Chapter 9

"I'm really an adult then?" John whispered in the back seat to Sherlock, he had been scolded many times as a child when he and Harry talked to loud while in a car, distracting his parents from driving.

"You saw the picture yourself." Sherlock answered matter of factly, admiring the interesting similarities and differences of the older and younger versions of his friend.

John brought out the picture from his pocket, "Then that's you?" he pointed at the taller man. "You look… scary. Like a principal." They both giggled quietly. "What was I like?" it sounded more thoughtful then a question from a boy his age should sound.

"You were the best." Sherlock could say honestly. "Not like an adult at all." The word sounded like an insult to them.

"That's because neither of you act like adults." Mycroft sighed watching them silently for a few moments as the car continued on, but this only made the two boys smile brighter. They had previously ignored his presence sitting opposite them in the car, a black window separating the three from the driver.

"Why do you act like one of them now?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Croooft." He extended the name out, "You're not that much older then me."

The older man had a faint yet amused smile, "Well I am now."

The picture was real enough, and it seemed as though everyone really did believe his unusual friend about his strange story, but could it really be true that John was an adult only yesterday? "Mr. Mycroft?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes from the thought of any calling stupid Myc 'Mr.'

He was an adult now, technically. He should be able to take care of himself, but a small fear still loomed in his mind. "Shouldn't I call my family?"

Sherlock noticed Mycroft could no longer meet John's eyes. He had previously been looking at both of them very keenly, likely because he was noting the difference of their adult versions to the child versions like Sherlock had to John. why had he stopped now? He wasn't sure why, but a small voice popped in his head. "Sentiment." It sounded strangely like older John's voice. But why 'sentiment?' What did that have to do with John asking about…

The answer was painfully obvious.

'Army doctor. Single. Had barely noticeable limp- likely invalidated from the war but was now living in a small apartment with another man who he was not romantically involved with. Poor then. None of the items in the flat seemed to hold any importance to him other then photos as everything else was my taste- an unusual taste to be shared by two people. This all added up to no one to turn to for money. Possibly because he had no relatives he got along with, but given his age it was also possible that… '

Another glance at Mycroft's face and his lack of answering John's question confirmed it. John's parents were both dead.

Sherlock instinctually took John's hand in his and scooted closer to him. That sinking feeling from back at the crime scene when they first ran into Lestrade came back.

"John? Do you know how old you are? Your real age I mean."

John nodded, "I was 25 when they died, that's when I joined the army."

Mycroft was greatly taken aback. "You… remember?"

"No." It had only just flashed in his mind a moment before he said it. Like a movie in fast forward.

Sherlock wondered if his parents were dead too, he was too afraid to ask.

Mycroft turned to his brother who knew just a smallest hint about the drug, "Why is John so much younger then you?"

John furrowed his brow in a menacing manner, "We're the same age." He dramatically crossed his arms.

"Ah, just small for your age then?"

"You're fat." Sherlock jumped in defending his John.

The three were too occupied in a death glare staring fight to see the car headed straight for them. It was a an SUV that had gone just a moment after the intersection light turned red, slamming into the side of the sleek black car. The situation was strangely familiar to John, the way things seemed to slow down as the car tilted to the side and began to turn over until flipping completely and landing on the side as it scraped the street. It was his soldier instincts kicking in, he released his seat belt quickly and found Sherlock was no longer in the car- he had refused to wear his seatbelt when they first got in. Laying just outside the car window face down on the pavement was the motionless body of his friend.

The same quick reel of footage continued to play over and over in his mind as he climbed up and out of the car. It was a man standing on the top of a building, a moment later he wouldn't be.

A man stepped out of the SUV, John hid behind the rubble peering at him. He leaned down close to the small unconscious body and grinned.