Chapter 14: Not Bothering To Don A Coat

My predictions were accurate. At the moment John walked into the flat, I was teaching Sherlock how to pirouette – he was very good at it. He would tuck his wings up with so much control one would assume he was still aware of them, then spin twice, the tips flared so that he wouldn't lose his balance. However, John had to choose the one time where Sherlock fell over to enter the room. Needless to say, John also fell over. Giggling the whole way down.

Sherlock stood up professionally, straightening the purple top he'd donned for ease of movement.

"Kayla was teaching me how to dance," he informed John stiffly a few minutes later. The John in question had abandoned his position on the floor in favour of the chair but was still giggling every few seconds. I raised an eyebrow at the hedge-hog like man. I hadn't yet gotten around to informing of his similarities with the spiky creature but it wouldn't be long yet.

"And how was that going for you?" John asked, amused.

My eyes darted back to Sherlock in order to 'suss out' his reaction.

"Kayla says I have real potential," Sherlock countered haughtily. John looked to me for affirmation of his statement. I shrugged.

"He's actually a very good dancer," I admitted. Sherlock gave a smug smile and John rolled his eyes at the detective's reaction to my praise.

The hedgehog-lookalike swept his gaze over the room, seemingly appreciative of 'our' (my) attempts to not cause much of a mess. Admittedly, the table had been pulled aside and some stacks of paper had fallen over in one of Sherlock's failed attempts at a leap but it wasn't too bad.

John shrugged. "Hungry?" he asked. At Sherlock's 'why would I be hungry now,of all times?' look, he shrugged again.

"We have some proper food now," he continued, indicating the bags.

I raised my hand, my palm hovering just above my head. "I am," I said, "and I won't eat if Sherlock doesn't."

Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh and sat down at the 'dining' table, resigned to the fact that he would be eating lunch. John looked at me in shock and I pulled a face that essentially meant 'how would I know that would happen?' In reply, he pulled a face that appeared to say, 'you're the child prodigy here.' I gave a short nod and he gave a victorious smile. I rolled my eyes and sat down beside Sherlock.

However, eating was too much of a hope. Just as John placed a small meal in front of us and we had each taken a few mouthfuls (Sherlock was determined to match me bite for bite), a 'ding'ing noise erupted from Sherlock's coat. He stood up rapidly and jumped over the chair to get his mobile. He gave a whoop of joy.

"It's Lestrade!" he called with excitement, "There's been a murder!"

Not even bothering to don his coat, Sherlock rushed out of the flat. I moved over to the window to see him get into a cab, heading toward Oxford. I looked toward John, grateful that I had chosen to wear long pants and a dress-top as opposed to what I had been wearing yesterday.

"Are we expected to follow?" I asked, and John nodded 'yes'.

I grinned. "Let's get going!" and ran downstairs much like the detective did. Except I had my coat.

As I descended the seventeen steps, I began wondering. What were Sherlock's 'colleagues' like? Do they treat him respect, indifference or disgust? Were they actually any good at their job? The latter seemed unlikely, I decided, as John hailed a cab. If they were competent they wouldn't need to call on Sherlock's expertise. I got into the vehicle and, after briefly checking the driver's appearance, continued my stream of thoughts and queries. I was so caught up in my thinking that I failed to notice John peering at me, wondering why I seemed to similar to the detective, and which planet we came from.

John's POV (That's right, little wings, into the viewpoint of our good doctor!):

Kayla was a mystery to me. She didn't have the viewpoint of a ten-year-old and certainly didn't act it, either. At least, as far as I was aware, she didn't act it. Kayla was actually a very good actor – almost as good as Sherlock, as far as I knew. I made a point not to inform him of this.

Another thing that I wouldn't inform him of, I decided, was the extreme similarities between him and Kayla. They both had astounding skills in deduction and were the only two people I had met, besides Mycroft, that could actually do something with it. In Kayla's case, that was to appear intimidating – truthfully, a girl with bright blue eyes and rose pink lips didn't appear to be able to do much harm.

Something I had noticed, and I took great delight when I realised Sherlock hadn't discovered it, was that Kayla moved... oddly around Sherlock. Like there was something about him only she could see and she was trying to not touch it. It didn't seem dangerous, whatever it was. It was more as if it was deemed polite. But what it could be escaped me.

Aside from the... Sherlockiness of the girl, she didn't seem to bad. She was polite, intelligent and had a good sense of humour. And Kayla also appeared to be a superhero – she got Sherlock to eat. With a few words. And she managed to manipulate into dancing. How, I'll never know. But as long as she continued to display these incredible qualities I didn't have a problem with her staying with us.

And I'm not embarrassed to admit that within a few hours of meeting her she had already obtained a place in my heart, right beside the consulting detective.

Back in time to Sherlock's POV:

Kayla was a mystery to me. A mystery I was determined to unravel. I could deduce everything about her as easily as any other person, but one thing I could not discover was why.

Why had her father left to go to sea? It wasn't for money – she appeared rather well-off, judging from her manner – and she didn't have any overseas heritage. It wasn't to escape the family, despite what I may have implied, and there was no reason to leave England, as far as I was aware, so why did he?

Why did she celebrate surviving another year instead of being a year older? The only cause of that would be if she had a possibly fatal disease which, from reading over her medical records, she did not have. Neither did her mother and she didn't have any siblings nor cousins. There was no reason at all she would feel the need to celebrate surviving, so why had she done so?

Why did her mother's friends treat her as if she was stupid? She was very intelligent, not as much as me, but incredibly so for someone her age. Her medical records didn't mention any mental conditions and her mother wasn't one to have older friends from what I had discovered, so why would they treat her as if she was but a baby learning to talk?

There were many more questions floating around the room in my castle I had dubbed as Kayla's and I would have to organise them at one point. Then I would find the answers. But one question I feared I would never find the answer to was why I suddenly cared so much.

Edit: 25.2.16