"Sherlock, it's Lestrade you need to come to the hospital, right away..."
"What, why?"
"Please Sherlock...it's kind of a delicate matter and to be honest I'm bloody confused."
"What is it?"
Greg sighed,
"It's to do with the case about the abusive mum, and that little kid we couldn't find..."
"Why does it bother me? I found you all the evidence, I found that child..."
"Listen, can you just come down to St Bart's hospital?" Lestrade interrupted. He was being even more of an annoying prat that usual, if that were possible. He thought.
"Hmm fine, I'll get my own taxi."
"Yeah, just come quickly."
Greg hung up the phone, this was getting more and more confusing, but if anybody could solve it, it was Sherlock.
Greg needed me urgently, Sherlock thought. He was now is his taxi, 5 minutes away from St Bart's.
He solved that case perfectly. He found the mum and the neglected boy. What more did Jeff (Lestrade) want? Sherlock sighed.
Sherlock Arrived at the hospital and was greeted, well kind of greeted by a what seemed confused, stressed Lestrade.
"Sherlock I'm taking you inside, but you better explain what's going on immediately."
Sherlock nodded and walked into the hospital.
The smell of cleanliness welcomed him as he walked into the hospital, with Lestrade following him. He saw patients sitting in the waiting room. He observed them, whilst walking past. Overweight man, very high porn addiction, low self-esteem, eating as a way to relieve stress, tear marks from earlier today, depression. A young women kept fluttering her eyes to the clock every now and then. She then continued to rub her hands together nervously. An embarrassing issue then, but she wasn't late for something, she wanted the appointment to be soon and to be done quickly.
"Ah Sherlock..." Mycroft's voice penetrated his ears.
Sherlock looked up...well this was one thing he didn't deduce.
"Mycroft, what are you doing here?"
"Apparently helping you solve a stupid mistake, you made."
"What mistake?" Sherlock asked, he ignored the 'stupid' comment. Mycroft always did think he was the best. Sherlock kept thinking and thinking, deducing and deducing. Wait! Sherlock's mind screamed at him, as he remembered what Lestrade had said. It had to be in relation to the abusive mum and child.
"Why does the child concern me?" He asked to Mycroft.
"Ah very good, little brother, your getting better. Come with me."
Sherlock had to follow Mycroft, like a little lost puppy, as did Greg. Mycroft just had a smile on his face, that slowly faded. He didn't know what would happen in the next hours. He tried to think ahead, as always, but Sherlock's behaviour most of the time was unbalanced and inappropriate.
They arrived at a small hospital room, and Mycroft sighed and opened the door. Inside was a pale bruised boy. He was connected to many wires, as his heart monitor steadily beeped.
Sherlock's mind flashed back to the case.
"Just through there." he indicated to Lestrade. The house he pointed at looked normal.
"Sherlock are you sure? Because we really need..."
"When have I ever been not sure?" Sherlock interrupted Greg.
"Fine." He sighed.
Lestrade knocked on the door.
"Miss Watson, this is the police we need you to open up."
Everyone waited 10 seconds.
"Miss Watson you need to open this door, otherwise we're gonna have to break the door down."
Again no answer.
Some other police officers stepped forward.
"Okay. One, two, three!" The officers barged the door open. Everyone came in, including Sherlock.
However they all stopped when they saw the sight that beheld them. A women holding a gun up to what looked like her son's head. He had bruises all over his face, his hands were tied to his back and his breathing was shallow.
"Don't come any closer!" She yelled, emphasising her point, by putting the gun off safety. The young boy looked tired and worn out. He looked scared, but just closed his eyes, as if he knew this was the end and he was trying to find peace.
"Miss Watson, please just put the gun down and we can talk reasonably..." Lestrade tried to reason with her.
"No, I'll tell you what and I'll admit to it. I did kill those children. I killed every single one of them. And guess what? They all deserved it. Even Johnny here..." She indicated to the boy, by pressing harder into his skull. It looked as if he should be in pain, but still his eyes remained shut. "...eventually deserves death, but he has been a burden on my life and he has been punished every single day of his life because of it. But guess what? Johnny look at me..." he did immediately. "...this is your fault. I want you to remember, that this was all your fault." She raised the gun and shot him in the shoulder. Immediately after that she put the gun inside her mouth and fired.
Sherlock's mind raced to the present and Mycroft, as well as Lestrade were both staring at him.
"What does this boy have to do with me?" He asked, he willed anyone to answer, almost in a pleading tone. For once he felt something, was it pity?
"Well apparently you were certainly busy in those younger years of yours, Sherlock. This boy here, a John Watson, is your son."