Sherlock wasn't back in the morning. John got up, showered, and made coffee, all in silence. He even looked in Sherlock's room to see if Hamish was there; he wouldn't have left the bee for good any more than he would his violin. Thankfully, the bee sat on the bed.

As he was leaving he came across Mrs. Hudson. "If he comes back, or rings you, ring me. I'll have my mobile with me." John hadn't brought it to the trial before, but now it seemed the only thing that could ease his worry.

"Don't worry, I'll be home all day and I'll ring you as soon as he gets in the door," she reassured him. He headed out feeling a bit relieved.

The cab driver was apparently one who had driven him before, as he said "You a solicitor?"

"No, just attending a trial," John responded.

"You know someone in it?"

"Sort of," he evasively replied. Before the driver could ask anything more, the courthouse came in sight, and John got out with relief.

It was only once he was standing alone outside that he realized he had no idea of what would be said during today's testimony. He'd already known what Moira and Phillip were going to say, and while he'd never met Jennifer or Sagnik he did have an idea of what they'd gone through. Not only had he never met Thomas Davidson, he knew nothing about him other than Lestrade's brief description.

Before he could ponder this further, another cab pulled up and both Lou and Susan got out. In response to John's puzzled look, Lou said: "We met with Victim Ten's family. Bought them all breakfast."

"Are they still homeless?" John asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Susan replied. "The parents have almost no education at all. Both from families where everyone did manual labor all their lives. They've got six children and Victim Ten, the eldest... well, you'll see." All three of them began to walk up the stairs and into the courthouse. "They're driving here in their van."

"They must not live in London, then." John couldn't imagine a homeless family would have the money to be able to drive in London.

"No, they don't," Susan confirmed.

"They go where work is," Lou said. "The father does handyman work and the mother cleans houses. They both worked with an agency until last year, but it closed down. Nothing steady since then."

"Can't they get a council flat?"

"In theory, but they also have to have special conditions for wherever they live." Lou didn't say anything more and John wondered what those conditions were.

"Do you want coffee or a doughnut?" Susan asked him as they entered the building and walked down the corridor. "We brought some back, just in case." She held up the familiar paper sack and a two coffee holder.

"I'll take some, thanks." He had a feeling this was going to be a day where he'd need the caffeine from two coffees. With a final nod, he walked into the courtroom, sat down, and ate the doughnut and sipped at the coffee. The buffalo came in as usual, followed by the press. He eventually fell into enough of a lull that the cry of "Court rise!" startled him.

Susan came up to the stand and said "The prosecution calls Thomas Davidson." Within a few seconds, everyone's eyes were on the boy led by the usher. He attracted so much attention not for any case-related reasons, but because he was in a wheelchair. He used his right arm to operate the controls, apparently at ease with the technology. Before he had fully positioned himself, his legs spasmed. He tapped each leg with his right hand and it appeared to stop. Cerebral palsy, then, John thought. Probably triplegic. He was the first victim testifying to wear a suit and tie. It looked new; his parents must have wanted him to look good. His curly hair was slicked down with some hair gel.

Once he had positioned the wheelchair in front of the stand, he smiled up at Susan. "Hello, Thomas," Susan said.

"Hi," he replied. Even at this distance John could see the contrast in his eye color; one dark, one pale.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine, thank you," he politely responded. Despite his obvious impairment, the cerebral palsy didn't appear to have affected his voice at all.

"How old are you?"

"Almost eleven."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Five. Three brothers, two sisters. And Mum's going to have a baby soon."

"What are your brothers' names?"

"Darren, Shane, and Aubrey."

"And what are your sisters' names?"

"Josephine and Blessing."

"How old are they?"

"Darren's eight, Josie's six, Shane's five, Aubrey's three and Blessing's a year and a half."

"Where do you live?"

His face wrinkled in thought. "It's a hotel. I don't remember the name."

"Your family is homeless?"

"We're not sleeping on the street," he replied, sounding offended.

"But you're not living in a house or a flat," Susan clarified.

"No, we aren't."

"When was the last time you were?"

"February last year. Dad and Mum couldn't get enough money for work."

"Where have you lived since then?"

"Some shelters and some hotels. There's always a lot of fuss because I need to live in a place with a lift." He gestured to his wheelchair in a matter-of-fact way.

"Do you have a medical condition that requires you to use a wheelchair?" It seemed obvious what the answer was, but from the look on the boy's face John could tell he knew what was coming and that Susan was trying to ease into the subject.

"Cerebral palsy. I'm a spastic tri." The words appeared familiar to him; Thomas was obviously very aware of his condition.

"What sort of care do you get for it?"

"PT."

"PT?" Susan asked.

"Physical therapy. Mum and Dad do it every day. Stretching and stuff."

"Do you see a doctor for it?"

For the first time Thomas looked down. After a few moments of silence he said: "Yeah. Once a month. Make sure all my muscles and bones are in place."

"What do you mean by that?"

"If I don't get PT my legs stay crossed and they might come out of the hip."

"Where do you go to get this done?"

"Primary in King's Cross."

"Do you have a doctor there you see regularly?"

"Not any more," he muttered.

"Did you at one point?"

"Yeah."

"Who was it?"

"Dr. Martin."

"Do you know Dr. Martin's full name?"

"Her name's Kelly Martin."

"When did you start seeing her?"

"A little over a year ago. Mum and Dad went there because they help homeless people and asked if someone could checkup on me once a month or so."

"Is that how often you usually see a doctor for your PT?"

"Most of the time."

"Tell me about the first time you saw her."

Thomas fidgeted a little, and his legs spasmed again as he did so. "Mum and Dad took me there early. I got out of school early for it. When She came into the waiting room She asked them if it'd be okay if She saw me by myself and Mum said that was fine. Mum had Blessing with her since she was so little then. So She led me back into one of the exam rooms and lifted me out of my chair and on to one of those tables with paper on them." His left arm twitched.

"What happened then?"

"She started asking me a few questions about my family and my brothers and sisters and where we lived now." Another twitch. "I told Her about them and the motel we were in then."

"What happened next?"

"She took my clothes off, except my pants. I almost told Her I could do that myself, but lots of people don't think I can do things like that. And then She started to examine me, feeling my arms and legs to see they were all right."

When he fell silent Susan prompted: "Go on."

"It was all normal until She touched me through my pants. I told Her to stop, and She took her hand away said She was just trying to examine me, and I said: 'No you weren't,' and then She laughed and touched me again. Then She said that She was going to see all the others for medicals next week, and maybe Darren or Shane or Josie might like it more. I told Her not to hurt them and She asked me if I'd do what she said, and I said yes. Then She let me put my clothes back on and we went back out to the waiting room. She told Mum and Dad that She didn't like the way my legs looked and it might be a good idea for Her to look at them every week, just to be safe. Mum said if it was going to be after school and She said yes, and I could just come in with the others next week. Before I'd thought maybe She wasn't going to be seeing them at all, but then I knew She was telling the truth."

"Did you tell your parents what she said?"

"No. They already had stuff to worry about and I didn't know if they could find another place for me to be seen. And I thought if my legs really looked bad I did need to see someone, and if it meant She'd leave my brothers and sisters alone I'd put up with it."

"Was there something wrong with your legs?"

"I don't think so," he whispered.

"Did you see her the next week?"

"Yeah. After Darren and Josie and Shane went in. She didn't see Aubrey or Blessing."

John's mobile suddenly started to vibrate in his pocket. Without a second thought, he got up and headed out of the court room. Once he was safely in the hall, he looked at it again. One incoming text message. "I am at home again. SH." He debated to himself whether to send a message back, ring Sherlock, or just head back home.

"I'm going back home," he said. He wanted answers to where Sherlock kept disappearing to, and waiting until the end of the day seemed much too long. He strode towards the front door, down the steps, and out to the pavement, where he hailed a cab back.

Mrs. Hudson greeted him at the door. "He just got in a little while ago. I know you said to ring you when he came in, but I said that he should say something himself."

"How did he look?" John dared to ask.

"Tired," was her only response. He nodded and headed up the stairs.

As soon as he opened the door to the flat, he heard Sherlock say: "I thought you were going to be at the trial." He was sitting in his chair, nothing at his side, not even Hamish. He had dark circles under his eyes that made him look especially fatigued.

"I came back home," John said in response.

"I don't need to be babysat," Sherlock snapped back at him.

John intended to say "I know you don't," but to his surprise he found himself saying "Where do you keep vanishing to?"

Sherlock clearly wasn't expecting that, either; his mouth fell open in shock. A minute passed where the two of them just stared at each other. John broke the silence when he added: "I'd like to at least know where you're going all this time."

He almost expected Sherlock to retort that it wasn't any of his business, but instead he looked away. "Off. Doing things," he muttered.

It clicked. "You're getting high."

"Correct."

"And you stay gone until you come down."

"Also correct."

"Look, if you're going to some sort of druggie squat for days at a time, please come back here instead. I'm not going to pretend that I approve of your using but it's at least safer here."

Sherlock scowled. "I'm not staying in some sort of squat."

"Then where do you go until you're coming down?"

"Nowhere in particular."

"You're just staying on the street?" John guessed.

"I'm being looked after."

"Even if your entire homeless network is guarding you, it's still not safe."

"It didn't go well last time."

"The last time you came here while you were still high?" John thought unpleasantly back to the events of last Saturday. Sherlock merely nodded in response. "Well, it's safer if you come back here. Lock yourself in your room if you want."

"You're not going to lecture me about it?"

"No." He certainly didn't approve, but if drugs were all that were keeping Sherlock from fleeing to parts unknown it would have to do until after the trial. Sherlock looked at him for a second, then moved to the sofa, where he stretched out and shut his eyes. In the time it took John to go to the kitchen, get a drink, and return, he had fallen asleep. John sat down and turned on his laptop, realizing that he'd been neglecting almost everyone else in his life since the trial had begun. He sent a few emails out apologizing for his absence, and then ate a silent lunch. Since he didn't want to leave Sherlock by himself, he sat down in his chair and read a book. When he woke up they could talk more.

Sherlock didn't wake up until five in the evening. As he sat upright one of his sleeves came down and John could see a few obvious track marks. "You inject?" John asked in surprise.

"Of course. Cocaine destroys the nasal passage. Takes away your sense of smell. And it damages the cartilage." He looked at John as if it were obvious. Before John could say anything, he reached for the remote and turned on the news.

"The trial of Dr. Kelly Martin entered its sixth day with testimony from the victim referred to as Victim Ten and his family," the announcer said. John expected Sherlock to turn off the television, but instead he stared glassily at the screen. "According to court transcripts from the trial, Victim Ten said that he had been victimized while receiving care at a clinic for the homeless in King's Cross. He said the accused used a physical disability as the front for weekly assaults and threatened to abuse his younger siblings if he did not comply. His parents testified that they only heard about the alleged assaults once he was told that the doctor no longer worked at the clinic. Defense solicitors argued that his physical disability would complicate the alleged acts to the point where they were nearly impossible to do and that Victim Ten had a potential hip dislocation that needed to be carefully monitored. Dr. Martin is accused of a variety of sexual assaults against fourteen different children going back almost twenty years. She maintains her innocence." The announcer moved on to news about Parliament, but that was not enough to break Sherlock out of his trance. When it continued for almost thirty minutes, John got up out of his chair and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sherlock," was all he said, but it brought him back to reality and his eyes lost the glassy look. Sherlock got up and went upstairs, returning in a few minutes with both Hamish and his laptop. He sat down at the table, Hamish on one side and the laptop in front of him, but he didn't look to be doing anything in particular. John changed the station to one playing a football game, even though the news had already gone off the air.

Around ten, just before John was going to head up to bed, his mobile rang. "John Watson? It's Gloria Yellowfox," said the woman on the other end.

"Hello. Are you going to the trial tomorrow?" John knew that Graham and Christine were going to be testifying that day. Sherlock looked over at him as soon as he heard the word "trial," but didn't say anything.

"Yes, and I know you are attending it every day. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Well, Dominic and Martin are both going to the trial tomorrow. They want to support the others, but they also both think hearing the actual testimony would be too much for them. I was hoping you could sit with them in the main hallway until Graham and Christine finish. Martin will have Angus with him, but he shouldn't need help with him at all. Is that something you can do?"

"Of course," John said. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear anything from the siblings again. Graham's anguish as he recounted how he'd been forced to sexually assault his brothers had been almost too much to bear once, let alone twice.

"Thank you. They'll be with the prosecution's solicitors tomorrow."

"I'll meet them there."

"Thank you again. See you tomorrow."

"Goodbye."

"Who was that? The prosecution?" Sherlock asked. That one question made John realize that his suffering had to be especially terrible if he wasn't able to figure out John wouldn't be asking a prosecutor if they were attending the trial.

"No, the fiancé of Graham Spencer. His brothers are attending tomorrow and she asked if I'd sit with them until it was over."

"Outside the court room, I presume."

At least he hasn't completely lost his capacity for deduction, John thought with relief. "You're right." He looked at the clock, like he had just noticed the time. "I'm going up to bed."

"Give me a minute and I'll come up with you." Sherlock pressed a few buttons to shut down the computer, picked up Hamish, and headed for the stairs. John as usual gave him time to change, changing his own clothes for pajamas in the bathroom. Once he came out Sherlock was perched on his side of the bed, Hamish against his chest, like there hadn't been a time where he was gone at all. That reassured John enough that he fell asleep shortly after his head hit the pillow.