"You knew me? We were friends?" Richard's eyes brightened at John's nod.

"In a manner of speaking," John stretched his legs, an old habit from when the psychosomatic limp had dictated his movements. Richard tracked the gesture with his eyes but seemed more interested in finding out how he came to know John.

"Were you a school friend?"

"Do I sound Irish to you?" John muttered, glancing around the room. In truth, he was searching for inspiration, he could hardly tell Richard the truth.

"Oh, so silly of me! Well, do I know you from work?"

John shrugged. Richard would never get it.

"So I sort of know you from work. Are you a fan? The nurses told me I'm an actor. Or was."

"Not a fan, no," John stood up, almost wishing he had his cane so he'd have something to do with his hands. "Let's just say there was a friendly business rivalry going on."

"You're an actor too?"

"I never said that. Listen…Richard. What are you going to do when they let you out of here?"

Richard's lips moved silently for a moment, then he licked them. "I don't know. I don't have anyone, I mean, I don't know-" He blinked a few times and John was certain he was going to cry. But with an effort, Richard swallowed and held back the tears. Thank God.

"Richard…" John wondered how Sherlock would handle this problem, when he wanted it, the man could ooze charm, but he'd most likely just strong-arm this pathetic invalid rather than being nice. Politesse and amiability should have come naturally but with every second that John watched Richard sitting and breathing, completely innocent and so lucky, it was a physical effort not to claw the man's eyes out with his own fingers.

"I'm sorry," Richard's hands covered his eyes. John was inexplicably reminded of the playground game Hide and Seek, and this only served to reinforce his realisation that Richard was so far away from what Moriarty had been. That didn't make the sobbing man on the bed any more endearing though. "I'm sorry, I'm so embarrassed, crying in front of you- what you must think! I just- it's all just beginning to sink in now, I don't know anyone. No one cares, J-John, nobody does, nobody came to visit me…"

"I did," John quietly reminded him, and Richard's head jerked up, his face pink and shining with tears.

"You did. Thank you."

"I came to give you an offer. I was- sorry, do you want a tissue? Oh alright then. Anyway, I think I can give you a solution to your problem. Richard, do you want to live with me?"

"With-with you?" Richard's face crumpled in confusion. "But I don't even know you!"

"Yes, but I know you. And you're forgetting that I'm a doctor, so will be on call if you need my help. You're still very ill, Richard. You can stay with me in my flat," John hesitated for a moment before writing on one of the tissues from the pack he had offered Richard. "Here's my number. Have the nurses call me when the doctor dismisses you, and we'll get a cab together."

"But- I don't have any money- at least, I don't think I do-"

"I'm sure my landlady will make a special exception to the rent just for as long as it takes you to get a job." John told him, although he expected Mycroft would pay Richard's rent until then. Mrs Hudson wouldn't like this but John figured once he'd explained everything to her and stressed the importance that she didn't confront Richard, things would be better. She wouldn't be her usual chatty self around the shy Irishman, but she'd understand.

"I don't know how to thank you," Richard simpered, his eyes growing watery again. He released an almighty sniff.

"Just don't start crying again- bit weird." John joked, rolling his eyes. He made his way to the door.

"Bye, John. See you soon."

"Bye, Ji- I mean, Richard. See you sooner." John walked out of the room, his heart beating as fast as if he'd taken part in a marathon. Behind him he heard Richard's weak laughter at his departing remark. This was going to be tricky.

When he exited the hospital, it was no surprise to see the sleek black car crawling alongside him, extra-slow so it could match his pace. John sighed and stopped, annoyed enough to pull the door open himself and slip inside.

"I suppose you want an update. From my professional opinion, the shoe fits, it's likely he can't remember his past. If he ever felt any remorse about what he did, then his memory loss could be a way of his brain protecting him from the truth. The mind's funny that way."

"Yes, most amusing. John, you're speaking as a doctor- and if I wanted to speak to a doctor I'd have my chauffeur turn the car around to go back to Bart's. what did you personally think? Has he changed?" Mycroft's eyes connected with John's and John had to look away. He stared up at the dark roof of the car, summoning up a memory of Moriarty lying in that hospital bed.

"He can act. Moriarty really could. All that Jim from IT shit, but not that well. Everything about him was different, he was shy, he cried, and I know what you're thinking- crocodile tears. But there was something else, something you can't fake, something in the eyes. If you showed me one of Moriarty's court pictures and that photo you showed me in the club and compared them, I'd say they were two different men. All that's happened is a blow to the head and suddenly, he's…changed."

"No matter what, he is still the man who made my brother believe that he should plunge to his death. He will still pay for his crimes. John, I fear you may grow attached-"

"Attached? To that monster? Stop the car, I'm getting out."

"Doctor Watson-"

"MYCROFT! Stop. The. Car." he spat, his fingers itching to strangle Mycroft using that hideous silk tie.

Mycroft rapped on the driver's seat with his umbrella and the driver duly stopped the car. John wrenched the door open and jumped out, ignoring Mycroft.

"John, I say this out of concern…"

"The truth is your meddling killed your brother. I guess you won't rest until I'm dead too." Trying to block out Mycroft's stunned expression, John stormed off, Mycroft and Moriarty now far from his mind. There was another genius he needed but unfortunately, he was in a worse condition than a coma.