A.C.B.

Greg had tried everything. Absolutely everything, even threatening Mycroft. Nothing worked. Alexandra was in shock and it killed him that his charge wouldn't let him help her. The teen wearing her favourite baseball cap had shut the world out and was not going to open up anytime soon.

"C'mon Sweetie. Can't you tell me what happened so I can help?" Nothing. No reaction whatsoever. Greg sent another angry text to Sherlock to get his ass to Bart's morgue now. Alexandra's only action was to curl in tighter on her chair.

Greg sighed. Poor Al. Her parent's died not a month ago, she's been relocated to a different country, and now, on the verge of recovery, this happens. Al's best (and only) friend is dead. Thanks to a certain psychopath.

Mycroft strode into the room suddenly, making Al whimper and clutch her legs tighter.

Greg watched as Mycroft glanced over her. His eyes widened and he practically tiptoed over to the chair. "Hey, Al." Mycroft crouched next to her and tried to put his hand on her shoulder like any proper guardian would do, but she flinched away so violently that he did not attempt to do so again. "What can I do to help?"

She ignored him.

Mycroft sighed and got up. Greg motioned for Mycroft to follow him out of the room.

"What happened to her?" Mycroft demanded.

"Lila's dead."

Mycroft paled. "That explains it. Is Sherlock on his way?"

"Yes. What should we do about Al?" Greg was worried; Mycroft could read it all over his face. Together, as Al's somewhat official guardians, they had no idea. She had only been in the boyfriends' custody for two and half weeks.

"Maybe Molly could help?"

"Yes. I'll go get her."

Greg walked away from his boyfriend to fetch Molly. She came immediately, and made a beeline for the girl.

"Hi, Al. My name's Molly." Molly continued to try to coax Al into accepting a blanket. Al refused every time, nonverbally. She defiantly wasn't going to talk. Not when Mycroft had promised it wouldn't happen again.

Greg couldn't watch anymore and left the room to wait for Sherlock. As it happened, he and his sidekick were walking into the lobby when Greg got there.

"Lestrade, what could possibly be so important that it required 43 texts?"

Greg rubbed the back of his head and looked to the ground sheepishly. "Y'know that orphan that Mycroft and I took custody of two weeks ago? Well, her best friend was murdered in an alley with no CCTV footage. Al's in shock now and is not responding to anything."

John's doctor mode snapped into place. "Can I see her?"

"Sure. This way. Don't be alarmed if Al doesn't do anything but flinch away."

Sherlock and John followed Greg down to the family room in the morgue. Molly had left when she realized that she couldn't do anything to help Al. John walked over to Al and sat down in front of her.

Al looked down at this strange man who hadn't said anything. He smiled back at her. She looked at him. Reading him. John noticed. Gunna have to tell Sherlock that.

"John, come over here." Sherlock called, not looking away from the file he was currently flipping through. John smiled again at Al and got off the floor. Al watched his progress back to the group of adults.

Her eyes widened when she saw Sherlock. Reading him, she saw a person that would actually help. Not Greg, who really tried. Alternatively, Mycroft, who was aloof and had other people do his legwork. However, Sherlock, Sherlock would do anything to help a friend. (Not that he had many. That was plain about the man.) He could help her in a way that the others couldn't.

Wrapped up in their conversation, none of the adults noticed her get off her chair and walk over to stand behind Sherlock.

Sensing warmth behind him, Sherlock spun around. His eyes widened when he saw Al standing there, watching him with big, wet eyes. Sherlock stared at her, deducting her. Then she did what no one expected.

She hugged him.