Author's Note:
Apologies. My muse was on a bit more of a bender than I thought.
Having got my writing brain back in some semblance of order I have a plan of how to proceed. Thank you for waiting for me.
Please feel free to let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions for where to take this story feel free to let me know.
Trigger warning - mentions of child abuse, cancer and people/sex trafficking in this chapter
It was not unexpected that John took a while to find his feet again after the upset of the Ximena Mendez case. He had five days before he was back on duty at the hospital. He was worried. That was five days to stew.
He seemed to be sleeping OK thanks to Mary and Sherlock. He woke each morning with Mary's hand in his and with the still warm space where Sherlock had so recently spent the night. And every morning, when he wandered, sleepy eyed, into the kitchen, Sherlock would have a steaming cup of breakfast tea ready for him and breakfast on the go. The first morning after their time at Scotland Yard, Sherlock had made Scotch pancakes with honey and strawberries. He was just tucking in to a plate, his stomach suddenly feeling unusually empty, when Mary bustled in fresh from the shower.
"Ooohh, pancakes. Sherlock, you're a star. Got a plate for me?" Mary leant forward to place kisses on each of her men's cheeks whilst she hung her suit jacket over the back of the chair.
Sherlock happily handed Mary a freshly made up plate of pancakes while she poured herself a coffee and proceeded to tuck a napkin into her blouse collar.
"I've got a busy day today and a finance meeting with the senior staff. I can't afford to arrive covered in honey and strawberry stains. Oh Sherlock, these are delicious. You're spoiling us."
"Nothing more than either of you deserve. I was already up and it's just chemistry, not rocket science."
"Still, you're a genius." Having scooped another forkful of gooeyness into her mouth, Mary looked between her partners, a flicker of concern on her face. "So, what have my boys got planned for today?"
John set down his mug and prepared to say that he really didn't know, but Sherlock leapt into the void left by the question. "I want John to work on his observation technique. He has improved significantly and is applying my methods diligently, but I think he could do with more practice. I think we'll spend the day observing and deducing strangers. Is that agreeable John?"
John knew he was being molly-coddled but he could do nothing but love his partner and his wife for making the effort to keep him out of his own mind while his subconscious processed all the events of the past few days.
"Yes, that sounds like a plan. What about your cases?"
"I've nothing that needs my immediate attention. I think, as the weather is pleasant and the forecast is good for the rest of the week, we'll spend a few days just walking the streets of London deducing whoever we come across. What do you think?"
Mary smirked as John happily agreed to the plan. She knew Sherlock could be a devious sod when he wanted to get his own way, but she couldn't fault him for his protectiveness of John. She knew the stress of the case had caused John's leg to twinge as it did when he was stressed. Gentle exercise would do him the world of good and deducing would keep his mind occupied.
-0-0-0-
It had been a pleasant few days wandering around London. The walked down the Mall and through St James's Park, the bustling main shopping streets of Oxford Street, Regent's Street, Bond Street and Piccadilly. They'd surveyed the visitors to Leicester Square, China Town and Soho, and observed the shoppers, entertainers and traders of Covent Garden. They'd visited the City identifying bankers, stock brokers, office staff and lawyers, before crossing the Millennium Bridge from St Pauls to The Tate Modern where the visitors held their attention as much as the art.
Now, on the third day of their deductive odyssey, they had meandered along the Strand, past Charing Cross station and were heading through Trafalgar Square in a slow progression towards the National Gallery.
John knew something was up when Sherlock suddenly withdrew his phone and began positioning John for a photograph. He knew it wasn't him that Sherlock wanted to capture, and suspected it was the two men of Eastern European origin, possibly Romanian who appeared to have some interest in a young lad with a back pack who had probably just arrived at Charring Cross. Pictures taken, Sherlock indicated to John to keep an eye on the boy, who was headed towards an alley to the side of the Gallery, the same side road where John had encountered Raz.
Sherlock finished messing with his phone, then joined John in heading off the boy. The two men were also manoeuvring towards the boy. It was clear that their intentions did not have the best interest of the target in mind. John threw his shoulders back and marched briskly forward like a little tank as he barged past the men, apologising none too sincerely, before bustling in to the boy causing him to lose his footing.
Grabbing the lads arm to hold him steady, John began apologising profusely, brushing the boys jacket sleeve and generally drawing as much attention as possible to the scene while Sherlock ensured that the two men were kept occupied until a couple of Mycroft's people could tag them.
"I'm so sorry. My fault, totally my fault. I really should look where I'm going. I probably should have gone to Specsavers, haha. The wife always says I should watch myself." John continued to fuss and keep the boy distracted until Sherlock came over and gave the all clear. John's blustering military gentleman act immediately dropped and affable Dr John Watson made his appearance.
"I really am sorry about that. We needed to make a show. You'd picked up some undesirable attention so we needed a bit of a diversion. I'm Dr John Watson and this is the detective, Sherlock Holmes."
The boy looked between the two men with a combination of bewilderment and fear. "I, I'm Darren, err, Brown. Yes, I'm Darren Brown."
Sherlock smiled. "Don't worry. You don't have to tell us your real name if you don't want to. I'm assuming you've just arrived from Kent. Folkestone or at least very near. You've left home, a bold decision at 14, no 15. You felt you had no choice. From the way you flinched when John was brushing your jacket I'd say domestic abuse from a parent, probably your father. No, step-father. You have n family you trust to turn to so you've decided that the streets of London is the safest place to be. Unfortunately, if the two men who had been following you since you walked out of the station had got hold of you, you'd never have been safe again."
The boy looked scared. "How … did you know that? About me? Did someone tell you? Did Terry send you to find me?"
"No. It's what I do. I'm a detective. I usually work with Scotland Yard, but today John and I are just having fun. I observed your behaviour and deduced where you had come from. Some of it was from your reactions to my observations, but mostly it was from your clothes, the backpack with a Folkestone Invicta FC badge, and how you flinched when John caught the bruises on your shoulders."
The boy looked pale and bewildered. John realised that he probably had little money and had likely not eaten much today. "How do you fancy a cup of tea and a fry up? There's a little café just around the corner that does the best full English I've ever tasted. Our treat. And we can work out what's going to happen from here."
The boy was still wide eyed and bewildered, but brightened at the mention of food. He nodded slowly, gaining one of John's broad smiles. It was only a matter of minutes before they were sat in the café, John and Sherlock on one side of the table and Darren on the other, his backpack on the chair beside him. Food had been ordered; even Sherlock had ordered poached eggs on toast; and each had a mug of tea.
"So Darren, I suppose your mind is made up. You're not going back."
"No. You won't make me will you? Terry's a bastard. I never knew me real dad. Mum never told me and there's no name on my birth certificate. Mum and Terry got married when I was 8. It was fine for a while. He'd smack me if I was naughty or if I broke anything, but that's what parents do innit. Then Mum got cancer, ovarian I think they said. It was so quick. She was complaining about feeling tired and two months later she was in the hospice. Terry wouldn't let me visit. Said it would upset me. I never got to say goodbye."
The lad looked so young at that moment as a tear rolled down his cheek. Sherlock passed him a napkin from the dispenser on the table to blow his nose while John rubbed Darren's forearm by way of comfort.
"Mum had told me, before she went in the hospice, that it would be OK. Terry would take care of me. She was wrong. After she died Terry treated me like shit. I only went to school to keep the Social off his back. Other than that I had to stay at home. Cooking, cleaning, and punch bag. Mum's been gone for four months and it's been hell. I've got no family y'see. Mum was an only child and my Gran died three years ago. Terry said it was him or Social Services. I'd already started planning to run when I heard him talking to someone on the phone. I couldn't hear everything but it sounded like he was going to sell me. I knew I had to go. So y'see I can't go back. Don't send me back. Please."
John looked at the stricken youngster. "Don't worry Darren. We'll think of something. He may not look it, but this daft loon's a genius, so between us I'm sure we'll be able to come up with something." The waitress arrived at this moment with plates of food, looking around to work out which meal was who's. John indicated Darren. "Full English and toast over here please. Come on Darren, dig in and we'll work out what's best to be done."
The table was relatively quiet for the next fifteen minutes whilst plates were emptied and tea drunk. Even Sherlock cleared his plate of eggs and toast, much to John's amazement. Another ten minutes and another round of teas resulted in a plan and the arrival of Bill Wiggins, much to John's surprise, but not, apparently, Sherlock's.
"Ahh, Darren. This is Bill Wiggins. He's part of my homeless network. He helps run a safe-house for homeless teens in Camden. I own the building and everyone is vetted. If you're OK with it, Bill will take you there. We'll come too to settle you in and so John can make sure your injuries are not too serious. You can stay indefinitely. There's a school nearby where we can get you registered so you can continue with your education. You'll be safe, fed and taken care of. Obviously this is unofficial so you can't tell anyone, and you won't be able to contact Terry, not that you'd want to."
John realised that Darren was still worried. "Think of it like going in to Witness Protection on those American shows. You'll be safe, but if you contact anyone from your old life or give the game away then everyone in the safe-house could be in danger. Do you understand?"
"Yeah. And I'll be safe?"
Bill smiled. "Yeah. It's a clean house and they're all good kids, like a big family. No drugs, no fieving an no booze. An we get to help Sherlock here every now an then, with the crime solving an everyfing."
"Bill and the other helpers are in touch with me, so if anything untoward happens we can get help to you straight away. Despite his rough looks…"
Bill let out an affronted "Oi!"
Sherlock continued. "As I was saying, despite his rough looks, Bill is a passable chemist and fairly adept at observation. He is one of my best sources of intelligence on the streets and he has helped train many of the homeless network in information gathering. An invaluable resource in my crime solving. You don't have to, but if this is something that may interest you, I'm sure Bill will be able to help."
Darren's face lit up at the thought. A new home, new friends, safety and possibly helping solve crimes. It was all brilliant.
While John led the rejuvenated Darren towards the street to hail a taxi to take them to Camden via Baker Street so John could collect his medical bag, Sherlock drew Bill aside for a brief talk.
"Keep a close eye on Darren. He was being followed by people traffickers. We managed to prevent the snatch and I've sent their details to Mycroft and Lestrade. It looks like they may be part of the sex ring we're after. They are under surveillance and will hopefully lead us to bigger fish. In the meantime, make sure Darren is protected until we know he is not a specific target."
"Yeah boss. Will do."