Frank knew it was bad when Harry, who hated him, had rushed into the room and had said simply.
"We need to get to the Hospital." And then there had been the terrible silent drive, with Harry gazing at the road in front and Frank sat in the passenger seat next to her. Not knowing what was going on. But somehow knowing it was serious.
He remembered some years before, when Mrs. Watson had done the same thing.
"We need to go to the Hospital" And he'd arrived to find John, his Little Soldier, looking pale and limp on a bed in a strange white room that smelt of antiseptic. John had fallen out of a tree, playing Army, and had cut his head open and broken his arm. He had hugged Frank tightly. Soaking his neck with tears as he tried not to scream when they set his bones. He was such a brave little guy. And of course all the nurses had loved them both, John had got so much Ice Cream he had brain freeze for an hour. Frank wasn't so keen on Ice cream. It made his face sticky.
But now John wasn't playing any more. Frank's Little Soldier was a grown up.
Frank knew it was bad when Harry, who hated him, turned to him and asked with her eyes and mouth full of tears
"Is he going to be okay?" Frank had looked back at her, not daring to answer. "What am I asking you for, you silly old thing? How would you know?" Normally Frank would have taken offence, but that night it was almost like a term of endearment. She reached out and patted him.
The room was just as strange and antiseptic scented as the last one. And John looked just as small and pale as the last time. With bandages and wires and tubes covering him. The bullets were real now. And this time, it was Harry's tears soaking into Frank's neck. Harry who hated him.
When John finally woke up, with his head still fuzzy from the drugs that were being dripped into him, and Harry had cried, and shouted and called John several bad words, and finally hugged him, gently, he had looked wearily around the white room. And then John had noticed him sat patiently watching the whole thing.
"Frank? What are you doing here?" And Harry rolled her eyes. But then she smiled. She might have known. Because the reason Harry had disliked Frank was because she had once spent three days trying to teach her baby brother to say her name. And the first word John had ever said had been "Hippo".
Frank was a bit threadbare now and a bit saggy where his stuffing was squished. But he was always available for comfort and a chat. Being John Watson's Lucky Hippo was a serious job.