Reminiscent Regret and Conjunctive Kismet

Overwhelming Anguish and The Patience of True Love

*Trigger Warning: Memories of physical, mental, and emotional torture. Mention/photo of scars and being abused*.

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"Hey...", she whispers, taking his face in her hands tenderly. Realizing he has retreated into some sort of memory by the look in his eyes, she presses a bit more. "Sherlock...hey, where'd you go?"

Sherlock blinks rapidly and looks back at her, swallowing hard. "I-I...I..."

Molly becomes concerned, seeing how afraid he looks. "I'm here...you don't have to be afraid. I promise. Whatever it is, you won't lose me, you won't upset me. I love you; I'm not going anywhere. You can tell me anything."

He buries his face into her neck, and she runs her fingers through his curls soothingly, letting him work through things quietly for a moment.

"I've never told anyone...shown anyone. The only one who knows is Mycroft because he was there. Not a soul knows, not even John...", he trails off.

"Knows what, Sherlock?"

His eyes begin to mist up, the fear returning to them. "A-about...about...S-Serbia...after..."

"After I helped you fake your suicide...you never did tell anyone what happened when you were gone, not even me. What happened to you, Sherlock?", she looks at him worriedly, seeing the clear PTSD he has from whatever ordeals he endured.

Molly slips his shirt over her head and pulls a blanket over their lower halves. "Take your time...", she says quietly, intertwining their fingers and giving his hand a squeeze, brushing her thumb over the top.

Sherlock takes a long, shaky breath and looks and her. "Serbian members of Moriarty's network...I-I guess I miscalculated something and...they captured me. L-Like a war criminal..."

Molly's eyes widen concernedly. "Oh, God..."

"Th-they uh...", he begins but doesn't quite finish, his eyes getting the glossy look in them again.

"Sherlock. Hey, I'm right here...focus, love."

Upon hearing the pet name, his eyes move back to her and soften. Molly places a kiss upon his forehead. "There you are...I'm here."

Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut then blinks rapidly, trying to begin again. "Right um...so they captured me, and I was brought to this...cold, concrete, cellar type holding cell. Except there were no bars."

Molly nods slowly but doesn't quite understand yet, so he presses on, despite the disturbing flashes of memory and sharp twangs of real pain that shoots through him the same as it had back then.

She looks at him scared as she sees his face twist up in unbearable pain, trying his best to speak through it.

"Th-there were only chains and metal cuffs...I-I was...I was...hung by my wrists...", he begins to sob, letting out small shouts of pain from his episode. Molly immediately pulls him close and cries quietly, wishing she could do more to help him through it.

After a few minutes, the sobs subside, but the tears remain as he continues. "Starved for information...t-tortured constantly...humiliated..."

Molly's face crumbles as she cries for him, stroking his face.

"M-made to urinate on myself...beaten..."

"Sherlock...", Molly sobs softly. "Oh my God."

He sniffs and looks ashamed. "B-But the worst part w-was the rope...and the rod...they'd t-take turns whipping me, hard. O-or...or cutting me with this...this sharp edge of a metal pipe...the pain...the blood loss..."