A/N: I do not own the characters or Sherlock (obviously). This is supposed to be a oneshot... Not sure about the ending though. Let me know what you think!

Sherlock was bored. He had spent the entire day conducting experiments which led to nothing, only to flop down on the couch at the end of the day with his mobile phone in hand. He texted John a couple of times, but he didn't get a reply. Usually John would even reply to him at work or at a date, why didn't he reply now?

As if on cue, Sherlock's phone made a noise. A new text message.

[Borrowed your pet today, had loads of fun! But don't worry, he should be back right about now. –JM]

Right after Sherlock finished reading the slightly alarming text, he heard the door open and someone walking up the stairs. It was John, no doubt, but something was off… Was he limping? Pretending he hadn't noticed anything, Sherlock sat down on the same chair he had been sitting in when John left that morning. He didn't look up when he heard the living room door open, not sure if that was because he was lost in thought or because he didn't want to see what Moriarty had done.

He heard John walk towards the kitchen. For tea, and the first aid kit. This meant that John did have some injuries, not too bad considering the fact that he was still walking.

Out of curiosity, Sherlock looked up at a moment he was sure John stood with his back towards him. John had shed his shirt, and from what the detective could see, his injuries weren't too bad. Bruising around the neck and wrists and some cuts around his wrists too, hardly something to cause John limping again. But did that mean that there were injuries below the waistline too?

Sherlock didn't pay any attention to the fact that John was walking out of the living room and into the bathroom. He was too busy trying to go through the facts and possibilities, but nothing seemed to make sense completely. John was in the shower for a good half hour, much longer than he usually took. He usually spent only five minutes underneath the shower, sometimes ten. Curiosity and fear struck Sherlock's mind as he started to think of situations that could have happened to John. The small cuts at his wrists could be from handcuffs, although rope would be more likely. John would've struggled, and one of Moriarty's men would have to hold him back. That was probably the cause of the bruising around the throat and neck.

Sherlock was still lost in thought when John emerged from the bathroom, but snapped from his thoughts when the doctor walked upstairs. He realized that as soon as John had entered his room, Sherlock would not get to hear what had happened.

As fast as possible, Sherlock headed up the stairs and took hold of John's arm, careful not to touch his damaged wrist.

"John…" he started, trying to get his blogger's attention. But John quickly pulled his arm from Sherlock's grip. He was startled. But John was never startled. Careful not to scare him even more, Sherlock moved his hand to John's upper arm, slowly turning him around to face him.

"John, Moriarty texted me." John almost cringed at hearing the name Moriarty. He hadn't been so affected after the incident in the pool. What had Moriarty done?

"Tell me what happened. Are you okay?" Scanning John's face, Sherlock noticed that he was keeping his face as emotionless as he could. The detective tried to find some answers, but didn't get anything out of it. Moriarty was good at covering up evidence, and John wasn't helping right now.

"I'm fine, Sherlock. Got kidnapped by Moriarty, that's not something I can't handle." Sherlock didn't believe a word of what John was saying, apart from the being kidnapped part. That was most likely true. When Sherlock gripped John's arm a bit tighter, John winced and moved away. That's it, Sherlock thought. He had just decided to murder Moriarty for what he had done. John would never be so affected by this, not unless something traumatizing had happened to him.

"John, listen to me. What you've been through must have been bad, it was worse than bad. But I need to know what happened." John frowned and moved away from Sherlock, opening the door to step inside, but he turned back to the detective first.

"You know, Sherlock? You're right. It was awful, but that doesn't mean that I can't handle it. I'm a grown up and should be allowed to cope and tell you in my own time! You only want to know because this is data. Not being aware of something Moriarty has done is like an itch to you!"

"I care about you John!" Sherlock moved forward to grab John by his shoulders again. "Just tell me what he did to you!"

"He raped me, okay?!" John's voice was loud enough for the entire flat to hear it. Luckily Mrs. Hudson was out for the week. "He raped me, and had that sick smile on his face..."

Sherlock fell silent. The fact that this wasn't his type of crime didn't mean that Moriarty wouldn't commit it. Carefully letting go of John's arms, Sherlock took a step back. John turned to enter his room, shutting and locking the door before moving something heavy in front of it. He was still aware of the fact that Sherlock was quite skilled at lock picking.

Sherlock didn't dare to disturb John for more than an hour, but it was getting late, and John wouldn't have eaten anything except for breakfast that day. Without messing up (again), Sherlock managed to make some toast with jam and a cup of tea. He knocked at John's bedroom door, hoping for John to let him in.

"What?" was the only response he got, and Sherlock could hear from John's voice that he had been crying. The urge to burst open the door and hold John was big, but he had to resist it. John wasn't going to agree with any physical contact.

"I'm here to apologize. Also, you need to eat. I brought you some toast and tea." After a few moments of silence Sherlock heard a heavy object getting moved, and John unlocked and opened the door just slightly, not showing his face.

"It's okay. We're both on edge and these things happen more often." Wait, did John think he was apologizing for the argument?

"No, that's not it. I wanted to apologize for what happened with Moriarty. I'm the reason he's interested in you in the first place." Still no response. "Please, at least eat something."

John looked up at Sherlock – he was right, the doctor's eyes were red – and nodded, silently thanking for the food. He took the plate and cup in his hand and walked back to his bedroom. This time, however, he left the door open. Sherlock took this as an invitation and followed his flatmate into the bedroom.

John was sitting on his bed, slowly eating the toast, as if afraid that he'd throw up if he ate any faster. Left of the door was currently John's cupboard. That's what he used to block the door. Sherlock sat down next to John, and went to think everything through. What was Moriarty up to? This wasn't his type of crime, so why commit it?

I'll burn the heart out of you. Sherlock heard the criminal's words in his head. That must have been it. Moriarty was trying to break him, and he was using John for that purpose. It was decided. Moriarty should probably say goodbye to his minions soon, because Sherlock was planning on putting a bullet through the man's head. Or he'd torture him first. The latter seemed like a good idea.

What Sherlock didn't realize was that John had been asking him something. At least not until the doctor got hold of his arm.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" At that moment, John looked like he was fine. But Sherlock knew better, he was just more concerned of Sherlock's well-being to be a mess himself. Sherlock nodded. "I asked you if you think we're safe here." They weren't. If this was Moriarty's plan to break Sherlock, they were far from safe.

"As safe as anywhere else." Sadly, this was true. Moriarty would find them, wherever the ran to. The detective heard John choke out a sob next to him. Apparently the doctor was either recalling a memory, or picturing a worst case situation. Sherlock looked over to his flatmate, and saw that he was breathing heavily. Tears were threatening to spill over – it was a miracle that he had been able to hold back his tears near Sherlock for so long – and he had his head resting in his hands. Memory it is then.

But what does one do when his friend is recalling a memory of getting sexually assaulted? Initiating physical contact was a bad idea, but Sherlock was aware of that no words he said would be able to comfort John.

When John only seemed to get worse, Sherlock decided he had to do something. He didn't want John to start hyperventilating, and he was on the edge of doing just that. Sherlock crouched down in front of his flatmate and moved his hands to hover above John's shoulders.

"John, you need to rest. I'm going to lay you down, but I'll have to touch you. Is that okay?" Soon as he saw John nodding, Sherlock gently got hold of the doctor's shoulders and laid him down on his bed, before pulling the sheets over John's trembling body.

Sherlock was about to leave the room, give John some well-deserved privacy, when he felt John's hand hold his.

"Sherlock… I-can you stay here?" In case Moriarty comes back.

"Just let me get a chair."

Getting the chair took way too long in Sherlock's opinion, but actually he was practically running up and down the stairs. When he returned with the chair, he could see John was desperately trying to stay awake. After having gone through all that in one day, John's body was in need of a good night sleep. But with John's history of violent nightmares and recent events Sherlock knew that his flatmate was in for a rough night.

Sherlock sat down on the chair, which he had placed next to John's bed, as close as he could so he'd be able to stay near the doctor. He felt like he had to protect him, as much as he knew John hated being protected.

"Thanks for staying," he suddenly heard, and Sherlock looked down to John's tired face and got hold of his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Just go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."