Doctor Watson rolled her eyes, irritated. That kid was the reason she hadn't gone into pediatrics, she thought, him and all his type. She couldn't stand children. So it was only natural that she had been in the ER when a whole car full of kids had come in - of course, it had been her.

Still, she had made a promise, even if it was to such a bratty kid, and she intended to keep it. She had a pang of guilt about calling him bratty - after all, he'd just been in a car accident, and he was just a foster kid - but that wasn't an excuse. He still had no call to be rude when she was just trying to help.

It took a little while to find any sort of Holmes. They hadn't been admitted yet when she'd checked, so she was really just asking around. She wouldn't have put so much effort into it, really probably shouldn't have, but that kid had gotten under her skin, and she was determined to come back, triumphant, and give them room numbers at the very least.

Finally she found the doctor who had looked over Mycroft Holmes. He directed her to room 226, where he was being kept overnight for a concussion - nothing major. Mycroft didn't know where the other kid was, but he told her everything she needed to know to find him, and it was a simple matter after that.

All news is good news, Sherlock muttered to himself grimly, seeing the doctor approach. He steeled himself to hear what she would say; she certainly looked as though she was the bearer of bad news. Instead of turning and addressing him, though, she addressed Michael.

"Are you his brother?" she asked, gesturing towards Sherlock. He shook his head.

"I'm his foster brother," he told her.

"Is your mother - is your legal guardian in that room?" she asked him, no doubt remembering how angry Sherlock had gotten when she'd referred to Mrs Johnston as his mother.

"Yeah," he said. "Do you have any news?" She nodded, and he stood up and went into the room everyone else was in, beckoning her to follow. "Mom, she has news for us."

"You're the legal caretaker of Mycroft and John Holmes?" the doctor asked. Mrs Johnston nodded her head. Rob and Charlie had fallen asleep, somehow. "Mycroft is fine. He has a concussion, and we're keeping him overnight for observation - he hit his head pretty hard on the dash - but he'll be okay. John is another matter, though. His leg is fractured pretty badly and it looks like he'll need physical therapy. He also has a couple of broken ribs and a punctured lung, and he'll need to stay in the hospital for at least a week." Mrs Johnston was frowning, worried.

"But he'll be okay after that?" she asked.

"He should be fine," said the doctor. Mrs Johnston sighed in relief for a moment, then she looked up again.

"Do you... I hate to ask, but do you know whether the state will pay for all of this or not? They're my foster sons..." She trailed off.

"I don't know, but you can ask your doctor the next time you see him, and he should be able to find out for you. Now, I have to go," said the doctor briskly, checking her watch. "I have other patients to see."

"Just one more question," Mrs Johnston said. "Do you know what happened to my daughter Cassidy? No one seems to know - "

"I don't, sorry, but you can ask your doctor when you see him. Now I really have to be off." Doctor Watson left, relieved at leaving. Behind her, Mrs Johnston had a worried look on her face again, but she didn't say anything.

After a few minutes, though, a thought came to her as she looked around the room.

"Michael, do you have your cell phone on you?" she asked. "Can I borrow it?" He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. The screen was cracked, but it had survived the crash. Her own had been broken.

Sherlock was still standing in the corner, his thoughts whirling about his mind. John had a punctured lung - he would have to stay in the hospital for a iweek,/i at least - Mycroft had to stay for a night too, and Sherlock didn't know what he could do. Suppose Mrs Johnston had to pay for this? Surely she wouldn't want to keep them after that. Hospital bills were expensive, Sherlock knew, and hospital bills for eight people were bound to stack up high. Nervously, he chewed his lip, worrying about what would happen to them next.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mrs Johnston's voice, speaking into the phone to a friend.

"Charlene, hi. How are you? ...I'm glad to hear it, but listen, Charlene, I got into a car crash - I know, but listen. I'm going to be in the hospital for a night and I need somebody to watch my kids. ...No, not all of them, but if you could take just a few, that would be helpful. ...I'll need you to pick them up, though, I can't drop them off. Can - yes. Thanks so much. I'll come and get them tomorrow as soon as I can." She hung up, wrote something down, and dialed again, making a similar call. This one was not so fruitful, but it seemed she had plenty of people she could call, which was good, because she had plenty of kids. Eventually she handed Michael his phone back. Rob and Charlie had been woken up somewhat by her talking, and she addressed everyone now.

"All right, guys, you're going to stay with some friends overnight while I'm here. Rob, Charlie, you two are going to Aaron's house for a sleepover tonight - you can tell him all about your day, and you can stay up late if you want, won't that be fun?" she said, trying to make it sound exciting. Charlie looked uncertain, still.

"How come you have to stay here? How come we can't go home?" he asked.

"Oh, I bonked my head when the car crashed. It's nothing bad, so I'm coming home tomorrow, but they want me to sleep over here for a day," Mrs Johnston said. He thought about this for a moment, looked at Rob, and then nodded at her. "Michael, Sherlock, you two are going to stay with my friend Charlene tonight. You'll have to share a bedroom, or else one of you can sleep on the couch - there's only one guest bed." Michael seemed okay with that, but Sherlock's eyes opened wide and his hands stimmed with anxiety.

"But I - I can't," he blurted out. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" asked Mrs Johnston, but he couldn't answer her, almost couldn't put it in words himself, only shrugging. His hands twisted behind his back, where he had hidden them.

"Is it something to do with John and Mycroft?" asked Michael, amazing Michael who understood somehow what Sherlock couldn't say out loud. He nodded. "You don't want to leave them?" Sherlock nodded again, just a small tip of his head, and Michael put a hand on his shoulder. It was a good gesture, one Sherlock normally would have shied away from, but instead of feeling like a burning weight on his skin the hand felt solid and comforting, a tie to the world outside of his mind.

A/N

Hi, guys... sorry about the total lack of updates! I've been crazy busy (spent three weeks on the road, gah, it was awesome but horrifying to my schedule). I'll try and come back to this story henceforth as best as I can (although who knows, because I'm hitting the road again next week... I lead a very busy life, yeah).

To the guest who left the last review (was that you, paula. ?): You said '...I kind of prefer a hurt Sherlock story though.' I know what you mean. But I feel like there are a lot of hurt Sherlock stories out there - I wanted to explore him hurt more emotionally, rather than physically (hence the traumatizing background and the crushing of John's leg, which I thought would be worse for him than getting his own leg crushed). Sorry, John! ;)