Lestrade met them in the kitchen. "There's really not a lot we can do here. No one even saw a person here besides the girl. I'm going back to the Yard and I want both of you to come with me. There are some more files I've turned up that may be related to the case." The other officers had apparently already left, as there was no sign of them.
No one spoke on the way back to the Yard. Even when they had arrived, no one said anything. The building was cloaked in an eerie silence. John wondered if the uneasy feeling was in contrast to hospitals, where there was never any silence and the lights were always on.
Lestrade must have felt the same way, because he started talking as they walked back to his office. "The one file I'm going to show you is a little different than the others. The child involved was only victimized once, as far as we know. He wouldn't say anything about who had done it, although he did try to describe the flat he'd been taken to. The whole family are fairly recent immigrants – from Bangladesh, I believe – so lack of fluency in English might be an issue as well."
"Are you sure it was the same person then?" John asked.
"When I was listening to the interview with Phillip, I noticed that he said the flat didn't look used, and I remembered that case. Since it didn't fit the pattern, and he didn't live in the same neighborhood, he wasn't originally thought to be part of all this. But he did say the flat was very clean and the shades were drawn." He opened the door to his office as he spoke, and at that moment a mobile let out a sharp series of rings. Sherlock's hand disappeared into the pocket of his coat and he pulled out his phone.
"Phillip," he said as he put it to his ear. "No, you didn't wake me up. I told you before I don't sleep much." He started walking down the hall, away from the office.
"The Rodgers boy called him?" Lestrade asked in disbelief. John nodded. "Has he done this before?"
"Several times, I think. He's still worried he'll be arrested for something. And I think he finds comfort in the fact someone knows what he's going through." He followed Lestrade into the office, and sat down in a chair opposite Lestrade's desk.
"Did you know before this case that…" Lestrade didn't finish the sentence. He sat down behind the desk and started looking through a file drawer.
"Um," John managed to say, at a loss. "No," he finally added. "His brother told me something." He didn't feel right discussing all of this without Sherlock's permission, even if Lestrade knew from the interview with Phillip what had happened to him.
Lestrade looked at him. "If I had known..." He trailed off and looked away again. The discomfort in the room was so apparent that John hoped Sherlock's conversation with Phillip would be over soon.
Of course, it wasn't. Fifteen minutes passed before Sherlock returned to the office as if no time had passed at all, and in that time all John and Lestrade managed to do was shift uncomfortably in their chairs and not look each other in the eye. "Do you have a tape of what that boy said? Or a transcript?" Sherlock sat down in the remaining chair.
This was enough to spur Lestrade into action, and he pulled a sheaf of papers out from a drawer. "Here is what was taken at the hospital. As I said, there were translation issues, so I'm not sure how much is reliable." He handed them over to Sherlock and John.
Sherlock scanned the first sheet. "He didn't know street names."
"No. He was too new to the city, apparently."
"He got into a car but wasn't able to recreate the path they took because it was too complex." Sherlock flipped the page. "The building the flat is in faces west, because he said when he was taken out of the building he could see the sun set. K - assuming this was K - dropped him off in a park nearby." He turned to the third page. "Oh!" he said in a sudden intake of breath.
"What did you see that's so important?" John asked Sherlock as he stood up and turned towards the desk in a dramatic twirl, grinning wildly.
"I know where this flat is! From what the boy said about the design of the building it has to be in one specific part of London, and that part should be near where both Phillip Rodgers and Moira Aherne live. If I go to that area in the day, it should be easy to find." He snapped his fingers.
"But didn't Phillip say he would be driven a long way when he went with this K?" Lestrade broke in.
Sherlock gave Lestrade his typical "you're an idiot" look. "Do remember that he had to keep his eyes shut the whole time. K could have driven in circles for who knows how long and Phillip wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Furthermore, the park where this boy was left is the same one Moira met K at, if his description is accurate."
Lestrade looked like he was going to say something, but he merely swallowed and nodded. After a few seconds of silence he added: "Just so you know, the father that was once a suspect is willing to be interviewed. He moved with his daughter to Manchester after he was cleared, but he wanted to find the person." He handed another form to Sherlock, like he was trying to cut off any further discussion. John looked at the form as Sherlock took it, a medical form about the boy (the form stated his name was Sagnik Malakar), and his eyes caught another name at the top.
"Dr. Arthur," he said to himself. Sherlock and Lestrade both turned to him. "Sarah mentioned him to me not too long ago. He was in the clinic asking for references of some sort. Since he's apparently in the area, someone could talk to him as well." He carefully left out the part where Sarah had mentioned horror stories about the man.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Let me look at more of those medical forms you have," he said and without waiting for permission dragged the folder from the desk. He flipped through the sheaf of papers, pulling out a few of them. "The girl with the father who moved to Manchester, is this her?" He held the paper in front of Lestrade's face.
"That's the girl," he confirmed.
"Dr. Arthur saw her too, and he was the one who claimed it was her father that had been abusing her. The other medical reports don't have his name on them." He handed the folder back to Lestrade and scowled. "I'd still like to speak to him."
"The father or Dr. Arthur?" John spoke up.
"Both of them." Sherlock turned to face the wall. "Dr. Arthur is the only one to name a specific person as a suspect, even though the girl didn't name one. I am curious about what led him to do so."
"Well, I can ring the man tomorrow and see if he wants you to come out there or whether he's willing to come to London to speak with you. Right now, I doubt he would be pleased with me if I asked." Lestrade stuffed the folder back in the drawer as he spoke. "There's some more paperwork I want to look at right now, but the two of you can head back home."
"It'd be good if we got a few hours of sleep," John agreed, tapping Sherlock's shoulder as he turned to leave.
They remained silent through the way out of the Yard and all of the cab ride home. John only dared to break the silence once they were back in 221B. "What did Phillip ask you about?" He wasn't sure he'd actually get an answer, but still felt the need to ask.
"He had some questions. I answered them," was Sherlock's terse response.
John knew better than to dig deeper into that. "Please get some sleep tonight," he found himself saying.
"I'll try to." The terseness was gone from his voice, leaving only a ghost of the former tone.
"I know you're taking this very personally, but that just means you have to do this right. You want to connect the dots so K is in jail for a long time."
Whether it was a result of that comment or not he didn't know, but suddenly a great fatigue showed on Sherlock's face. "I'm trying."
"I know you are. Running yourself into the ground isn't going to make things any better. Phillip and Moira are counting on you." John turned to go upstairs. To his surprise, Sherlock followed him; apparently he wasn't going to be spending the night downstairs.
"I can't let K get away with this." His voice was so quiet John wasn't sure he had spoken for a minute or two.
"You're not going to. It'll be easier to do it if you get some sleep, though." John reached out his hand and was halfway to Sherlock's shoulder before he thought better and withdrew.
"Phillip," Sherlock said then, and John wasn't sure how to respond.
"What about him?" he finally asked.
"He'll wind up like me." From the way he spoke it was clear Sherlock didn't consider that a compliment.
"Married to his work?" John carefully said. Sherlock nodded in response, and if John didn't know better he would think that Sherlock was close to tears. "Not if we find him," he said firmly. "And I'll do everything I can to help." He had no idea if what he said was comforting to Sherlock or not, as he merely nodded again and slipped silently into his room. John swallowed the lump in his throat and went upstairs to bed.