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Sherlock ran over and helped John to his feet. They both watched as the new nation disappeared into the shadows. John ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair as he looked at the detective. "What do we do now?" he asked his flat mate.

But they both knew that there was only one thing to do. "We tell England and get to America as fast as we can. Hopefully Arthur can warn the other nations before it's too late," the detective replied quietly, still staring at the last spot New World had been standing.

Across town, England had just reached his home. It was a modest flat but there were so many memories hidden in the smallest places that the nation just couldn't give it up. Just standing on the stairs that led to the door gave him memories.

It was an unusually bright and sunny day for the normally dreary town of London. America sat on the steps that led into the flat he shared with England, enjoying the sun. That's when he spotted him. England was walking down the street. In his hands were two ice cream cones topped with a mountain of the cold treat.

Little America watched as his big brother drew closer, his bright blue eyes filled with wonder. "England!" he cried with excitement.

The older nation smiled at his little brother as he finally reached the steps. "I brought you a treat champ," he said handing one of the cones to America.

America took a big bite out of the frosty treat before he made a face. England laughed at his reaction. "Easy buddy. It's a bit cold."

"Now you tell me!" the little nation cried before taking a tentative lick of his ice cream. "But I like it."

"I'm glad," England said taking a seat on the steps next to America.

Together the two nations enjoyed their treat as they sat side by side, watching the people go by.

Arthur smiled at the old memory. That was when America was young. He was so small when he first started out as a nation. But England cared for him every step of the way.

His smile soon faded as his mind flashed to Alfred laying in that hospital bed, covered in cuts and bruises.

England shook his head trying to clear his clouded thoughts as he let himself into his flat. He slumped into one of his dining room chairs, utterly exhausted. The nation glanced up to see the hole in the wall that America had made when he was nothing but a teenager.

England glanced up from his tea as he heard America's laugh ring through the flat. Then there was the sound of something breaking. Those two sounds combined was usually not a good sign.

Arthur rushed to his feet and scrambled to the dining room to see Alfred standing on the table, a hole the size of his fist in the wall not too far from him.

"What the bloody hell happened?" England demanded as America looked at his feet sheepishly, his hand clasped behind his back.

"I was just playing around, I swear!" the younger nation replied as he finally met those disapproving green eyes.

England let out a sigh. "Are you hurt?" he asked, concern for his younger brother evident in his voice.

America held out his hand. "I guess I don't know my own strength," he said quietly as Arthur inspected his hand. Small cuts from the wall covered the back of his hand and the older nation knew that there would be bruises on his knuckles soon.

"You need to be more careful America," England told the young nation. "You need to learn your own strength and how to properly use it."

"Yes England," America replied, looking down again. He knew he disappointed his big brother again and was ashamed of his foolishness.

Arthur, sensing the tension in the air, said, "How about we get your hand cleaned up and then we can play a game, okay?"

The blue eyed teen nodded excitedly and rushed to the bathroom laughing. England smiled after him, amazed at just how big the nation was getting. Within a year or two he would probably outgrow the older nation. England heard another crash and shook his head, running to the bathroom to see what trouble the teen had gotten into this time.

England's eyes filled with tears as he stared at the hole. He had always meant to patch it up but just never got around to it. Now, he was glad he didn't.

With a sigh the nation stood and moved upstairs. What he needed was sleep. Arthur slowly walked into his bedroom. He opened his closet to look for his pajamas when he saw it. The flash of red he hadn't seen in a long time.

They were standing in the pouring rain, mud everywhere. England stood on one side while America, backed by his soldiers, stood on the other. Each had muskets pointed at the other.

"I only want my freedom! I am no longer a child nor your little brother! I'll be independent from you from now on!" America cried.

England stared at the man the nation had become, his little brother, before he charged. He ran at Alfred and cried, "I won't allow it!" as he jammed his bayonet into the other's gun.

America's gun went flying and landed in the mud far from where the nation stood. England had his musket trained on the nation, out of breath. "This is why I say you don't follow thing through to the end, you idiot," England panted.

The older nation barely heard the yell of "Fire!" and didn't even register the American soldiers pointing their weapons at him. All he could focus on were those big blue eyes that showed every emotion that played across America's face.

America stared at the bayonet pointed at him and gasped when it lowered. England knew that he couldn't do it. "There's no way I could shoot you is there you idiot?" the nation asked quietly as he dropped his gun. He knew deep within him that he had to let America go. No matter how hard he tried he wouldn't be able to keep the nation in his protection forever. "Damnit why?! Damnit!" England cried as he fell to his knees, sobs making his shoulders shake.

"England," America whispered, watching as the nation fell to pieces, his own heart breaking in the process as he remembered when England first took him into his home. "You were so great once…"

Tears made their way down England's face as he tore the coat from the hanger. He threw it across the room before he fell to his knees sobbing.

"America…" he whispered between sobs.