A/N: First of all: Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters/places/story that you recognize.

This story is post RB. It's John/Sherlock friendship. Possible Johnlock in the future, I haven't decided yet.

Warning: This story contains mention of physical and emotional abuse, drug abuse, violence and cursing. You have been warned.

"There ain't nothin' for you here."

Damn.

John Watson knew better than this. Even if Sherlock were alive, even if the homeless network knew where he was, they wouldn't tell him. They were nothing if not fiercely protective of their own.

He'd seen the body. John had grabbed his friends limp arm and felt the nonexistent pulse.

Sherlock Holmes is dead. The painful truth he so badly wished to deny.

Sherlock Holmes was a fake. He could repeat it to himself as much as he wanted but the information refused to compute. There's no way it was all fake. They were best friends. They had lived together. They had spent too many hours in their chairs across from each other in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock couldn't possibly have acted that entire time. All those thousands of deductions couldn't be magic tricks. It was real, all real.

So John went on believing in Sherlock Homes. A little over two years and John couldn't stop looking for him, no matter what it was doing to the good Dr.

"Alright. Thanks anyway" With a sigh he started to turn away from the homeless woman.

"Doctor! Doctor Watson!"

John turned, startled, to see a young man waving him over from deeper in the alleyway.

He made his way over to the teen and started to recognize him from his time with Sherlock. Jack...Jerrod...Jessie! That was it.

"Hello Jessie, what can.." But he was cut off.

"No time Doc. She just passed out and she ain't wakin up" Jessie said motioning to a girl slumped against the wall. "We was just sittin and talkin and like nothing she plain passed out."

Crouching down in front of the small body, John started to take vital signs. "Has she taken anything?"

"No sir, no drugs. Least I didn't see 'er take anythin' "

John narrowed his his eyes at the kid. The girls heart rate was increased and she felt inordinately warm. Not signs of definite drug use, but either way she needed to be checked out properly.

John started to pick her up.

"Alright, help me get her up we need to get her to a hospital."

"No! You can't take her there, they'd send her back to the home. She'd kill me if she knew I let you take 'er there. Please just help 'er "

John hesitated for a moment. He should probably take her to the hospital. And so what if she was taken back into foster care. Three square meals a day, a roof over her head, that had to be better than roughing it right? But something told him that the girl in his arms would disagree.

"Fine" He conceded. "I'll take her back to mine, you coming?"

"Yeah mate"

Sighing John turned and walked towards the road to hail a taxi. Walking through London with an unconscious girl in his arms would probably be frowned upon.

Blonde.

Impossibly blonde. Well not impossibly, just...unusually. Such an unusual shade of platinum blonde.

John Watson sat watching the girl passed out on his couch. Jessie had left as soon as he heard she would be alright. That had been a couple hours ago.

Nothing irreversible just some dehydration and exhaustion, a bit of malnutrition. He'd seen worse and she could be fixed up rather easily. Let her rest for as long as she needs, keep her hydrated and get some food into her, then figure out what to do with her. Basically the same routine as with his hung-over flatmates back at Uni.

But right now John was trying his level best to deduce like Sherlock.

Long curly blonde hair. Tangled a mess. Skin, pale, spend time huddled in alleys and shadows. Clothes, multiple layers, thread bear and filthy. Not newly run away then. Shoes, dirty but expensive brand, Filched? Height, roughly 4'11". Estimated age, 10.

That was all he could manage to get off of her appearance and he didn't think she'd take kindly to him rummaging through her backpack.

Just then there was a groan and the girl rolled further onto her side, squinting up at him for a moment before burying her head in the throw pillow.

"Hello" John tried.

"ungh" was her muffled reply. "Where 'm I?"

"You're at 221B Baker Street and my name is John Watson. I'm a Doctor. You passed out and Jessie called me over to help. Can you tell me the date?"

"Mrphlgh"

"What's that?"

Lifting her head a fraction "I said, It's July 7th"

"What year?"

"2014."

"Good" A pleased smile passed over John's face. "I'm going to get some more water and a bit of food. Be right back"

As he was shuffling around the kitchen making a pbj for the girl, he realized something.

"What's you're name? Jessie never said!" He called from the kitchen.

"Araluen"

"Huh?" John said walking back into the living room.

Araluen had sat up while he was in the kitchen, legs crossed indian style and hands folded in her lap where she was staring. With her head down her face was obscured by her hair.

"It's Araluen" the girl seemed to sigh. "Ar-ah-loo-in"

"Alright, alright, I just didn't hear you that's all. And how old are you?"

"Twelve"

Twelve!? The girl was tiny.

John set the plate and the glass of water down on the table in front of her and sat himself on it as well, a couple feet away.

"Well Araluen. You passed out from exhaustion and dehydration. You should be alright in a little while. Just eat this sandwich and drink the water. Rest up a bit more and then I'll call Social Services. I can't let you back on the streets, at this rate you'll waste away."

"NO!" She frantically looked up and finally meeting his eyes. "Please don't send me back there!"

And John Watson couldn't think of it. He couldn't think at all and he couldn't breathe, because those pale blue-green eyes were so painfully familiar.