Chapter Text
The only earthly possessions Conan owns to take home from the hospital are what he was wearing when he was found. This amounts to his shoes, belt, watch, and glasses from Agasa, as well as the rest of his clothes. The belt does not have a soccer ball inside it, meaning it must have already been fired. The watch, however, is still loaded. They did not find either of his phones among his possessions.
Conan’s not really sure what that means just yet. Either his attacker took them from him, or he was walking around without them. He just can’t think of a reason for either scenario. Well, he can, but the problem is that there are too many possible reasons. Conan has no way to narrow it down.
Conan doesn’t even know how he’s in London, much less what he was doing here. One of the first things he would need to do once he got settled was call Agasa and Haibara and see what they could tell him. For all Conan knew, they could also be in London. Maybe he should just cycle through all the numbers he knew until he found someone who knew what was going on. It was honestly tempting.
Once Conan found out the date from John, he discovered that he was missing three days of memory. That was more than Conan hoped but less than he worried, so… it was acceptable.
But for now, without even access to a payphone, Conan had to wait for Sherlock and John to check him out of the hospital so he could apparently go live with them. (By the way, Conan was not over that, and never would be.)
The nausea had subsided, and no complications arose over the night stay, so Conan is free to leave at any time, provided the only people cleared to take him out of the hospital show up in the next hour before Conan gets so bored his toes fall off. Conan can see a little corner of the hospital parking lot through the window in his room, and since he woke up this morning, after remembering the previous day in amazement and shame, he’s been scanning it for any sign of a vehicle that might contain the famous detective and his companion. So far, no luck.
Just then, a taxi pulls up. Conan had already deduced that they would be arriving by taxi rather than by their own cars, so he held his breath in anticipation as he watched the doors swing open. The angle is such that he can only see the lower half of the people who get out.
The first person to get out is a sturdy, middle-aged man based on the shoes, which could be John. The second person to exit the taxi is a sixteen-year-old girl, so Conan dismisses the vehicle as the one delivering his new guardians. How much longer will Conan be waiting then?
Apparently not long at all, because there’s a sudden knocking on the door, and the infamous duo enters. So they had parked in a different area of the parking lot. Damn.
“How are you doing, Conan?” John asks.
“Super good and super ready to leave!” Conan says, translating his actual thoughts (“Being in a hospital is excruciatingly boring. Get me the fuck out of here!”) into kid-speak. It gets the point across well enough.
Since Conan has already been changed into his own clothes since six in the morning, they’re ready to go immediately, which they promptly do.
While they’re in the taxi, John starts explaining the plan for the day, which Conan was grateful for. If he could plan around their plans, he could work out a way to call Agasa and Haibara, which was the first step in his Five Step Plan To Figure Out What The Fuck Is Going On.
Sherlock and John’s plans consisted of going shopping for some necessities for Conan, getting set up in 221B, visiting the crime scene, and maybe stopping for lunch somewhere in there.
Conan's FSPTFOWTFIGO was like this.
- Call Agasa and ask what he knows.
- Call Ran to see if he can subtly ask about the last few days from her.
- Go to the scene and see what it can tell him about his situation.
- Think.
- Solve?
Ok, so the last few steps weren’t fully thought out yet, but the first few were good enough for now. While they went shopping, Conan would slip away for a bit and call Agasa and Ran.
They arrive at a large shopping mall, which makes Conan think of the last time he went to a shopping mall, during which there was a triple homicide. That one was an adventure to solve.
“Where to first?” John asks Conan. Conan thinks about it.
It would be best to do this as efficiently as possible so he didn’t have to stay in the shopping mall any longer than he needs to. The nurse that tried to kill him yesterday wasn’t the mastermind behind the serial murders, that much was obvious. What that meant was that she was a lackey of a more powerful person. And since that powerful person was still around, Conan was in danger in any public place, hence why he had to do this quickly. He sees a map of the mall, which he runs over to, John trailing behind him.
Conan quickly plans out the best course in order to grab extra clothes, toiletries, and a few other non-necessities that could come in handy. He turns to go to the first store on his route and sees Sherlock already standing right next to it.
“How did you know?” He asks, entering the store with Sherlock and John.
“Well, based on your accent, you clearly grew up, or at least have spent a lot of time in Japan, so it stands to reason you would be familiar with the Japanese alphabet. You’re also in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, which I imagine would be distressing for a child of your age, despite your unusual maturity and intelligence. This store, in addition to being within your field of view when you entered the mall, which makes it more likely for you to be attracted to it, has Japanese characters in its name which would be comforting and familiar to you despite your memory loss, seeing as you still remember English, you obviously still know Japanese. Also, it’s a comic shop, and children tend to think about things like enjoyment before practical items. I doubt you would have gone to Bath and Body Works first.”
“What if I was really weird and had an extreme love of soap? Then, you’d have been wrong.”
“It was an educated guess based on the facts presented to me. I was right though.” He was, but not for the reasons he thought. Conan chose here first because it was close by, worked well with his cover, and he knew it would sell merch as well as comics, which makes it technically a clothing store as well. Of course, Sherlock had no way of knowing Conan’s reasons, seeing as everything he knew about him was a lie. It still gave Conan a small sense of satisfaction.
“I think you’ll find a lot of Sherlock’s ‘educated guesses’ wind up being correct,” John adds, smiling down at Conan.
“Obviously. I’ve read your books y’know.” John laughs at that and gives Conan free range of the store to pick out whatever he’d like. In an effort to not waste John Watson’s money, he picks out only one detective manga and three Kamen Yaiba t-shirts. Sherlock was right about one thing, the Kamen Yaiba merch does remind him of home, of Ayumi and Mitsuhiko and Genta. He smiles softly thinking about them. He hopes he’ll be able to return soon.
The rest of the shopping trip goes smoothly, save for the fact that they wouldn’t buy him a phone because he was apparently too young for that, with Sherlock being able to correctly predict where Conan was going next about 70% of the time. Now it was time for the last store, which Conan didn’t actually plan to buy anything at. It was purely for Sherlock and John’s benefit, actually. So far, they hadn’t left him alone long enough to sneak away to call home. He has some change in his pocket that he kept after purchasing some socks, and now he only has to find a way to distract Sherlock and John long enough to get away.
To accomplish this, the best location is on line for ice cream. It's right by both the bathroom and the exit closest to a payphone, which Conan knows because they drove past it on the way here. Also, the line is at least 15 minutes long, which should be enough time for Conan to call who he needs to.
Once they’re all on the line, Conan tells them he needs the bathroom ten sprints off. Once he sees that they're no longer looking at him, he goes for the exit instead. Not even ten feet away is an unoccupied payphone.
It’s 30 seconds later, when he waiting for someone to pick up, he realizes that he’s called Ran first instead of Agasa on instinct. Oh well, the FSPTFOWTFIGO is malleable.
“Hi. Who is it?” Ran asks in Japanese when she picks up. Conan sighs in relief at the sound of her voice. “It’s Conan calling! I lost my phone so that's why the number’s different.”
“Conan! I was worried about you when you didn’t call yesterday like you promised. I guess that’s because you lost your phone, but you should have just called from your mother’s!” Ok, so Ran knew he was away and thought he was with his mother. That’s two important details.
“Sorry Ran, I guess yesterday was just too busy and I forgot!”
“That’s fine. At least you remembered today. By the way, have you seen Shinichi over there in America? He stopped responding to me yesterday too so I thought he might have joined your family on their trip. He was the one to tell me about it since you suddenly disappeared.” Ran thought he was in America, and he didn’t have time to tell her an excuse before he left the country. This was getting more confusing by the second.
But Ran expecting a message from Shinichi was also troubling because Conan didn’t have his Shinichi phone either, and he couldn’t just claim that Shinichi also coincidentally lost his phone.
“He texted me before I lost my phone saying he was going offline for case, so that’s probably why.”
“He told you and not me? He is in so much trouble when he’s done with that case!” Oops. Oh well, that was a problem for later. They talk for a bit longer, with Conan doing his best to avoid telling Ran about his trip and Ran telling him about her day.
“I have to go soon,” Conan says, looking at a nearby clock. He had about four more minutes before Sherlock and John would be done. “We’re pretty busy right now.”
“Sure, but don’t forget to call me tomorrow and every day until you get back! I’ll not have both you and Shinichi ghosting me! And tell me if that bastard shows up so I can give him a good talking to!”
“Ok Ran, goodbye!” Conan says with a wince. Maybe he wasn’t looking forward to going home after all.
“Have a safe rest of your trip Conan! Bye!” With that, she hung up. Having to call her every day might be difficult with Sherlock and John around, but he’s sure he can manage it. Conan typed in Agasa’s number with no time to waste.
“Hey Agasa, it’s Shinichi.”
“Oh, Shinichi! How’s your case in London going? And why not use your own phone?”
“The case is going poorly. In fact, so poorly that I’ve lost my memory of the past few days, don’t have either of my phones, and have no idea why I‘m here. I was hoping you could enlighten me.”
“Oh my, that’s certainly troubling. Are you ok?”
“I have a concussion but am otherwise fine. I’ve found a place to stay and my identity is intact. I need to know anything you can tell me about the case I was solving.”
“Let’s see… You didn’t tell Haibara or me much about it. All I know is that you were chasing a member of the Black Organization and somehow ended up in London. You gave us the name, which Haibara didn’t recognize. It was... something... Molotov maybe? Margarita? I’ll ask Haibara about it, but she’s sleeping over with the Detective Boy tonight. It’s pretty late over here. I’ll call you when she gets back so yo can ask her.”
The Black Org? Was that who did this to him? If so, the lackeys made sense. It also spelled trouble for Shinichi’s secret identity as Conan. If the Black Org knew he was onto them… he was definitely in a very vulnerable spot right now.
“You won’t be able to. Since I don’t have my phone with me, there’s no number you can reach me by. I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon, at about five over there. That good?”
“Yes. Haibara will be home then, but I don't know how much more she can tell you. Are you sure you’re okay over there? I can fly over and get you back here within two days.”
“No, if it has to do with the Black Organization, I have to stay until I solve the case.”
“You don’t even know what case you’re trying to solve, plus you have no starting place. Not even a scene of the crime!”
“There’s a scene alright. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’ll probably be back before a week even passes.” Shinichi looks at the clock. “I have to go now Agasa, but thanks!” It was now seventeen minutes since he left Sherlock and John.
“Stay safe Shinichi.” Shinichi hung up, barely taking note of Agasa’s words. Since when has he ever stayed safe? That’s why he was in this body after all.
He rushed back into the mall, making sure Sherlock and John are facing the opposite direction before he enters. John is holding one chocolate cone and one vanilla, while Sherlock is carrying a scoop of pistachio in a bowl. He walks up to them.
“Hi. There was a long line, so it took a while. Sorry,” Conan explains as John offers him the chocolate cone.
“That’s ok. Sherlock spent several minutes trying to decide what flavor to order you while we were up there. I think the worker got frustrated with us.”
“Well John, Conan neglected to tell us what flavor to order him before rushing off, and I think you’ll find it incredibly difficult to deduce someone’s tastebuds.”
“Then how did you decide on chocolate?” Conan says, taking a lick of his ice cream. It’s good.
“Well at first I thought that it would be best to get you the best flavor, which I deduced by the amounts of each flavor that remained. The one with the least left, and therefore most likely to be the best flavor, was pistachio.” He nods to his own cup. “However, it occurred to me that it’s possible you have a nut allergy, so I chose a popular flavor that you were least likely to be allergic to. That left me with chocolate.”
“Awesome! You’re amazing Sherlock. And correct. This is delicious!” Conan might be imagining it, but Sherlock almost looks pleased with himself at Conan’s praise. He looked smug, certainly.
“We should probably be getting back to 221 B. I’ll cook us up a nice healthy lunch, and we can get Conan set up as well,” John says, heading for the exit that Conan just entered from. Conan and Sherlock follow him.
“Don’t forget we’re visiting the crime scene today,” Sherlock adds.
“Fine, but only after lunch. I doubt Conan would want to eat after seeing it.” Conan’s been to plenty of crime scenes and eaten afterwords, but John doesn’t know that.
They stand by the payphone while John tries to stop a taxi. To Conan’s surprise, the payphone, which is still empty since Conan left it, starts ringing.
“Why would someone call an empty pay phone?” He remarks.
“Ignore it,” Sherlock says, getting into the taxi that just stopped for them. John gets in as well, beckoning for Conan to do the same.
“You know what it is then?”
“Yes, and it’s not worth the trouble.”
“Well that’s rather rude of you to say,” a voice from the front seat says. The driver is a bored-looking brunette, and sitting next to her is a man with short hair and a very neat suit. Neither of them are real taxi drivers, judging by their clothes and very well-kept appearances. Sherlock’s eyes narrow dangerously when he sees the speaker. Conan gets the feeling he would immediately leave the car if they hadn’t already started driving off.
“Nice to see you Sherlock, John, Conan,” the man says, nodding to each of them through the mirror. The mysterious man knows his name? That can’t be good.
“Who is he?” Conan asks, a little fear leaking into his voice. On purpose, of course.
“An enemy, a very powerful one.”
“Oh Sherlock, don’t be so dramatic.” The man says, rolling his eyes, but smiling like he enjoys the thought of being powerful.
“Moriarty?” Conan guesses, hoping desperately that he’s wrong. He’d only read about him in John’s books, but it seemed like he was a guy Conan did not want to meet. Maybe even on par with the Black Org.
“Worse. It’s Mycroft.” Conan blinks.
“You’re brother? Isn’t he a good guy?”
“Yes, he is,” John explains. “There’s just a bit of a family feud between them.”
“Sherlock’s the only one feuding,” Mycroft huffs. “I’m only here because I heard the news and I couldn’t wait to congratulate the happy couple.”
“Happy couple?” John asks. Sherlock grimaces.
“Yes. You’ve adopted a kid together, haven’t you?”
“Now hold on just a minute. That’s not- that’s not what this is and you know it,” John says, faintly blushing and stumbling over his words.
“Yes, he’s a witness to a case, a rather important one if my theory is correct. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you, Mycroft?”
“Hmm,” Mycroft hums, staring down Conan through the mirror. Mycroft is involved with the British government in the books, and if that held true here, it’s not impossible that he’s been in contact with the CIA or FBI and already knows Conan’s identity. Conan looks at Mycroft in silent plea. “All I can tell you is that Conan isn’t a citizen of the UK. Other than that, you’re on your own.” His eyes don’t leave Conan’s, like he’s sending a message. ‘Don’t cross me or I’ll reveal you.’ Message received.
“Useless as usual. I already knew that,” Sherlock says. “I assume you’ll be dropping us off at Baker Street?”
“Unless you’d rather go to the scene? Near Kingston, was it? Try to pry some memories from that amnesiac witness of yours?”
“No, no. We’ll be going home, thank you. I think Conan’s had quite enough excitement for now,” John cuts in, patting Conan’s head. Conan nods.
“Good, because we’re already here.” Sure enough, they stop outside of a door labeled 221B. The famous apartment. Sherlock, John, and Conan step out, leaving Mycroft and the brunette driver in the car.
“See you later, Sherlock,” Mycroft says before driving off.
“I hope not.”
The inside of 221B is as interesting as Conan had imagined and hoped. He’s especially fascinated by the gunshot holes in the walls and the skull over the fireplace. The living room is very cluttered, but it seems lived-in, homely.
“I suppose we should discuss sleeping arrangements, seeing as this apartment only has two bedrooms. So either two of us will be sharing, or someone’s sleeping on the couch. I vote we play a rousing game of Scrabble, and the winner gets to choose.”
“Hold on Sherlock. No one’s sleeping on the couch, and we’re not playing Scrabble to choose. I don’t think English is even Conan’s first language. It’s a bit unfair, right Conan?”
“I would crush both of you with my sheer determination and willpower,” Conan says in Japanese, banking on the fact that Sherlock doesn’t know it well enough to translate.
“Ah, so he has a sense of humor. If we played Japanese Scrabble you would have a fighting chance,” Sherlock says, which absolutely doesn’t reveal if hear understood or not. John sets down the bags of Conan’s stuff that he was carrying and starts to head into the kitchen.
“Sherlock, you and I both know that you don’t know a word of Japanese. You only want to play Scrabble because you think you would win.” So he didn’t understand. Good to know.
“Now now John, I would never underestimate your intelligence.”
“I know sarcasm when I hear it,” John grumbles. “You two discuss rooms while I fix us up lunch. Shouldn’t be too long. You have any allergies, Conan?”
“I don’t know,” Conan replies, knowing that he doesn’t have any.
“I guess I’ll assume you don’t,” John says.
“My solution to the allergy problem was much more elegant,” Sherlock says.
“It would have been really embarrassing if he was allergic to chocolate though.”
“Shut up and make us some sandwiches or something, John.” They banter a bit more before John finally leaves to make lunch.
“I can sleep on the couch,” Conan offers.
“John will have an aneurysm if I let you do that, and both John and I are probably too old to sleep on the couch if it becomes a long-lasting arrangement. Bad for our backs, y’know.” Conan nods. “I believe Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, has an extra twin mattress we can borrow, and John’s room is too small to fit it, so unless you’d like to sleep in the kitchen, I guess you’ll be rooming with me.”
“We’re not gonna play Scrabble?”
“No. I just said that because I knew it would get John riled up. He likes things to be fair , which is utterly ridiculous.”
“ I think things should be fair,” Conan says.
“Conan, one day when you’re older you’ll learn life isn’t fair. You woke up with no memories and no family on the street in a country where you don’t legally exist. I didn’t. How’s that fair?”
“But we have to make it fair, right? That’s why we have laws. You use your deductive skills to uphold the laws. You’re not like Moriarty because you do believe in fairness, right?”
“Don't talk like you know about Moriarty. John's books are completely inaccurate to reality," Sherlock pauses, thoughtfully. "I don’t believe in fairness, but I don’t believe in cruelty either. ”
“John believes in fairness and you do what he says. That’s basically the same thing as believing in it.”
“I do not do what he says,” Sherlock says, an offended look on his face.
“You didn’t make me sleep on the couch because John said so. And, we aren’t playing Scrabble, just like he said.”
“What an annoying child,” Sherlock says under his breath, looking away. Conan smirks in satisfaction.
Just then, an elderly-looking woman opens the door to the apartment.
“Sherlock I see that you’ve retur-” Her eyes meet Conan’s and she freezes. “Which one’s the father?” Conan has no idea how to answer that question, but Sherlock responds immediately so he doesn’t have to.
“That’s the issue at hand. We have no idea. By the way, can we borrow a mattress by any chance?”
“Pardon, is this child moving in? Who is he?”
“A witness to an interesting case. We can’t seem to locate his family, so he’s staying here for now.”
“Aww, poor dear,” she says, frowning. “His family’s missing?”
“Not quite. We’re having difficulty finding them because he doesn’t remember who or where they are.”
“He’s an amnesiac? Oh, that must be so scary. I am so sorry. I’m Mrs. Hudson. What’s your name, dear? Do you remember that?” She leans down, holding her hand out to Conan.
“I’m Conan. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson! Sherlock and John have been so nice to me, so I’m not scared,” he says, taking her outstretched hand.
“They better be nice. I’ll see if I can dig up that mattress Sherlock asked for. Call me if you need anything!”
“I thought you weren’t our maid,” Sherlock snipes. It seems like an inside joke, so Conan doesn’t bother to try to figure out what he means exactly by that.
“I’m not, but I’ll make an exception for Conan. He seems like a sweetheart. Goodbye now.” Mrs. Hudson goes back downstairs, waving to Conan before she goes.
“You’re a bleeding heart and a hypocrite Mrs. Hudson!”
“Goodbye Sherlock!” she calls from below.
“You didn’t tell her about Conan? Sherlock, if you aren’t nicer to her she’ll increase your rent,” John says, coming in from the kitchen carrying a plate full of what seems to be ham sandwiches.
“She won’t,” Sherlock answers confidently, taking a sandwich. Conan takes one as well, leaving John with the last one. “Anywho, we should discuss the case while we eat. First, let’s review what we know. One, Conan is not a native of the UK. Two, Mycroft definitely knows who he is.”
“Hold up, he said he didn’t know!”
“No, he said that he couldn’t tell us more, not that he didn’t know more. The distinction is important. Three, since he wouldn’t tell us, that means it's relevant to him but unlikely to help us solve the case. Four, since Conan’s family hasn’t come forward to the police already, they either don’t know he’s missing or can’t come forward. Five, the culprit had no way of knowing that Conan would lose his memory, meaning that he had reason to believe that Conan wouldn’t say anything to the police, or that he’s just an idiot.
“Six, someone now wants him dead, so something’s changed. I believe this points to the murders not being done by the mastermind himself, but by a lackey, like the murderous nurse. The lackey didn’t kill Conan for whatever reason, but the mastermind found out, and he wants him dead, probably in case he does remember something.”
This all pretty much aligned with Conan’s thoughts, which was interesting considering their vastly different perspectives on the scenario. Conan had a great deal more information than Sherlock but came to the exact same conclusion.
Not for the first time (but the first time since he found out Holmes was a real person), Conan wondered which of the two was the better detective. Conan wasn’t nearly as competitive as Heiji, but he couldn’t help but ask himself. However, unlike with Heiji, Conan couldn’t reveal himself and have a competition to find the better detective. He might never find out who was superior.
Conan finds himself almost missing Heiji, which is definitely worrying. Is it the concussion?
“Now as for my analysis of the corpse-”
“I think that’s enough for now,” John says suddenly.
“What, why? I’ve hardly begun,” Sherlock asks, an annoyed look coming across his face.
“I think we can save the discussion of the state of the body for another time,” John says, nodding to Conan, who has probably seen just as many corpses as either of them. Apparently, adults in the UK cared way more about what kids can and can’t do. He can’t have a phone, he can’t hear people talking about corpses, he can’t sleep on the couch. The police force back home practically let him join.
“He’s already seen the damn thing!” Sherlock is right.
“Sherlock,” John says sternly, and just like Conan predicted, Sherlock let it go.
They finish lunch soon after, Mrs. Hudson brings the mattress up, and then they’re ready to go to the scene.
“They’ve already removed the body, but everything else at the scene is still in place. Can you handle the blood, Conan?” John asks when they arrive. Conan nods. The high-ranking officer that Conan met yesterday, Lestrade, walks up to them. He does a double-take when he sees Conan.
“You brought him here?” He asks incredulously.
“We couldn’t find a babysitter in time,” Sherlock says dryly. “Oh, and also he’s our only witness and the crime scene might jog some vital memories.”
“Fine, but only because the body’s already gone.”
“Yes, yes, I already got the same lecture from John.” Conan decides he doesn’t want to bother being a part of this conversation and slips past their legs to head to the crime scene, just like yesterday.
It’s a very simple scene. Where there had been a body yesterday there is now an outline in tape, but otherwise, everything is the same. Conan starts going through every detail to see if anything is important.
The alleyway is relatively normal. There’s a dumpster in it, as well as several trash cans, which the body notably wasn’t stuffed into, meaning the killer wanted it to be discovered quickly. The blood was mostly pooled around the body, aside from a few drips surrounding it. That indicated there wasn’t much blood before the killing blow, so it’s unlikely the victim had much time to resist. Another detail catches Conan’s eye.
Two trash cans are lined up in a row, perfectly neatly, but there’s a toppled-over can right next to them. It might have been knocked over during the crime, which wouldn’t make sense, since the victim didn’t struggle. Conan rushes over to it, examining it carefully. The can itself tells him nothing, but what’s behind it does.
It’s the deflated skin of a soccer ball, splattered with blood. Conan’s soccer ball.
All of a sudden, Conan's head starts hurting again. And something’s tugging at the back of his head. He does his best to bring it forward, despite the growing ache it brings. The pain grows so much that Conan’s on his knees gripping his head in his hands. His eyes are closed tightly, but he can still see something.
It’s dark and Conan is standing on the street alone on the night of the murder.