Chapter 11

John Watson shook his head as he stepped into Milo Wilson's private hospital room. "Okay you two, it's way past bedtime, Emily, time to go back to your ward."

The two twelve-year-olds stared up at him with big puppy dog eyes, packets of chocolates, biscuits and sweets surrounding them as they sat cross-legged on Milo's bed. They let out synchronised moans of disappointment. "Please, Dr. Watson, can't we finish?" Milo begged.

"It's my last night," Emily added. "I go home tomorrow. We've such good friends and we'll never see each other again."

If he was honest, John wasn't sure how the pair had become friends in the first place when Milo had been in his own room from day one. She must have slipped into here on one of her nightly wanders, probably to hide from a doctor or nurse. They didn't know how she did it, but the girl had a remarkable talent for creeping off. He bet she could even give Sherlock a run for his money… could have, he corrected himself.

"You can stay in contact by mobile or Facebook, that what you kids do nowadays," he retorted, getting his mind back on track.

"But it's not the same!" Milo wailed.

"Ten minutes, pleeeeeeeeeeeease! Just to finish our food," Emily begged as they looked up at him with those pleading eyes.

John sighed. "Ten minutes, but I'm staying and timing it."

The children grinned and Milo held out a box of biscuits. "Jaffa Cakes?"

In for a penny… John stepped forward, taking one and sitting in the visitor's chair.

"Milo's dad say you used to work with that fake detective that killed himself," the brunette commented, out of nowhere and completely lacking in tact.

"He wasn't a fake," John's reply sprang immediately to his lips, sounding harsher than he had intended.

They didn't seem bothered by it though. "But it was in the papers," she pressed.

"My dad says the papers made it up," Milo replied with a haughty air of someone who 'knew' they were right, a demeanour John knew all too well. "They do it all the time to sell more." He turned to the doctor and grinned. "Dad used to follow your blog, he believes in Sherlock Holmes."

"Thank you." John smiled, unable to deny how touched and relieved he was to hear that someone, somewhere, believed. If there were more, he had no idea. After the incident, he'd stopped the blog and essentially stopped going online and really keeping up with the news at all. It was a comfort to know that the media hadn't brainwashed everyone and there was one person, two including Milo, who stood beside him. Of course, it was more than slightly dampened by the knowledge that Milo's dad also believed that aliens built the pyramids and that the government had a secret organisation that made cutting technology and weapons salvaged from extra-terrestrial crash sites.

"Could he really do all that stuff?" Emily asked, licking the chocolate off of a biscuit.

"Yeah, he could. He was the smartest person I've ever known."

"Are you really a doctor?"

"What?" John was torn out of the moment by her strange question. "Of course I am. How else would I be working here as a doctor?"

"You could be a spy?" Milo suggested.

"In the children's ward?" The boy shrugged, defeated. John turned back to his friend. "Why would you think that I'm not a doctor?"

"I heard you talking to that weird spacey girl last week. She said you weren't a doctor."

"You heard me talking to Alice?" He'd been sure that she was asleep when he'd checked. Still, it was comforting to know that he hadn't dreamed the whole thing after all.

She nodded. "I woke up and heard the conversation. You weren't being very quiet," she added as if to excuse her eavesdropping. "Why did she say it then?"

"Sometimes people are disoriented when they first wake up. They don't know where they are or what they're saying." At least, he hoped that was it.

"She wasn't awake for very long though and she sounded really weird. Why did she only wake up for a couple of minutes?"

"I'm not sure she did. We don't know what's wrong with her; she may just have been sleep-talking." That's what he'd decided on when he'd reported the incident. With no other changes in her condition, it was possible that something in her mind had triggered the event and then she'd faded back into oblivion. While her doctor was thrilled by the reaction, he'd been forced to admit that there was nothing more they could do. She'd been transferred to a more suitable facility that would no doubt treat her condition far more effectively than they could. There was a little voice though, which sounded annoyingly like Sherlock, that made him doubt she had been sleep talking. Whenever he managed to convince himself that it was the case, he remembered her empty eyes following his movements. From the looks of things, Emily wasn't convinced either.

"Is this the Spacey-Girl?" Milo asked, making them turn to him.

"Spacey-Girl?" John asked Emily, who shrugged.

"Yeah, cause she's always spaced out. I told Milo about her. Wish he was in the bed next to me instead, she was sooooo boring."

"She has a serious condition," John reminded the girl, suddenly reminded of the many conversations he'd had with Sherlock. He wasn't sure if that was more of a reflection on Emily or Sherlock though. "She was here to receive treatment, not entertain you."

"Why was she moved?"

"So she can go somewhere better equipped to treat her."

Milo's expression lit up. "Was she taken to a government facility? Maybe it's a cover up!"

John briefly wandered how crazy the boy's father was if this was what his son was like. "No, it's not."

"Has she got a disease?" Emily butted in. "Is it going to spread through London and we'll all become zombies and then die because we don't eat anything."

"No!" Where did they get these ideas? "Look, she probably had a huge shock and retreated inside herself," he lied. "If it was contiguous then I'm sure we would know by now, but she's the only case of this happening."

"No, she's not."

John frowned at Emily's statement. "What do you mean?"

"It happened to a kid at my brother's school last week."

Okay that was more suspicious, and probably the point Sherlock would perk up and take the case. "Who told you this?"

"Mum was surprised when she wasn't in the hospital with me, but she wouldn't let my brother tell me about it." She puffed out her cheeks in a very annoyed manner.

A small buzz of anticipation ran through him, one that he had buried with Sherlock a long time ago. This wasn't any of his business though and he certainly didn't have any abilities to really help. He was a damn good doctor, above doing night rounds at the hospital, but this was completely outside his expertise. However, battlefield surgery wasn't the only thing he could do. After two years or more living with Sherlock, his own deduction skills had vastly improved; they just looked pathetic next to his old partner's and would no doubt be laughable in the face of this case. This needed the brilliance of the Holmes mind, but that was crushed, gone forever, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to wade back into those turbulent seas on his own. It wouldn't and couldn't be the same and would just awaken feelings best left asleep.

However, how could he sit by and ignore it all when something suspicious was going on. What if someone was behind all this? He had no idea how someone could possibly be, but if they were then how could he sit by while some sick bastard targeted children? He could at least ask a few questions.

"Doctor Watson?" Milo's voice was slightly worried.

John quickly shook away his thoughts and smiled at them. "How would you like to help me find out a little more about the situation?"