John had just gotten home from work and was about to make himself a cup of tea. It had been a stressful day, 3 patients with broken bones, and 2 who need a blood transplant and a hand full of over protective mother whose child caught the flu. Oh, and not to mention the all screaming kids who had to get shoots.

Just as he was getting the kettle out and was going to fill it with water, the doorbell rang.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" John shouted as he climbed down the stairs.

The man behind the door was rather young, mid twenties-early thirties. He had shagging brown hair which was hidden under a beanie, he wore a pair of old faded jeans and a orange T-shirt which was cover by a black jacket. Although you couldn't saw he looked pale, he was very light colored skinned. On his hands was a pair of fingerless gloves.

"Dr. Watson is it?"

John had fairly good memory of pass clients, people whom he talked with for cases, patients, neighbors, co-works and regular people who would pass by 221B Baker Street on regular daily routes. But John was certain he didn't know who this man was.

"Please, it's John. Can I help you with something?"

"The names Roger, I uh...sorry, I didn't know where you lived, if I had I would have come soon...But...Do you think I could talk with you inside? I'm a friend of Dodgy's by the way."

Ah, another person from the homeless center, ever since Sherlock's...death...John had seen people from the network more and more.

Their probably just watching over cause it's the least they could do for Sherlock, John would normally tell himself. Little did he know that Sherlock had left his network specific instructions.

"Umm...Sure, please come in."

"Thanks, I have private information regarding the case," Roger said in a hushed tone. "I had to go to Dodgy to find out where you lived, because normally, someone would have just come to me or I would tell to text the information to Sherlock."

John realized how different this was going to be for all of them. John did have any of their numbers, and as far as he knew they didn't have his. But then again, he didn't even think they HAD cell phones.

Once inside John flat Roger took a seat on the couch and John in his chair.

"I had to talk with you, specifically, Dr. Watson. Today, one of your patients, she had short blonde hair that goes to about here." Roger said bring his hand right above his shoulder. "Her name is Darla I believe, I've seen her down at the soup kitchen a couple times."

John thought for a moment. Yes Darla, the name sounded familiar, wasn't she one of the ones who needed a blood transplant? Yes, that's right; she had Blood Type O, very rare.

"Yes, Darla Orstad. She was my 2:30."

"Well, there's this place some of my mates go to, it's called "The Queen's Chambers", some homeless folk go down and get drunk and gamble. A lot of times when companies need workers who will work for cheap, they'll come down and hire people from there. Well recently me and my mate went down to get a pint when we saw Darla talken to some bloke known as 'Moran', some of guys down there with a criminal past heard of him."

"You think Moran is enlisting homeless people?"

"Not just homeless people come down their Doc. Ya' see, Their drinks and such are pretty cheap, so homeless people, people who own a lot of debts, and such can be usually found there."

John thought for a moment, so it was men Moran needed, people who are desperate for work and won't question him about it.

John looked back up at Roger, "There's something else you're not telling me."

John could see it written all over Roger's face. He looked like a guilty child who had just broken their mother's favorite vase. He was anxious and he seemed unable to keep still.

"Umm...If you don't mind me asking...That Andrews bloke, is he in right now?"

"William? No, he went out to see his girlfriend, I saw him this morning before I left for work. He said they got into a fight and he wanted to make it up to her."

"Well...Last night, I saw him...Talken with Darla and Moran."

John gave a reassuring smile, "He probably saw them and is investigating."

Roger raised one of his eyebrows and crossed his arms, clearly not buying John's story. "If he were, why did he tell you? Or Lestrade?"

John didn't even want to think about William betraying him. Could you imagine if the papers found out? First they said the real Sherlock betrayed them, and now his look-a-like! People would get suspicious. But that's not important right now. The real question was, why would William be talking with Moran? And at a cheap bar? Yes William didn't have a lot of money, but was he THAT desperate? Was this entire detective work too much for him and he was planning on leaving them?

"Thank you Roger, you've been most helpful!"

"Anytime!"

As Roger went to pull back from shaking John's hand he found John had slipped him a 20 and a coupon to a local bar that was much nicer then 'The Queen's Chambers".

Roger gave a smile, a quick nod and left before anyone else could see him.

"Lestrade?" John said once he was sure he was alone.

"John?"

"Hey, yeah it's me. Listen, one of Sherlock's friends from the homeless network just stopped by with some information, do ya got a moment for me to come down?"

"What? Oh yeah sure, come down as soon as ya came."

"Thanks see you in a few minutes."

John hung up and grabbed him coat.

As John went to take his first step towards the door his leg gave out on him and he was able to caught himself by catching onto the armrest of Sherlock's chair.

John pulled himself up and sat in the chair. As he rubbed his leg he shook his head quietly repeating over and over "no, no, no, no."

He had been so good, sure at first he had cried, but he had handled Sherlock's death fairly well. He was a soldier and he was British, he carried on. He followed his orders to every detail and never rested till his mission was complete. He knew Sherlock hated it whenever someone got sentimental, so he tried his best to carry on in life only stopping to mourn Sherlock as few times as possible.

But now everything seems to be falling apart. All that carrying on, pushing away all the feels off sadness, anguish and his fear of being alone all seem to be crashing down on him all at once.

His limp had returned.

This was the one thing he feared the most. It meant he was now weak; it meant there was something wrong with him. There was a defect, something that caused him to be not as useful and more of a burden.

He stood, straight and tall, and limped as carefully as he could to find his old cane. When he did fins it, the sight of it mocked him, he felt tearing beginning to form behind his eye. But no, tears meant weakness, because of his limp he already looked like a weak, pathetic, useless being, he was not going to look more so.

Taking his cane in one hand he went down the stairs as carefully as possible.

Mrs. Hudson door was wide open when she heard John coming down the steps. She stopped as she passed by on her way to her kitchen and opened her mouth about say something but stopped before any words could leave her mouth when she saw the cane.

John hadn't seen Mrs. Hudson stopped, for if he had he would have seen her face instantly fall and give the more pitiful, sympathetic face she could muster while still trying to keep her face straight.

John called a cab and once he was seated inside it he leaned back against the seat and began rubbed his leg without even realizing it.

How could he let this happen? Would he still be able help on the case? or would he become a burden upon Lestrade, William, and the rest of the team? This wasn't fair, this wasn't supposed to happen. He was suppose to be fine, finish the case, send William packing and get back to his normal life.

That's when another thought struck his kind. Would his tremors come back as well? If so, would he still be able to work at the hospital? How would he able to pay rent? Mrs. Hudson already had given him and Sherlock a special deal and gotten the flat pretty cheap. And after Sherlock was gone Mrs Hudson had been as kind after to lower the cost as much as she could.

John took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. For all he knew the limp could be gone by the time the was over and everything would go on the it had been before. Nothing had to change. It could be just be coming back because of the whole William thing. It could be nothing.

But then again, it could be everything.