As so many writers say, I'm sorry if this is horrible. But I hope you like it anyway. I'll continue it when I can, and I'd love comments and/or suggestions. I'm not planning to make this particularly long. Probably it will be five chapters at most; everyone okay with that?

Sherlock was not gone (again). He had ended up not going off to his death after all (and had he really thought he'd fool John into not recognizing that was about to happen? It was almost insulting how little credit he still gave him). On the other hand, it appeared Moriarty, that horrible, murderous psychopath, was alive too, and that was why Sherlock was allowed to stay in England. Was it a worthwhile price to pay for keeping his friend? You bet it was.

The very day after his near-exile, Sherlock had jumped at the opportunity to take a case, and even though he didn't ask John to come, in fact had indicated that he didn't need to, John had come anyway. There was no way he felt like letting Sherlock out of his sight, not after coming so close to losing him. Again.

Afterward the case was solved, that evening Sherlock and John were strolling towards home (which these days, was rather relative as to whether it meant Baker Street or the place where John and Mary slept; both counted as home now), in companionable silence, just enjoying the comparatively peaceful sunset and the feeling of success that came with a solved case-John nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice from behind them yelled, "DOCTOR WATSON!"

He spun around, and saw a tall, gangly young man running down the street towards them, dodging clumsily around other passers-by, splashing through a puddle carelessly, before finally skidding to a stop before the two men. As he stood there, panting, John racked his brains for how he knew him. Something was vaguely familiar about him, but he wasn't sure-

"Emery Merle," the boy supplied. "We had a talk in the park a few years ago."

"Huh-" John smiled. "Oh, yes." He remembered the day he'd gone to the park, angry with Sherlock (again), and met this boy who claimed to have a similar problem with someone named Arthur. My goodness, that had been a long time, especially when taking into account Sherlock's pretended death and Mary and all that.

Then John noticed that Emery was very out of breath...and also seemed to be quite upset.

"Are you all right? Why are you-"

"It's Arthur!" Emery almost yelled, causing several passers-by to give them strange looks. "He's back, but he's hurt, and I need you to come help him!"

"Who's Arthur?" It was the first time Sherlock had spoken; he had just been standing there, staring at the boy and probably deducing everything possible about him.

"He's my mas-my friend." The slip did not go unnoticed by either of them, but the boy plowed on through it. "He's going to die if we don't do something now."

The words brought back a haunting sense of deja vu, but John pushed it aside. "Can't you take him to the hospital?"

"No!" Emery gasped, and then tried to compose himself. "No, I-I can't. It's complicated. Please, you must come with me now."

"All right," John finally said. Then he added, "But I should probably get my medical bag from home-"

Emery threw up his hands in a gesture that combined exasperation and despair, and seemed about to start yelling.

"I know we have to hurry, but I'm assuming you don't have any equipment with Arthur at the moment-"

"He doesn't," Sherlock interrupted.

"-and I can do a lot more for him with my own equipment. It won't take long, don't worry. What is the nature of his injury,by the way?" As he asked, he began trying to hail a cab.

Emery hesitated, and then said, "He was stabbed. By a sword."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Awfully archaic method of attacking someone."

Without bothering to respond, the boy shot out his hand, and right as he did so, his eyes turned from blue to gold. Not more than two seconds later, a cab screeched to a halt in front of them.

As they bundled themselves inside and gave the address, Sherlock and John shot each other looks asking, Did you see that too?

Yeah, the detective nodded.

Could it be just a coincidence? John asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

Possibly, Sherlock's face conceded. Then he glanced at their young companion, as if to say, But there is definitely more to this fellow than meets the eye.