By six in the morning, John figured there was no point in staying in bed anymore, so he got up and took a slightly-too-hot shower to force himself into a form of wakefulness. Even with that he still felt blurred, out of focus. A few cups of strong coffee would at least lessen that, so he made his way down to the kitchen. He mentally thanked the person who had invented the coffee maker, since pressing a few buttons seemed to be all he felt up to doing.

When he came downstairs he was expecting to be alone, and was shocked into slightly more wakefulness by the sight of Sherlock curled up in a chair. He had thrown his dressing gown over whatever it was he was wearing and was talking to someone on his mobile. "Were they covered with blinds or just shades?" The person on the phone must have responded, because he nodded. "Now, you said it was a ground floor flat? All right. Do you think you were still in London?" Sherlock must have just noticed him, because he made a "go away" gesture with one hand. John retreated to the kitchen and started the coffee maker. Fifteen minutes and two cups of coffee later, the world had come back into focus and he chanced looking into the sitting room. Sherlock was still curled up in the chair, but he was no longer on the phone.

"I assume you wanted privacy?" John said in an attempt to ask what he had been doing on the phone.

"That was Phillip Rodgers. He's been ringing me off and on all night with details. And more questions about what I would do if he was arrested." The fury he had been filled with the night before was gone, replaced by a flatness.

"All night long? Really?" John wondered for a minute if his mother would have noticed him using the phone all night long, and then reminded himself most children his age had their own mobiles.

Sherlock snorted. "Of course. He has no friends other than K, and he's desperately afraid of losing that friendship. He's also afraid that he will be arrested, because of nine years of conditioning that K has used to convince him he is the one responsible for any sexual activity. He has found from our one conversation that I am willing to listen to him, and he wants to tell someone about what is going on. Even though he thinks it is his fault he wants to talk about it simply because he never has before and I have mentioned –" He cut himself off mid-sentence. "Suffice to say I understand many of the feelings he currently has."

"Let me guess – he was telling you that since the flat he's been to with K has blinds and the shades drawn so he can't tell you where it is?" While he was sure there was more to their conversation than that, it seemed like a neutral enough talking point.

"Correct. He did say that he thinks they are still in London because he can hear a lot of cars go by." There was still a definite feeling of restraint to Sherlock. His words were carefully measured; his mood determinedly flat. This confirmed to John that Sherlock did in fact strongly identify with Phillip. He had been kind and understanding with Moira Aherne as well, but he hadn't exploded after any of their talks. For his part, John still got chills when he thought of Moira's childish voice repeating K's, "Are you a boy or a girl?" Phillip hadn't shared anything nearly that disturbing.

"It's okay to be angry at this K, you know." John found himself speaking before he could think about it. "If he's really convinced Phillip this is all his fault, he's a despicable human being."

Sherlock looked up at him at that point, his flat expression dissolving into a scowl. "I know that K is an abominable excuse for a person. You don't have to tell me that. I've spent most of the night understanding that. A thirteen-year-old boy has been constantly ringing me to give me somewhat more detail about what he and K have been doing for the past nine years." His voice was still flat.

"Is that information going to stay between the two of you?" John wasn't trying to be intrusive; he thought that those details weren't really important to the case. Besides, it was good for Phillip to tell all of that to someone.

"Of course," Sherlock responded in a slightly offended tone. "None of it is relevant to the identity of this K in any event."

"Does he know a last name for K?"

"No. At least he says he doesn't know." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I suspect he knows a lot more about this K than he is telling me."

John realized this conversation wasn't going to end any time soon, so he made himself comfortable in one of the chairs. "Do you think you'll be able to talk to anyone else that the Yard suspects is one of K's victims?" He was starting to feel a twinge of unease whenever anyone referred to K. That at least he could understand.

"I would like to speak to the father of the girl taken into care." His eyes briefly scanned the room before focusing again on his chest.

"The one that they thought was abusing her?" A thought occurred to him. "If she was treated at Bart's like the others, I could talk to whoever saw her and whoever decided the father had done it."

"That is an excellent idea, provided you can get permission to do so." He shifted in the chair so he was facing the window and not looking in John's direction anymore. "I am curious about the family dynamic in that case."

"Since both Moira and Phillip come from single-parent households?"

"In part. K appears to choose victims that come from households where there is a distant or absent parent. In Phillip's case both of those factors are in play. However, K has already made a mistake in that regard." Sherlock now sounded slightly smug, but that was better than flat.

"Because Moira's got a father she's close to and is concerned for his daughter's welfare?" John guessed.

His scowl faded to a flat line. "Correct, John, you're finally starting to pay attention to what's going on around you. K assumed that since Moira was lonely and had no mother, that she had a home life closer to Phillip Rodgers' life instead of the one she had. K preferentially selects children from single parent homes where the parent is frequently absent or working, or children with distant parents, or ones that are already abusive. Moira's home is none of those."

"So that's K's mistake here?"

"Exactly. Our best lead is of course the flat Phillip and possibly Moira have been to. There's little to go on there, of course."

"I'm sure you'll be able to get something from someone you talk to."

"I think the father I want to speak with will be helpful in that regard." He turned his head so he was staring out the window. "If a child came into clinic in the condition that Phillip did, what would you do?"

While John expected all sorts of unusual tangents in conversations he had with Sherlock, this threw him for a loop. "I would call social services, for one. Even if his arm really was broken accidentally, someone clearly intended to harm him."

"What would you say to him when he revealed he was sexually active?"

He swallowed. "With most teenagers his age, I would give him a quick reminder of the importance of birth control methods. However, with the fact his arm was broken I would wonder if the two events were related somehow."

"That a parent who was unhappy with his sexual activity broke his arm?"

"Possibly. Or that the sex – at least whatever happened recently – was at some point not consensual." He wasn't sure where this might be going, and if it lead into something more personal (what he had mentally dubbed the incident with the bee) it was important to weigh his words carefully. Thankfully, his mobile rang at that moment and he retreated to the kitchen.

"Hello John," Sarah said to him, sounding as friendly as always. "It's very slow today, so you don't need to come in."

"That's good, because I got no sleep last night."

"One of Sherlock's cases keeping you up?"

"Something like that," he replied.

"Well, there's so little going on here that I'm looking up past employment records on two doctors who used to work here. Both of them were before your time, and they both need some records for a new job. Dr. Arthur was as horrible as he ever was – remind me to tell you some of the horror stories I have about him – but Dr. Martin and I had a nice chat. She was always well-liked here."

"Good," he managed to say.

"Get some rest. No telling when you'll be dragged out again."

"I will," he said before disconnecting. He knew he couldn't go back to sleep now, so he spent the next few hours engaging in the sort of mindless web surfing one could do half-dead. After that, he figured there was enough of a delay and napped for an hour. That little bit of sleep was enough to give him some energy, and he spent the rest of the day doing a series of minor things around the flat that he hadn't had time for in a while. Sherlock was constantly coming in and out of the flat, gone from anywhere from a few minutes to an hour, and he wasn't bothering to explain what he was doing. John could see every time he came back in that his eyes were like angry storms, so he didn't ask.

While he hadn't gone to bed at nine in the evening since he had been in single digits, today he decided that was late enough. Unlike the previous night, he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and probably would have slept straight through to morning if his sleep had not been interrupted at midnight. Surprisingly, he woke up when the door opened, giving him a few seconds to collect himself before his room was suddenly flooded with light. He blinked and looked around the room. Sherlock was fully dressed and standing in the doorway.

"Come on. Lestrade just rang me. Someone's tried to break into the Aherne's flat."