Morning turned out to be a stranger's room with the sun coming in the wrong side through the curtains. Sherlock blinked, and stared about from an unfamiliar bed with a comfy soft duvet piled on top of him and a too fluffy pillow bunched up behind his head where he must have pushed it in his sleep.

The bed was slightly damp and he felt a deep frisson of fear before he realized it was from being too hot, cocooned as he was with the duvet and pillows and it was sweat dampness, not…not the other kind.

Sherlock had never been the sort to panic over waking in unexpected circumstances, not unless he woke up in complete darkness or with his bed wet. He didn't know this room, but he knew where it was because Inspector Greg had told him the night before; he was in his guest bedroom. Sherlock was always good at remembering things. There wasn't a clock in the room but it felt early; the light under the curtains still pale and the morning air beyond his cocoon crisp and still. There were dark corners around him still, but it wasn't night dark and it wasn't scary.

It felt cozy in the bed, even if it wasn't familiar, but Sherlock had never been the sort to laze about once he woke up. Besides; if he wanted to make sure the dampness in the bed didn't become something worse, he needed to find the toilet, and soon.

The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet when he climbed off the bed. He still had socks on, and his button up shirt and trousers. Only his shoes had been removed before he was put in bed. That was an embarrassing thing to consider; Inspector Greg must have carried him in like a baby. If he had redressed him in pajamas, that would have been even worse. His shoes were at the foot of the bed, his bag and blanket settled in an old chair. He didn't bother with them, heading for one of the two doors to the room. The first door he tried opened on a closet, not the time out sort but the storage sort, because it was full of boxes, old coats, a couple of paintings he didn't take the time to inspect, a broken tennis racket and a lot of dust. There was no room for a little boy, not even if Sherlock curled up in a tiny ball. The second door led to the hallway.

There were small noises, creaks and groans and something undefinable, like voices too soft to be discerned even as voices, as though the house were slowly waking up. Sherlock tried the next door in the hallway and was rewarded with a toilet.

After Sherlock was done, he hesitated over what to do next. Should he explore? Should he try to find Inspector Greg? Or should he go back to the room he woke up in and wait for someone to come and get him? He didn't know what the rules were in this place. At home, the rules depended on who Jim had over. Sometimes Jim wanted Sherlock with him at all times, and sometimes he wanted him out of the way and out of sight at all times, and sometimes he wanted something in-between. If Jim were there, he'd probably tell Sherlock to explore and find out everything and tell him about it later.

For some reason, thinking about what Jim would want to know made Sherlock feel uneasy, and he carefully went back to the guest bed room. There was nothing confusing or scary inside the room. He already knew everything inside it and he knew he was allowed there because it was where he was put.

It was also boring.

He could read his book, but he already knew his book rather well and he wasn't in the mood to read. He could pull things out of the closet to look at, but they were dusty, and besides, if the closet were empty then it wouldn't be a storage closet anymore and it wouldn't feel safe anymore.

After an agonizing five minutes or so, Sherlock decided that sitting in a bedroom was just as boring as sitting in time out, and if it were a punishment either way then maybe he should do something more interesting and hope there wasn't a punishment later.

Inspector Greg's home was small. There was the hallway with the guest bedroom and the toilet and a door at the end that Sherlock thought might be where Inspector Greg was sleeping, and another door that Sherlock thought could be another guest room but turned out to be a closet. This closet had more space than the guest room one did, most of the space taken up by coats with a broom and a hoover stuck in a back corner and lots of shadows and Sherlock wondered if this would be where Inspector Greg would stick him if he were bad, and then he closed the door almost too quickly because it made a loud bang and Sherlock waited and listened but no one ran out to find out what the noise was. Sherlock continued to explore.

The hallway opened at the end closest to his guest room door and the rest of the house was on the other side of the wall. There was a kitchen and living area and a place in the corner for eating that reminded Sherlock of the breakfast nook in his brother's house, but it seemed to be an all meals nook because there wasn't a dining room. The kitchen space was quite small as well, or quite large because there wasn't a wall to divide it from the rest of the room, just a sort of recess, so Sherlock thought perhaps the whole room could be called a kitchen. Or perhaps the whole room was a parlor or dining room? Is there a word for a room that is everything all at once? Maybe that's what 'living room' meant; a room to live in.

The front door was in this area too, bolted and locked with a chain that was high over Sherlock's head so he if he had wanted to run away he'd have had to find something to climb first or he'd have to use a window. Not that Sherlock wanted to run away, but sometimes it's just good to figure those sorts of things out. Just in case.

The house was part of other people's houses too; Sherlock could tell because he could still hear a sort of waking up noise through the walls and under the floor and anyway, all the windows showed a view that was up high but there wasn't a downstairs to the house so either Inspector Greg lived in some sort of tree house or someone else lived in the downstairs.

The downstairs of Jim's house was where the servants stayed.

Inspector Greg's home told a story of a man who is away from home a lot. The pictures haphazardly displayed on shelves and tables say he's married, but she must be away a lot too or they both just really hate cleaning. There is dust on the bookshelves but not the all-meals table, which has a couple of mis-matched mugs left on it but is otherwise clean. There's a book by the sofa that is bookmarked, like it is waiting for someone to come and finish reading it. Whoever is reading it is taking their time however; there is a very fine layer of dust coating the book. There are dishes in the sink, the stains suggestive that the meals were for single people rather couples or a dinner party; if Mrs. Inspector Greg ate with Inspector Greg, then for some reason they ate different foods.

One of the pictures showed Inspector Greg with a little girl, both of them smiling. Sherlock frowned at the picture, not really knowing why he didn't like it. The girl had the same sort of eyes as Inspector Greg. She wasn't a daughter though; there would be more pictures and a bedroom for her if she were. Even if she didn't live in the house; even if she were dead. There'd be more for her in the house if she were a daughter.

Anyway, it didn't matter if Inspector Greg knew other children. Sherlock wasn't going to stay there. He'd probably go home with Jim that day, and he'd never see Inspector Greg again, unless he became a new part of inspections for the next time Sherlock called for help.

Now Sherlock had seen every single bit of the house, except for behind that final door at the end of the hall that was probably Inspector Greg's bedroom. Most of Sherlock thought it best to avoid going in there, because grownups don't like it when kids go in their bedrooms, especially if they are sleeping in there. But a little bit of Sherlock was bothered by seeing everything in the house except one room. He was almost certain it was a bedroom, but he wanted to see for himself that he was right.

The house remained quiet. Sherlock crept about the everything room even though he'd already noted most everything in it, peeked down the hall again, heard and saw nothing, went into his guest bedroom, sat on the bed, looked under the bed (nothing, except some dust), took a closer look in the closet (the dust made him sneeze this time around), and then he stuck his head out in the hallway again. Still all was silent.

He walked up to the last door at the end of the hall. He stomped his feet as he went to make some noise, but his feet were in socks and though the floor creaked it still wasn't really very loud. He found an especially creaky spot and jumped on it a few times, keeping his eyes on the door.

It didn't open. There was no sound of movement. No voices.

Sherlock walked up to it yet again, this time on his toes and avoiding every creaky spot he'd noted the first time around. There were still creaks and if Jim heard him he'd be disappointed but sometimes floors are just creaky and there's nothing to be done.

He put his ear to the door. He still heard nothing. No answering creaks. No voices. No snores either.

Carefully, he turned the knob. It turned. The door wasn't locked. He pushed. It opened.

The room inside was dark, but the same early morning sort of darkness where there is light coming in the windows through the curtains. It was a bedroom, and Sherlock knew it was a bad idea to go in, because maybe he would be in trouble, but maybe he wouldn't be, and not knowing was worse than anything and made his stomach feel tight. He slid into the room.

It was larger than his bedroom, but it had more furniture in it so it didn't look much larger. A large bed took up a lot of space, and there was a tall chest of drawers and a short one with a mirror over it and jewelry and two boxes and a comb and a necktie and some coins and a paperclip and some make-up and a phone sitting on top. There was a chair in the corner with clothes thrown over it. There were also some clothes rumpled on the floor. A small table was on either side of the bed, and the side by the window had a watch and a badge and a phone and a book crowded over it. The other table had a sort of lacy doily and a phone charger but no phone and a pair of silver hoop earrings.

On this side of the room there was a door and Sherlock thought maybe it was to a closet, but when he peaked through it he saw a bathtub and a toilet and a sink with a mirror over and a towel rumpled by the bath as though it had been draped there but had fallen.

In the bed were two people. Sherlock tip-toed as quietly as the floor allowed and peered at the person closest to him. It was not Inspector Greg. It was the woman in the photographs. It must be Mrs. Inspector Greg. She had brown-red hair tied into braids and lace on the bit of her night clothes he could see and, he soon discovered as he leaned in to note she smelled of lilacs, she also had dark eyes and a very loud scream.

Sherlock jerked backwards at this unexpected awakening and the person in the bed next to her jerked upwards, hands fumbling over the table at his side and knocking most of the objects about.

"Greg!" the woman cried, still shrill but more coherent, "There's a boy in our house!"

"Sherlock?" said Greg, thankfully not in a shrill voice, but a deep and sleep muddled one. Sherlock had backed away until the windowsill hit his back, his heart banging hard inside his chest, while he tried to figure out if it was a good idea to flee or if that would make everything even worse. Jim gave the worst punishments whenever Sherlock tried to hide, but sometimes he couldn't seem to help it.

The woman in the bed finally turned away from Sherlock to look at Inspector Greg, and her voice went less shrill but in no way pleased when she spoke again. "You know this child?"

"He needed a place to stay the night," Inspector Greg answered, his own tone apologetic. "we got in late and you were already asleep. Sherlock? It's okay, everything is okay, you aren't in trouble. You just startled us. Maggie, this is Sherlock Moriarty. Sherlock, this is my wife, Maggie."

Mrs. Maggie didn't look like she wants to shake hands or say 'How do you do', which is the correct response to introductions. Sherlock wondered if he should offer his hand anyway, but somehow his hands were holding onto the window sill and didn't want to let go so he can step closer. Maybe Mrs. Maggie was a bit scary Sherlock wished he'd never come into the room and just waited until everyone woke up of their own accord.

"It's okay, Sherlock," Inspector Greg said again. "Why don't you go wait in the living room. We'll be out in a bit."

So it was called a 'living room' and Sherlock let go of the window and around the room, sideways so he could watch Inspector Greg and Mrs. Maggie in case they changed their mind and wanted to come grab him and put him in time out, but they only watched and he went out the door and closed it behind him and he ran down the hall, avoiding the creakiest bits, and into the living room and he stood in the middle because Inspector Greg hadn't told him where in the living room he wanted him.

He could hear voices now inside the house, from the bedroom, but too muffled to be clear even when Mrs. Maggie's voice grew shouty. Sherlock wondered if Inspector Greg was in trouble and if it were Sherlock's fault, and that made him feel squirmy and wrong and bad because Inspector Greg was nice and now he'd know how bad Sherlock could be. Sherlock should have stayed in his guestroom.

There's the sound of doors banging, and then the sound of pipes in the walls and there are no more voices. Sherlock listens to the pipes and after a couple of minutes, Inspector Greg comes out, wearing an undershirt and the same pants he had changed into the night before, after Sherlock had been sick on his first pair. The pipes' sounds continue and Sherlock thought that Mrs. Maggie was probably taking a bath in the bathtub.

Inspector Greg looked at Sherlock for a moment, and Sherlock tried to understand what his face was saying. Sherlock was good at knowing when someone's face was lying, but when it came to understanding how a person was feeling he wasn't very good at it. He knew to check the corners of someone's eyes when they smiled, and he knew frowns meant anger or sadness, and when faces got tight and the eyes glare and narrow, that usually meant that Sherlock had been bad or stupid and that he was in trouble, unless Jim didn't care what the angry person thought.

Inspector Greg's face wasn't tight. He wasn't smiling, not pretend or real smiling, and his lips were a little downturned but his eyes weren't squinched and his nose wasn't flaring so he was most likely sad rather than angry. Then, after a moment, he did smile, and it was a real smile even if it was only a small one.

"I'm sorry," Inspector Greg said, his voice soft and not shouting like Sherlock expected. Jim always shouted when Sherlock was bad, and told him how bad and stupid he was, and then told him to go to his room. Jim didn't say 'I'm sorry', and Inspector Greg wasn't making any sense.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, because he wanted to know, and Inspector Greg seemed willing to answer his questions yesterday so maybe he would this day too.

Inspector Greg didn't answer right away though. He let out a huff that was sort of a laugh, and he went and sat down on the sofa. Then he answered.

"I'm sorry Maggie shouted. It's my fault. I should have told her you were here."

"I went in your bedroom," said Sherlock. "I was bad."

"No," Inspector Greg answered, louder than before, but then his voice went quieter again, and his face remained sincere. "No, you aren't bad, Sherlock. You were smart. You woke up in a strange place and you went looking for…for the person looking after you. I want you to find me if you need me. None of that was your fault."

Sherlock thought about this. It didn't sound true, but Inspector Greg seemed to think that it was. Nothing in his face suggested he was lying or saying anything less than what he believed. That didn't mean it was true, of course. People believe something and still be wrong. But it seemed to mean that Sherlock definitely wasn't in trouble. It made him feel better and worse. Better because he wasn't being dragged towards the closet. Worse because somehow he had tricked Inspector Greg into thinking he was good, and Sherlock knew better. He knew that eventually Inspector Greg would figure it out after all, and that was a horrible thing to wait for.

"Now," said Inspector Greg, his voice lighter, "How about we find some breakfast and I will tell you how our day is going to go and then if you have any questions, you can ask."

Inspector Greg consulted Doctor Mike's food notes and then looked about inside his fridge and in a cupboard and then he said they can have oatmeal with a bit of cinnamon or perhaps toast with beans. They could even have all three.

Sherlock wasn't sure if he was hungry, and said they could have whatever Inspector Greg wanted, and so he said, "All three it is!" and he plugged in the toaster and an electric kettle and pulled out a pot and he handed Sherlock some spoons and forks and knives and asked him to set the table before he turned away to get out the bread.

Sherlock didn't know if he was supposed to make three places or two, but Inspector Greg had only pulled out two of everything, so he guessed he should make two places. He laid out the silverware and he didn't know where the napkins were but Inspector Greg handed him some paper napkins when he asked. There were five in the bunch he was handed. After some consideration, for he'd never seen how paper napkins are best laid out, he folded two into swans, because that's an easy thing to make from a square, and placed the swans on a second napkin in the middle of the place setting, and then he made another swan and put it in the middle of the table.

Sherlock also didn't know about laying out the cups or butter but Inspector Greg looked busy because the kettle was whistling and the toast popped up at almost the same moment and he was trying to open a can of beans but the bit you pull on had come off without opening anything and he was prying it open with a knife instead. It all looked very busy and like nothing was going to be fixed at all. So it was very surprising when, five minutes later, somehow Inspector Greg had managed to load up two plates with toast and beans and had them carried to the table while asking Sherlock if he thought he could manage the milk from the fridge or if it was too heavy for him.

Inspector Greg was very impressed with Sherlock's table setting skills. Sherlock did manage to carry the milk to the table.

A moment later, there was also butter, cups, and two bowls of oatmeal, and Inspector Greg had a cup of coffee and asked Sherlock if he wanted his toast cut up while he buttered it for him. Sherlock did not get coffee. The milk, it turned out, was for him.

Mrs. Maggie never came out to eat. Sherlock was glad, because he didn't think she liked him and she might have decided that Sherlock needed to be punished after all. Sherlock ate, because somehow having all the food in front of him made his stomach realize he really was hungry, and none of it was peas, and this might be his last non-pea meal for ages, because soon they'd stick him back with his brother and Jim was going to be so angry. Sherlock ate everything and Inspector Greg smiled.

Then he cleared things away, and he didn't ask for help this time, and he let Sherlock sit and told him about how the day was going to go.

"First, I know you are confused right now. You don't know what's going to happen next and that's scary. It's okay to be scared and confused. So the first thing we're going to do today is to get you settled. Your brother can't look after you right now. You are going to stay with a new family. Do you understand?"

Sherlock didn't. He still didn't know why his brother couldn't look after him. Surely by now they'd figured out that Sherlock hadn't been abused? And he didn't know what Inspector Greg meant by 'new family'. If he couldn't stay with his brother, then why couldn't he stay with Inspector Greg? He didn't quite want to ask though. Anyway, the longer Sherlock stayed, the sooner Greg would realize that Sherlock really was a bad kid and the sooner he stopped liking him.

After a moment, when Sherlock didn't say anything, Inspector Greg continued.

"After we find you a new home, we're going to go to your brother's house, just for a visit. You can pack more of your things to take to your new home. And you can show me around and tell me more about what it's like living there. Then we can go to your new home and you can settle in. I'll stay with you for a bit, and if you hate it there, you can tell me and we can try to find a different home."

Sherlock was beginning to wish he'd eaten less breakfast. He didn't like all this talk about a new family and a new home. He wanted to go to his home, to stay, even if Jim was going to be so angry. He knew how his home worked. He didn't know how this new home was going to be.

Inspector Greg helped Sherlock to gather his things from the guestroom and then went to get dressed himself. The last thing Sherlock thought as Inspector Greg led him from his home and down some stairs was that Mrs. Maggie must have been very dirty because she still hadn't come out of the bathroom all that entire time.