A/N: Hiya! Firstly, i'd like to thank superwhoolocked for being my first reviewer on this story and I really appreciate it! Let me know what y'all think!
The two arrived at the subway station and met up with Lestrade and Anderson while Donovan went around questioning anyone who may have seen anything out of the ordinary.
"What exactly happened?" John asked, crossing her arms and looking intently at the carnage.
Sherlock scoffed, "isn't it obvious, John?"
John rolled his eyes and turned back to look at Phil and Greg.
"There were three bombs. All detonated within minutes of each other and that's as much as we know at this point."
"How many casualties?" Sherlock asked, his eyes darting back and forth between the station that was almost completely destroyed and the other detectives.
"Too many to say. I estimate about seventy fatalities and about fifteen others critically injured." Anderson said, clasping his hands in front of him.
"There are witnesses," Sherlock started, completely disregarding what Anderson said, about to continue when John cut him off.
"How do you know? Everyone that could be witnesses are either dead or being taken to the nearest hospital!" He exclaimed, following the other mans gaze as they settled on two children, being looked over in a nearby ambulance and talking to Sally.
"Yes, those two children are among the few who witnessed what happened. They're in shock, so don't...be yourself. Be your happier, nicer self that we know you're capable of." Greg explained, watching in interest as they walked over to the children.
"We'll take it from here, Sally." John said, looking at her as she rolled her eyes and turned back to the girl.
"Good luck with Freak." She said, walking briskly over to Anderson and Lestrade.
Both men ignored Donovan's comment and shook the girls bony, pale hand.
"Hello, I'm John and this is Sherlock Holmes. What's your name?" The doctor asked, looking her over worriedly. The girl appeared to be just eight-years-old and very underweight for her age, whilst her brother appeared to be five and fairly normal looking.
"Charlotte Clarice," She started, not bothering to give a last name as her voice shook with each word she spoke, "but my friends call me Charlie. This is my brother, Christopher." She added, cringing as a paramedic dabbed some anti-biotic cream over the gash on her forehead.
"And what of your parents? Are they as selfish as they seem?" Sherlock asked, clasping his hands in front of him, watching as Christopher's upper lip quivered and Charlotte's eyes dilated, her breathing becoming more rapid.
"Sherlock!" John scolded, mentally slapping himself in the face at how the detective couldn't act differently in front of children.
"T-They're...nice...I can't f-find them." She stuttered, the breeze blowing a strand of her brown hair into her eyes, her natural sandy blonde highlights more prominent in the light.
"Well, judging how Christopher is about to start sobbing hysterically, along with the fact that your eyes dilated at the mention of them, along with the stuttering when you answered me...it's safe to say you and your brother don't have a very good relationship with them." He explained, his green-blue eyes boring into her brown ones as she shook her head.
John sighed and grabbed an anti-biotic wipe from a paramedic and began tending to the wounds on Christopher's face and hands, giving the boy a soft smile as carefully pulled a piece of shrapnel out of the cut on his cheek, ruffling his dark brown hair when he was done and turned back to his friend.
"Please, Sherlock. We can talk about this later." He said, glaring at Sherlock, who still looked cooly at the eight-year-old, who started to hyperventilate.
"And based off the heavy breathing, you're either anxious or asthmatic." He said, his gaze softening when Charlotte struggled to answer.
Gently, he grabbed her hands and smoothed back her caramel hair as he knelt down to her height of just three foot nine.
"Charlotte," Sherlock started, lowering his voice for only her to hear, "Charlie, look at me. Don't look at anything else; not the subway, or worry about Christopher. Eyes on me and focus on your breathing, can you do that?" He asked, brushing the tears from her eyes as she nodded.
Sherlock and John grew more concerned with each passing minute that Charlotte couldn't breathe, her breath only slowing down briefly before picking back up again.
"Here, try this." Julia, the youngest paramedic said, passing an albuterol tube to John, who passed it to Sherlock.
"Do you know how to_" John started to ask, only for Sherlock to cut him off.
"Of course I know how to use it! I've been around asthmatics before, John!"
John shook his head, smiling at the consulting detective.
Sherlock ignored it and placed it over the girls nose and mouth, constantly looking around as Charlotte breathed in and out, taking in the albuterol.
"Stop looking at me like that." He mumbled, his eyes widening as he looked towards the wreckage and saw a young woman being pulled from it and being brought towards another ambulance.
The blonde hairstyle was all too familiar.
"John John John!" He said, whacking him in the shoulder each time he said his name.
"Ow! What?" He asked, taking the cloth away from Christopher's face as he rubbed his aching shoulder, following Sherlock's concerned gaze.
Doing a double take, he abruptly stood up, eyes widening when he saw the woman being lifted into the far off ambulance.
A woman he hadn't seen in almost three months.
Mary.
A/N: Let me know what y'all think! Please review :)