you know that I'm not everyone. I'll delete it."

"And what happens when I touch you and you have problems with it, but can't remember why and don't stop me?" Lestrade asked. "I'll remember all of this, Sherlock. I'm not you. I can't just delete something from my mind, no matter how much I want to. If I could, I would erase every single time you've been hurt, because seeing you hurt like this hurts me. I hate seeing you like this." He held up his hand. "Before you say it, no, I'm not leaving you here alone, so don't even bother with that argument this time around."

Sherlock looked puzzled. "Have I said that to you before?" he asked.

"I do wish you wouldn't just randomly delete things," Lestrade replied with a sigh. "Last time you were sick, before you moved into Baker Street, we had almost this exact conversation about how much I hated to see you hurt. You told me if it hurt me that much, I should leave."

"That does rather sound like something I would say," Sherlock agreed. "More water?"

"How's the pain on your scale?"

Sherlock swallowed the water in his mouth and thought for a moment. "It's tolerable," he finally said. "I wish I could feel more of my body so I could judge how badly hurt I really am."

"The fact that they're not letting you feel that pain should be a clue, love," Lestrade pointed out. "That, and the fact that you can't move your arms or legs without help."

"I want out of here."

"Not for another few days. I'll be here whenever you wake up."

"Kiss me again?"

Lestrade leaned in and pressed another soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. "I'd kiss every one of your injuries if I could," he whispered against his lover's lips. "I know you hate to hear this, Sherlock, but sleep. That's the best thing you can do right now."

"Sleep is boring."

"It might be boring, but it'll help you heal." Lestrade kissed him again. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until I'm sure you're better."

"What does your boss say about that?"

"He said it was about time I took a vacation, even if I am insisting on paperwork. I think he's just glad to have me finishing some of it up, truthfully. I won't get in trouble for a couple of weeks, Sherlock. I'll make it work."

Sherlock smiled at him. "Thank you, Greg," he murmured.

John thought he was going to go crazy having to spend the week locked up in a strange flat with nothing to do but stare out the window all day. He didn't know how Sherlock handled thinking all the time. John wanted to turn off his brain, not make it work, but didn't know how to do that either. He had meals brought to him three times a day, always with plastic forks and spoons, and there was no silverware or knives in the kitchen. He searched the whole flat and found that there was nothing there that could be used as a weapon to help him escape. Mycroft was good. John had known that, but seeing it applied to him was something else entirely. He kept hoping that he would be able to escape, that one of the people who brought him the food might be willing to help him, but they were all Mycroft's people, and it seemed, deeply loyal. It chaffed at John that he was stuck. There was no way for him to break out. The windows didn't even open more than two inches, so he couldn't get out of them. He'd tried forcing one of them, but had jumped back when the red laser pin-point appeared. It seemed that Mycroft still had snipers around watching him.

John had given up on all hope of a fair trial. It seemed that whenever the evidence came in, whatever it said, Mycroft was going to be judge and jury on it. There wouldn't be any public record of what happened to him anywhere. There probably wasn't even a report on Sherlock's attack and hospitalization at the Yard. John hadn't realized exactly what it meant when Mycroft was said to be the British government. It apparently meant that he could do anything he wanted and no one was going to be able to stop him.

He did feel bad that the Queen was still suffering. John knew that Sherlock hadn't been bluffing when he said that he would be able to get the pictures back for the Royal family, and the delay had to have caused problems and pain to not only the Queen, but others in the family as well. Having Sherlock in the hospital was a problem in more ways than one.

"Good afternoon, John," Mycroft said. "It seems you've had quite the productive week, and you gave my snipers a little bit of a workout, which was nice of you. I hadn't expected that. It is nice to know that they're as quick as ever."

"Come to kill me, Mycroft?"

"Of course not, John. Death is quite barbaric, and something I don't like to consider, aside from a practical exercise, of course." Mycroft sat down. "We've been doing some work on your phone records as well as your contacts, and found one that interests us a great deal. Would you care to tell me exactly when you started working for Moriarty?"


"Come now, John. Emails sent and received from an address we were able to track back to one of Moriarty's operatives. It seems that you've been working for him for a while, but we weren't able to find the exact date you started working for him."

"Four days after the failed bomb at the pool," a rough voice said from the door.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

The consulting detective was sitting in a wheelchair, face white, blanket over his lap and looking extremely frail. "He kidnapped John and did something to him before he was returned to me at the pool. I wasn't supposed to notice it, Mycroft," Sherlock said. He coughed and reached for the water that Lestrade was holding out. "Thank you, Greg. His contacts are always women so I would think that he was dating again. John didn't figure on me searching his room while he was at the surgery."

"You what?"

"I found the code book and notes in your hand, John, along with the contact information. I made a copy for myself and searched your computer. That's why none of your assignments for Moriarty have worked out recently. I know all your codes. I know every move you're making."

"But you didn't see this coming, did you?"

"I asked myself what hold Moriarty could have over you. What would make you change sides like you did? The answer was, as it so often is, a woman. Or rather, The Woman. This is why I believe emotions are so bad."

"Thank you, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "With Sherlock's help, even half drugged in the hospital, we managed to locate and obtain the photos and cripple both The Woman and Moriarty. Your attempt on my brother's life wasn't triggered solely by that web page, was it, John? You had received new orders from your boss to try and destroy Sherlock. Moriarty had learned through you that Sherlock was a virgin and he thought that rape would be an excellent way to start breaking my little brother forever."

Lestrade put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "It would have worked, if Sherlock wasn't the man he is. Moriarty underestimated him, and will continue to do so until we're able to kill him," he said.

"So you've gone over to the government, Lestrade?"

"I stand for the people. Sherlock is one of the people. He was raped and almost murdered. I will see justice for that attack." Lestrade leaned down. "You might want to close your eyes, love."

"I will."

Mycroft went to stand next to Sherlock while Lestrade crossed over to John. "I'm not one of them. I don't know how to kill someone without hurting myself in the process," he said. "I'm just a copper with the basic training on how to survive so I can do my job. But I had a rough childhood and learned a few things there."

John didn't see the fist coming, and the punch knocked him flat onto the ground. There was a foot on his arm before he could move to sit up. "You move, and your shoulder's gonna be in a world of hurt," Lestrade said. "Mycroft said I could hurt you as much as I wanted to. I thought about beating you to a bloody pulp for what you did to my lover, the one man who means more to me than anything; but I'm not you. I don't have to almost kill a man to hurt them."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I have the password to your blog," Lestrade said. "I think the latest entry is going to cause you enough harm. If it wasn't for the danger, we'd turn you loose and let you live through the backlash from the post. As it is, Mycroft hooked up the blog to the computer here, minus your posting privileges. You can read it, you just can't do anything about it."

"What did you write?"

"Let's call it a confessional," Lestrade smirked. "Sherlock helped me with the words so it sounds just like you. It also has your suicide note on it. No doubt the Yard will be getting calls on that here soon. They'll come to me, because we're such good friends."

"You can't do this."

"Can't we?"

Mycroft coughed. "They had my permission for this, John. You are my prisoner, after all, and here for my pleasure. It will take a few days to arrange a suitably unsuspicious homicide and make it look like a suicide," he said. "Here's the blog. You can refresh by pushing this part of the screen here. I am sorry there's no mouse or keyboard, but I cannot have you communicating with Moriarty. I wouldn't want you to contradict what we're telling him, you see."

"Sherlock, I can't believe you're helping them do this to me."

Eyes that were normally blue when they looked at him were a hard gray. "To you, John. To you. Human failings are so boringly predictable. They care only for their own skin. I had thought you above such a failing, that you cared more for those around you than you did for yourself. As I commented the first night we were together, there is always something that I miss. In this case, it cost me the one I thought of as my first friend."

"Greg, if you could take Sherlock home. I believe he needs to have a nap and eat something."

"Yeah, no problem." Lestrade refrained from kicking John before he left, even though he was tempted. "You need some of your medicine to get you home, love?"

"I'm fine, just sleepy."

"Okay, let's go get you taken care of."

Mycroft watched them leave and allowed himself a small smile. He was becoming rather fond of the detective. Maybe having him in the family wouldn't be such a bad thing. "John, I want you to note that Sherlock said first friend. He has never once, in his life, been able to make a friend. Greg is his lover, they have a different sort of relationship than Sherlock has shared with anyone else, other than you. He let you in. He let you see him at work and at rest. You betrayed him. I want to know one thing, and then I shall leave you to read your blog at your leisure. Just note that you'll be watched and any attempt to post to the blog or alter it in any way will result in your instant death."

"Just what are you telling Moriarty?"

"What he wants to know, of course," Mycroft smiled. "He's quite happy that Sherlock is completely out of commission for the foreseeable future, with you as his caretaker. I believe that some poison is due to arrive at Baker Street in the next week or so. That would make an interesting seasoning, wouldn't it?"

"I would never poison Sherlock."

"Just like you would never beat him?" Mycroft asked. "Or rape him? I think you'll find that, when the right leverage is applied, a human being will do whatever is asked of them."

"What leverage?"

"For the poison, Moriarty plans to hold your sister and her ex hostage. Oh, don't look like that, John. I've made sure they're both quite safe and in no danger of being kidnapped. I do fear that the latest post and suicide note make our continued exchanges with Moriarty quite impossible, but I'm willing to find another way to the man, one that doesn't involve further damage to my little brother. It is a shame you didn't think you could ask Sherlock for aid. He would have done anything for you."

John lay back on the floor. He had lost the energy needed to even get up and move to the sofa. "Just get it over with, Mycroft," he said.

"Don't you even want to know the result of the DNA tests?"

"Sure, why not?"

"We found Sherlock's blood, which was no big surprise, and your semen," Mycroft said. He put the folder on the table near the sofa. "Which was not really a surprise either. I only pushed this so I could have this information on record as having been told to you. I always believe in covering the bases."

"You've known since you picked me up at the surgery."

"Yes, of course. I knew before I sat down in the chair. I even understood why you were denying it so fiercely. What I don't understand, and suspect I never will, is why you chose to side with Moriarty when you knew how evil the man is. Sherlock and I will stop him, you could have come to us for help. We would have done whatever we could to help you."

"You wouldn't have been able to help me," John sighed. "Moriarty found out about the problems when I was on active duty and was going to send the reports to the newspapers if I didn't help him. It would have meant the end of my medical career as well as my life. There was nothing else I could do."

Mycroft sighed. "There was something else you could have done. You could have trusted my brother. I understand that's something friends do. I'll be back in a day or two, John. You'll have your blog with your full confession and suicide note to keep you company. I wonder how many people will try to talk you out of it?"

"Probably not many. Not that I deserve to be talked out of it. Just get it over with, Mycroft. I'm tired."

"In a day or two, John. In a day or two. I want you to suffer a little more for what you did to my brother."

Sherlock fussed about eating the take away that Lestrade insisted on, but he ate it because he knew that it would help his stomach not get sick from the medication he was still on. He had never liked eating, not common food, and found it a trial to be on such a regimented diet. Lestrade was having to get extremely creative to get him to eat, but fought the battle every meal because he knew that food would help Sherlock heal physically. "I wanted to ask you a question, Sherlock."

"You can move in whenever you want, Greg," Sherlock replied. He shifted on the pillows. "We can use the upstairs room for storage or a lab for me."

"I should be used to that by now," Lestrade grinned. He helped Sherlock lean forward and fluffed the pillows around. "If you can manage to sleep for an hour, I'll let you spend some time out in the sitting room on the sofa tonight. It's time to get you moving around a little more."

"Can I have a newspaper?" Sherlock asked through a yawn.

"We'll see," Lestrade said. He kissed his lover softly. "I'll just be out in the kitchen, call if you need me for anything."

Sherlock was asleep before Lestrade made it four steps. The detective checked to make sure the window was locked, smiling softly at the replacement glass Mycroft had installed. As long as they had it locked from the inside, no one was breaking into their flat through any of the windows. It was one of the reasons Lestrade was moving to Baker Street. He sat down at the kitchen table and took out his cell phone. "Hey Mycroft, he agreed. He already knew. Can you arrange to have my flat packed up and my stuff moved here? I don't want to leave him."

"Of course, Greg. It would be my pleasure. Is Sherlock asleep?"

"Yeah, I think going out and seeing John really wore him out. I'm going to start getting him to walk around the flat starting tonight, but he's got a long road ahead of him."

"With you there to help, Greg, I suspect that it won't be nearly as long as you think it is. Sherlock has always recovered remarkably well from injury and illness." Mycroft paused. "Do you want to know when I have John killed?"

"No. I know that Sherlock will find out about it, and no matter how much he wants to forget about it, it's going to hurt him. I'd rather keep the pain as low as possible for as long as possible."

"Then we shall have to send Mrs. Hudson on a long trip."

Lestrade laughed. "I spoke to her. She won't bring John up until Sherlock does. You have to give people some credit, Mycroft. They can feel for others without saying every little thing on their minds," Lestrade said. "Look, I wanted to apologize for what I said when Sherlock was in surgery. I shouldn't have said it and I'm sorry."

"I needed to hear it. Don't give it another thought. I'm just happy that you're not trying to keep me out of my brother's life. I do worry about him."

"So do I. I suppose we may as well worry together, because he's not going to take care of himself."

"That's what he has you for."

Lestrade carefully kept the papers away from Sherlock the few days around the day that John died and the reports concerning his discovery and the police report surrounding it. Harry had called the Yard three times and accused them of allowing her brother to die without trying to do anything to stop him. But, she was drunk all three times she called, and there wasn't much that she could do to prove one way or another that the Yard did or didn't do anything to stop John killing himself.

"I know it's happened, you know," Sherlock said. He was stretched out on the sofa, feet higher than his head, trying to stretch his toes. "Should toes cramp do you think, Greg?"

"I shouldn't think so." Lestrade perched on the arm near his lover's feet and started to massage them. "What do you know happened?"

"John's dead. I can hear you trying not to think about it. I really don't know what I'm supposed to feel about it."

Lestrade sighed. "You can feel more than one emotion at a time, you know," he said. "It's possible to feel happy, sad and angry all at once and no one would think you odd. John was your friend before the attack, and maybe even after it. Betrayal is hard to accept from anyone and in any form. I don't blame you for being confused."

"I'm not confused. I'm puzzled. There's a difference."

"If you say so. Why are your feet so cold?"

"They always are."

"I'm getting you good socks for Christmas this year then."


"Practical," Lestrade smiled. "I told my boss I've moved."

"How did that go?"

"I think he's wondering why I would move in with my consulting detective, or maybe he suspects something is going on and just doesn't want to say anything because there might be conflict issues if he does. At any rate, he's not going to raise a fuss about me being here, unless we do something we're not supposed to."

Sherlock snorted. "Please, I'm not going to snog you at a crime scene. Anderson would drop dead in shock and then I would be bored at crime scenes," he said.

"I knew you liked him for some reason."

"Just the one. Insulting him keeps me on my toes. It's a mental exercise to warm me up for the crime scene." Sherlock nudged Lestrade with his free foot. "I'm not going to break and I'm cold."

Lestrade sighed. "We're taking this more slowly than we were before." But he shifted down until he was lying behind Sherlock on the sofa, holding his lover against his chest.

"Just out of curiosity, what did you tell my brother when he asked if I was still a virgin?" Sherlock asked sleepily.

"That as far as our relationship was concerned, you were still a virgin when you were attacked."

"Thank you for not sharing the details of what we have done. I don't know if I could look Mycroft in the eye if he knew about my intimate life as well as everything else."

"I've got one up on him. He watches the BDSM clubs, Sherlock. I did a little checking. He's a member of three of them."

"That doesn't surprise me in the least," Sherlock murmured. "Live and let live?"

"For now, yes. But if he tries to interfere again, I might change my mind."

"That's acceptable. I do love you, Greg. Thank you for not abandoning me when I was attacked."

"Of course I wouldn't abandon you," Lestrade said. "I love you and I'm not leaving you, you annoying git. Go to sleep. I'll wake you up when we have to move to the bed."