Chapter 18: Hedgehogs Are Hereditary, Harry

I was required to spend two more weeks in the hospital until I was judged well enough to leave, and that was only on the condition that John monitored my condition constantly. By that time, I was bored half to death of the pristine beds, the white walls and the smell of disinfectant that permeated the air. It was just too... sterile. And I know that's the point, but hospitals are too much so. If a kid were raised in a hospital, they would catch a cold practically the minute they walked out the glass doors simply because of the lack of immunity.

The taxi ride back was eventful. John got me up to date on the goings-on of 221B (there'd been three more murders - all of which Sherlock solved within the first ten minutes – and Donovan had been suspended from the police force for the period of three weeks, the flat had almost caught fire via an 'experiment' three times, Mrs Hudson had come back from her visit early and had been fussing for the past three days, John's blog had become extremely popular and four people had come asking for me – apparently I'd been mentioned in his latest post and people wanted to meet the 'child, female Sherlock') while Sherlock sat in silence, casting apprehensive glances across at me every minute or so.

I'd been forced to wear a sling, so as to not over-exert my shoulder – which, admittedly, still hurt. A lot. I was hiked up on painkillers, which not only numbed the majority of the pain but also helped distract me from- that.

I'll be the first to admit that my brain was, to put it simply, all kinds of messed up. Memories were bombarding me from all angles due to my weakened mental state and that only served to remind me of the situation we were stuck in. We being me and my brother. My brother. If he couldn't remember, was he still my brother? Or was it only Sherlock? Oh God, what happened to us?!

Mrs Hudson, as expected, immediately fussed over me upon my entry. I accepted the care awkwardly – I wasn't particularly used to it. However, when she smiled fondly at me and Sherlock before bustling off, I decided it was something I could become accustomed to. Though it got me wondering what on earth she could have done to endear herself to Sherlock.

The flat was almost exactly as it was when I first saw it – not even the dust was out of place. Oh. Clever. Most people would see it as a sign of uncleanliness – Sherlock and I knew better. Disturbed dust was a sure sign of a break-in of tampering. I looked up at the dark-haired man and he gave a smug smile at my raised eyebrow. That smug smile turned to as close to elation anyone would ever see from Sherlock when his phone gave a 'ding!'

"A case, John!" he exclaimed, and John frowned.

"Kayla, Sherlock!" he replied similarly, and Sherlock pulled a confused expression.

"And she can't come along?" he asked. John rolled his eyes and I stifled a giggle. My brother was clueless. Definitely my brother. Maybe he was still there.

"Yeah, 'cause that ended so well last time!" John said, glaring at Sherlock, "And she's not allowed to go anyway, the doctors clearly stated she couldn't be brought into any dangerous environments, with emphasis on cases."

Sherlock flipped a hand. "The doctors are incompetent," he remarked. By this point, I had realised that they had clearly forgotten my presence and was watching the conversation with an amused air.

"Alright then. I'm clearly stating that she cannot be brought on cases," John clearly stated, going to an extra effort to enunciate and space out his words, as if talking to a child. I shuddered – Kayla had hated that.

Sherlock mimicked the movements a child would take when rebuked – he took a step, flopped his head backwards and said in a rather huffy voice, "Fine."

John nodded, satisfied. "We'll ask Mrs Hudson to look after her."

Sherlock grinned fleetingly then ran out the door, grabbing his coat this time. John turned to me and I gave a small start.

"You- you can see me?" I whispered, then smiled. John laughed before sobering.

"Will you be okay here?" he asked me. I nodded, giving a thumbs-up. He rolled his eyes fondly before limping ever-so-slightly out of the room.

I frowned. Last I was aware, psychosomatic injuries, once 'cured', would only return after guilt or trauma, enough to prompt the condition, though it could have just been my unreferenced, and likely inaccurate, medical education. Did that mean- no. No, definitely not. John could not be feeling guilt over that, he'd only known me for- not even 48 hours. What could he stand to gain? It was probably just leftover from the war. But- hadn't he been fine before? My mind flew back to the case that had led to my hospitalisation. He hadn't needed his cane then- he'd been fine. So, what was it? I shook my head to get rid of the streams of disjointed thoughts. I didn't need distractions. No, I did. Just not distractions that would lead to that.

There were knocks at the door. Four knocks, to be precise – one soft, before a pause, then three done confidently in succession. Not Mrs Hudson, then – she only knocked twice. So, whoever it was, they weren't expecting a particularly warm welcome but were used to maintaining a persona of confidence. Not Molly. Did I know anyone else? Nope. I walked over to the door, reaching up to let umbrella-boy in.

"Kayla," he said with a not-as-faked-as-before smile, walking in with umbrella swinging, "how are you?"

I used my spare hand to gesture at my sling. "Pretty okay, considering."

"That's good."

We stood awkwardly for a few minutes – Mycroft standing just inside the doorway, me standing in front. I flicked a hand and walked over to Sherlock's chair, slumping into it. Mycroft wrinkled his nose delicately – regally, royally, with a posh air, all those words – before walking over and easing himself into John's.

My eyes flickered over him – he hadn't been sleeping, had been skipping most meals and had been having vision problems due to the lack of rest but had been required to take the time to freshen up every day - what had been going on? Mycroft shook his head at my inquiring look.

"The government is full of morons," he conveyed simply. I raised an eyebrow before nodding in agreement. His lips twitched, as if he were about to smile.

I think one of the best things about knowing the Holmes brothers was that you didn't require small talk to get to know them. If you were as fortunate as I was to possess the skills they did, then you knew practically everything about the other without even saying, 'Hi, how are you?'. I'd never been good at getting to know people - explains why I only had one friend – so deducing was the only way I knew anything about the other people Above.

"Have you noticed that John looks remarkably like a hedgehog?" I asked suddenly, and Mycroft flinched slightly before turning his gaze to me. He smiled an even-less-fake-than-before smile.

"Yes, quite so. I wonder if it is hereditary – has Harriet been gifted with the same likeness?" he said, forehead creasing slightly.

I bit my lip. "Wait – she has Facebook, or whatever that thing is called, yes?" Mycroft's eyes became alight. He looked unmistakably like Sherlock.

He took out his phone and I jumped one-handed out of the chair, moving around to look at the screen. Typing her name into the search box, he scrolled down the results until he found a Facebook page. Tapping the link, we were soon laughing at the image of John's sister – looking like a hedgehog ran in the family, or so it seemed.

Mycroft left half an hour later, looking much more at ease than he had when he arrived. I poured myself a glass of water and popped a few painkillers in my mouth, downing them. Distractions only lasted so long.

Edit: 25.2.16