Chapter 6: A Forgotten Purpose
"Am I supposed to be impressed?" I said, eyebrow still raised.
He gave a chuckle. "If you like."
"Well then, I'm- Kayla Robinson, I suppose." I said, faltering slight at the name.
I was most certainly not Kayla Robinson. I was a Being from an alternate dimension, having spent hundreds of years surveying this world. I had Sight and I wings. I could fly… not here, but I could. Kayla Robinson was not that. Nor could she compare to the knowledge I held. Each Being was named for their traits at birth, their purpose, and I- my thoughts stuttered to a stop, annoyance replaced by cold shock. I couldn't remember my name. I couldn't remember anyone's name. Not my mother's, not my father's, nor my best friend's! What was my name?! Why couldn't I remember?! My panic must have showed on my face because John came to stand in front of me, a worried look on his face.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft.
"No, I don't think so," I said, my voice the same volume as his, but borderline hysterical. I can't remember my name! I wanted to shout, but I decided to blame the panic on something else, something that was perhaps just as important.
"Where will I go?!" I cried, my thoughts somewhat chaotic, searching for my name, anyone's name, but in the forefront of my mind, I was devoted to acting this piece out.
Now, distressed... shaky breaths or crying quietly, as to not disrupt anything, worried, high-pitched tone... posture would be, uh... self-soothing, arms around middle, but what was my name?! What was my brother's name? I mentally slapped myself. My name was not important. Well, it was, but not at the moment. At the moment, I needed to find somewhere to stay, because I had the feeling that a perfectly healthy ten-year-old girl living on the streets would be enough to draw suspicion to other-worldly powers.
Details... I needed details. Kayla's mother was dead, but what of her father... sailor, never returned. Both parents were single children, and their parents had passed away before her birth. Therefore, I had no-where to go. Kayla didn't particularly like any of the family friends, and had avoided them at all costs. Okay, I had the information, I had the acting. Now for the manipulation.
"Mum's dead, Father was lost at sea. I can't live alone! John, where am I going to go?" I implored, eyes wide and pleading, my arms wrapped around my midriff. His eyes softened and his aura radiated a feeling of acceptance. Good. So if there was nowhere for me to go, John would take me in.
Molly seemed somewhat startled at the knowledge of my mother's death, Sherlock was uncomfortable with the situation, and, seemingly, emotion as a whole. John, however, was relatively calm. I guess that would be your default reaction to death after being a doctor in a war-zone.
"We'll find somewhere," he said, giving me a soft smile. I wanted to believe him, I really did, but I'd seen London, and there weren't that many families willing to take care of someone other than themselves. The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that John and Sherlock (even if the raven-haired man would only agree so that he could study me (I would have to do something about that)) would be the only people willing to take me in. I nodded, nonetheless.
John turned to Molly. "Does she need to be there?"
She nodded, an odd, jerky gesture. "Yes, she'll need to undergo a medical examination and we'll have to explain the situation. I was rather hoping you'd come with, if you don't mind."
Well, I certainly didn't mind. John knew what he was doing, and any child would prefer someone they had a somewhat basic knowledge of to be present at anything to do with doctors. Not to mention I was growing rather attached to the jumper-clad blond.
"Of course, Molly," John said, his easy-going smile back. "You coming, Sherlock?" he asked Sherlock, who had once again shut out the world. Sherlock was in his thinking pose, curled up like a cat on the chair, his wings tucked in. He lazily opened one eye.
"Sure, why not? No-one's died recently-" John coughed, rather loudly, and Sherlock's expression turned to one that could only be described as guilty. "Well, yes, alright. I'll come."
John sent an apologetic glance towards me as Sherlock wrapped a scarf around his neck and turned up his coat collar. I blinked slowly at him to say that it was alright, and he turned back to Sherlock with a huff, to discover he was already at the door.
"Coming, Molly?" he asked her, who had moved on to examine a sheet of music.
She blushed. "Oh, yes, sorry."
Five minutes later, in which Sherlock and I received a hug from Mrs Hudson, hailed two cabs, and I somehow convinced John and Molly to let me go with Sherlock, we were on our way to St Bart's. I had the rather expected feeling that the ride was, in rather dull terms, going to be interesting.
Edit: 25.2.16