Chapter 1

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had never been strangers to unexpected events. Bomb threats, knives hurled unceremoniously into walls, three murder suicides in a week. No matter what happened, they would always adapt to survive and take on the task at hand. Sometimes, using Sherlock's skills of deduction and John's observance, they would even predict the most unanticipated events. That's why everyone, even Mycroft, the British government incarnate, called on the duo for all of the hardest and highest stake cases. They were the best.

However, that title wasn't always great. Sometimes they were approached with jobs that didn't seem all that… Appealing. At least at first. Chief among those was Operation Pax Anglia.

One late afternoon saw John and Sherlock returning to the flat by cab after finding and retrieving proof that a single mother of one four year old was truly the one meant to receive her father's estate as opposed to her stubborn, rich brother. Sherlock didn't find the case particularly interesting, but upon meeting the brother, he wanted nothing more than to spite the man and his enormous ego. John, however, felt they had finally done something both simple and impactful. While John found the murder cases fascinating, they sometimes tended to put weight on the soul. It could be hard returning home from a crime scene and putting on a happy face for his eight year old daughter Rosie when a sense of unease lingered. He did it anyways, though, as did Sherlock. Sherlock became a wonderful help in raising Rosie over the years since Mary's passing, assisting John and giving advice from the baby years and on. He also had provided support and a distraction when he was still processing Mary's passing. When nothing made sense and everything was complicated, Sherlock Holmes was there to provide logic and stability like no other. Moving back into 221B was the best decision John had made in a long while. Rosie loved Sherlock as well, always interested in the man's ideas and wanting to learn more from him. Sherlock responded marvelously as well, answering her questions in a patient way and even entertaining her when she got bored. He seemed almost like a different man, but John had known all along that there was a softer side underneath Sherlock's arrogant exterior. Though nobody would believe John if he said it, he knew Sherlock was the best babysitter he could ask for.

"Do we have a new case?" Sherlock asked, shocking John from his thoughts. John took a moment before shaking his head.

"Nope. Nothing that I know of. But maybe we will get someone before the day's over." John knew that Sherlock was getting bored quickly. His tone was agitated and his strides exuded irritation. And since Rosie was visiting John's parents for the time being, there would certainly be a new bullet hole in the wall if they didn't have a new case lined up fast.

"I can't wait that long." Sherlock mumbled in response, almost sounding like a pouty child. For all the intelligence and cleverness the consulting detective showed on a constant basis, Sherlock could really throw a temper tantrum when he saw it as necessary.

As their cab came to a stop, both exited, John rolling as he payed the driver yet again. Whenever Sherlock was in a mood, he left without paying, his mind on other things that he found much more important than the present moment. John had gotten used to the ritual, however, and just handed over the proper payment for the driver, who nodded his thanks before pulling off.

"Oh, Mycroft's been here?!" Sherlock exclaimed, prompting John to turn around quickly.

"He has?" John closed the distance between himself and the door quickly. It was always urgent when Mycroft Holmes decided to grace the duo with his presence. Phone calls were common, but not visits to the flat.

"Yes, he has!" Sherlock said, sounding agitated, "Look at the knocker!" Upon closer inspection of the door, John noticed the knocker was straightened, a telltale sign that Mycroft had been there.

Sherlock shifted the knocker to the right before bursting through the door. "Mycroft! What are you doing in our flat?!" he yelled as he stomped up the steps. There was no answer from anyone, as Mrs. Hudson was out for the day and Mycroft never passed up an opportunity to be mysterious. John followed his flatmate up the stairs, expecting to see some proper looking men in suits guarding whatever activity Mycroft was here for. He honestly had no idea what it could be, he hadn't contacted them about a case since Eurus and Sherlock had been clean since their trouble with Culverton Smith. And Mycroft Holmes was never one for family gatherings.

Sherlock reached the top of the steps and slammed into their flat, looking around for his irritating older brother. Sherlock stopped, his annoyed expression morphing into one of shock. John hurried himself to Sherlock's side, curious as to what could make his friend change his tune so quickly.

The flat looked completely normal and messy as ever. From the spray painted smile with bullet holes for eyes to the mantel with notes and papers stabbed into it, nothing was out of place. But there was one addition that neither John nor Sherlock could have anticipated. However, Sherlock quickly began deducing.

On their couch by the door was an unconscious boy. He was sprawled out as though he was roughly dropped onto the furniture. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt with old and new stains that looked suspiciously like blood and a pair of jeans with holes worn in the knees. His age was reflected in his height, as his bare feet did not come close to touching the opposite end of the couch. His short, wavy hair was a mess of brown tangles. Slight red marks on his arms, marks that were beginning to bruise, revealed the shape of fingers. He didn't even stir as Sherlock had blustered up the steps and as he gazed over the child's body, a small injection point became obvious on his neck. The overall appearance of the child lead Sherlock to believe there was a struggle to get him from wherever he came from to 221B, so they drugged him. They then transported him and dropped him in the flat before leaving. But, based on the lack of finesse of everything else in relation to the child, he may not be waking up soon if the dose of sedative was too strong.

"John, check on him, he was drugged." Sherlock summarized.

"What the hell…?" John mumbled to himself, wasting no time in kneeling down next to the couch and checking the still child's pulse. "It's slow, but he's alive." Standing quickly, he walked quickly to his bedroom to grab more supplies for dealing with the boy's ailments.

Sherlock stared down, still trying to understand the situation in front of him. Though he knew what had happened to the child, he wasn't sure why he was here. Of course, Mycroft had something to do with it, with the door knocker being out of place. But why would his older brother have dumped a young kid in Sherlock's flat? And who was this kid to Mycroft? It's not like Mycroft would have offspring.

Sherlock shivered at the concept. "Poor soul." he commented quietly to himself.

Before Sherlock could deduce much more, his cell phone rang, shocking him from his mind palace. John returned with his bag of medical equipment, clearly having switched into doctor mode. The two made eye contact, revealing the same exasperated feeling coursing through their veins.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and swiped the phone from his pocket and answering on speaker phone without a glance at the screen of the device. Although neither of the men needed caller I.D. to know who was on the other end. "What is this, Mycroft?" Sherlock questioned immediately, foregoing all pleasantries, his tone filled with venom. Sherlock Holmes didn't like not knowing, especially when it came to his older brother and his schemes.

"Oh, I see your home." Mycroft's voice flowed through the speaker, his pleasant but businesslike tone in place, as always. "How was your last case?"

John stood up quickly from his spot on the floor. He was back to checking the child's vitals, but this stalling from the elder Holmes brother became simply too much. "Oh, stop that, Mycroft! There is a little boy lying on our couch, unconscious, in a questionable medical state. Now is not the time for your crap!" Sherlock even looked towards John in surprise. The venom in his flatmate's voice was far more intense than anticipated. Sherlock supposed that was from John's newfound standpoint as a father. He had always been fond of children, but with the birth of Rosie, that sense had been heightened.

"Ah yes. I knew particularly you would be up in arms about that, Dr. Watson. With emotion come predictability." Mycroft commented casually in reply. John looked up at his flatmate, his frustration towards the elder Holmes very evident across his features. Sherlock nodded, signalling his understanding. He gestured towards the child and John returned to his ministrations, trusting Sherlock to crack his older brother's avoidance tactics.

"Listen, brother mine, you clearly broke into my flat and left this boy because you want help. The longer you withhold the information about the situation at hand, however, the less we feel we should assist you. Now, you're avoiding the subject at hand, probably due to the explanation is either sensitive, embarrassing to you and/or the British government as a whole, or a mixture of the two. Now, you have my attention but not for very long. You can either tell me what's going on and we can make our decision on whether or not to help you, or you can continue to beat around the bush and I will hang up this phone. So tell John and I what your play is right now or forever hold your peace and pick up this child from St. Bart's tomorrow morning." Sherlock's voice sped up as he analyzed his brother's methods, tearing down the walls between himself and the information he desired. However, he was very intrigued about the whole situation. There wasn't much in the world that could make Mycroft Holmes avoid the subject at hand. Whether his brother realized he was stalling or not, whatever this child was a part of was nerve wracking enough to make him hide behind the mundane action of small talk. And that made this huge.

Mycroft sighed in exasperation, his little brother's ramblings annoying, yet accurate. "Alright. I'll tell you, just stop your nonsense babbling." he requested, saving face before launching into the story. "This child has become a security concern and needed to be moved. Immediately."

"And why's that?" John asked, standing up after putting away his medical equipment. Sherlock gave him a questioning look and John nodded, the kid would be okay, they just needed to wait for him to wake up. "A security concern to who?"

"Everyone." Mycroft answered simply. John looked over to see Sherlock's wheels turning in his mind, trying to figure out what could make this child so dangerous in Mycroft's mind. John decided to take a more direct route.

"Who is this kid? Why does he worry you so much?" he questioned.

Mycroft paused, sighing again, before speaking. "His name is Paxton Colis Moriarty."