Sherlock had been concentrating on an online article when John suddenly flew at him holding those photographs. He cursed himself for not having hidden them better, even more for not keeping an eye on his flat mate, but most of all for having kept the pictures in the first place.

"Sherlock!" John's tone said it all. The detective sighed and looked at the stocky man waving the polaroids that had just fallen from Treasure Island. "What are these?" Obvious.

Sherlock shrugged trying to ignore his stomach sizing up, but John went on, "Where did you get them?"

"They're mine," Sherlock said because that was the truth. John looked crestfallen.

"They're illegal. They're child-pornography! Sherlock –"

"I know," Sherlock said in a weak attempt at holding John's stare but failing.

"Why have you got them?"

"I need them!"

"For. A case. You need them. For a case," the doctor had to make sure.

"No." John's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He tried to figure out what the answer might imply.

"So they're left from. An old case."

"No."

"You're not allowed to have them!"

"I am!" Sherlock declared, and John could hardly hide his rage, "These children. Suffered".

Sherlock shook his head, "Child."

"What?"

"Just one child," Sherlock corrected his flat mate.

John stared, "And that's supposed to make it better. Sherlock, every single child matters!"

"This one doesn't."