A/N: Okay, so...warnings here...

This chapter contains child death, mentions of sex slavery, and risk of relapse. It can be triggering to some, sorry loves .-.

I'll send you fluff the next chapter, yeah?

'I worry about her...constantly...'

Those words hadn't made as much sense to him back then. While worrying for your younger sibling was always something he could relate to, even Sherlock running around and jumping off rooftops didn't seem to faze him. She could take care of herself, at least physically, able to take down a man twice her size unarmed with her fighting skills alone.

So, why worry?

Danger nights. Mycroft had warned him about them, through a text, usually, or a well timed phone call, letting him know a specific day, hour, or even minute of risk, making sure the doctor kept his little sister from O. seemed like Mycroft's main use for John, not that he minded, he'd do anything to keep Sherlock sober. He just never noticed these days, Sherlock was always her usual self, overly confident with a god complex; her mouth laced with silver and misdirected boredom being shot at unsuspecting strangers. She didn't seem to be any different at all

He began to wonder if Mycroft was being as overly dramatic as his sister

But, it seemed, even John could tell today was a bit not good.

This case, of a sex slave ring which sold almost exclusively children, was already making it's way under his skin when Sherlock first took a look, and after a week, she managed to nearly take the whole thing apart. But, it would seem, not fast enough, for by the time they and Lestrade's team brought down the doors to the main warehouse, the operators had decided to dispose of their 'merchandise' to keep them from identifying the locations of the other houses and cliental, leaving Scotland Yard to find a room full of corpses with matching bullet holes in their foreheads.

The oldest of them was not a day over 12

Everyone had been affected, Sally turning around and burying her tear filling eyes in Lestrade's shoulder, whose face had pulled into a mask of anger and remorse. Even John, who had spent all that time at war, had seen so much bloodshed and pain, could not have been prepared for this, and he darted his eyes to the floor, cursing god under his breath for allowing something like this to happen, to children who had already had such a hard life as it was.

Sherlock hadn't reacted in the slightest, simply looking around, noting all the details and announcing where the other children were being held, immediately departing after that.

He could tell she was affected, however, regardless of what she tried to let other's believe, even with a face of indifference and a tone as steady as stone, John could see it in the slight stiffness in her stride, feel it in the tension during the cab ride home, hear it as she slammed the front door shut, so loudly Ms. Hudson came out, fusing, which Sherlock ignored as she climbed the 17 steps up to their flat two at a time

And it hit John then

She blamed herself

When he made his way up, she was laying down again, sprawled out on the couch, fingertips of both hands together under her nose

Thinking, then?

"Sherlock…?" He asked cautiously, taking note that she hadn't brother to remove her coat as he pulled off one of his jumpers

She didn't reply, not even a hum, and the blank stare she gave the ceiling gave him chills

It was like she wasn't there, her mind far off and unaware of her surroundings, the glazed over eyes and emotionless expression torn his heart into little pieces

She could talk herself up all she wanted, but Sherlock Holmes was no sociopath, and right in that moment, it was as clear as day that she was human, brilliant and beyond any other on the planet, but human nonetheless.

Of course, now was one of the only times he wished she didn't feel like she claimed, because she wouldn't have to suffer, to shoulder guilt that wasn't even hers to claim

He knew words would fall flat, that no matter what he said, how much he repeated that it wasn't her fault; they were no more than empty statements to her

At a time like this, John knew she just needed a constant, something to anchor her to reality so she didn't drift into the dark places of her mind, places that may trigger some memories of needles breaking flesh

So he approached, heading towards the end of the couch were her feet reached to the other arm, noting that if it were he sprawled out about it, his legs wouldn't take up the whole thing

There was no room for him to sit, as if she made sure of it every time she dominated the sofa. Deciding to take the risk, he simply reached down and lifted her legs, smiling softly at the widening of her eyes in surprise, the contact snapping her out of her own thoughts. He sat himself down, before replacing her legs upon his lap, reaching for the control to turn on the telly

She shifted slightly to better adjust their positions, and went back to her thoughts, though John noted, with relief, that there was the slightest smile that appeared almost shyly on the corner of her lips

He may not be able to do a lot of things

But at least this was something he was capable of

A/N: again sorry for the angst. I feel like if anything effected Sherlock (besides the risks to love ones) it'd be children's loss of innocence. She (He in the show of course) seems to actually like children, at least that's how my headcanon goes, anyways

Anywho, please review (they make me so happy ^_^) and leave drabble ideas all over the place, I've already begun working ones that were left already, whoo! *throws confetti at you*