Mycroft is sitting away from Sherrinford when the two return. Caroline cheerfully announces their arrival, "We brought food!" Mycroft sneers and she raises a finger. "Oh, stop it Daddy. You need to eat. No excuses or I'll tell Mummy."

John chortles and hands both men plates with mini burgers and sloppy beans. "It's not the best food on the planet but it'll help."

Caroline settles in the chair beside Sherrinford's wheelchair. "You're the oldest right?" She bites into her mini burger.

"Yes. Sherrinford. Nice to formerly meet you Caroline." He holds out his left hand to shake hers.

"Your hands are very rough. What do you do for a living?"

Sherrinford is taken aback by her question. "I don't work… I don't earn… I'm…"

John speaks up. He too was curious. "Yes?" He looks Sherrinford over once, using skills learned from his time with Sherlock to make a few observations. "You'd have to make money somehow. Your necklace you're wearing is expensive. Gold right? I doubt your employer got it for you and you no longer wear your wedding ring, you have a faint tan line on your ring finger, so it wasn't from your partner. So you must have bought it yourself."

"I fulfill assignments for a private business. They pay me based on my performance."

"What kind of assignments? Are you an artist or a businessman?" Caroline joins in.

"Strictly business."

"What kind?"

"The private kind." Sherrinford is trying desperately to throw off the young girl but she doesn't relent.

"Like an investigator?"

"Kinda."

"Do you look for people or recover things?"

"Both?"

"Lost things or ending things?" Caroline smiles widely, enjoying the incessant questions especially since they seemed to make Sherrinford uncomfortable.

"Whatever I'm needed for things."

"Are they things that involve-"

"By law, I'm not allowed to tell you." Sherrinford is starting to get frustrated. John beams proudly at her persistence.

"What do you do for fun?"

"Kill people."

The room goes momentarily silent as everyone stares at Sherrinford. "Really?" Caroline asks.

"Yeah. I love it. It fills me with adrenaline. Kinda an adrenaline junkie myself."

"Do you lie for a living? You seem fully confident in your lies but as soon as you speak the truth, your lies become blatant."

"I'm sorry?" Sherrinford is taken aback.

Caroline shrugs. "Just an observation. Daddy said you tried to kill us, so I already knew about the killing. You held onto your burger through my whole interrogation and set it down the second I asked about your hobby. It's the little things. You've had practice, but you've gotten too comfortable."

"In my line of work, if I couldn't convince my clients about what I needed to lie to them about, I wouldn't be good at what I do."

"And that is?" Caroline raises an eyebrow at Sherrinford.

"I told you!" Sherrinford sighs. "I can't tell you."

Caroline thinks for a second. "What instrument do you play?"

Sherrinford is taken aback. "How did you know?"

"Callouses. Concentrated on the tips of the fingers on your left hand. So string instrument. Since you can't use your right hand very well, I'd say not the guitar, so something with a bow. Violin?"

Sherrinford shakes his head. "Viola. I'm impressed. Your dad must have taught you the art of deduction."

Caroline nods. "I'm still learning but I picked it up faster than my mom. I doubt she'll ever get it. So, what happened to your wife?"

"Nothing. We're still married."

"Then why don't you wear your ring?

Sherrinford glances down at his hand and digs in his pocket, pulling out his ring. "Gets in the way and don't want to damage it." He slips it on his finger. "That's all."

Caroline let's out a small, resigned laugh. "Ya know, normally I can place people's professions but with you, I can't. All I know for sure is you used to be a soldier. Wouldn't you agree John?"

John looks up from his hands where he'd been fiddling with his wedding ring which he now wore on his right hand. "What? Oh. Yeah. I can see it."

"I was indeed." Sherrinford clears his throat. "I was part of the British Armed forces then taken as a POW. I don't remember much about my life after that."

"Did you hit your head?" Caroline asks.

"No." John speaks up. "It's more likely he was tortured in some way. Look at his right hand. He's burned it several times." Around the pale pink of the wound, was the scarring of at least 3 different instances.

Caroline frowns, looking over the rest of Sherrinford's injuries. "What happened to your eye? You're half blind."

"Stabbed it with a pencil." Sherrinford replies dryly.

Caroline laughs sarcastically. "Sure. Because you'd do something so stupid. I'd say you're blind for the same reason your hand is lame. Some sort of inhumane punishment. So you must still be a POW? Is that the job?" She air quotes the word job.

"I'm not a prisoner…anymore." Sherrinford sighs. John can't help but grin. Caroline trapped him. "You got me. I work for my captors."

"If you weren't a prisoner, why did you stay?"

"Didn't know any better?" Sherrinford shrugs. "My employers rewrote my memories soon after I was captured. They had means of returning memories, but we had to earn those."

"Interesting. So you were an amnesiac. How'd you earn back memories?"

"Finishing jobs mostly. For every success, we'd earn a reward. Whether money or booze. Enough successes we would earn some detail about our life before. Our real name was especially rare. Only given for top tier jobs. Usually, we're known by our number. I was 958. Whenever we'd fail, however, we'd get punished and sometimes killed."

"Is that why you got shot?" John finds himself invested in Sherrinford's story now.

"Yes. I was supposed to kill Sherlock, but something held me back. Then Sherlock outsmarted me, and I was a goner, but he saved me; sent me down into the sewers, where I learned my name, and got me here. I owe my life to Sherlock."

"Don't we all." John mutters.

"Well then," Sherrinford breathes in deeply, ready to change the subject, "what else do you notice about me Little One?"

"Well, you totally ship Sherlock with John."

"Ship?"

"It's a modern term. It means you want to see them together." Caroline looks tentatively to John who tries to hide his embarrassment by eating. "I think they'd be super happy together."

"I don't know them well enough to 'ship' them. I simply believe no one should hide their feelings for others. Sherlock has it bad from what I've observed, so I pushed him to confess.

Caroline giggles. "I know. John has it bad too." She looks at John who is bright red in the face.

"Too often, we lose those we love, pretending to be something we're not."

"I wouldn't know."

"Good. Keep it that way." Sherrinford nudges Caroline's shoulder playfully. "Anything else you've noticed?"

"Well, you're not as observant as my daddy or Uncle Sherly."

"What makes you say that?"

"Couple reasons. You don't enter a room the same as them. They take everything in while you just focus on your target. You're a terrible liar; it reads all over your face, even if your words sound genuine. And, most obviously, you still haven't noticed my dad is gone."

Sherrinford immediately looks to the corner where Mycroft had been sitting and just as Caroline had said, he was gone. He turns back to glare at Caroline. "Fuck! And you didn't think to mention it till now?!"

Caroline shrugs, "What my dad does isn't under my jurisdiction. I'm his child, not his guardian."

"He's in danger. Do you understand what suicidal means?" Sherrinford's tone is condescending.

John stands angrily, "Don't you dare speak to her that way!" He's about to give Sherrinford a piece of his mind when he notices the look of worry upon his face. He'd deal with his disrespect later; tonight was a danger night. John opens the door to the hallway, hoping Mycroft just stepped out for some air, but he is nowhere to be seen. "How long ago did he leave?" he asks Caroline.

"Maybe 5 minutes?"

"Dammit! I'm going to go find him. Sherrinford, you stay with Caroline."

"Why do I have to stay with him?" Caroline whines.

"As your acting father, I don't want any complaints from you."

"Just because you're supposed to be protecting me-" Caroline starts. John lifts a finger warningly and she shuts her mouth obediently but pouts about it.

"Thank you. I'll be back as soon as I find him. Goddammit Mycroft." John quickly leaves and runs up the hall, looking in every door for a nurse or doctor. He stops for a second to think. Where would Mycroft go? The roof? No. Cliché. He supposes he could have gone home, but with everything going on, he must still be here. So Sherlock's room. He sees a nurse walking nearby and runs up to her. "Ma'am, yes. Hi. I've been waiting for forever. I'm looking for a Sherlock Holmes' room. I'm…" He bites his lip. "His spouse. Can you help?"

"I'm really sorry. You'll have to get that from the front desk."

"I've talked to the front desk. They haven't been able to give me any information. My brother-in-law, Mycroft Holmes, is trying to keep it on the downlow and didn't tell them about me. Please. I need to see him." John conjures up real emotion.

The nurse sighs. "Visiting hours are almost over but… If I remember correctly, he's being held up the hall, closest room to the ER."

"Bless you." John smiles, choking back tears. "Bless you." He runs off toward the ER, wiping at his eyes. He arrives at the door closest to the ER, knowing full well what he's likely to see. A patient this close to the ER isn't in good condition. With a deep breath in, he opens the door. What he sees, he wasn't prepared for. Mycroft was laying with his head up on Sherlock's bed, a pool of blood collecting at his feet.