Hello! ACR here with another story.

I actually started writing this just hoping for just a one-shot ficlet. Nine pages later I still wasn't even close to done.

It occurs to me this will probably be at least 3 parts. Sigh.

John POV, John/Sherlock LOVIN, lot's of angst, Trigger Warning for Sexual Violence

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock. Sadly.

"She's a child, Sherlock. More importantly, this may be our only chance to talk to her. I need you, for once in your life, to be patient, and maybe a little kind. She's scared, and you might be the only person who can get any information out of her."

I had never seen Lestrade so serious before, about anything, and I had certainly never seen him talk to Sherlock like that. However, I knew the importance of this case. Whether or not Sherlock did, I was unsure. It was London's most renowned child prostitution ring, one that had evaded the Yarders for just under ten years, and they finally had a lead thanks to an anonymous source. With it, they had found a girl, who was sold for sex, and brought her in. According to chatter, she was terrified.

This was a bad situation. I knew that now, especially as I watched Lestrade and Sherlock glare each other down. No one in the force could get information out of her like Sherlock, and they only really had one chance. However, I knew Sherlock was shit at interrogation, because he didn't have the patience. Even worse, he was crap at dealing with kids. I didn't know how anyone expected him to do it.

"Where is she?" Sherlock finally asked, looking away. He had shown interest in this case, probably because it was so big. Everyone knew about the ring, but no one had been able to find anything out about it. I once heard from Lestrade that Sherlock had tried to crack the case before with his homeless network. It was the only time he had ever been really baffled. I knew he was eager to solve it, what I didn't know is if he was really willing to be a decent human being for five seconds to solve it.

"A social worker came in to work with her. The girl refuses to talk, but she has been staying with the worker at a nearby house," Lestrade pointed his head down the long hallway to his left, "She's in one of our interrogation rooms down that way, right now. We can't keep her there for long."

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking, "I'll do it, and I'll even be nice. But under two circumstances."

"Which are?" Lestrade looked like he was trying hard not to roll his eyes.

Sherlock turned sharply, "No one can watch me work with her. I want no one in the room, near the room, listening in. You can have one officer outside the room, I suppose."

Lestrade's mouth hung open, "Sherlock, it's already bad enough I'm bringing you in here to talk to her. I have to have someone in the room at least-"

"Secondly," Sherlock interrupted smoothly, like he hadn't been listening, "I want John in the room with me."

I had to do a double take and gape at him. What? Why would Sherlock want me in the room with him? He never had before. Something about that made Lestrade seem less worried, though. I half-wondered if he trusted me, or if he just knew I was good at being Sherlock's handler.

After a moment; "Fine. But I'll need one cop outside the room, as well as her social worker. Okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock said deeply. Lestrade turned and walked down the left-hand hallway, and Sherlock and I followed and a quick pace. I walked close to my black-haired friend and send him a sideways glance.

"Why am I coming in with you, Sherlock?" I was genuinely curious, though part of me already knew. I kind of wanted him to say it, though. That he trusted me enough to tell him if he was going too far, or if he was doing something wrong. He seemed to lack the tact for seeing those things on his own.

He didn't look at me, "You always say I'm bad with children. Now's your chance to help me."

I knew it.

Lestrade stopped swiftly outside a tall door. It looks like most of the other doors to the interrogation rooms, but I had never been in here before. A tiny sign near the doorknob said 'children's interrogation'. I gulped slightly.

"Alright," Lestrade faced us again, "She had been out of the prostitution ring for a few months, though we don't know much about her escape other then there is an organization that has been doing vigilante work freeing some the kids. We need facts; locations of the houses, which people are running it, the people funding it, anything she knows that can be helpful."

"I understand," Sherlock rolled his eyes, like it was all obvious.

Lestrade's face hardened, "She is a victim of sexual assault and rape. She barely trusts her female social worker, and she mostly seems to hate men. If it were up to me, I'd have all-female officers in there. However, if anyone is going to crack the case, it's you. And you have certain… coercion tactics; I know you can make her talk. Just be NICE, Sherlock. And be careful of what you say."

Neither of those things sounded like what Sherlock could do. But then, Lestrade turned to me, "And you. Make sure he doesn't fuck this up. You're the only one who can deal with him. If I hear of any bad behavior, Sherlock, you'll never interrogate someone again."

With that, he turned and knocked hard on the door. I heard a small bit of sound; a few calm, soft words. And then the door opened and two women walked out. The officer that had been inside was young, I had seen her around. I'd never seen the social worker before, but I was impressed. She was shorter than most girls, but in her thirties at least, with wavy black hair, tan skin, and bright, green eyes. She was very attractive, even in her fairly conservative suit. Something about her eyes reminded me a bit of Sherlock, which made it that much worse that I found her attractive.

She was turned towards the room as she left, looking at the girl, I assumed, "I'll be right outside while the nice men talk to you, sweetie," She turned and met our eyes, "She's shy. Good luck."

I offered her a smile, but she wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were sealed on Sherlock, and she looked so untrusting it made me a bit uncomfortable. Apparently he was well known for his bad behavior with interrogation, or maybe his awkwardness with kids. Both seemed extremely likely.

Sherlock let out a breath, and I almost wondered if he was nervous. It wasn't normal behavior, but understandable. This was his only chance to make up for a case he couldn't solve; one that likely haunted him. There was no doubt in my mind that he felt frustrated not being able to solve it.

He turned heel and walked calmly inside, I followed close behind and shut the door quietly. The room was unlike most of the interrogation rooms. The walls were painted a soft yellow, which made me think of a psychological journal I once read about the colour yellow making people more comfortable and happy. It had nice, carpeted floors, and even a small window, where the sunset was gleaming through. In the center of the room was a small wooden table and a few soft looking, purple reclining chairs.

In the farthest chair was the girl, no more than twelve years old. She had very pale skin and bags under her eyes, as well as a few bruises and some band aids on her bare arms that I assumed hid cuts. She looked like she had been living homeless, though she wore a slightly-too-large T-shirt and brand new jeans and sneakers. Her blonde hair looked newly washed and down in two thick braids, though it had obviously not been cut in a long time. She was clutching a stuffed bear, one of the many stuffed creatures around the room.

She looked up at us, and once again my most sincere smile was for nothing, as her eyes went straight to Sherlock. She looked torn between curious and blatantly uneasy, nervous. Sherlock walked at a slow pace, and took the seat in front of her. I occupied the one next to his.

He wasted no time in speaking, which secretly annoyed me. Always so rushed.

"Hello. My name is Sherlock, this is my friend, John."

His voice was less deep than it usually was, and ten times more sincere. He leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. My heart sped up at that smile, something that was a usual occurrence but still baffled me. She looked still more guarded, and didn't answer, but seemed to settle more in her seat.

"I should tell you right now, we don't work with the police. We're more of… superheroes. Like Batman."

She actually smiled at that. I watched Sherlock, who smiled with her. He was being unnaturally communicative-

"I should also tell you, that I'm like you," His smile faded a bit, "I've been… hurt. And violated."

His words slammed into me like a wall, and I bit back the urge to glare at him. It wasn't uncommon for him to milk information from people by lying, but this was just a bit different. This was something very serious.

"Really?"

The voice didn't come from him. It was small, faded, sounded a little more broken than anyone would have hoped. I looked at the girl, who was marveling at him. Apparently, she hadn't talked to anyone. And with a few sentences, she spoke to Sherlock. I was a little impressed.

Okay, a lot impressed.

"Yes." Sherlock smiled, obviously pleased at his success.

She paused, realizing she had broken her code of silence, "Oh."

"Can we ask you what your name is?" I said, offering her a smile. She looked at me harshly; looking so fierce I thought she might rip off my head. I nearly jumped, and then I felt Sherlock's hand touch mine, and her vision strayed to it. I looked over at him curiously, but he was locked onto her, "Don't worry, he's my friend. He's very nice, so no need to be scared."

Her face softened but she still looked wary of me.

"You don't have to tell us your real name, if you don't want to. But do you have something we could call you?"

"Mmm…" She hummed, looking thoughtfully around the room. Her eyes lingered at the window, "Moon." It was kind of weird how, all of the sudden, she trusted Sherlock. Maybe him saying he was raped was just evil enough to work.

"Okay, Moon." Sherlock purred in amusement, which sounded wonderful to me, "We were wondering if we could ask you some questions."

She looked down at her feet, "The nice lady already asked me what they did, but I wouldn't answer."

"It's okay, I don't want to know that. I'm like you, so I already know."

She looked up and frowned sadly at him, "Okay."

Frankly, I had never seen Sherlock be so kind towards a child, and I had certainly never met a child who preferred him over me. He was looking at her with sympathy, but if you really looked, you could see something else. Something I didn't recognize. Something close to genuine sadness in those blue eyes.

"How did you escape the bad place, Moon?" Sherlock said, taking me out of my train of thought.

She pushed herself onto the edge of the chair, "People like you, the superheroes."

"Superheroes?" Sherlock leaned forward, "Who were they?"

Her face became confused, "I don't… know."

"Well surely-"

"What do you mean, superheroes, Moon?" I cut him off, sensing him getting annoyed. He glanced at me and nodded.

"Someone once told me about them, but I didn't know they were real. They come at night, when we are sleeping, but they aren't scary. Girls and boys, they tell us to wake up, because they are saving us," Moon stroked the stuffed bear, "They put us in their truck and carried us far away, to houses where we could sleep. And then they split us up, take us to these big houses with lots of other homeless kids."

"Orphanages," Sherlock says. I know he's speaking more to me than her, but she answers.

"Yes, those. I remember they said orphanages for the little kids, shelters for the big kids."

"Did you hear them say anything else?"

"Um, no," She squinted her eyes like she was thinking hard, "They told us not to talk about this, to not tell anyone, if we wanted to be safe. That was about a year ago."

Sherlock just nodded.

"Moon," I said. She looked at me less grudgingly, I think because Sherlocks hand was settled on my knee, "Do you remember how you got to the place you were being held?"

"I think about that sometimes," She turned back to Sherlock, "If I try really hard, I remember my mum and dad. I lived in a tiny house, I think I had a big brother. I remember daddy drove me to London one day, and left me with some men. After that..." Her face grew suddenly panicked and terrified. I was a little disturbed. The way she told the story made it seem like her father had sold her…

"It's okay," Sherlock smiled at her, "You don't have to talk about it."

"No, it's okay. I think," She looked between us, "I think if I tell you, you can help?"

"We want to help, Moon. If you can tell us anything about the places they took you, maybe we can save the other kids. Maybe we can make sure no more kids are taken."

She looked amazed and disturbed, like Sherlock had just pulled out a unicorn that pissed stars. I knew that, the only reality she knew was one that used her. Anything else was probably…

I settled down and met her eyes, they lingered on me, "We want to save you, Moon. So no one can ever hurt you again. So you can grow up and be just fine. What happened to you was wrong, they were monsters. And monsters have to be destroyed."

Now she was looking at me like I was a unicorn. Sherlock squeezed my hand, and I just noticed he had been holding it. I looked at him in shock and he shot me a beautiful smile, one that said everything and nothing at all.

"We moved around a lot. One of the places was near a hospital," She said. Sherlock's eyes shot to her and I saw him mentally writing down everything she said, analyzing it, "It was near the edge of London, I think. There were a lot of trees around. I used to try to focus on the sound of the ambulances while, while…" While they raped her.

She looked a little blank all of the sudden. Sherlock pulled his hand from mine and knelt on the edge of his seat, taking her hand, "You can do this, Moon. Tell me where they were."

She looked between us, shook her head, and then became determined, "Another place was by train tracks. It was in these big metal houses, like the last- Oh! On the opposite side was the Thames; we drove by it to get there."

"Good! Great!" Sherlock was getting excited now. So was she, evidently.

"The third place was in the basement of a very tall building. From the window I could see the big Ferris wheel."

"The Eye?" I piped up.

"Yes, that one!" She gulped, "That one was where the boss lived."

"Boss…?" Sherlock echoed what I was thinking.

She nodded, "He controlled all the kids, and we weren't supposed to talk to him, just do what he said. All the other adults took orders from him, but he didn't speak very much English."

"The adults, what can you tell me about them?"

"We travelled around a lot with the same people, they called them our handlers. There were three types of guys; handlers, slayers, and guards. The handlers did what they wanted with us, and took care of us. They gave us food and water, and sold us and collected the money."

"Like pimps," I muttered disgustedly. She continued.

"The guards made sure we didn't leave, and punished us if we tried to leave. Sometimes they left us in boxes for days, or didn't feed us for days, or beat us, or…" She trailed off. I knew what she wanted to say. Sometimes they raped them.

"What about the slayers?" Sherlock said to change the subject. It made her face pale.

"They were the worst, but there weren't many of them. Only three or four at each place. If you were sent to the slayers, it was bad."

"Why?"

She looked solemnly up at us, "The slayers only job were to kill the kids, and get rid of the bodies."

"Why would they kill the kids?" I stared blankly at her.

"Because, the younger kids sold the best," She shook her head, "When a kid got too old, they weren't wanted anymore."

"And they can't set them free because they would talk," Sherlock closed his eyes and I swore I saw him shiver, "Just one more question, Moon, and then you can go."

"Okay," She looked very strong in that moment.

"Do you remember any names?"

She looked up at the ceiling, "My handler told us to call him Mister Pepper, but I don't think that was his real name…" Her eyes shot open, "Oh! There was a man; I only saw him when I stayed where the boss lived. They called him Mr. Aleksei. He translated what the boss said. They said he was the bosses son."

"Fantastic," Sherlock stood up, "Anything else we should know?"

"Yes," She looked up, "I once heard that there was a fourth kind; the gatherers. They go to families who are about to lose everything and offer to buy their children. That's how they get the children."

My stomach dropped. Disgusting. The information seemed to please Sherlock though, "Excellent. Moon, I swear I will catch these bad guys." He swept towards the door and opened it.

"Sherlock?" Her tiny voice waded across the room towards us. He stopped and turned around, "Thank you."

He offered her a smile and walked out into the hallway past the social worker as she re-entered the room. She wore a dazzled expression, clearly amazed that Sherlock had gotten Moon to talk.

I smirked as the door closed behind us after her. Sherlock whipped out his phone and began typing quickly. Lestrade approached us from where he had been pacing moments before.

"Well?" He folded his arms, expecting to hear that Sherlock had screwed up.

A few moments passed and Sherlock flipped back his phone and slid it into his pocket, "Dmitri Chepelskii, do you know of him?"

"He runs a string of hotels, doesn't he?" I said before Lestrade could answer. Sherlock smirked at me and nodded.

"More commonly, I know his son Aleksei," Lestrade frowned, "He's been arrested a few times, and it's rumored that he's part of the Russian gang around here."

"Yes, well," Sherlock looked down the hallway, "I've just sent you the locations of three places that this ring most likely has used, or is using, that the girl told me about. I suspected Chepelskii at first; since we have no sightings, it is obvious that the ring isn't working from abandoned places, I'd say privately owned. She confirmed my suspicion that there were multiple rings, which means the owner was probably very wealthy; I doubt he makes his big money in child prostitution. No, Chepelskii fits the bill. He owns four hotels, two in central London; at least one of which has an area for this trade in the basement, that's one of the places I sent you. He has a wing dedicated to him in a small hospital on the outskirts of London, and probably owns some warehouses over there that definitely house some children. Also some warehouses between the train-tracks and the Thames, which John and I will go check out, if you'll let us."

Lestrade looked amazed, "Yeah, of course. What should I send my officers to do?"

"For now, send a few to silently check out the other places I emailed you. Privately get a list of buildings that Mr. Chepelskii owns while John and I go check out the warehouse to see if it's still in use. If it's not; he may have sold it and we don't have much of a case, because that means he's changing land. If it IS in use, I'll text you and you can get a warrant for his arrest. From there, we can work on setting these kids free and arresting some people," He turned and started to walk down the hall, "And God, do I look forward to seeing them rot in jail."

Lestrade smiled and I ran to catch up with Sherlock, pulling into a quick pace beside him.

"As effective as it was, Sherlock," I sighed when we were far from Lestrade, "I don't know how much I approve of you lying about being sexually assaulted." I wanted to ask him why he grabbed my hand, but chances were he hadn't even noticed, or didn't even care.

He stopped and looked oddly at me, "What makes you think I was lying?"

I stared at him widely. I hadn't thought of that. "Were you?"

"Not like it matters, but no, I wasn't."

"Sexually assaulted or lying?"

"Lying."

Not lying? I knew my mouth fell open, I probably should have hid my shock a little better. Sherlock, who could beat a man half to death with his bare hands, was taken advantage of?

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" I gaped. He rolled his eyes and started walking again.

"You never asked."

"That's not something that comes up in conversation!" I caught up to him, "Sherlock, that's something you tell someone when you trust them."

"And?"

"And don't you trust me enough to tell me?"

"I don't really see how it matters. Actually, I'm surprised you hadn't guessed. I'm sexually distant, and I have trust issues. What did you think happened?"

"Just seemed like normal Sherlock to me," I stepped in front of him and forced him to stop as a few whispering officers passed us. When they were out of earshot, I continued, "When was it?"

"The first time was when I was thirteen," He looked back a bit, "About that girl's age. It was a man my mother was dating. He just molested me, and they broke up for a few months. The second time was when I was fifteen, when he returned to rape me."

Sherlock said it so nonchalantly, like he was talking about what he had for breakfast. But underneath the mask, I saw how much pain he was in to talk about it. It actually might have been this whole case and experience in general, but he looked suddenly sad. And alone. And scared.

And I was fucking angry.

I felt it rising in me and tried to calm down, but I was pissed. How anyone could violate someone like Sherlock, when he was just a kid was… was… Well, it was revolting. I wanted to find this man and kick his ass.

"Did you tell your mother?" Was all I mustered the courage to ask.

"Of course I did, when I was nineteen or so. She told me to piss off and now we don't talk."

I stared, open mouthed at him, "And Mycroft?"

"Oh, he believes me. Before you go off on a killing spree, don't worry, the man is already dead."

"What?" I frowned, "How?"

"I said Mycroft knows, didn't I?"

I momentarily pictured Mycroft with a hatchet, cutting down a big scary man for the virginity of his brother. Then I realized that was stupid. Mycroft would just hire someone to do it.

"I wish I'd known." I clenched my fists and bit my lip.

"Does it change anything?" Sherlock asked. It was a rhetorical question, but he sort of wanted to know, too. I could tell.

"No, not really," I sighed and looked up to meet his eyes, "But I care about you, Sherlock. And knowing that might help me take a little more care in what I say."

"I'm not a child," Sherlock smirked coldly, "You don't have to watch what you say around me or pretend sex doesn't exist. I am fine."

I just stared at him, feeling a bit hopeless. I didn't know how to express to him that I just wanted to know, because I wanted him to trust me. Sherlock however, as it had always been, seemed to be reading my mind, because his face softened considerably.

"You look like a puppy." He said blatantly.

"Maybe you're hurting my feelings." I looked away and folded my arms.

"Oh, am I?" He laughed deeply. A good laugh, I have decided. He then did something completely out of character. He took a step, closing the distance between us and cupped my face, resting a kiss on my forehead.

My face probably lit up to the colour of a fire truck. He pulled away with a grin and tapped my arm as he passed me.

"Come on, John, we have some children to save."