something is off
Holmes passed the child the blanket that ususally sat over the back of my chair and gestured vaguely at the couch pillows before rummaging around in his disguise wardrobe for some time. I stared at the boy awkwardly for a few minutes before I spoke.
"Er," I said, "I'm Doctor Watson? I'm sure Holmes has already told you who he is?" I wasn't sure in the slightest. Holmes often neglected to introduce himself when more important things were happening and, if the strange quality of the boy was also affecting Holmes, more important things were definitely happening. The child just shook his head, raindrops scattering from his matted curls.
"I see." I said, not surprised. "Well, he's Mister Holmes, my good friend." The boy just nodded again, looking over at Holmes apprehensively. Perhaps, I remember thinking dazedly, he missed his family? We ought to return him to them as soon as possible. But. That wasn't right. There was something off about the whole picture. I felt like I was forgetting something, something important. But what was it? Wasn't it to return the boy to his loving home? Loving? Something was wrong. Oversized, worn, clothing from designer brands. Matted curls. Nervous. Well, Holmes had just kidnapped him but... Why did I feel like I had gone through this thought process before? He was probably-- no. No, the kid was definitely in trouble. Too small, thin nails, worried, doesn't want to go home... For god's sake, man! Pull yourself together. I remember thinking. He was found left up a tree in the middle of winter and he doesn't know his own name, likely because no one's ever told him. Whoever was taking care of him had no buisiness being in charge of a child. I knew this, I could see this, it should be clear. Why were my thoughts so obscured by random, increasingly desperate attempts to distract me from the situation at hand?
Finally, Holmes emerged from his perusal of the wardrobe with an exclaimation of triumph. He was holding up a surprisingly old-fashioned pair of thermals that had shrunk in the wash. They were a tad dusty and I suspect he had fished them from the multitudenous boxes full of clothes that needed to be given away in some fashion or other that reside on the top shelf of that wardrobe.
"You don't want to sit around in wet clothes, you'll catch cold." Holmes said briskly. "Now, the bathroom is to your left, the kitchenette to your right and our rooms are the two doors directly in front of you. Change in the bathroom and freshen yourself up, you should hang the wet clothes on in the shower, we'll dry them tomorrow. If you need any food, feel free to raid the cupboards though I'm afraid they aren't very well stocked. Don't go in my room, that's the left door, and don't touch the chemicals on the coffee table, it could disrupt the experiment and also they could burn you."
Holmes practically darted for the door of my bedroom, calling a quiet, "Goodnight!" over his shoulder. I nodded at the child, unsure what to do. Then I said, "We'll figure everything out in the morning." and followed Holmes.