A/N: I hope you enjoy this short story. It will be separated into 6 separate chapters.

John let his gaze stray to the little blonde boy with the too blue irises by the doorway. Tears dribbled down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. His balled hands remained by his sides, small sniffles loud against the thin walls.

The doctor's eyes then fell to the body sprawled on the cold floor. He frowned. A veil was slung over the corpse, black trash bag beneath it as to not let the blood soak through the eggshell white.

He shifted his sad eyes to Sherlock, a gangly ball of energy and a flurry of coat as his curly hair bounced against his head.

"This is horrible," the boy mumbled, reaching up to his dad's dangling hand. The father looked at him with the same shade eyes as his son, apologetic and guilty as he gripped his small hand roughly.

"I know, bud, I know."

Sherlock looked at them with something akin to understanding. He crouched beside the boy, the father clinging to the child's hand even tighter.

"You and your father should get home," the detective murmured. The dad brushed a stray lock of hair off his son's forehead, gently squeezing his shoulder with his free hand.

He lifted up again, the parent nodding as he tugged gently at the child's arm.

"Come on, bud. Let's let the detectives work for now, alright?" The boy didn't move for a moment, seemingly rooted to the ground before he almost too quickly darted for the door.

Sherlock watched them leave, and John watched Sherlock watch them. The doctor came up behind him, furrowed brows framing his worried eyes.

He rested a warm palm against his friend's shoulder. He felt the smallest wince rattle through his fingers, extending up his arm as Sherlock's calculating eyes turned to him.

"You alright?" the soldier said after a bit, Sherlock's eyes still steady on his.

The detective firmly pushed John's arm away, shrugging out of the doctor's grasp as he responded,"Fine." Curt, cold cut, quick.

Then, Sherlock was heading out of the door to find Lestrade, billowing coat only settling around him once he stopped inside the doorway. He turned back.

"Coming, John?"

The doctor glanced back down to the corpse of the mother, remembering her son's too blue eyes and the way they sheened with his tears in the light. They oddly reminded him of Sherlock, and now the resemblance wouldn't leave him.

"Yeah, yeah..."

"Coming."

A/N: Any feedback is appreciated.