I already had the intention of writing a heart-to-heart scene between John and Layla (just like ObservationofTrifles suggested me), but I just didn't know what exactly. I figured it out a little later and wrote. On this chapter, John also has a flashback, similar to what I did to Sherlock.

And there's a little of Johnlock on this too. A little that for some people can be seen as normal friendship but for shippers is seen as Johnlock.

Hope you guys like the chapter. xD


The three left for eating when the night fell over the town. They were going to Angelo's restaurant. Once they hopped on the cab, Sherlock was silent while Layla climbed to John's lap, her eyes glazed on the night view of London. John was telling her all about the view, pointing on the window and Layla showed excitement in seeing the city.

The tall man entered the restaurant first, heading immediately for the table near the window. Then John and Layla walked in, hand in hand, amusingly talking. They sat down with Sherlock.

"Oh, you two are adopting!" Angelo teased, greeting the newcomers.

"We're not a-" John started.

"I know!" Angelo laughed as he tapped John's shoulder. "I just like to tease you about it." John sighed as he received the menu. "Anything you order is on the house because of this pretty lady. What's your name, precious Miss?"

Layla giggled, answering. "My name is Layla."

The man held her hand, but instead of kissing its back as it should be, he planted a kiss on his own wrist. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Angelo. Your wishes will turn into my orders."

Angelo then left, letting them chose what they wanted to eat. Sherlock discarded that option. He was still not fully recovered from the five nicotine patches. Perhaps five patches had been a little too much.

"Theresa, please," A man from a table next to them yelled on the phone. "Chris is my son too and I wanna see him! No, you listen, just because you married that rich bastard that doesn't give you any right-Damn it woman, listen, I'm seeing Chris this weekend."

Layla's eyes were locked on that man. Both Sherlock and John noticed that, but only John decided to do something. He walked to the man and lightly patted his shoulder.

"Would you mind being a little quieter?"

"What the-?" The man got up and faced John. "Am I bothering your date night with your lovebird?"

"No," John ripped the phone off his hand and threw it over the table. "it's just that there's a kid in here, whose parents are divorced too. Maybe you should evaluate a little better your behavior."

John returned to his seat as the man cursed him a couple of times. Layla spoke once the mood was calmer. "Why can't parents just admit that the reason for their divorce is their kids?"

"No, Layla," John spoke softly. "I'm sure your parents didn't divorce because of you-"

"Oh, I know!" She promptly said, cutting him off. "They divorced because of Dom, my older brother… He was smart as hell but had no friends. He was bullied at school and poked fun at. He rebelled and did all the wrong stuff to try to be normal for once. Three years ago, on his fifteenth birthday, he sent himself a gift, a box with a rope inside… Mum and daddy found him hanging on his bedroom. Why did they worry about him so much? He only caused trouble."

He only caused trouble, echoed on the doctor's head. John was static and turned his eyes out the window as thoughts flowed his head.

"What do you recommend, Dr. Watson?" Hamish inquired his son.

"Uhm," John mumbled. "some rest for now is the best. Then perhaps you should call a real doctor."

Hamish chuckled, which lead to a dry coughing. Once he was recovered, he ruffled his son's hair and John tapped his leg, saying. "Rest, papa."

"Okay, but I think I'd like to have a doctor by my side. Just in case."

"Alright." John said with a giggle, crawling under the bed sheets, lying down next to his father.

The two open a book and read. Hamish put his eyes on his son every once in a while, being proud of him. John dreams becoming a doctor so he can help people. Hamish was suffering from a common flu, but whenever he's sick, he always let his nine-year-old son examine him, just for the fun.

"Mr. Watson," The two men put down book once they listened the maid's voice. "is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, thank you very much, Amanda. I've got my doctor with me." The maid smiled looking at the little boy. "Although, maybe you could bring him a snack."

"Of course." She excused herself and was about to leave when Hamish asked. "Amanda, has my daughter arrived home?"

"No, sir. Do you want me to inform you once she arrives?"

"Yes, please." This time the maid excused herself and left the bedroom.

"Papa, stop worrying about Harriet so much. She only causes trouble."

"John, I can't just give up on your sister like this."

John sighed and picked up his book again, reading. Hamish eyed his son, concerned, as he showed nothing but indifference about his sister. He knows he's right; his teenage daughter causes him nothing more than trouble and gives him and his wife sleepless nights.

Hamish didn't need to be warned by the maid that Harriet was home because he noticed it. Nathaniel, the family's chauffer, tried to hold the teenage girl, but she was so drunk that she collapsed and fell over every piece of furniture, wrecking everything on her way to her bedroom. Hamish jumped off the bed, dressed his robe and walked out to check the deplorable state of his daughter and drag her to bed.

His wife Nancy is on her way too. Nathaniel muttered an "I'm sorry" to his bosses and left with sadness in his eyes. He remembered Harriet as a wonderful and precious child that he watched grow up through the years and it also wrecked his heart to see what she had become.

The only person who can't feel sorry for Harriet is her brother. He hates what his sister does to him, bullying him non-stop. And he especially hates her for breaking their parents' hearts like that. She befriended with the wrong people and ever since, it had been a down fall. John lied down on his side, pulled the bed sheets closer and closed his eyes, ignoring his sister's drunken yells. He just focused on sleeping, which he did in a matter of minutes. He no longer cared for someone as reckless as Harriet.

"John!" Sherlock loudly called, shaking him. John was pulled from his thoughts, startled. "You were worse than me when I'm in my mind palace!"

"Ah, sorry."

It wasn't common to see John that unsettle. Whatever he was thinking messed with him and Sherlock was concerned in his own way. "All okay?"

"Yes, yes." He said, taking a deep breathe, settling in the chair.

During all dinner John was quiet, keeping his eyes on Sherlock. Layla looked at the two of them between mouthfuls of food. She knew what she told them caused a reaction, she just couldn't understand what was happening. Sherlock knew John was looking at him; he could feel it, yet he chose to ignore continued to look at the outside.

Sherlock got up and hailed a cab, going back to the flat. John followed his movements with the eyes, but let him go. There was something going on that Layla couldn't understand.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I don't know what I did, but I know I did something!"

John couldn't disguise his concern. He put down the cutlery, explaining. "What you said about your brother… I used to think just like you about my sister… The only difference was that she didn't kill herself and she wasn't a bright mind."

"Then why are you worried?"

"Sher… Sherlock… he's a bright mind but everyone calls him a freak, a cold person, keep on pushing him away… they question his motives, what drives him. They want to label him with things he's not… He has a heart. And he does care, even though he doesn't express it. I know it, I've seen it! But people judge him wrongly, and I know it affects him… I just hope… I… I don't want him to… end his life, you know? I know his self-love is big, but it is finite as everything in life… I just don't want him to cross certain lines."

"You don't have to worry; as long as you are around he's okay. You two are lucky for having each other."

"People keep on saying that but they never elaborate."

"You two complement each other. He's the brains, you're the heart. He led you into an exciting and thrilling life, proved you that life after military doesn't have dull. He makes the blood rush in your veins, makes you feel useful and helps you saving others outside the battlefield. Helping him even… You keep him safe, keep him sane. You don't judge him, you friendly scold him; you don't label him or push him away, you compliment him, make him feel unique in a good way; you don't take him for granted, you've earned his friendship. It isn't easy to earn friendship from people like us. You helped him rediscovering the more human and warming side of him. He has a heart, I believe you. I've seen it too… You are important to him. If you're gone he falls… it's a reciprocal feeling… How long do you two know each other?"

"For about year and a half."

"Alright, how do you measure a year of your life after meeting him? And don't answer me with obvious things."

"Obvious things?"

"Yeah, that a year has 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days, 8765 hours, 525600 minutes, over 31 million seconds. Describe a year of your life after meeting him; describe it the way you feel it."

"I guess I could say then that, uhm… I can describe it in daylights, sunsets and midnights;" John chuckled before continuing. "no matter what time it is, he always finds something to do. I'd describe it with the cups of coffees we share, that are not that few thus, must I say. The miles we travel, the inches of fields and evidences we exploit. The times we laugh and strife… The wounds we suffer that are worth the pain…"

"What about anger and hate? Aren't those measures in a life?"

"Anger and hate are meaningless and weak feelings. Bitterness is paralytic; love is much more vicious motivator. You don't risk your life trying to eliminate someone you hate; you risk your life trying to save someone you love."

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson… brothers… not in blood, but in bond." Layla concluded. "You yourself elaborate the point that you two are lucky for having each other."

John looked down at his plate, stirring the food with the fork. What else was he supposed to say after that? After having been told by a seven-year-old what adults don't seem to understand? Adults lack creativity and understanding. She's pure, innocent, young. Her mind is still in the process of shaping, but everyone knows she won't let herself be shaped by others' ideals. Her eyes and heart still live as a child but her mind thinks like an adult. That's her big advantage: feel with the heart, thinks with the head; not everybody can do it. And even fewer people know when to think and when to feel. She observed Sherlock and John and got her conclusion. Head and heart had different opinions but the two mingled into the perfect conclusion.

"Well…" John breathed. "What am I supposed to say after this?"

"You say it best when you say nothing at all." John chuckled and continued to eat. "Dominic is the patron saint of the astronomers." Layla spoke out of the blue. "That's why me parents gave him that name… He and daddy used to watch the night sky. Daddy even found a new star and called NASA; it wasn't a major discovering, but even so he named the star Dom. He promised if he'd find another star, he'd give it my name, but after Dom killing himself, daddy never looked for another star in the sky… And mum, before going up the stage to play, would dedicate the musical piece she was about to play to me and Dom. Now it's only to Dom… Every now and then she plays sad music and cries. I get sad because of it."

The doctor stopped eating once she started speaking. It was as if she needed to get it off her system, like she needed someone to unburden. After all, she was just seven-years-old.

"What about you?" He asked. "What were or are your reactions to your brother's death?"

"Don't know. Mum and daddy took me to a lot of psychologists. They say I repressed any memory of Dom. Truth is I was too young to remember anything in detail. I barely remember how he looked like. But I do remember the two of us playing ball in the garden; he was a good big brother. Was your sister a good big sibling too?"

"Harriet, no... No, she was not much of a good sister. Used to bully me, misbehave and then put the blame on me. She was a heart break and a load of troubles for my parents. Later on, she became a disappointment to me. Even today. I just go to the rescue if I'm really needed; otherwise I let her hit her head on the wall until she realizes what she's been doing with her life all along."

"Will you ever forgive her?"

John sighed and admitted. "It's not like I'm mad at her. Only disappointed. So, there's no forgiveness, only acceptance. And about that, only time can tell; maybe I accept her back one day."

"I think maybe we should go back to the flat. Mr. Sherlock will like some company."

"Yeah," John finally let out a smile. "I think he will."

John pulled out of money to pay for the meals and left with Layla. When they arrived the flat, Sherlock was sitting on the armchair and mumbled once they entered.

"I'm bored! Give me something to do."

Layla grabbed the card deck she and John had been playing in the afternoon and threw it to his lap. "Beat me on Go Fish."

"Pssh," Sherlock hissed, throwing the card deck over the table while getting up. "easy."

"Oh, not so easy." John spoke, shuffling the cards. "She's quite something when playing this."

"That's only because you're an idiot, John." Sherlock playfully said, showing a smile.

He pulled a chair and took a seat at the table with them. And so the game began and lasted until Layla fell asleep over the table, her head resting on her arms. John picked her up carefully and laid her on the couch, where she continued to sleep. Sherlock challenged John for a one-on-one last game with him. He walked to bed a little sulked because he lost to John.


I believe this is the chapter before the last. Layla is going away with her father on the next chapter.

Anything you'd like me to write about it?

Comments on this chapter?