A/N: Wow, took me long enough...this is the follow-up to "Bad," chapter 10 I believe. And this is rather graphic, be warned. Annnd it's a double, so 442 words. Let the curtain rise...

"Remember, Holmes," Watson murmured through pale lips, "you must touch nothing, and do not get too close to the…the…"

"I'll be careful." I stayed close beside him, breath catching at the room's stench. Watson was nearly staggering with fatigue and I grasped his arm as we crossed the floor in darkness, heading for a bed pushed against the stained wall.

We could faintly see the mother, dress patched, sitting on the edge of the dilapidated bed-frame. She held her daughter wrapped in a flour sack blanket.

"Please help me, Doctors," she pleaded, voice echoing. "My husband died last autumn in a factory accident, now my youngest child's followed…no money for a funeral, doctors—it can't be helped. It's not right, my little baby…" she choked, looking to a dark corner, where the buzzing of flies could be heard. "It's not right." Her voice lowered to a whisper as she buried her face in the girl's unkempt hair.

"Have you no other family to help you?" Watson began, breaking off at the child's whimper. By the labored breathing and congested cough, it was plain even to me she had developed the complication of pneumonia. Her bony hands clutched her throat as she looked at us each in turn.

"One moment, my child, one moment," Watson soothed, his brow furrowed. He opened his medical bag, and took out a container of clear liquid. Uncapping it, he handed it to her—she received it with both small hands. "This is cold, it will help the pain in your throat," he explained, watching carefully to make certain she would not choke.

Deciding that Watson wouldn't want to be crowded, I wandered away to the grim corner. There weren't many choices, and I felt morbidly drawn. I stopped several feet away to please Watson, and my sense of smell, before looking at the pitiful corpse. 'Twas dressed in a mended shift, and I saw a name carefully embroidered on the hem in cheap thread.

The droning of greedy insects gradually drew my attention, and when I sharpened my gaze I could see the flies crawling about the body. They were a rare type, I realized, but I felt no joy at it.

She was such a delicate child, so small…

"She needs to be taken to hospital," Watson's voice broke into my consciousness.

I looked back, and found the child had turned her eyes to me. "My sister…make her better." Her voice was raspy; tears ran down her face and she shivered from fever and fear. "Please, doctor…I want my sister back."

I turned away, trying to understand…if I had no heart, what was I feeling break?