"I should tell you now that I don't know the entire story."
Sherlock snorts. "All your men Mycroft and they couldn't tell you one little girl's past? Shows the competence of the government."
"Yes, well the Bowyers were always a secretive family." Sherlock's face flashed with recognition. "Remember the name Sherlock? They were our family's old friends. After some trouble they relocated to the United States to protect their only daughter."
John cut in, "How do you know this much if your agents couldn't find anything on Al?"
Mycroft shrugs, "She won't tell me anything that isn't in the official records. Al is as secretive as many agents in the line of fire. For a being aged fifteen years, Al is surprisingly mature and full of surprises. I don't even know what is on the necklace she wears."
"You are really getting soft, Brother, if a teen can surprise you."
"Hmm. "
To prevent the destruction of the flat, John cuts in between the Holmes brothers. "How did you get Al if she was in the U.S.?
"I heard of her parents' death from an agent of Social Services in the U.S. as I am her legal guardian if the Bowyers were to die. I pulled in favors to grant Al dual citizenship quickly and bring her over."
Sherlock has that look on his face. John notices he's going into his mind palace. Mycroft sees it to.
"How did her parents die?"
"One of the things she won't tell me."
"What does the record say?" John feels he is preventing a war.
"The official document states the Bowyers died in a car accident in front of their home."
"But?"
"There was a third person in the car with them."
"Who?"'
"We assume Al's best friend Tasha Harkings."
"Assume?"
"Yes, Tasha went missing around the time that the Bowyers were killed. The body was too charred for DNA samples."
"Wrong." Three heads whip around to face the doorway.
Al had come down the stairs with no one noticing.
"Hello -,"
"You know that only .5% of car crashes ignite, Mycroft. Use that head of yours. Even you should be able to figure out what happened.
"You won't tell anyo-."
Mycroft cut off when Al smacked the back of his head. HARD.
Mycroft lurched foreward. Sherlock smirked. John tried valiantly to not laugh.
Al stood back from Mycroft and began making rude gestures at him in (what John presumes it is) sign language.
"Where is my kit, Mycroft Holmes?" John shivered. Dang, her voice is cold, colder than the commanders in the army were.
Mycroft hands a military grade, navy blue, leg strap bag. She snatched it from him and swiftly put it on. "It's lighter. What did you do?"
"I upgraded a few things."
Al held out her hand and Mycroft handed her some everyday items: three plastic cases, a knife and an old mobile. She stalked back upstairs with a nod to the rest of the room.
John burst out laughing. "That was fun." He laughed harder when Mycroft's face turned a little pink. "What was that about Mycroft?"
"That kit is her life, Al loses it - she will tear up the entire city to look for it."
"Interesting."
"I thought so."
"When did you take it?"
"Before the police made it to the morgue with Lila. I didn't need Al killing someone."
"Would she do that?"
Mycroft nodded. "Yes, and I believe she has had to before. Al has not had an easy upbringing."
John stopped listening to the conversation. He worried about the deceptive girl upstairs in his room and wondered just what happened to Al to make her that cold.
John got up (not that the brothers noticed) and turned the kettle back on.
"Oh John," Mycroft stopped talking with Sherlock for a moment. "Catch." He threw a packet of powder to John. "Al prefers Chai to normal tea. Something she picked up in America."
"Thanks."
Mycroft nodded and turned back to his brother.
John efficiently made tea for the three males and chai latte for Al. He put the mugs in front of Mycroft and Sherlock and took the chai upstairs for Al.
He knocked quietly and opened the door to the darkened room.
Al spun around quickly with a knife in hand.
"What do you want?" She hissed.
"To give you a cuppa."
"I don't like tea." The knife went away.
"So Mycroft says. It's chai latte."
Al strode over and took the mug timidly from John. "Sorry I'm taking your room."
John flapped his hand. "It's perfectly alright." She sat on the edge of the bed and sipped at the chai.
"What are you curious about?"
John (still standing awkwardly in the doorway) chuckled. "How you can get the British Government to immediately follow your orders. Even Sherlock can't do that."
Al smiled a little, "I've been with him little over a month and I know his and Greg's every quirk."
John cautiously walked into the room. Al stayed seated and let him sit on the bed with her.
"You're the strange one."
"Strange one?"
"The one who didn't try to touch or talk to me in the morgue."
"Ah. Everyone else tried?"
Al nodded. "Mycroft, the nurses, the medic, Greg, Molly. Why didn't you?"
"Hard to say. I was a medic in the army. I served in Afghanistan."
"Knew you were military." She muttered and got off the bed and stretched. Al turned back at him and did a perfect salute. John hastily got up and saluted back. Al sat back down and grabbed her half-empty mug. "Medic then?"
"Yeah."
"Harsh job. Invalidated?"
"Shot in the shoulder."
"Ah." They sat in silence for a few minutes.
John looked over at Al. He started when he saw her crying.
Being the wonderfully cuddly man, John hugged Al. She melted into him and started crying harder.
Eventually, Al began breathing deeply, signaling that she fell asleep. John smiled at the soft expression on the normally hard face. He laid her down on the bed, picked up the mug from the bedside table, and tiptoed back downstairs.
A/N: I feel kinda mean now. Thanks to all who have read this it makes my day seeing that counter go up! Live life and Have fun! AL
Still don't own Sherlock.