John was decidedly glad when he left for the clinic Monday morning. When he woke up and came downstairs he found that Sherlock had left his room, but was sitting sideways in a chair again, Lestrade's file in his lap. He didn't respond to John's tentative, "Morning," and seemed not to notice that he was there. It was a relief to leave and descend into the hustle and bustle of the city, and even more of a relief when he arrived at work and was greeted with a few welcome remarks of, "Hello," or "Good morning". Even though his patients that morning had a tedious repetition of symptoms (London appeared to be in the midst of a flu epidemic) it was still enough to distract his mind.
He was planning on working straight through his dinner, as he didn't feel particularly hungry. However, Sarah poked her head in before he was able to inform anyone and asked if he wanted to eat with her in the cafeteria. The cafeteria food had no appeal and he hadn't brought anything, but he accepted the invitation anyway, feeling a need to talk to someone. Sarah had taken the "this isn't working, let's be friends" conversation with her typical good humor, and had even said she would have said the same thing in a few days, so that had stripped one layer of complication from their relationship.
"What's gotten into you?" she asked him once they were sitting down. She pulled out a container of some kind of pasta and a banana and began to eat.
John related to her the events of the last few days, starting with Moira Aherne and ending with the case file and Sherlock's angry brooding. Once he finished, she frowned. "I do remember that boy. He's a big kid, about your height already, but he looks like an overgrown child and not a teenager. He was a sad one, too – I don't think he smiled once."
John nodded. "The combination of all those hurt kids and the fact it's now Sherlock's case is hard to deal with. Even he was angry about it, and he never gets angry at crime unless he can't figure out who did it and why."
"He's probably about as thrilled about child abuse as everyone else is. Or maybe he sees something in the victims that reminds him of himself? Like the Rodgers boy – he remembers being an unhappy kid?"
"Possible," he admitted. Not wanting to dwell on the subject anymore, he switched topics to general St. Bart's gossip, which kept them talking until they went back to work.
While the flu patients were a welcome distraction on Monday, by the end of Wednesday John was thoroughly tired of them. He wanted nothing more than to not think for the rest of the evening and prepare for tomorrow's visit with the Aherne family. Lestrade had got permission to have them interview Moira again and to tape the conversation, and had even provided a tape recorder from the Yard ("you'll have to give it right back, of course"). Since Sherlock had been so silent over the last few days, he figured this would be easy. John hadn't even seen any new experiments around the flat. When Sherlock's nose wasn't buried in the file, he was writing things down in a notebook John had never seen before. Of course, the bubble burst as soon as he got home and saw Sherlock bouncing like he usually did in the throes of a case. "John! Before the visit tomorrow I'd like to run some ideas by you." He sounded delighted.
"All right," he said, grateful that Sherlock seemed to have come out of his funk.
"You'll be recording the talk I have with Moira tomorrow. I strongly doubt that she'll want you physically present, so you'll have to stand outside the room. Also, I'd like to talk to her father again, and that will be taped too, but you can sit there the whole time."
"How generous of you," John couldn't help but add.
"I also want to get a good look at their flat. And since we'll be out anyway, we can stop at the Yard to drop off the tapes and I can see about talking to Phillip Rodgers." He paused for a moment. "That will probably take a few talks, because he doesn't trust most people. I would talk to his mother but I doubt she would know anything. Or care, for that matter."
"I talked to Sarah a few days ago and she said he was a sad child." He didn't expect this comment to be acknowledged, but to his surprise Sherlock nodded sagely.
"I'm sure he is," he said quietly.
"And we leave later tomorrow. After we've both eaten dinner at the least. You will find it a lot easier to talk to a child who's got food in their stomach." John turned to leave the room and almost didn't hear the response he got.
"I know that."
They didn't speak any more that night, but when John got up in the middle of the night to get himself a drink, he could see Sherlock sitting by the window, staring out over the city. John didn't ask what he was doing or what he was thinking, because he was starting to realize there was a great deal he didn't know about Sherlock. He was so angry and determined about this case. He seemed to know exactly what to say to Moira and what she felt. This was creating a disturbing picture, but he only had vague remarks to go with. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out about more of it.