John meandered down a more quiet street of London, walking off his rage until it was just a flickering light that rested in the heart of his existence. He and Sherlock had had a bit of a domestic over refrigerated body parts. John was about to turn around and go back to the flat when he heated a strange screeching sound. He turned round and saw a small boy, no older than eight, sitting alone on a swing. He had a small bag on his back and a very large shirt that seemed to drape itself over his tiny, extremely skinny frame. The boy was scribbling feverishly on an old legal note pad, but John didn't pay him any mind. The boy didn't even cross his moaned again until later that night. Much later, it was nearly four o' clock in the morning when John looked out the window to see the small boy standing there, looking at something John couldn't see.
"Sherlock," John said tentatively, knowing if Sherlock was in his 'Mind Palace" he would not hear. John opened the window slightly to get a better view. The boy moaned at the sound of running feet and started running, his bare feet slapping the pavement. The boy looked behind him, still running but he tripped over his bag and fell into the muddy gutter. Two large men grabbed him by the arms and hauled the dripping boy by the arms.
"pin em' back, Tony" the larger man sneered, as the other man John guessed was Tony pulled the little boy's arms back and put a knee in his back.
" Gonna get what you deserve, you little shit" The first mad said, pulling out a long, shiny knife. "awwww" the man cooed, "look at my little friend" the man dug the knife into the little boy's shoulder twisting it and truing it until the tip of the blade was shining out of the other side of his back.
"Go to hell you little freak" the man called Tony said, dropping the boy back into the gutter, and running away with his friend, their footsteps disappearing into the darkness.
"Oh my God Sherlock! They stabbed him!"
"What?" Sherlock looked up with actual excitement in his eyes. Rushing to slide on his slippers he ran down stairs. John could see him rush out the front door and falter in his tracks. The little boy was still alive. He had managed to get himself into a standing position, staggering from side to side until Sherlock took him by the middle and set him down on the ground, fluently removing the knife. John ran outside and grabbed the boy under his arms, and Sherlock took his legs. Carefully they managed to set him in the bathtub.
" Okay, get me a belt" John ordered as he cut the boy's shirt off with his pocket knife, once the shirt was removed, John was absolutely horrified at what he saw. The boy looked like a holocaust victim. There was no fat on his body, at all and his breathing was quick and shallow. Sherlock returned with the belt and john fastened the belt tightly. So tightly the boy's shoulder dislocated, but this was good. It would help him keep a firm pressure on the boy's shoulder.
"It was the gas station clerk" the child said in a weak voice.
" excuse me?" Sherlock said suddenly looking as if he had missed something vitally important.
"The gas station clerk murdered the women." Sherlock stumbled back and sat on the toilet, starring at the boy in awe.