Pain and Coffee Beans

Chapter 3

The doctor smiled sadly, closing the door behind him, "She's going to be alright, but there's a long difficult journey ahead of her. It truly is a wonder she survived as long as she did. We'll have to reconstruct her knees, and she won't be able to speak for a while. Her vocal cords are badly damaged from.." he paused uncomfortably, "overuse," he swallowed and gestured toward the room, "You can see her now."

John nodded, "Thank you, Doctor."

"Perhaps she has some memory of the people who took her," Sherlock mumbled more to himself than to John. They'd hit a wall in the case they were working. Women disappearing off the streets and never heard from again. Sherlock hadn't wanted to take the case at first, but when the first body was found his interest was piqued.

******

John had been sitting at his laptop, his fingers fumbling over the keys as he typed up an entry for his blog, when Sherlock came busting into the room, nearly sending him out of his seat, "Murder, John! This is wonderful!"

"Murder is never wonderful, Sherlock," he'd said wearily. He felt like he had to remind Sherlock a little too often that people dying is not fun. Death is a serious thing.

"Remember the case Lestrade wanted me to solve for him?"

"The one with the disappearing women? I thought you said that was too 'boring'?" He'd turned to Sherlock then, completely prepared for the smile he knew he would find there.

"It is boring. But Lestrade's men found a woman's body today! It's all here in the paper," Sherlock dropped the paper he'd been holding onto his keyboard, "Bodies, John! Murder!"

******

They'd been hot on the trail of one of the people Sherlock suspected to be a part of the kidnapping ring when they found the girl. Sherlock hadn't thought that they would find any of the victims still in town. The kidnapper must have favored this one to keep her as his own... John stopped the thought; not wanting to think about the reasons that beast kept her chained to the floor.

"Come on then, Sherlock," John said, opening the door, "Let's go talk to her."

The room was clean, and everything a cheerful white. The girl sitting in the hospital bed watched them, her chestnut eyes full and shining with curiosity. Her wrists and neck were bandaged, the white of the gauze making the bruises on her body look darker than they had before. She was clean now. Her hair had been washed and combed. Aside from how painfully thin she was and the obvious indications of abuse, she was quite lovely. Her skin was olive and clear, her eyes almond-shaped and bright, her lips were pleasantly plump and pink. She must have been a knockout before... everything, John thought. "Hello dear, do you remember me? My name is John Watson." He watched as her lips spread into a smile, and she pointed to the flowers. She noticed them! John silently hoped they'd brought her some peace in this time. He wasn't sure what sort of gift you buy a woman you rescued from a s*x slave situation. Sherlock had thought him foolish, but he'd wanted to try to brighten her day. "Yes," he replied, a smile dancing across his face, "Those are from me. Do you like them?" She nodded. John smiled, but couldn't think of what to say next. Sorry, you were used as a s*x slave? Sorry, Sherlock didn't want to save you? Sorry I didn't argue with him about not wanting to take the case? His thoughts were interrupted by the girl lifting her hand and pointing at something. He turned and saw she'd pointed at Sherlock, who was standing silently beside him. Deducing something, no doubt. He forced a laugh, more for his own benefit than hers, "This is Sherlock.."

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock interrupted, cutting John off; he sighed, annoyed. "The doctor told us you cannot speak," Sherlock continued, "And since you have no idea who you are there is no reason for me to be here." John looked up at Sherlock who was now looking down at him with his usual eager we're-on-a-case expression, "I'm ready to go now. This girl cannot help us."

John blinked at Sherlock disbelieving, "Sherlock! Don't be so rude. She can hear just fine," he turned to her, ignoring the irritated look he won from Sherlock, "How are you feeling? Can you tell us your name?"

"Don't be daft, John," Sherlock's voice drew the girl's attention, "I've already told you she doesn't know-," she held up a hand, stopping Sherlock in his tracks.

What a wonderful girl, John thought, smiling at her sudden firmness. He watched as she opened the little notebook she had been holding and scribbled something into it. She then handed it to him. Her bony fingers brushing his as he took it from her gently. It read,

I feel terrible. And I don't remember my name.

John smiled sadly, hoping to convey some kind of comfort for her in what must be confusing times for her, and handed the notebook to Sherlock, "I'm sorry you feel badly. But you're safe now," he said softly.

For a moment the girl looked shocked. She clapped a hand over her mouth, suppressing the sound John knew was resting in her throat. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she reached out for him. John hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but the terror in the girl's eyes was more than he could bear. He took her small, fragile hand in his seemingly huge one, "Are you ok? What is it? Should I call the nurse?"

She shook her head and squeezed his hand tightly, John was surprised at the strength she still carried with her. She scribbled something in her notebook again and thrust it toward him, tears still flowing down her face. It read,

You saved me. I remember.

John felt a certain pride at her words. He had saved her. Taken her from that wretched place. Well... John sighed inwardly. Sherlock had. John just tagged along the way he always did. He knew if he didn't correct her now, he wouldn't hear the end of it from Sherlock, "Actually," he carefully placed the notebook back in her free hand, her other still gripping his tightly, "It was Sherlock who found you. Without him, we never would have found where you were being kept." The girl looked to Sherlock, a question in her eyes. John looked at Sherlock. He could see him silently beaming at being recognized for his brilliance. She looked back at him then, and John nodded. Yes. It was him who saved you. Not me. The pride he'd felt disintegrated in his chest as she began writing something else, and then held it out to Sherlock. Sherlock hovered for a moment, uncertain. Not one for people that Sherlock. He took the little notebook in his long fingers and let his eyes linger on the words there before handing it back to her.

"You're most welcome," he said. She took the book back eagerly to write something else, then handed it back to Sherlock. He didn't hover this time and took the book into his hands roughly, John exhaled loudly and gave Sherlock a look. Be careful. Sherlock flicked his eyes in acknowledgment and turned his attention to the page. John watched as his eyes brightened in excitement. And he knew that this wouldn't be the last time they saw this broken, nameless girl.