Chapter 2

Sherlock sighed as he stared at the ceiling. When was John going to get back? His boredom was bad enough on his own, but John's company made it a bit more bearable. At least he had someone to complain to. Suddenly, he heard footsteps rushing up the stairs towards the front door. He raised a brow, looking towards the door. Was it John? The footsteps seemed heavier than John's would be, and why would John be in such a hurry?
"Sherlock, let me in!" the doctor's muffled voice was heard just outside the front door. Sherlock quickly got up, rushing to the door. He figured John must be carrying something. That would explain why he couldn't open the door, and why his footsteps seemed heavier. But what could he be carrying? He had just gone grocery shopping the day before, so he couldn't have gone to the store again. These thoughts rushed through Sherlock's mind as he opened the door for his flatmate, and got the answer to his question.
John was standing there, drenched from the rain, carrying a barely conscious child in his arms.

"John, you don't honestly expect me to believe that this child was able to throw a man down, break a man's arm, and throw a man several feet away using her mind."
"Look, I know what it sounds like, Sherlock, but I'm only telling you what I saw."
"There's got to be a rational explanation, John. I highly doubt that this child has psychokinetic abilities."
"I know it sounds crazy, Sherlock, but all I'm saying is that... There's something odd here. Immediately after he-or she- did those things, they started bleeding from their nose and passed out-"
"Yes, you mentioned that. And I didn't say that something odd wasn't going on, there clearly is... But there must be a realistic explanation."
The girl slowly awoke as she heard the two men speaking. She looked at them, recognizing the shorter, blond man as the man she had saved in the alley. Based on the conversation she had overheard, she figured his name was John. The taller man with dark hair (who she figured must be Sherlock) looked at her as she slowly sat up.
"They're up," he said. John looked at her.
"Are you alright?" he asked in a soft, caring tone, walking over to her. She nodded. She felt uneasy as the taller man stared at her with a curious look in his eyes.
"It's okay, we aren't going to hurt you," John assured her. "My name's John, and this is Sherlock. What's your name?"
The girl was silent before slowly showing him her wrist. The two men looked at it and saw a small tattoo on it.
"Is... That a real tattoo?" John asked, pointing at it. His finger was close to the tattoo, and the girl jerked her wrist away.
"... Name," the girl said after a few seconds.
"That's... Your name? Eleven?" John asked. The girl nodded.
"Oh, YES!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, causing Eleven to jump, startled. John gave his friend a stern look.
"Sherlock-"
"John, this just keeps getting more and more interesting, don't spoil it," the excited man said before looking at Eleven. "Where are you from?"
The girl was silent...
"Bad," she spoke in a whisper.
"A bad place?" Sherlock asked. She nodded.
"What place? Wait, no, don't answer that, I can figure it out," Sherlock said. John sighed, rolling his eyes.
"I take it you've run away from that place, and been on the run for several days at the very least," Sherlock said. He looked down at her feet.
"You've got red clay on your shoes-which, might I add, were not originally yours-that appears to have been there for several days. That means you either ran away several days ago or got these shoes several days ago after you had already been on the run. I know this because the mud is fairly fresh but not completely. Now, this information tells me you were in the countryside in a place that is several days away from London on foot, and that mixed with your shaved head and tattoo implies that-"
Sherlock suddenly paused, his eyes wide. He had been looking at Eleven the whole time, but now his eyes stared off into space.
"... Baskerville," he whispered.
"What?" John asked, not hearing him.
"Baskerville... You're from Baskerville," Sherlock said, looking at Eleven. The girl didn't respond for a few seconds, but she slowly nodded, a hint of sadness in her eyes. John's eyes widened. The two men exchanged glances. Something... Strange was going on here. Something very strange.

"You said there was something out of the ordinary that you would like me to see?" Mycroft Holmes asked one of his workers as he entered the security room.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes," the woman said, pointing to a screen that was playing a clip from a few minutes earlier. Mycroft looked at the screen. It was footage of an alleyway, where three men were attempting to rob a man. A man Mycroft recognized as his little brother's flatmate, John Watson. Then his eyes widened as he watched one man get shoved down, the second's arm get broken, and the third get thrown several feet away by... Nothing. That was when John Watson rushed off camera for a moment, and then reappeared in the footage carrying an unconscious child in his arms.
"Hmm..." Mycroft said, narrowing his eyes. "I'll ask Sherlock about this. He brought the child back to their flat, correct?"
"Yes, we have footage of that," the woman answered. The older Holmes brother nodded. He'd wished he hadn't been busy dealing with... Someone else when this footage was being picked up. He could have done something about it sooner. He had a feeling about who this child was...
And had a feeling that she was dangerous.