John must have fallen asleep eventually, because when he opened his eyes the sun was up and had clearly been so for some time. He almost didn't want to go downstairs. Yesterday had been so dramatic that they would both be feeling the effects of it. And of course today Moira was going to have to identify K from a lineup. He knew that he couldn't avoid any of this, so he showered, got dressed, and headed downstairs.

He wasn't sure what he'd see when he got there. Unless he was still sequestered in his room, Sherlock would be there, but he had no idea what state he would be in. When he reached the bottom of the steps he carefully looked out and saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, wearing the same clothes he had worn yesterday, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He didn't turn at the sound of footsteps, which was unnerving enough in itself. In fact, he didn't appear to notice John at all when he walked in front of him. It was only when he cleared his throat that Sherlock looked up. "Lestrade rang when you were asleep yesterday. He said that he was going to try to get the Ahernes down to the station for a lineup. He'll tell us when he gets a time."

"I spoke with him before you came down. He says we should come down around two." Sherlock didn't look like he had slept at all. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them. In some ways it looked like he had aged overnight, but the rumpled clothes and the blanket made him look oddly childlike. For lack of a better word, he looked despairing. John wondered if he had made things better or worse with his questions the day before.

"If what I asked you yesterday was too intrusive, I apologize. I just thought you might feel better if you talked to someone." That sounded neutral enough.

Sherlock broke eye contact with him. "It's fine," he said hollowly.

"Just one thing. You said you started using drugs because of K not being interested in you anymore. I can't stop you from doing that again, but if you do get the urge to do so I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me about it." John wasn't speaking before thinking this time; he'd spent quite a bit of last night worrying about that. Even now the thought that K had broken someone this badly - chewed up, spat out, and left to die - brought on a horrible feeling of dread.

"Don't be concerned."

"I'm your friend. I have a right to be concerned," John said evenly.

"Colleague," Sherlock spat out in a sudden burst of anger.

"That too," he responded, deliberately not taking the bait. "Have you eaten something?"

"Not today." Just like that, all the anger seemed to have drained out of him.

"I want you to eat something before we go down to the Yard." While under ordinary circumstances, John knew Sherlock would have scorned such specific direction, but the encounter with K had taken all the energy out of him. In fact, he seemed strangely relieved that someone was taking up those roles. "I'm going to make breakfast," he added as he left the room. Once he was in the kitchen he busied himself with making bacon and eggs. He usually didn't eat such a elaborate breakfast, but it seemed more energizing than cereal or toast.

After John was done with the cooking, he divided up the food into two equal portions and carried it back to the sitting room. Sherlock was still sitting there wrapped in the blanket, motionless. He looked down as John set a plate down in front of him and after a few seconds of staring he picked up the fork and slowly brought a piece of egg to his mouth. John smiled encouragingly at him, sat down next to him, and started to eat.

Even though John finished his food quickly, he didn't go back to the kitchen or up to his room. The state Sherlock was in was bad enough that he didn't want to leave him alone for more than a few seconds. At least he was eating, slowly. John doubted he'd finish more than half the food, but it was something. For lack of anything else to do, he turned on the BBC news and watched it for an hour as Sherlock picked his way through the food. Not surprisingly, only about half of it was gone when he picked up his plate and carried it back to the kitchen. That in itself was odd enough, but when he came right back into the room, sat back down, and stared blankly at the television screen it served to further remind John of the tension still present.

The whole scene would have gone on for an uncomfortably long time if Sherlock's mobile hadn't rung shrilly a half hour later. "What is it?" he said in an almost normal voice. "Do you want us to leave now? Good, I don't want you to ruin the whole thing before Moira's had a chance to pick someone out. We'll be there as soon as we can." He disconnected the phone, smiling broadly, like he had been brought back to life. "That was Lestrade. He wants us at the Yard as soon as possible so we can go over everything he's been able to find about K." He threw the blanket off like a discarded cocoon and reached for his coat. John was glad to see him acting in a more normal fashion, and was also relieved that he had spoken of K and not Her with the ominous capitals.

In half an hour they were walking into the Yard and to Lestrade's office, like they had done a million times before. Lestrade himself was standing in the doorway waiting for them. "Come in. The Ahernes will be here in an half an hour and I'm not sure how long this will take." He looked grave as he led them in and motioned for them to sit down. Sherlock unusually did so, and John was reminded that he couldn't have completely recovered in a matter of minutes. If Lestrade thought this was odd he gave no sign of it. "This is all I could get about our subject you brought us." He sat down behind the desk and gestured to a small manila folder. "Doctor Kelly Gene Martin. Fifty-two years old. She's been practicing pediatrics for thirty years. Not a single complaint from a parent in that time, no reprimands from any workplace, not even a single traffic ticket. Her school record is unblemished and she apparently skipped a few grades. She was married for almost a year to a university classmate, nineteen years ago. He was killed in an accident; apparently he fell on the third rail in the Underground. She was out of the country at the time. They had applied for a foster care license a few months after they were married, but it wasn't approved until after his death." He paused as if to give them time to digest that piece of information. "She's done emergency foster care on and off since then, and has never had a child with her for longer than a year. The last time she cared for any children was around four years ago; she told the agency she needed a break and since she had been so consistent in taking hard to place children they were more than happy to allow her time. There's never been any complaints there or any write-ups. So far we have been unable to find any of the children she has fostered. In short, without any sort of testimony from any victim, especially Moira and Phillip, there's no case to be built. A jury'd take one look at her, see a nice older woman who's devoted her life to helping others, and she'd walk free."

"The fraud charges?" John asked, mostly to himself.

He shook his head. "She's wealthy; when her parents died while she was in university she inherited all their money. Her husband was also wealthy and even though she only inherited a portion of his money on his death that was still a significant amount. She can easily hire a solicitor who could get those charges reduced to a slap on the wrist." Whatever Lestrade was going to say next was cut off by the phone on the desk ringing shrilly. He picked up the phone. "Hello? Oh, good. We'll set up and meet you in the other room. You know where it is? Good, I'll see all of you then." After setting the receiver back down he turned to face John and Sherlock. "That was Mr. Aherne. He's leaving now. I have to get the lineup sorted. Do you know where the room is?"

"The one with the one-way mirror?" Sherlock said. "Yes, we can get there without any trouble." He was clearly trying to sound confident, but there was a distinct undercurrent of anxiety. John decided it was best to take the lead here and got up to leave first.

Both of them had only been in this particular room a few times, and none of them had involved a suspect lineup. In fact, they had all been rather mundane meetings to discuss evidence or question the odd witness. John could hear shuffling and mumbled voices behind the one-way mirror, but there was currently no light to see by. Sherlock had sat down in a chair that was both as far away as possible from the mirror and facing in the other direction. "I want to talk to Moira and Mr. Aherne as soon as they get in," was his explanation when John shot him a questioning glance. While that was probably true in and of itself, John knew it wasn't the real reason. He also was aware that Sherlock knew he knew that, and it was an attempt to save face. So he just nodded in understanding.

Mr. Aherne arrived twenty minutes later with all three of his children in tow. John was reminded of his comment that he'd sleep with a knife in his hands before letting K get at his daughter again. He must have looked surprised, because Mr. Aherne said, "I'm not leaving them with anyone else again. Not for a long time," as he came through the doorway. Moira was right behind him, clutching her bear. Her whole face lit up when she saw Sherlock, and she came to stand right next to his chair.

"Hi," she said cheerfully. "Me dad moved my bed to his room. I sleep there now. He lets Rory sleep on my bed too."

"That's good," Sherlock responded. He got up out of the chair. "Do you know why you had to come down here today?"

Her expression sobered. "I need to help the police. Because of K."

"That's right," Sherlock told her. He turned to face the one-way mirror. "See that mirror over there? It's different from most mirrors because you can see through it to the other side but the people on the other side can't see you. Now, the police have found someone they think might be K." Moira's eyes widened, whether from fear or shock John couldn't tell. "Your job is to look at the people behind the mirror and tell us if K is there. If K is there, you point to K. If K isn't there, you tell us that K isn't there. Do you think you can do that?" He looked at her expectantly.

"Can me dad stay with me?" she said cautiously. By this time her brother and sister were also in the room, and they sat at one of the deserted tables, took out what appeared to be a book of puzzles, and started doing one together.

"Of course he can," Sherlock softly replied.

At that moment Lestrade came into the room. "Mr. Aherne, it's good to see you again. Wish it was under better circumstances but..." He shrugged. "In about a minute the lights will come on and Moira will be able to see the people behind the mirror."

Both Mr. Aherne and Moira walked up to the mirror. Shortly after they did that, the lights came on. Six people, three men and three women, were in line. They were all similar, short and with black hair. Dr. Martin was second to the right. John sneaked a glance at Mr. Aherne's face and saw no recognition or shock there. Clearly he had never met Dr. Martin before. Moira looked at the line for a second, eyes wide, and took a step back, squeezing the bear in her arms tighter. She was still for thirty seconds or so, like she was making sure that no one in the line could see her. When she appeared convinced that she was truly not able to be seen, she slowly shifted her bear to one arm, raised the other arm and pointed to the person second to the right.

"That one?" Lestrade said. He didn't sound surprised. She nodded firmly in response. "All right. Thank you Moira." She moved away from the mirror to stand by her brother and sister, but Mr. Aherne gazed coldly at K. He seemed unable to tear himself from the spot. Outwardly his expression had changed little, but there was a quiet fury in the way he held himself. If K had not been behind a mirror it was very clear she would not have been safe.

How long this would have gone on John didn't know, because after a minute Moira's brother Kieran came over to where his father stood. He looked furious. "So she's the one who hurt my sister?" He pointed at K just as the lights went out.

"Your sister said that was the one," Lestrade said carefully.

His hands formed fists. "They better keep her in jail for a long time. Or I'll..."

"Kieran," his father gently responded. Kieran unclenched his fists and it seemed like he had lost some of his anger. "Come on. I think after this we all deserve some ice creams." He took his son's hand and led him away from the mirror and out of the room. Before Mr. Aherne could get all the way across the room to his daughters, Sherlock walked to his side. He had stood far away from the mirror the whole time, and although he had been looking in that direction his eyes had been fixed on the floor.

"You're not surprised," he said. "Did you suspect?"

Mr. Aherne fortunately understood what Sherlock was asking without the need for elaboration. "That it was a woman? I hadn't ruled it out. I was in care as a child, you know, and back then that sort of thing wasn't a reason other children came in very often. But they talked. Not always to the carers, but to other children. Mums, dads, sometimes both. It made me think I was lucky. Nora told me the same thing, and she heard stories like that too." He nodded at Sherlock and stepped up to his daughters. "Let's go get those ice creams now." Moira removed a hand from her bear and took her father's other hand. The four of them walked out into the hall, forming a small, touching moment of a family cracked, but ready to take steps to heal.

"She's brave," John commented as the Ahernes stepped out of sight. "Being able to confront her abuser like that." He pointedly did not look at Sherlock as he said it, although he was under no illusion that Sherlock had missed his meaning.

"It's good she's got a supportive family," Lestrade responded. "It will be less hard for her." He swallowed. "Sherlock, I know you have Phillip's number, or at least he has yours, and if he doesn't try to reach you in the next twenty-four hours I'd like you to get a hold of him. He likes you and he'll need to pick out someone from the lineup too." Discomfort was evident on his face, and John imagined that he was thinking of his own children.

"That will be fine," Sherlock curtly replied. "He typically rings me at night and I suspect he will be doing the same. I hope you're going to find some of those foster children She has taken care of before."

"Of course. With Moira's identification we can get a warrant to search the house and as many records as we can find. Lots of paperwork, not the sort of thing you'd be interested in." Lestrade still looked uneasy.

"No, I don't suppose it would be. Let's go back home, John." Sherlock spun on his heels and headed for the door. John followed him. He thought about taking his hand like he had done when they first met K, but did not. Sherlock didn't look like he wanted to be touched.