An Unusual Situation

The meeting of a stranger

"This is stupid, John. And stop looking at me like I'm some helpless fluff ball!"

John giggled, in spite of himself, as he restrained himself from clicking a picture of Sherlock in an adorable fluffy, black coat. His thin arms were crossed stubbornly, and he kept blowing black locks of hair away so they didn't cover his dazzling colored eyes.

John sat in the waiting chairs beside the children's dressing rooms, trying his best to not laugh out loud at watching his partner try on children's clothes. It had been a week since John had rescued Sherlock from the laboratory with the aid of Ludovic, a smart-yet-stupid scientist who had been the one to get Sherlock on the case.

Not only had Sherlock been deaged into his eight year old body, but he had also barely gotten out of the hospital after being extremely sick.

Of course that didn't count all the time's Sherlock had tried sneaking out of his room to check the autopsy to make sure none of the bodies had been murdered...

Sherlock walked up to John, sitting onto the chair next to him with an annoyed eye roll. John tried not to notice the fact that Sherlock's feet didn't touch the ground, and were dangling over the edge as he said casually, "I don't think it's stupid at all. We don't know how long you're going to be like this, so might as well get clothes that fit you."

"I am a high functioning sociopath John, we don't go clothes shopping and have take out at McDonalds."

"Aw, but the kiddie meal came with a pop up book!" John teased, smirking when Sherlock looked at John like he wanted to strangle him.

Sherlock rolled his slim shoulders-he'd lost a bit of weight being in the hospital, making him even more frail then he had been before, "Besides, we don't have time for this. Cassius is likely planning his next attack. We must be ready, there could be murderers targeting us as we speak. We need to be under constant focus. No distractions."

It would have been a serious thought John had taken seriously, but Sherlock's high voice cracked slightly while saying "attack".

But as John forced Sherlock to purchase a tardis shirt-John felt like it was slightly fitting-he thought about how right Sherlock was. John could still remember Jamen's merciless growl as he had said he'd be back for Sherlock. He'd said the game wasn't over.

And it wasn't over. Sherlock was still in the body of an eight year old, Mycroft- who had actually passed out when seeing Sherlock's condition-had double surveillance at 221B, and had men tailing Cassius's every move. Molly-whose reaction was to coo and hug Sherlock like he was a stiff teddy bear when she discovered what had happened-was also working endlessly to help Sherlock find a cure. But so far, they'd found nothing.

John knew that Sherlock could handle it, but for some reason, he'd hidden all the bad news from him. He'd tried endlessly to distract Sherlock, it was probably because of how innocent Sherlock looked in his younger body. His large, slightly too big for his face eyes, which seemed to sparkle, with hues of green and blue. It made it hard to say no to anything Sherlock asked for.  He looked like the darkest thing he'd ever heard was "some flowers don't hibernate in the winter, they just die".

But he knew Sherlock was as smart as he'd been before, and could tell what and when John was hiding something. Though he had been a lot more snappy, especially whenever anyone asked what grade he was in. He'd simply say, "Better than yours, how is it to be in the grade of Your IQ is looked upon as single celled organism with the brain capacity of a drunk toddler." before sashaying away.

"John, John! Please explain to this very simple minded man that I am not a simple adolescence!" Sherlock growled, tugging John's sleeve suddenly.

They were in a cab, heading for 221B, and John had spaced out a bit. He glanced from the glaring Sherlock-who was wearing an adorable mini version of his coat, with his normal scarf-which looked like an a massive blue blob engulfing his frame-to the cabbie, a stout, stubby man who was looking at Sherlock like he'd just prayed for world peace and sunshine rays.

"You're son is quite adorable sir, he was just rambling on about how he was a poisoned man who was trapped in the body of a child! The imagination in kids these days, am I right?" He prodded happily, his eyes lingering on Sherlock a few more seconds before he glued his vision back on the road.

John laughed, covering Sherlock's mouth as he began a not-so-polite-sentence that started with something like listen here you old coot, "Oh yes, he's a very...interesting chap, isn't he." He said with a smirk as Sherlock made unintelligent offended noises from underneath John's hand.

"Not as interesting as my nephew, mate. There was this time I came over to visit and I walked in on the parent's pointing frying pans at him. He was standing, naked waist up and was hollering like a monkey, swinging his shoes around like a madman! Of course, I called the police and-"

"Um, excuse me-" John interrupted, glad to find an excuse to change the subject, "I think you're going the wrong way..."

It was true, he wasn't familiar with every twist and turn of London, but he knew enough to know that they were going the opposite way of 221B.

The cabbie laughed, "Of course I'm going the right way! I'm just following your tour guide's directions!"

Sherlock bit John's hand suddenly. As John hollered and called him something that made the cabbie give him a quizzical look, Sherlock leaned forward, gripping on the cabbie's seat, "Tour guide? Who? Did you see him?"

"'Course not, he sent me the directions of your hotel you're staying at after he told me what time to pick you up outside the mall. Don't know how you managed to pay for the French Suite, my whole life savings would barely allow me to enter the hotel!" The cabbie explained, his eyes so focused on the road, he didn't see when Sherlock began bouncing in his seat excitedly.

"John, I knew they'd contact us sooner or later, how brilliant. I'd almost say they were intelligent had it not been for their stupidity! It was obvious too, very obvious. So obvious I didn't catch it..." Sherlock's voice trailed off as he brushed himself off and ran his hands through his hair wildly, as if he were about to meet the queen of England.

John sighed, "I honestly don't even want to know...but who are you talking about?"

"You'll see, John. You'll see."

John tried to get more answers out of Sherlock, but his mouth was glued shut. And as they pulled up to a tall, pearl white building with luxuriously carved sculptures decorating a expertly mowed lawn, Sherlock squealed with delight. Before punching himself in the stomach and muttering, "Idiotic emotion's..."

The cabbie didn't say much as he was payed, and as he drove away, John realized that they were stranded several miles away from their home.

"Um...Sherlock. Where are we?"

"Absolutely no idea, wonderful, isn't it?"

"No, Sherlock. No, I really don't think-"

Both Sherlock and John stopped talking as a pretty woman in a businessy, clean cut outfit with tightly braided pale blond hair walked up to them. She looked at them with no interest, and held out a hand, as if asking Sherlock and John to dance.

"Do come along, he's been waiting, must you two be late?"