I'm not sure if this is quite how I want it, but it's posted none the less. Please review – tell me if you like it, tell me if you don't – just tell me….please? Special thanks to Jack63kids and MapleleafCameo for support and encouragement.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Sherlock characters (Wish John was mine though!) – Thanks to all the actors, writers, etc etc that make the original series so worth writing about!

Sherlock was bored. He lay on the couch staring at the laptop screen (John noted vaguely that it was his laptop – again!) as if willing a case to appear in front of him. With a frustrated sigh he turned his gaze to his flatmate. "What about the papers? Anything?"

"Another politician in trouble over expenses?"

"Really John?" the silver-grey eyes turned to stare at the ceiling.

"Okay then, "John turned the page, "missing prize-winning dog? Tipped for stardom at…" his voice tailed off and his body stilled.

Sherlock swung up into a sitting position, instantly alert. "What?"

Wordlessly John handed the paper over, folded so the story that had caught his eye was uppermost. The article had been so small that he might have missed it were it not for the picture of a young girl smiling out of a school photograph, a girl John recognised from Kallie's description. And the headline read 'BODY WASHED UP ON SOUTH BANK IS RUNAWAY SCHOOLGIRL JENNY'.

Sherlock quickly scanned the story – the body had been found two days ago while he and John had still been in hospital, yet it was only now she had been identified and despite her youth it seemed an erring politician warranted bigger headlines. He looked up again at John, a question in his eyes. John nodded briefly and with no need for discussion they left the flat and hailed the first cab they saw.

"Scotland Yard" Sherlock said tersely as they climbed in, and once they were moving looked again at John. "This is the girl Kallie saw?"

"Dunno for sure, but it certainly sounds like the girl she described to me," he pulled his jacket closer around him, unaccountably cold despite the warm jumper and shirt he wore underneath. "Did Mycroft come up with anything on the CCTV footage?"

Sherlock shook his head. "The bastards are clever, they are either choosing areas where the coverage is sparse, or they never look in the direction of the camera."

"Jesus, Sherlock, if only I'd been able to…"

"Stop it John! There was nothing you could have done." You know, sometimes he just wanted to shake the doctor sitting next to him! "They found her the day after you met with Kallie, chances are she was already dead or close to by the time you got home that night."

John stared at him, deep down he knew he'd never be able to change the way these people chose to live their lives, how they might eventually die, but somehow he always felt responsible.

Sherlock gave a slight smile. "You can't save them all, John, but the little things you do for them – the medical checks, giving them your gloves, your money…"

"How the hell did you….oh, don't bother! It's probably something to do with the way I closed the door to the flat, or…"

"No, don't be more idiotic than you need to be John. It's the way you shoved your hands into your pockets to keep them, warm when I distinctly remember you buying yourself some gloves when we started on the Russian case – you said, if I recall,…."

"Yes, alright Sherlock, you've made your point. Still doesn't stop me feeling bad about it though!"

The cab pulled up in front of New Scotland Yard. While John paid the fare, Sherlock was dashing up the stairs to the front doors, his mind more on the potential case in hand and less on his state of health, so when a young police officer, hurrying in the opposite direction, knocked against his injured side the air whooshed out of his lungs and he clutched momentarily at the handrail.

"I'm s..sorry Sir.." the officer stammered "are you alright?"

John appeared at Sherlocks side at that precise moment and put a hand under his elbow "He'll be fine" he said shortly, waving the man away before turning his attention to his friend. "Okay? Take a deep breath and relax."

"This isn't an ante-natal class!" the consulting detective hissed angrily.

"Just as well, 'cause you're not pregnant." John was unfazed "You are, however, still recovering from a bullet wound that would have put most men in hospital for a week!" he held up his hand as Sherlock opened his mouth to make a cutting remark. "Yes, and we all know that you are not 'most men' so don't bother Sherlock! Just do as you're told. You'll be no good to your homeless network if you don't slow down a bit!"

Sherlock knew John was right – didn't like the fact one little bit – but he acknowledged the truth in the other man's words. In many ways they were very much alike, these diverse friends.

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No one knew his real name, only the name he chose to use on the streets. In the beginning Sim had been more streetwise than most of the runaways that ended up in London, looking for that elusive something that would make their world right. He'd been here for five years now, and much older in spirit than his twenty one years.

As he stood in the shelter of a boarded up shop doorway his keen eyes scanned the pavements, looking for a friendly face or an easy mark – someone to rattle his tin at, to beg money from. "Spare change please Sir?" the words rolled easily off his tongue "Change for a cup 'o tea Lady?" His luck wasn't with him today though, as everyone that passed stared steadfastly forward, not making eye contact yet not blatantly turning away, just not feeling charitable. Ever the pragmatist he crossed his arms over his chest and stuffed his hands tight under his armpits – warmer than his pockets – sunk his head into his shoulders and scurried out of his shelter heading towards the arches on the south side of Vauxhall bridge. As he headed away from the crowds and the well-lit streets a figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path.

"I'm looking for someone to run a little errand for me." He spoke in heavily accented English. Sim looked him up and down, smiled briefly and replied "What's in it for me then?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xo

Greg Lestrade should have seen this coming. He should have known the minute the story hit the papers that Sherlock and John would appear in his office as if by magic. As he watched the two men stride through the open plan main office he braced himself to face the barrage of questions. He was surprised though when it was John, and not Sherlock who opened the conversation.

"Another homeless girl Greg. Do you know the cause of death yet?"

"Good morning to you too, John, how're you feeling now? Still having those odd flashbacks?"

John didn't bother to answer. He dropped into the chair by Greg's desk while Sherlock prowled around the office.

"Why weren't we called as soon as she was found?

"Sherlock!" Greg was exasperated "You were in hospital! I wasn't even aware of it myself until today! The team handled it while I took a few hours out, okay?"

"I need to see the case notes."

"Look, I'm not sure.."

"Greg" John interrupted him. "You remember what I said about Kallie, about how she thought someone has been using the homeless to run drugs and paying them off in pure stuff? She described the latest runner to me – I think it's this Jenny that you fished out of the river. We need to get the facts about this, we need to stop them."

Greg looked from John to Sherlock, and back again. Another heartbeat, then he made his mind up and stood, looking through the window and beckoning to a figure at the far side of the office. The silence stretched as they waited for the newcomer.

At last the door opened and Anderson stepped through, a smirk plastered across his face.

"Someone here owes me a great big 'Thank You'!"