Chapter Seven

Going Home

Once Sherlock was with Sandy, he felt a little better. She led him to a room with several men and women sitting around in various stages of undress. She sat him down on the sofa and told him to relax for a while there.

"Who's this cutie?" one of the other girls there asked in front of him.

"Oh, I found him down in the hallway. He's lost his manager, I think," Sandy told her as they came and sat down by him.

"Honey, you look like you're lonely now. Did your manager leave you?" the other girl said. He would later know her as Tammy.

Sherlock looked at her and felt the world closing in on him. "Cecil left me."

"Poor dear, well don't worry, our manager will help you out, I'll get him," Sandy said and got up to go find him. She returned a short time later with a tall, thin man with dyed blue hair and glasses. "Here he is," she said and pointed to Sherlock.

"Well, he's not bad, hair's a mess but those curls would make him popular. You know I usually don't take boys," the man said with a frown. "But since you asked nice, and you've been doing well lately, I'll do this one a favor." He knelt in front of Sherlock and looked up at his face. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Sherlock," he said quietly, just above a whisper.

"Sherlock? How about we call you Sherly. That sounds better. Sherly, I'm Randal. Tammy and Sandy here are two of my girls. They tell me you got left by your manager." He reached up and tipped Sherlock's head upward a bit. "What's your drug?"

Sherlock swallowed and took out the packet of pills and showed him. Randal nodded. "Benzos. Easy enough, there. Now, you're gonna be a good boy and do what I say from now on, aren't you?"

Sherlock didn't know what else to do. He only had eight of his pills and no way to get more. This guy was offering to provide for him. He just had to follow instructions. He was good at that. He could do what someone said.

So, that was how Sherlock became one of Randal's employees at the brothel. It wasn't an organized operation, only haphazardly thrown together and put in an empty building. At first, nothing seemed to change. He would wait in the open room with the girls, sitting by himself most the time. He didn't talk to anyone usually. Randal would give him his drugs when he needed them, and it seemed like an easy deal. Then he realized what it was that Randal expected him to do.

"We've only got one boy right now," he heard Randal's voice nearby. He was walking with a young man perhaps twenty or so years of age. "Sherly?" he asked.

Sherlock looked up and locked eyes with Randal. He smiled at him. "Take Jesse here up to a room and do whatever he wants. When you're done, I'll make sure to have some of your pills ready for you."

Sherlock blinked, confused for a minute about what he was supposed to do but he stood up anyway and led the young man to one of he empty rooms. The rooms were thrown together with not much more than a mattress on the floor.

"You do what I want, right?" Jesse asked as he stood inside the doorway and shut it behind him.

Sherlock only nodded. He was told to do whatever this guy wanted.

"I've never done this with a guy before, and I don't want my friends to know but I've been curious about what it's like. So, get undressed."

Sherlock swallowed and did as he said. For the next hour, he did what he was told and at the end, when he went back down to the main room, Randal gave him a dose of his pills. He reached up and ruffled Sherlock's hair and smiled.

"Good boy," he said, and Sherlock felt a familiar sense of pride come over him. He could be a good boy for Randal just like for Cecil. The difference was Randal didn't hit him when he was mad, and he didn't tie him up or anything. He just was a good person to Sherlock, so he wanted his praise and to make him happy.

Over the two months, Sherlock kept doing what he was told. He didn't see a lot of clients because most of them were there to see the girls. Still, he did what he had to do, and Randal was kind to him. He spent most of his days in a doped-up haze. Then, the night came that everything changed again. The police came into the building, sending most the girls running. Sherlock tried to stay with Sandy, but they got separated when a fire started in the main room somehow. He managed to get out and hide in an alleyway. He was scared and didn't know what he was going to do. He needed Randal. He needed someone to tell him what to do now.

He was startled when someone shook him awake. He looked up to see a guy with a rough look about him. "Come on, now. Yer in Serendipity's area. You're gonna go see her."

Serendipity? He thought maybe she would be able to help him get his pills, so he stood up and limped after the guy, pulling the threadbare coat tight around him.

That was how he ended up in the room with a bunch of the girls from the brothel waiting for this Serendipity to come tell them what to do. Then, he was looking up into a face he didn't expect. He had a beard and his hair was long and shaggy, but he didn't know who it was anymore.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

John stared in disbelief at the fact he'd finally found him.

"Sherlock…" he said and knelt in front of him, reaching out and taking his face in his hands. Sherlock stared at him, wide eyed and breath quickening.

Serendipity put a hand on John's back. "Come on, sugar. Let's get you and him into a room by yourselves, then you can decide what to do," she said and motioned for one of her men, Carl actually.

John stood up and looked at Sherlock. "Sherlock, we're going somewhere else. So, you need to get up."

Sherlock, still in a drugged state, just looked up at him blankly. Carl took the chance and grabbed him by the arm and stood him up. Sherlock stared at Carl but didn't resist him. John didn't try to take his hand or anything yet, just followed Carl as he escorted him to the elevator. They rode silently up at to the top floor and Carl pushed Sherlock into the room, letting John in behind him.

Sherlock stood in the room, unsure of what to do. He flinched when he felt John touch him gently. "Sherlock, what happened? Where did Cecil go?" John asked him.

"He left me," he said hoarsely, eyes locked on John as he stood in front of him.

John swallowed and wondered what he was on. "Can you tell me what kind of drugs you're taking?"

Sherlock fumbled into his pocket and pulled out a small baggie with two more pills in it. John took it and frowned. "Are these benzodiazepines?" Sherlock nodded slowly. "I can probably get Serendipity to get some for you, so we can wean you off of them."

John went to the door and found Carl still standing there. "Carl, could you have Serendipity come up? I need to talk to her about a few things."

Carl nodded and headed down to the elevator. John shut the door and turned back to Sherlock with a sigh. He'd found him, and he didn't know what to do with him. He needed to wean him off the drugs and he needed to get him home. He reached out and took him by the shoulders and steered him to sit on the bed.

"Sherlock, can you tell me what happened?" John asked, standing in front of him.

He looked up at John. He merely shook his head and looked back down at the ground. John heard the door open and looked behind him to see Serendipity.

"I hate to ask, but can you provide me a way to get benzos for him until I can wean him off of them?" John asked her as she came to stand beside him.

She nodded. "I can provide them. You have the money to cover the cost?" she asked.

"Yeah, though I should be able to get him a prescription for them as well once I get him to the hospital," he said and glanced at Sherlock's bowed head.

Serendipity nodded and patted John on the back. "You should work on getting him back to your home. Do you have a contact with the FBI for here?"

"Yeah," John said and sighed deeply. "Damien Haverford."

John dug in his pocket and got out his card. "I should call him now," he said and pulled out his phone.

"Haverford," came the curt answer on the other end.

"Agent Haverford, this is John Watson. I was looking for Sherlock Holmes here in New York," John explained as he looked over at Serendipity.

"I don't have anything for you," Haverford said mechanically.

"Well, I found him myself," John said, biting back a stronger retort that at least he'd done something when the FBI had been useless.

There was a pause. "You found him yourself?" Haverford asked with curiosity. "Where?"

"He was in a drug den and brothel in Serendipity's territory," John answered. "I need to get him back to London as soon as possible."

"Bring him in," he said and gave John an address. "We'll start the process of getting him processed to go back home again. We'll have to go through the right channels since he was brought into the States illegally."

John nodded to himself. "Alright, he needs to be seen to at a hospital as soon as possible. Can I meet you at one nearby?"

Haverford paused for a second. "Sure, here, I'll meet you at the one closest to you. What is your current location?"

John relayed the current location and they decided the closest hospital to where he was. "I'll get a ride and meet you there."

John put away his phone and stared at Sherlock. He was just watching him. He knelt in front of him and cupped his face with both hands. He felt tears prick at his eyes because there was no recognition in those vacant eyes that looked back at him.

"Sherlock. Please, tell me you remember who I am?" he said and held back the impending tears that threatened him.

There was only a blank stare returned to him. John swallowed and licked his too dry lips. He was drugged out of his head, and he had probably been that way for most of the last five years. Who knew what he had been through in that time as well. They had no idea how he had suffered. They had no idea what exactly he had gone through in that amount of time being dragged all over the place by Cecil.

"We need to go to the hospital and have him checked out," John said as he stood up. He glanced at Serendipity. "Can someone give us a ride there or should I call a cab?"

Serendipity shook her head. "No, I can have someone take you. Carl?" she said and called out to the tall man. "Will you take them to the nearest hospital?"

"Of course," Carl said with a gentle smile.

"Sherlock," John said as he took him by the arm and lifted him to stand. "Come on, we need to get you seen to," he told him as he guided him after Carl toward the door. Sherlock just followed along and said nothing more than he'd already said.

John took him to the car and got him settled into the back seat and then slid in beside him. He took his bony hand in his and kissed his knuckles gently. Sherlock only stared at him, still wide eyed and blank. They sat in silence the rest of the way to the Emergency Room. Carl pulled up at the doorway.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

"No, I've got him from here. The FBI agent is hopefully here already." John really didn't want to have to explain Sherlock's condition to more people than necessary. He grabbed Sherlock by the arm and steered him into the emergency. Once inside, he saw the obvious FBI agent standing at the triage desk.

"Dr. Watson," Haverford said as he approached. "I've explained things to the nurse here and she's called for a doctor to come have a look at him. Do you have any idea if he's suffering from anything acute?"

John shook his head. "He has a limp, and he's higher than a kite right now. He's on benzodiazepines. He'll need to be weaned off of them slowly."

Haverford nodded. "Alright. I've put a call in to your people and started the process of getting you two back home."

"Dr. Watson?" the nurse said from behind the desk. "Dr. Chesterfield will see you two now."

John nodded and led Sherlock after the nurse to a room where a dark-haired woman with glasses waited in a doctor's coat. She adjusted her glasses as they came in and looked over Sherlock. She glanced at John.

"I understand that he's an abduction victim?" she asked.

John nodded and pushed Sherlock to sit down on the bed in the center of the room. He did so automatically without seeming to look anywhere else.

"Sherlock?" John said and cupped his face again.

Sherlock merely blinked at him a few times.

"The doctor is going to take a look at you, and then we're going to make sure you're okay," he told him. Still no response other than blinking. John turned to the other doctor in the room. "I'm worried at his lack of response."

"Tell me the circumstances you found him in," Dr. Chesterfield said as she set to work doing a blood draw on him.

"He was in a brothel that was busted and found when he ran from the raid. It was a drug den and he's been on benzos. I don't know what else he might have had, but right now I'm concerned with weaning him off the benzodiazepines." John stood back and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her intently as she managed to find a vein and take several vials of blood.

"Considering where he was, he needs to be tested for STIs," she said with a glance at John.

John nodded. He didn't want to think about that with his Sherlock, but he knew that once he'd been addicted to a substance it was going to be hard for him to go without it and he'd do a lot of things to get more.

The doctor finished taking the vials of blood and bandaged his arm. "He appears to be malnourished and dehydrated," Dr. Chesterfield said with a sigh as she started using the stethoscope to check his lungs. She looked over his hands and then his feet. She paused when she got to his ankle. "This healed badly; he may need surgery on it."

John had been afraid of that considering the pronounced limp he had. "I'm not surprised at that."

"More than anything, he needs a good shower and a bed to rest in. Are you taking care of him now?" she asked as she stood bac.

"I will be from now on," John said. "I'm his fiancé. We should be going home back to London where I can take care of him best."

"Do you know what dosage he's been taking?" she asked.

"Yeah, these," John said and showed her the pills Sherlock had been taking.

"I'll write out a prescription that you can pick up in the pharmacy for them to wean him off. You know how important it is to keep an eye out for any extreme reactions," she said as she turned to the computer and typed in the prescription for him. "I take it you will be in contact through Agent Haverford?"

"Yes," John nodded. "I take it you want to keep him overnight?"

"I'd like him to stay tonight at least. Most of the bloodwork will be back by morning tomorrow. You can stay with him, though. I'll send a nurse in that will take you to his room," she said and smiled to John.

John sighed and sat down in the chair as they waited for the nurse to come in with the wheelchair to transport him. In a few minutes, a young woman with blonde hair in long pigtails came into the room. She wore pink scrubs and was smiling brightly.

"Mr. Watson?" she said as she looked at John.

"Dr. Watson." John stood up and helped transfer Sherlock to the chair. He was starting to look around anxiously and John bet it was because he was coming down off his last dose of the benzos.

"I'm Cheryl, and I'll be Sherlock's nurse for tonight," she said as she began pushing Sherlock out of the room. "I understand he's had a very stressful circumstance, so he's been put in a private room."

John was glad of that. Before long, they arrived, and the nurse gave John a couple of gowns. "Do you wish to help him shower or do I need to help?"

"I can help him," John assured and took the gowns from her. "Thank you."

"Just use the call button if you need anything," she said as she turned and left.

John turned to Sherlock and sighed. He went to the wheelchair and pulled him to his feet again. John felt him flinch a little at his touch this time. He took him into the bathroom and started taking off his dingy clothes. He was wearing threadbare trousers and a grimy t-shirt with a dirty hoodie. He unzipped the hoodie and dropped it in the bin, shortly followed by the t-shirt and the trousers. Once he got him undressed, he found he was painfully thin and covered in scars and fading bruises.

"Oh, Sherlock," John whispered as he got him into the shower and turned it on. Sherlock flinched but seemed to melt into the warm water once it got going. John used almost the whole bottle of bodywash on him getting the grime and dirt off of him. When he was done, and had Sherlock in the two gowns, he had exhausted himself. He sighed as he got him into the bed.

"Sherlock, how are you feeling?" John asked him again.

Sherlock looked at him and swallowed in a nervous way. "I need…"

"You don't need the pills, Sherlock," he said as he patted his arm. "They'll bring you a dose this evening. For now, you'll have to deal with a little bit of withdrawal."

John sat down beside the bed and waited until the nurse came around with evening meds and dinner for Sherlock. He picked at his food and barely ate any of it but took his medicine without a problem. After he was medicated, he fell into a fitful sleep. John set himself beside the bed to wait through the night.

The next morning, John woke up when they brought breakfast for Sherlock. He sat up stiffly. He then realized they weren't alone. He saw Agent Haverford standing just inside the door.

"Agent Haverford," John said as he stood up.

"Dr. Watson, good to see you again. I came by to see if we can get anything out of Sherlock."

John sighed and shook his head. "He's barely said five words since yesterday when I found him."

Haverford nodded. "We have to try and see if we can't track down this guy."

He turned toward Sherlock who was sitting up and pushing food around the tray they brought him. He still looked hollow and distant.

"Sherlock?" Haverford said and stood next to the bed. Sherlock turned and stared at him. John internally cheered that he was at least starting to react to his name.

"What happened to Cecil?"

Sherlock blinked and spoke, voice still hoarse. "He left me."

"Where did he go?" Haverford asked. "Did he say what he was going to do?"

"Home," Sherlock said. "He went home. And left me."

John swallowed a lump in his throat. "He went back to London?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged and stared at him again. Haverford nodded. "I'll put in an APB and see if we can't catch him trying to leave the country. He's here illegally so that means he's going to use illegal channels to get out of the country again."

"Can I take him home?" John asked with a little trepidation.

"Not yet," Haverford said with a shake of his head. "I haven't gotten everything set up to take him out of the country yet. I think the doctor wants to keep him here at least a week while he's still on a high dose of benzodiazepines."

John nodded. "Very well."

John would spend the next two weeks waiting with Sherlock in the hospital. He started going through withdrawal, mostly being sick and throwing up several times a day. By the time he was at the end of the two weeks, they had tapered him to a low dose of the benzodiazepines. He had mostly gotten through the acute part of the withdrawal. As he came down off the drugs, he was obviously suffering from severe anxiety. He still mostly refused to talk. He started eating better when he wasn't sick. John was pleased with his progress medically, but mentally, there was seemingly no forward progress even though the psychiatric consult tried to engage him.

Now, they stood at the air field, heading toward a jet that was going to take them home. John put his arm around Sherlock and steered him to the jet. It was a semi-private flight arranged by the FBI to take them home, so there would be few people on the plane. They obviously couldn't sedate him for the travel. Surprisingly, John thought he was doing well. He was just still so vacant that it killed John inside to see him like that.

The trip was quiet. Sherlock stared out the window for most of the trip, barely moving except when he was told to do so by John.

The psychiatrist had warned John of the possibility of Stockholm Syndrome being a problem. They couldn't get Sherlock to talk, so it was hard to determine what exactly what was going on with him. John watched with an aching heart because there was nothing he could do but wait. Once they landed, John pulled him to stand and guided him out of the plane and to one of the black cars that Mycroft had sent for him. John had asked Mycroft to let him get Sherlock settled back at Baker Street before coming to see him.

"We're home, Sherlock," John said as he opened the door to Baker Street and took his hand to lead him up the stairs. "You remember home, right?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, only followed John. Once they were inside their home, John was thankful for Mrs. Hudson because the place looked exactly like they had left it five years before. Everything was dusted and clean. John had called ahead and let her know when they were arriving and asked her to bring in help if she needed it to get the place ready.

Once they were inside the flat, John hung his jacket and then took Sherlock's coat he wore. It wasn't the Bellstaff, which had been left behind by Cecil.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Sherlock stood in the center of the room and stared around the room. He seemed to be putting together that he was back somewhere familiar.

"Sherlock, you're home. We're home." John walked in front of him and cupped both hands on his downturned face. "You're safe and home with me, now."

To John's utter and complete shock, his hands began to grow damp with tears and Sherlock took a shaky breath.

"John. I'm home?" he whispered.