a/n: Sorry it's been so long, I had a lot of personal things going on.

You'll all be happy to know that even though this will be the final chapter of this story the sequel (which will consist of the healing process) has already been started and should be up soon.

At any rate I hope you enjoy :)

Sherlock's POV

Bright, the lights were far too bright and it made Sherlock squeeze his eyes shut even tighter. He could hear people talking quietly and softly but wasn't quite able to make out any words. Sherlock slowly let his eyes flutter open before moving around the room. The room was mostly white and reeked of disinfectant, Sherlock scrunched his nose up at the smell.

Sherlock looked over to the door where there were people standing, talking quietly. He could just barely make out a faint, "shh he's awake" before one of them began walking over to him, moving a coat out of the way before sitting in the chair next to his head.

"Sherlock" the man said gently and Sherlock turned his head to look at him better. It was Mycroft, the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched, into an almost smile. Mycroft gave Sherlock a tight smile in return.

"Do you know who I am?" Mycroft asked flatly. Sherlock nodded.

"Of course Mycroft" Sherlock said softly. Mycroft let out a breath and nodded.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions Sherlock and I need you to be honest with me" Sherlock frowned at his statement but nodded all the same.

"Where is Moriarty?" Mycroft asked calmly. Sherlock's eyes widened and he shook his head.

"I don't know" he said, still shaking his head "I don't know" Mycroft sighed, pressing his palms together.

"Sherlock you don't need to protect him, he can't hurt you anymore" Mycroft said softly.

"I don't know" Sherlock said, slightly louder than he had before. Mycroft nodded.

"Okay, alright, I believe you" Mycroft said, resting a hand on Sherlock's forearm to get Sherlock to stop shaking his head. Sherlock stopped and looked down at Mycroft's hand and then back up to Mycroft before wrenching his arm out of Mycroft's grasp.

Mycroft cleared his throat, setting both hands down in his lap.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Mycroft asked softly. Sherlock began shaking his head again, pulling his knees up to his chest and rocking. Mycroft sighed again.

"Alright Sherlock it's ok, it's all okay now"

John had waited outside the room during Mycroft and Sherlock's exchange. Sherlock had looked so frightened, not of Mycroft per say, but of what Mycroft had been asking him, he seemed to act as though this was all a trick and at any moment Moriarty would come and snatch him up.

John sighed, scrubbing his face with the rough palms of his hands.

"He's not willing to talk about it" Mycroft said tiredly, a slight tint of irritation in his voice, as he close Sherlock's door.

"Not surprising" John responded. Mycroft nodded, rubbing his face.

"We'll try again in a few days, in the meantime he's to go see a specialist for a psychological evaluation, which will hopefully give us some answers." John nodded in agreement.

"Do you think Sherlock knows where Moriarty is?" John asked curiously.

"If he does he's too afraid to tell us, anytime Moriarty or what happened is brought up he becomes unresponsive" John sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And you think it's too early for me to try to talk to him?" Mycroft nodded.

"Yes we don't want to overload him too much, and I feel that your presence might be a bit much for him at the moment." John nodded in understanding. Mycroft bid him farewell, walking down the hall to the elevator. John lingered outside of Sherlock's room, watching as Sherlock tossed and turned in bed in a failing attempt to get comfortable.

It would be a long time, John thought, it would be a long time till he ever felt comfortable again.

Moriarty was lying stark naked face down on a beach blanket when the call came.

"What did you do to him?" Mycroft asked angrily. Moriarty smiled smugly.

"Dear me Mr. Holmes" Moriarty said cheerfully. "I dare say you have a bit of an anger problem"

"What did you do?" Moriarty chuckled.

"I simply ruined your most valuable asset, merely tampered with his mind"

"You've ruined him" Mycroft said in a low tone. Moriarty chuckled again.

"You know you really should come visit, Greece is lovely this time of year"

Mycroft looked down at his phone, listening to the dial tone on the other end. He let out a shuddering breath, setting his phone on the table in front of him, resting his elbows there as well before placing his head in his hands. It didn't take long before Mycroft could feel the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He had always prided himself with being able to hold his emotions in, always so well composed.

But now was different, now he was weak as he let the hot angry tears run down his cheeks, weak as he let the sobs shake his body. What had he done to his brother? Mycroft blamed himself, he knew that it had been his fault that this had happened, he'd been so careless.

Mycroft wasn't sure what time he'd stopped crying all he knew was that now he was in Sherlock's room, sitting in the chair next to his bed, watching as Sherlock watched the news.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked softly, carefully.

"Hmm?" Sherlock tilted his head the slightest bit to indicate he was listening, not bothering to take his eyes from the television screen in front of him.

"Can I bring a friend to come visit you?"

"Is it Lestrade?" Sherlock asked with the tiniest bit of excitement in his voice, Greg had visited a few days ago and had spent most of the day with Sherlock, talking about seemingly nothing. Mycroft shook his head.

"No I was thinking of someone else" Sherlock frowned and scrunched up his nose.

"I suppose you may." Sherlock said, reclining his bed the slightest bit. "But not today, I'm tired" Mycroft nodded, helping to cover Sherlock with the hospital blanket. Mycroft suddenly had flashbacks to when he was a teenager of having to take care of Sherlock, he never dreamed that he'd be doing this again. Mycroft, overcome with emotion leaned down and brushed hair off Sherlock's forehead before gently placing a kiss there.

John's anxiety spiked the second after Mycroft told him.

"Did you tell him it was me?" Mycroft sighed, shaking his head. "Well why the hell not, he's going to freak out again."

Mycroft sighed again, he'd been doing that a lot lately, "right now he's acting as though nothing happened and he's simply in the hospital because he hasn't been eating, he's pretending nothing happened." John shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms. "I'll be in there with you" Mycroft said tiredly. John nodded once in conformation, before grabbing his jacket and walking down and out of the flat.

Before John knew it he was standing outside of Sherlock's hospital room, watching as Sherlock worked on a rubik's cube. Mycroft walked into the room first, walking over to Sherlock and whispering to him quietly.

Mycroft looked up and motioned for John to come over.

"Hi Sherlock" John said softly. There was a sudden look of fear and discomfort on Sherlock's face and he looked over to Mycroft shaking his head quickly.

"No" he said softly at first. John frowned and looked over at Mycroft. "No" Sherlock repeated again, slightly louder, the longer John stood near him the louder he became until he was screaming. Mycroft escorted John out of Sherlock's room and into the hall, closing the door behind him, for Sherlock was still screaming.

"I apologize John, I thought he was getting better but when it comes to you he regresses." John shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"It's fine, how could you have known?"

"I feel as though he's not been making progress" Mycroft said sighing. John shook his head again.

"He has though, someone cut his hair" Mycroft smiled a little.

"Yes he refused to let anyone touch him except for me, so that was my doing" John nodded, a small smile on his face. "I just don't get why you're the exception" John shook his head.

"It's Moriarty, he probably didn't want Sherlock to trust me"

"Yes probably so more than the rest of us, he still won't talk about what happened, whenever he's asked he clams up" John nodded in understanding. "We may never know what went on in there"

Sherlock regressed after John's visit, refusing to let anyone near him that wasn't a doctor or nurse, and even they were barely able to touch him without him becoming hysterical. Any and all progress that had been made had been lost in the short span of 60 seconds. The doctor said it was due to psychological trauma to an old wound, almost as if you had a fresh scab, barely dry, and then proceeded to rip it off.

They were no closer to finding out what exactly happened to him and even further from ever finding Moriarty. Sherlock refused to eat little more than plain bread and slept most of the day away. Mycroft stood outside his room, looking in, his arms crossed in displeasure.

He of course blamed himself, if only he'd waited to bring John in, if only he had done a better job of protecting his brother none of this would have happened in the first place. Mycroft sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

"This isn't your fault" Lestrade said, appearing suddenly behind Mycroft.

"It is though" Mycroft responded, dropping his hand to his side. "This was orchestrated for me, his suffering is my fault."

"His reaction to John isn't though" Lestrade said gently. Mycroft shook his head, recrossing his arms.

"I know you you feel like this is your fault because you held Moriarty captive but you had no reason to ever suspect that this would be the outcome." Lestrade explained, placing a reassuring hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "All we can do now is hope for the best"

John didn't go back to the hospital and that was probably for the best. Mycroft would text him updates now and again but Sherlock's condition hadn't improved or changed. John blamed himself for Sherlock's regression though Mycroft and Lestrade had assured him it wasn't his fault. It did nothing to ease him.

He couldn't stop thinking, about what could have possibly gone on, what horrors had transpired to make him so fearful? John knew of course that Sherlock had been under the influence of drugs at one point but what kind and to what extent, that John didn't know.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, pulling his knees up to his chest. The amount of trauma that Sherlock must have endured to break was unimaginable to John, how hard, how long must it have taken to break him. John suddenly heard footsteps coming up the stairs but he was too tired to pay attention to who they belonged to. Lestrade popped his head in, looking around for John before he spotted him in his chair.

Lestrade wandered over, seating himself across from John in Sherlock's chair, perching on the edge. Lestrade opened his mouth to speak before closing it, frowning and clasping his hands together between his knees.

"They've taken Sherlock up to the fourth floor for rehab" John frowned, unfolding from himself and sitting up straight.

"They took him up to pysch?" Lestrade nodded. John shook his head, slowly leaning back into his chair, his shoulders slumping. "Does Mycroft know?"

"Lestrade nodded. "He actually was the one to suggest it" John's eyebrows shot up into his hairline

"Mycroft suggested that he go to the floor of the hospital where he can't leave until he's sane?" Lestrade nodded. "Sherlock being himself isn't 100% sane, he won't be the same,"

"He's not the same now John" Lestrade said, cutting him off. "He's not getting better, this is the only option left" John frowned but he nodded all the same. "It's the only hope we have left."

FIN