A/N: Hi, there. Yes another chapter. But this is the last one for a bit. I've been working on my story, which needs a little more love.
Thanks to my awesome, amazing, fantastic beta, old ping hai.
John's heart was beating double time as Shezza and Wiggins wove their way through London's streets.
They finally came to a worn-down brownstone. Wiggins walked up to the door and did a jaunty little knock. The door swung open to reveal a dark-skinned man about John's age, his dark eyes serious.
"Picked up another foundling I see," he said, as he opened the door wider to allow them access to the building.
"You make it sound like I bring home a new one every week," Shezza groused.
"And you don't?" Wiggins asked, as he followed his leader and his burden into the house.
"Once a month maybe," Shezza admitted with a grin. Wiggins and the dark-skinned man shared a glance of surprise.
"Where are you taking the package?" Wiggins asked, indicating John with his chin.
"My room. Victor, grab the medical kit and meet us there," Shezza said.
The dark-skinned man nodded and went one direction while Wiggins went another.
"Why isn't Shinwell the doorman?" John asked.
"Of the two dark-skinned men trusted enough for the task, Victor is less likely to get into trouble. He can pretend not to understand English and begin speaking Hindi; it deters all but the most determined copper."
"Clever. And is he a trained doctor? I know Jim had one. He had Small taken to a Dr Franklin. Is Victor yours?"
"I wish. No, Victor is the closest we get, a tailor."
"Oh, so he can patch up all but the worst of wounds?"
"Yes." The clipped way he said it implied that Victor's inexperience had led to the death of at least one member of their group.
Shezza took John up the stairs and through a small kitchen to a quiet, clean room off to the side. It was sparsely decorated and had a large bed in the middle. It was to this bed that John was taken and gently laid down.
Just as Shezza was getting John situated, Victor came in with a small black bag.
"Victor, this is John," Shezza said. "He ran afoul of Moriarty's gang tonight. You'll need to check more than just his ankle."
"Hello, John," Victor said, his smile bright. "Let's take a look at that ankle first, shall we?"
John nodded. "I can tell it's not broken. I'd be screaming if it was."
"Broken a lot of bones, then?" the former tailor asked as he pushed up the leg to John's trousers, revealing the swollen appendage.
"A few," John admitted. "But I'm also in training to be a doctor. A lot of the elderly elite tend to break bones on a fairly regular basis."
"So how did a posh thing like you get into trouble with the Spiders?" Victor asked, as he felt around the ankle.
"I was on my way to the army recruitment post."
"In the middle of the night?" Shezza asked incredulously.
John just shook his head.
"Well you aren't going anywhere anytime soon," the former tailor said. "It's not broken, like you said, but it is sprained. Looks like you're stuck with us for a bit." He wrapped up John's ankle with a bit of instruction from John to do it better.
"I really should get going," John protested.
"The army is unlikely to take you with your ankle as it is, John," Shezza reminded him. "I'll tell you what, why don't you give Victor a crash course in emergency care while you're here. That way you can be useful and not feel you are taking advantage of us."
Victor and John shared a glance. Victor's hopeful, John's surprised.
"Yes, of course. I'd be happy to," John said.
"I'll let the others know," Shezza said and then turned to leave.
Once the gang leader was gone, Victor turned back to his patient. "Would you remove your shirt, please?"
John nodded, grateful Shezza wasn't here for this part. It was bad enough that a stranger was going to see what John's father had done, but he didn't think he could face the gang leader if he found out how weak John was.
He slowly unbuttoned his shirt with trembling hands, revealing the once purple bruises now a sickly yellow. He shrugged out of it to show the damage Sebastian had done. The dark bruises of the man's large hands around his upper arms.
"Where did you get those?" Victor asked pointing to the older bruises. "You run afoul of another gang?"
"Ah, no. My father," John choked out. He cast his eyes down in shame.
"So that's why you were running away."
John blushed.
"Nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone here is running away from something. Demons chase us all, some are just more tangible than others." Victor patted him on the knee, and he too made his exit.
Molly came in some time later with a small bowl and a cup of water. She slammed them both on the side table and shot him a glare that could curdle milk.
"We don't need you," she hissed. "You leave us alone." She stormed off before he could ask for an explanation.
Over the next few days, Shezza helped John get around and would tell him stories about the gang and their exploits. The gang leader really came alive around the blond man. Even when John was tutoring Victor in medicine, Shezza would be there, soaking up the information as much as the Indian.
John learned about some of the gang members' histories. Never the ones he was really interested in. Wiggins would wink and change the subject, Molly avoided him all together, and Shezza, well, the gang leader's history wasn't known to anyone and he kept all that close to the vest.
Molly found out John's past by eavesdropping on Shezza and him when they would talk for hours. She was told that this interloper would be gone in a few days, when his ankle healed, but she felt she had to get rid of him before he further corrupted their leader.
She snuck out one night and went to a small brick wall that surrounded an abandoned butchery. It was where she and her lover would exchange love letters and arrange meetings. She liked Jim. She wanted Sherlock, of course, but Jim made her feel good. Molly didn't believe all those nasty things her friends said about him. They were just jealous of his intelligence, cunning and good looks. John must have provoked Jim to make her lover attack him.
She left her little note, telling Jim who John really was and that someone might want him back.
Molly stared in shock as coppers raided her home. They were pulling out her friends and saying something about kidnapping John. This wasn't supposed to happen. John's father was supposed to show up and haul him home. Coppers weren't supposed to be involved.
John had been shoved into a carriage and kept out of sight.
She looked across the street and saw Jim receiving a small money pouch from a man who bore a striking resemblance to John, who must have been his father. Jim looked like the cat caught in the cream.
He spotted her and shook hands with the other man, bidding him goodbye. He strolled across the street, hands in his jacket pocket. He came up to her and then leaned over to say into her ear, loud enough that the nearby members of her gang could hear, "Thank you for the tip, Molly. Not only did I get rid of those pesky Baker Street Irregulars, but I got quite the hefty payout. Couldn't have done it without you, love. Drop me a note when you want to meet up again. You are a fairly good fuck."
He smiled at her and sauntered off to the shouts of "Traitor!" at Molly. She broke into tears and ran away.
Shezza was the last one to be placed into the police wagon. As he was being bullied into the vehicle, a voice cracked out, "Stop!"
The police and remaining neighbors turned see a tall, well-dressed man in a top hat, cape, and with an umbrella draped over his arm.
"I will be taking that one with me, if you please," the man said.
"Well, I don't please," the constable said with a sneer. "On whose orders, then?"
"Mine, of course," the man said slowly as if he was talking to a small child.
The constable scoffed. "Yeah? And who are you then?"
"Mycroft Holmes, civil servant and ambassador for Her Royal Majesty the Queen."
A/N: This is the last we will be seeing John for at least a chapter, maybe two. But don't worry we'll get back to him soon. :)