Her eyes were fixed on 221B's door with an intensity that unnerved John slightly. It seemed as if she was intent on burning a hole into the wood, and for a brief moment he thought he smelled smoke. It was a rather wet and chilly afternoon, with the sun hidden behind large, grey clouds and casting a shadowy light over the city.

With a brown knapsack on her back and a pair of mussed pigtails, the child had a strange sort of gentleness about her, yet contained a faint aura of determination and anger. Rocking on her heels anxiously, she couldn't have been more than three or four, far too young to be on the streets of London alone, no matter the time of day.

"Excuse me," John finally called out, stepping back onto the pavement and heading towards the little girl, a concerned look on his face. "Where are your parents?"

She shrugged an expression not of cluelessness, but of nonchalance, as if she had not thought of such things in quite some time.

"Are you lost?" he pressed, crouching down to look her in the eyes. They were large and brown, as rich as molasses, and almost doe-like in their innocence and naiveté. Somehow, looking into them made John feel somewhat calm, as if they held some type of magnetizing power that drew one in and grounded them, causing a sense of contentment to settle upon all who looked her in the eyes.

"I'm supposed to go in there," she finally spoke, her voice tentative and shy as she cast her gaze to the ground. Extended eye contact had obviously made her nervous, and he chastised himself for forgetting that such things could scare children. "M- my Aunt Martha's in there…"

"Do you mean Mrs Hudson?" John inquired, his curiosity slightly piqued. He hadn't known Mrs Hudson had a niece- especially one so young- and the name 'Aunt Martha' actually seemed quite fitting when put together with the woman's kind and well-natured face. It was a bit odd, though, he thought to himself, searching the girl's face for some sign of relation. He somehow expected to see something familiar in her nose or jaw, something alluding to her bond with the woman, but there was nothing that indicated such a thing.

"I think so."

"Well, I live in there. She's my landlady," John explained, giving her a gentle smile. It seemed to calm the child slightly, and she gave him a tentative one back, her cheeks dimpling as she did so. "If you want, I can go get her."

He didn't want to tell her to come inside- he shouldn't be teaching a child to follow strange men around.

"O- okay," the girl nodded, shuffling her feet slightly as she agreed.

"Alright. Wait here," John stood back up and began heading towards the door to 221 Baker Street. "I'll have her in just a moment."

Trotting inside, he headed towards the door to Mrs Hudson's flat, rapping his knuckles against it sharply.

"Mrs Hudson?" he called out. "There's a little girl waiting for you outside. Says you're her 'Aunt Martha'."

The lock clicked almost instantly, as Mrs Hudson threw open the door, phone pressed to her ear and face flushed with distress.

"Looks like someone found her," she spoke into the device hurriedly; her face was lined with worry as she hurried into the hall and shut the door behind her. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry about the trouble, Arnold. I didn't think she'd- Of course. I'll call you again soon, dear."

She ended the call and placed the phone inside her flat, laying it on the small table near the door. John stepped back, not wanting to be bowled over by the woman, and watched as she rushed out the door and down the steps. He followed along behind her, jogging a bit, and could hear a small shriek of some indescribable emotion outside. Was it relief, he wondered? He exited the building and headed towards where Mrs Hudson was kneeling, holding the child tightly.

"Oh, Alberta-Jane!" she finally released the child from her suffocating embrace and held her at arm's length, staring at her and checking her body for scrapes and bruises. Satisfied that the child was in one piece, her face began to cloud with anger. "How dare you run off! Arnold and I were worried sick!"

"I didn't 'run off'," the girl told her, frowning. "I walked."

"Walked? That doesn't make any difference, love! Walking off and running off are the same!"

"No," the child (Alberta-Jane, John reminded himself) responded. "Running is faster."

It took everything John had in him not to laugh at the deadpan manner she spoke in, as if everything she was saying was completely and totally obvious. She almost reminded him of Sherlock- albeit a far more cheerful and bouncy one- in her strangely solemn demeanor.

"Whatever the case, you have been very naughty! Arnold told you to stay put and what do you do? You walk off!"

"I tried to go home," Alberta-Jane told Mrs Hudson, her tiny face suddenly collapsing in on itself as sorrow engulfed her features. "But…"

A look of understanding crossed Mrs Hudson's features, and she sent a weak smile in the child's direction, touching her cheek lovingly.

"Now is not the time for this," she said, standing up and dusting off her knees before taking Alberta-Jane's hand in hers. "Why don't we go inside and have a cup of cocoa? Would you like that, dear?"

"Yeah!" the shift in mood was sudden as the girl perked up and beamed up at Mrs Hudson.

"John, why don't you come with us?" Mrs Hudson suggested, walking up the stairs and down the hall towards her flat, speaking all the while. "We haven't had a proper chat in some time, have we? With all your running around and such."

"I suppose I have the time," John told her awkwardly, following along and sitting down in one of the old wooden chairs at Mrs Hudson's dining table. He watched as the little girl eagerly rushed in his direction and clambered onto the chair across from him, giving him a smile even the coldest hearts would melt at. Without thinking, he smiled back.