glassesbrat | (no subject)

'Sherlock' had been deathly seriously about wanting an MRI and x-ray. It was the first thing he asked for when arriving at the emergency room. Afterwards a nurse had come over with a clipboard for him to fill out some paper work while a few doctors swarmed around him to check his vitals, they reported his blood temperature was down, he was on the edge of dangerously under weight, and one of them even recognized the small white patch of skin over his left abdomen for what it was-a gunshot scar. Everything else was reported healthy. They couldn't do the MRI or x-ray until his blood temperature was back up though.

The MRI might not be so bad, but Conan had to avoid the x-ray at all costs. If they x-rayed his head they might notice that he had all his adult teeth. And he didn't need those questions. He needed to think of a way to get the x-ray canceled without actually saying why he didn't want it.

"You've been awfully quiet." 'Sherlock Holmes' stated calmly from where he was seated in a chair by the bed. Conan's sharp little blues eyes glanced over at him and he debated what he wanted to say. He was expected to answer but he didn't really want to. He wanted to be left to ponder his escape plans in peace but 'Sherlock' seems determined to stay by his side until his blood temperature was high enough for an MRI.

"Is that bad?" He finally asked, trying to decide if it was too adult of a question or if would go unnoticed. The man stared at him a good long time and then shrugged.

"Not a bad-unusual-but not bad. Most children would be crying for mummy and daddy by now, scared of needles and the like, but not you. You just sit and take everything in, plan each word that comes out of your little mouth and didn't even protest when I signed you in as 'Conan Holmes.' You know I'm hiding you-could be seen as kidnapping to a judge."

"I didn't go through customs." Conan finally admits after a long silence. "There's no way I could have."

"That you remember, anyway. John's convinced there's some kind of gap in your memory. I just think there's something you aren't telling us. There can't be that big of a memory gap, not at this age and definitely not without affecting other parts or memories in the brain." 'Sherlock' explained easily. Conan looked down at the heated blankets draped over his legs and shrugged. Hiding something? It was more like hiding everything.

"I couldn't have gone through customs." He repeats to the warm blankets. "It's impossible because I don't have a passport. I'd rather not deal with the Japanese embassy."

"You're a minor and you were kidnapped. I think they'll show you a little leniency." 'Sherlock' pointed out. "Unless, of course, you are hiding something."

Conan just stayed quiet, making it pretty damn obvious that yes, he was hiding something. he had no idea what to say though. What could he say? He's hiding form a big scary organization? He doesn't trust him enough for that. Some irrational part of his brain wanted to but he knows better. Besides, his wasn't a burden he should be getting anyone else involved it.

"…I can't do either the MRI or x-ray. Please don't ask me to."

"Now don't be like that, Whatever you're hiding can't be as bad as all that." At the look on the child's face 'Sherlock's' lips thinned. "Tell me what it is or I'll have them sedate you and get both anyway."

"I'm allergic to sedatives." Conan lied smoothly, perhaps a ghost of a smirk on his lips. 'Sherlock's' eyes narrowed.

"You're lying." He stated firmly, practically daring the younger to challenge him.

"Am I?" Conan countered, causing the man's eyes to narrow farther. Suddenly he stood up and swept out of the room leaving the child by himself.

---

"What do you think John?" Sherlock asked the man sitting out in the waiting room very patiently trying to fill out a medical history for a child he didn't even know. He scowled at Sherlock and then at the clock. He could be at home. Asleep.

"I think you're the one that should fill this out. He's yours now and you're the one with the magic deduction powers." He answered impatiently. Sherlock scoffed.

"It's not magic. It's purely observation."

"Right." John shrugged it off. "Um… past injuries?"

"Gun shot, left abdomen."

"Blood Hell Sherlock. A gun short wound?" John looked up in alarm.

"Yup. Small white patch-circular, like a bullet wound-I've got one similar-I would know. Head injury, gash on left arm-scar that big would've needed stitches."

"Vaccinations?"

"The standard ones, obviously."

"Chicken pox?" John looked at the list.

"Parents vaccinate for that, don't they?" Sherlock paused to think it over, trying to find some clue that might answer that question for him.

"Usually, but not always."

"Parents in America but he lives in Japan…" Sherlock was saying thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin a bit. "No. Not vaccinated for that one." He decided. John marked it.

"Allergies?"

"Oh! He's refusing the MRI and x-ray, says he's allergic to sedatives so I can't risk sedating him. He's lying though. He must be…" He trailed off in thought before returning his full attention to John. "Don't you think he's lying? he is, isn't he?"

"Maybe not." John commented. "He's been shot before-if they left the bullet in, the MRI would yank it back out. And they must have tried to sedate him when they had to patch him up."

"And the x-ray?"

"Hyper sensitivity to radiation? He could be bluffing but if you call it and he doesn't stay still it won't matter."

"That little brat." Sherlock announced suddenly after a moment of considering his options and coming to a sudden realization. "He planned this. He knew this would happen."

"He's seven. There's no way he's thought ahead of you, of all people. School?"

"Whichever is closest to Baker Street. I need another word with my 'son"

"Sherlock. Be nice. He's probably just scared and really confused."

"He's playing me for a fool!"

"He's seven."

"He's grounded."

"You do know he's not actually yours, right? Though if he is trying to play you, I might have to wonder." Sherlock Shot his friend a look but didn't bother to say anything more before moving back to the child in question's room.

---

"You brat." Sherlock stated, standing directly in the doorway of Conan's room. The smaller looked up from the book he'd probably manipulated off a nurse.

"Hm?" He had the gall to look as innocent as possible, forcing Sherlock to grit his teeth. 'Just scared.' Right.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Knew what?" He looked confused but Sherlock could see where his fingers were just a sharp jab away from the call button.

"When you said you were allergic to sedatives. You knew that I wouldn't be able to contest it. It's also why you didn't say anything when I claimed you as mine. You realized that you could use it to gain an advantage over me."

Conan knitted his eyebrows together, looking all for the world like a very concerned seven year old. "You're asking If I knew that when you claimed me it meant I could manipulate you into making my medical decisions for me because you don't have my medical records? I'm just a kid, how could I possibly have known that?" He changed his tone to something sugary and deceptively sweet. "All I know is that the MRI and x-ray machines are really scary and hurt me. And the last time they tried giving me that clear stuff I couldn't breathe."

Brat. Brat, brat, brat! This kid was a complete brat.

"You're lying."

"You can't take the chance that I'm not, can you dad?" Sherlock grit his teeth again and told himself it would bad to just throttle the little brat.

"You have to sleep sometime."