[That last cry, gave Sherlock the motivation to shove open the door. But the sight that welcomed him... Wasn't one Sherlock expected. The clothes were Conan's. They were all in tatters now, from his rapid growth. But before Sherlock was a young man. About... seventeen. Seventeen! Damn, he thought Conan only had the mind of a seventeen year-old. He didn't realize that Conan had actually been seventeen.]

[Sherlock crouched next to the young man. He gently moved the fringe out of Conan's eyes. He was out of his depth - a feeling he didn't have often and one he really didn't like.]

Conan?