Saving London's Children Chapter 1, a sherlock fanfic

A/n: Don't own Sherlock. This story is unbetaed and was written within a couple hours. All mistakes are my own. I'm considering it a oneshot for now. If its liked enough I may write more, if the mood strikes me to add more, I might do it even if its not well received. That being said, I hope you enjoy. Leave a review if it fits your fancy. God Bless.

Saving London's Children

It was the eyes that always disturbed everyone that got close enough to look in them. Stormy, grey clouds that had seen too much for the young boy that held them would haunt Lestrade until the day he died. It had only been a brief glimpse, as the small hoodlum made an escape with his older accomplice. The child had looked back, lip between beige teeth, uncertain. If the older boy hadn't grabbed the younger's arm and started ensuring his continued movement, Greg was sure he would have caught up to them. They had made off with food and a few miscellaneous objects from the Tesco Shop again; it was the fourth time that month. It was always the same mart, always once a week, just never the same day or time.

Other stores were hit, by other ragamuffins, varying in age, but they were usually more careless in their patterns and were easily caught. They were all street kids, clearly, and the detective could hardly fault them too much, but stealing was still a crime. Most of the youngsters, when caught, would be placed in an orphanage, the older lot would be hauled off to a juvenile detention center. It wasn't always ideal, but it was better than letting them stay on the streets.

Greg Lestrade didn't bother to chase the duo for too long; they were lightning fast and seemed to disappear on the spot. He returned to the shopkeeper and informed him that he had lost them, gave him his apologies, and promised to keep suits around the area on the lookout. If he were honest with himself, these calls always burdened his heart, more than any other. Coming face to face with the fact that so many of London's children were on their own, without family, a roof, or a hot meal, it was horrifying. Most people around them didn't seem to care enough to notice that homeless children were amongst them, as long as they weren't effected, who cared? The apathy could be found even amongst some of his own team, it was sickening.

With a sigh, Lestrade wrote up his report and turned out his lamp light. He usually stayed well into the night, nothing but quiet and loneliness awaited him at home, however, tonight he was going to start investigating all the twists and turns he saw those kids make, see if he can find where he lost them at. Maybe there were some clues strewn about that could finally lead him to those haunted eyes and his sandy haired companion.

Crumbs, crumbs, in the form of marshmallows are what caught Greg's eye, leading a trail from the third turn they had made. Obviously one of their stolen goods had been torn open and it was ironic that it was leading him to his lost boys, similar to the story of Hansel and Gretel. He didn't ponder that thought too much, just followed the sugary trail. It came to a stop at a dead end, in between two apartment buildings, and he highly doubted that they had gone inside either one of them, as both buildings were fully occupied, and none of the occupants would just let raggedy children they couldn't identify inside.

If they couldn't go forward, backward, or inside, that left the only option of going up. So, up he went on the fire escape and on to the roof. Not a child to be found, but that might explain their sudden disappearances. It's an option he would have to keep in mind for next time, the following week. In the meantime, exhausted and hungry, he went home and tried to let his thoughts drift to a way he could help the homeless population of youth.

The next time didn't wait a week, it was the second mistake to have been made and the most fatal. Two days later, it was chilly, damp morning, and Lestrade found himself being called out to the Tesco he'd been at before. The shopkeeper, smirking triumphantly, held a lad with sandy blonde hair, and an angry scowl, by the scruff of the neck. The boy's hands had been tied with a rope behind his back, and he struggled immensely against the binds and his captor. As the old detective neared, the child's eyes widened and he put forth a stronger effort to escape. Lestrade recognized him to be the elder of the two scraggly accomplices. He knelt down to be eye level with the ward and spoke in gentle tones.

"Hey there, lad," he greeted, trying not to spook him, dutifully ignoring the eyes of his team. No doubt they would have simply hauled him off to the station, but that would have gotten them nowhere. "Can you tell me your name"

"Where's your partner in crime, huh? Is he here somewhere making off with what you're after, while you play a distraction?" The shopkeeper's grip tightened as he pulled at the delinquent's neck. The boy grimaced and then steeled his features.

Lestrade reached out and grabbed his shoulder, taking the kid in his charge officially. "Donovan, will you take Mr. Archer aside and have him fill out a statement?" Trusting her to do as ordered, he led his charge out to his car. "Now, how about a name? Can you do that for me?" At the tightlipped silence, he tried again. "What about what you came after? What did you forget on your last trip or suddenly find yourself in need of?"

Ocean-blue eyes cast downward, he shifted from foot to foot, as if weighing whether or not he should just tell the officer and get it over with, or if he would be able to risk an escape. Donovan came up to them before the child could decide, and handed her boss a roll of gauze.

"Victim says this is what the runt had tried to take before he grabbed him." She eyed their suspect with disdain, and sniffed pointedly, as if the odor emanating was adding insult to injury.

"Thank you, Sally," he dismissed. Eyeing the white strips, he became worried, quickly checking over the kid in front of him. "Are you hurt?" He looked malnourished, certainly filthy, had a fair amount of bruises and scars, but no blood in sight. "Is your friend injured? Is that why you need this?" He held out the possession to the boy.

He eyed the inspector with distrust and then gazed upon the desired object. Lestrade could see the decision being made and being enacted before he had time to even think about reacting. Quickly, the gauze was snatched from his hand with teeth, just as a knee sprung forward for an attack. With Lestrade down, the kid took off as fast as his legs would carry him. Donovan rushed over to him and helped him up, while a few of his men hightailed it after their suspect. Greg waved off her concern as he gulped some air in; pushing past the pain he joined in the chase. However, he didn't follow the trail the boy had led his men down; he went to the dead end and climbed the ladder to the roof. Settling down behind a chimney stoop, he waited.

He startled when he heard a gunshot off in the distance and inwardly cursed his men if they actually fired at that preteen kid. No more than 15 minutes passed by when his ears caught wind of groaning metal. Someone was making their way up to him. Crouched low and ready, when feet hit the concrete of the roof, he jumped out, ready to grab the prize. Unfortunately, his prize was slouched against the area near where he came up, holding a bleeding wound, grimacing in pain and gulping in air to fight off passing out.

Again, Lestrade found himself cursing his team at their thoughtlessness. Placing his hands before him, placating, he approached the wounded child slowly. Terrified orbs watched him, resigned to his fate, and fell unconscious where he sat. Lestrade called for an ambulance and rode with criminal turned patient. As he waited in the family room for the surgeon to come and give him news, he got the story and laid into the officer who thought it a good idea to shoot a kid, suspending him on the spot. The hospital had nearly kicked him out for all the yelling.

The surgery only lasted a couple hours and there had been minimum damage, at least nothing a few months of therapy wouldn't fix. It was another hour and half before the anesthesia wore off and he was able to see and try and talk to the groggy patient. As soon as he saw Lestrade, the boy tried to escape, not evening noticing his new handicap. Thankfully, drugged up, he was easy to apprehend.

"Easy kid, I know those drugs are good, but you're going to hurt yourself even further if you don't relax. I'm not going to let anything more happen to you, I promise," he assured, patting the dirty, matted head.

"No, no, you don't understand, please, please, let me go," came the first response, barely whispered. Greg had to strain hard to hear.

"What I don't understand? Son, sit up and talk to me properly. Tell me what's going on." A nurse came in as the heart monitor beeped erratically. "Settle down now, lad. She'll have to sedate you if you don't, for your own good. Then it will be even longer before you can get done what you need to."

The logic provided had those blue eyes looking at him in a panic. "You can't! Please, let me go. I need to get to him."

"Tell me where he is and I'll go get and him and bring him to you," he tried.

"He won't come with you, he only trusts me. Please, I need to get to him!" Again the teenager tried to get out of the bed, only to be held back by Lestrade.

"How about you tell me and we'll all come back here so you can recover and he can be treated too?" He wasn't sure that he would technically be able to do that, but he had to try something. It seemed to appease his charge, cause he nodded frantically. Lestrade attributed the ease of persuasion to the drugs the kid was still heavily under the influence of.

After a heated discussion and much protest, the patient was put in a sling and allowed to go with Greg, under the strict orders that once the other young one was found, that they were both to be brought straight back to the hospital for medical attention and watch. With much hesitation, even drugged, the sandy haired child took Lestrade's hand and allowed the officer to buckle him in to the police car. The officer followed the directions given to him and found the "home" of his sought out escapees. The anxious boy beside him only waited long enough for Lestrade to unbuckle him before he was falling out of the car and running off toward the underneath of a bridge, mere feet away from a sewer piped. Greg raced after him, trying not to breathe through his nose, and ran faster when he saw the injured child fall.

When he got closer, he could see that the boy hadn't passed out, but had dropped to his knees beside a younger child, and had gathered him up in his good arm. He bared his teeth at Lestrade's approach, growling as he protectively curled around his friend. Hands placed about before him once more, he kneeled before them both. Producing the gauze from his jacket pocket, he looked over what he could see of the smaller form to find what needed to be wrapped. Both arms had been gnawed on, and at least one palm had deep nail marks and grooved. He got to work, wrapping what he could reach, the blood had already clotted, but it made Lestrade feel better to bandage them anyway.

"Ok, let's get you two healed up, shall we?" He gathered the unconscious child, from his hesitant friend and one safely secured, made their way back to the hospital as instructed. Before they left, Lestrade made sure to pack his truck with what belongings he could see of theirs.

The drive was slow with traffic, and Greg kept taking glances in the backseat to make sure the lump was still breathing. "You want to tell me your names now?" He gave a sideways look.

There was silence for a long moment, but patience was awarded. "I'm John," he answered, grimacing in pain, as the medications began to wear off. "My friend…his name is, Sherlock."

Lestrade nodded. Before he could ask another question, John asked one of his own. "Are you going to separate us? Send me to jail and put him in an orphanage?" He bit his lip and looked back at his sleeping friend. He winced when he made out of the tear tracks on the dirty face. No doubt he thought he'd been abandoned after so long.

"No." A short and sweet reply, which Lestrade didn't know where came from. He suspected that he'd do or say anything to reassure the boys he'd been looking for several months. He just hoped he wouldn't promise anything that he couldn't keep. John wasn't old enough yet to be put in juvenile detention, at least he didn't look like it, and he couldn't really guarantee that one orphanage would take them both, but he would try his hardest to keep them together, of that he was certain. "How old are you both?"

Another hesitant pause, "I'm twelve and Sher's eight," he replied. "Are you going to keep us or let us go?"

Lestrade raised a brow, daring to take his eyes off the road for a second to see if the kid was seriously asking that. "You're not going back on the streets, John. I won't allow that, end of discussion."

"Then you'll keep us yourself?" There was a slight bit of hope mixed with that defiant question. "No one else is going to let us stay together. Not after all the trouble we caused…"

"We'll see," Greg told him vaguely, a lump forming in his throat from what he was contemplating.

Once at the hospital, Greg had them move John and Sherlock into the same room, and told them that both boys were under his guardianship for the time being. He wanted to be kept informed, especially if he was going to go through with his foolhardy idea. John reluctantly explained that his friend had a bit of autism and took to biting himself when his fits came on. If he woke up to strangers he was going to go into another spell, so they allowed the beds to be close enough, that it almost made one large bed with the side rails unlocked.

For safety of both patient and staff, they kept Sherlock sedated while they attempted to rehydrate and dress the wounds. John watched their every move and would only accept more pain medication once they were through with his friend. Lestrade promised to keep watch over them both, so they could rest without fear and if one of them woke up, he'd rouse the other.

"Promise, Mr. Lestrade?"

"Yeah, lad, just rest now." He hushed and soothed the blonde to sleep. Once he was sure that the boy had drifted off to dreamland he stepped as far away as he could, without leaving, to call into work. He informed his boss of the situation and requested time off. It was granted. He then broached the topic of possibly taking custody of both boys, in which his boss lectured him and then told him to really think about rather than let his emotions con him into something he might later regret. Lestrade had to concede it was a rash decision, but one he was pretty set on. Before the call ended his boss told him,

"You're a good man, Lestrade, with a big heart. If you want to give those boys your heart, you have my full support, but don't give it to them and later decide that fathering two damaged boys is not for you after all. Take some time, think about it. Talk to them about it. They may not want that. You have plenty of days of leave. Take them, see what happens. Keep me informed."

He sat by the bedsides, thinking, making plans, praying. He left only briefly to stop by the gift store and pick up two teddy bears, one beige and one brown and black mixed. When the sun peaked out from its cover of darkness, he was sure he was making the right decision, and he would win the hearts of those kids, if it was the last thing he did.