Mrs Hudson watched Cecil eagerly attack his soup with all the polite voracity of a child who knows both hunger and manners. Sherlock had explained Cecil's peculiar nature to her as they met on the landing. Selective mutism, he'd called it. Well, Martha Hudson was not one for judging anyone for their proclivities…there's all sorts, you know. Besides, even if Cecil didn't speak, he was absolutely adorable and perfectly polite. She noticed the notebook and the pen lying beside him, so she decided to strike forward and see if he'd answer her questions.

Start with something simple, Martha, she thought. "How's your soup, dear? I wasn't sure what you'd like, but I know Sherlock here has a weakness for my homemade chicken noodle soup." She nudged the consulting detective, who sat on the floor at her feet, his bowl clutched between his knees. Sherlock scowled at her, but he was quickly distracted by his soup again (which he adored, as she said).

Cecil studied Mrs Hudson for a few moments before he nodded and picked up the pad to scribble something on its surface. He held it up for her to read and she bent closer to read the tiny print.

'It's delicious, thank you very much, Mrs Hudson.'

Mrs Hudson smiled warmly at the child as he downed the last spoonful of the soup with his free hand. "It's an old family recipe," she said. "My mother taught me how to make that soup when I was just a little girl, just like her mother taught her."

"It's wonderful, Mrs Hudson," John said as he gathered their empty bowls and placed them on the tray. "We really can't thank you enough for this."

Mrs Hudson waved off John's thanks with a smile. "Oh it's no trouble, John. But just this once, mind you. I'm your landlady, not—'''

"Not your housekeeper," the two men intoned in unison. This only caused the older woman to chuckle and reach down to tussle the mop of dark curls sitting in front of her.

It was at this point that Cecil's jaw cracked open in a huge yawn, the exhaustion suddenly flooding through him. John smiled and stood from his place on the couch, offering a hand out to the boy as he did so.

"Come along, Cecil," John said. "I'll draw you a bath and you can clean up before bed."

Cecil nodded and clambered off the couch to follow the doctor down the hall. As he was leaving, he turned around and shot a look back to Mrs Hudson, who smiled and said, "Don't worry dear, I'll still be here when you return!" Cecil nodded his understanding and went with John to the loo.

As soon as John and Cecil were out of sight, Mrs Hudson nudged Sherlock with her knee, which caused the detective to look up at her sharply. Her eyes had a very familiar glimmer in them… a look very much like the one she wore when she'd so subtly offered John the second bedroom, if they'd be needing two. Sherlock rearranged his position on the floor, sliding over to sit against John's chair so that he was facing his landlady. He raised his eyebrow at her as if to say "Yes?"

"Go on then, Sherlock," she prompted. "What's all this about? Why is this boy really here?"

Sherlock sniffed. "I believe John already told you why Cecil is here, Mrs Hudson."

"Remind me."

Sherlock heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I came across Cecil at the scene of an attempted arrest and drugs bust today. His foster parents—if two people who treated children like that can actually be called 'parents'- were our suspects. He and his foster siblings were left alone in the flat and we discovered them there. Cecil…" Sherlock paused. He was still completely unsure of how to explain to other people the magnetism that Cecil had to him. It was often a feeling that adults had towards other adults—call it soul mates or destiny or whatnot. It was an attraction that Sherlock felt towards John… but never for another quite in the same way.

"Cecil just seemed special to us," John said as he re-entered the living room. "The other children will be taken to the hospital and given some treatments for their malnutrition and the sort. Eventually they'll be given to other foster families, who are hopefully a damn sight better than the place they were. There was just something different about Cecil…"

"We couldn't let him go back to the foster care system," Sherlock finished. "Lestrade allowed us temporary custody of Cecil."

"What's going to happen to him?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Mycroft is currently looking through adoption applicants. We'll find Cecil a suitable adoptive family," Sherlock answered. "Until then, he'll stay with us. And speaking of staying with us, did you leave him alone in our bathtub, John?" Sherlock fixed his partner with a look.

"He's seven, he'll be fine," John answered with a wave of his hand.

"What if he needs help?" Sherlock parried. "It's not like he will call out."

"I gave him my mobile. He'll text you if he needs help in the bath, Sherlock." John shook his head and sat down in his chair, nudging Sherlock to the side and then resettling the detective between his knees. A comfortable silence settled over the three adults. The faint sounds of a child happily splashing in a tub issued forth into the room and a content smile lingered on the lips of the doctor and the detective.

"What will happen to the other children?" Mrs Hudson asked. "Will they be okay?"

John felt his insides swoop with guilt. The other children… sure, John felt righteous because they had managed to nab Cecil and steal him away from the foster system and the chance at a repeat of the misery he'd endured at the hands of the Jones family. Mycroft would find Cecil a wonderful adoptive family and he'd go to a good school and most likely have a wonderful life. But what of the other children? Their faces flashed before John's eyes… the blonde twins, the nine year old with big green eyes, the eight year old with the terrible burn scars… Where would they go? Why couldn't they take all of them?

Sherlock could feel the guilt radiating from John's silence behind him. He reached up and patted John's knee reassuringly, looking Mrs Hudson in the eye as he did so.

"The other children will be taken care of, Mrs Hudson. Many of the Yarders were taking a special interest in the children's well-being, and between their concern and a little bit of a nudge from Mycroft, I think we can assume that if they are returned to the foster care system, they will be placed with good families." Sherlock squeezed John's knee again for good measure.

"Sometimes you can't save everyone," John mused in a low voice.

"No," Mrs Hudson agreed. "Sometimes you can't. But you've saved one. And I'm very proud of you for doing so, boys."

If John or Sherlock were going to respond to Mrs Hudson, it was lost as Sherlock's mobile began to trill insistently from its place on the coffee table.

I'm actually quite ashamed of this chapter. I have agonised over this for many, many moons and I just... couldn't figure out how this chapter needed to be crafted. This is alright, but it's not my best work by far. Hopefully it makes sense to everyone! I'll get it all right in my head and the subsequent chapters will make up for this, I promise. :)